him that we’re here, and then he’d go under so deep we’d never find him.”
“She wouldn’t do that,” Dean insisted softly. “She doesn’t know where Pinchon is, I’m sure of it.”
Alan leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Hellfire. She’s grabbed you by the nuts, hasn’t she.”
“Of course not.”
“She has, I can see it. Dean Sinclair, I never woulda thought it of you. Be realistic. Think. You believe that because Reva Macklin is pretty and can cook and has long legs and that sexy voice you keep talking about, she can’t possibly be involved with someone like Pinchon. That makes no sense. Has she been making goo-goo eyes at you?”
“Of course not,” Dean said, while he remembered the way she had looked at him once or twice.
“She has,” Alan said confidently. “A pretty woman bats her lashes at you and makes you think she might keep you warm at night, and all of a sudden she’s Little Miss Innocent.”
“Reva’s not the same person she was seven years ago.”
Alan snatched the photograph of Reva from the wall and waved it at Dean. “This is the woman you’re talking about, Dean. Yeah, she cleans up nice. She’s got herself a good gig here in Somerset and she’s not about to blow it by showing the people here what’s she’s really like. But this is her.” He shook the photo at Dean. “She was an eighteen-year-old cocktail waitress when she met Eddie, working in a sleazy bar thanks to a fake ID. She moved in with Pinchon two weeks after they met. She was never charged with a crime, but you know damn well if she was living with Eddie for almost two years, she didn’t stay clean.”
Dean’s heart sank. “She’s changed…”
“People don’t change,” Alan said in a calmer voice. “You know that as well as I do. Reva Macklin was Eddie Pinchon’s woman for a damn long time. She’s the mother of his child. If he comes here, she’ll shelter him and feed him and take him into her bed without a second thought. She’ll fall for his pretty face all over again, if she ever fell out, and she’ll protect him from anything and everyone. She’ll hide him from us. She’ll put herself between us and Pinchon, and I don’t have to tell you which side she’ll be on.”
Dean didn’t want to believe it, but he’d seen the scenario play out that way too many times.
“You’re thinking with your johnson, bud. Don’t feel bad. We’ve all been there.”
Alan didn’t mean to be harsh. He was a friend, and he’d been through a few crises of his own. He certainly wasn’t accustomed to watching Dean Sinclair have second thoughts about his job. Dean didn’t make mistakes; he didn’t follow his gut over logic, or lust after a woman because she smelled like strawberries. All his life, he’d been the one to think things through thoroughly, to compose a mental list of pros and cons before making an important decision. And he always thought with his brain, not his johnson.
“I tell you what,” Alan said in a calmer voice. “I understand how you feel. Patsy left you high and dry, what, three months ago? Drive to Nashville and have yourself a hot time. You can be back here by sunup, and I promise you, everything will look different. Everything. Especially Reva Macklin.”
Dean took the picture from Alan and studied it. Yeah, it was her. Brasher, younger, wilder, but it was Reva. He had seen her smile a couple of times today, but not like this. Not wide and free and…joyous. The girl in the picture was full of unbridled joy.
Maybe Alan was right, and Dean was drawn to Reva because she was beautiful and sexy and he was alone. Did he need a woman in his bed so badly he’d see something that didn’t exist so the truth wouldn’t get in his way? He didn’t think so, but he couldn’t be absolutely sure. He couldn’t trust himself, not with this.
He gave up on the idea of telling Reva everything.
But he didn’t drive to Nashville.
Chapter 4
Familiar sounds and smells drifted from the kitchen, but this morning a new element had been added to the chaos that was Reva’s everyday life. Sporadic sounds of hammering, creaking wood and occasional mutters that might be curses also found their way to her office.
Reva lifted her head when the door to her office opened. Tewanda stepped into the room, closed the door and leaned back with a wide smile on her face. Tall, dark and regally gorgeous, Tewanda had a tendency to reinvent herself every six months or so. Her hairstyle and clothing changed dramatically with each incarnation. At the moment she was in a brand-new tailored stage. Her black hair was cut close to her head, her slacks and shirt were fashioned in an almost mannish style that only accentuated her curves. Nothing Tewanda could do to herself would ever make her fade into the woodwork.
“There’s a good-looking man on the third floor and he’s playing with your banister.”
“Only you could make that sound wicked,” Reva said, setting aside the checkbook to give her friend and employee her full attention.
“Sweetie, that man definitely has wicked possibilities.”
The last thing Reva needed to think about was Dean Sinclair’s wicked possibilities.
“How’s everything in the kitchen?”
“Miss Edna and Miss Judith are arguing over how much pepper to put in the squash casserole, and Miss Frances keeps slipping out of the kitchen to sneak up the stairs and take a peek at your young man.”
“He’s not my young man!”
“That’s not what I hear,” Tewanda said suggestively.
Reva sighed and leaned back in her chair as her friend walked closer and propped herself on the edge of the desk. “He’s not mine, and he’s not exactly young, either.”
“Young is relative,” Tewanda said wisely.
Tewanda had the perfect life, it seemed. Her husband of more than ten years adored her and took her frequent fashion changes in stride. They had three beautiful, well-behaved sons. Terrance was the youngest of the Hardy boys. Nothing rattled Tewanda, not even Cooper, who spent the night at her house often.
Sometimes Reva felt a twinge of jealousy as she watched Tewanda go about her perfect life. I don’t want an adoring husband, Reva insisted silently, but I would love to be able to provide that kind of home for Cooper. A stable man who’d be a good father figure, a man she could have more children with, a brother for Cooper, maybe a sister or two. Deep inside she knew that would never happen.
“He is cute,” Tewanda said in a lowered voice, “but I swear, Reva, that man of yours is not well acquainted with a hammer. I only watched for a couple of minutes, I promise, but it was kinda like watching Russell struggle with his math homework.”
Russell was Tewanda’s eldest child. A few months ago he had insisted that the fourth grade was just too hard.
“Dean is new at this,” Reva said. “Give him a chance.”
Tewanda pursed her lips and hummed. “Already defending the man, I see. Well, well. Sheriff Andrews is not going to be happy about this new and interesting development.”
Reva
