steadied herself. Tyler didn’t feel anything. She wouldn’t feel anything, either.
“Not unusual at all, I’m afraid.”
“Why not?” He shot the question at her with that intent, challenging stare of his. “If someone’s not a guest at the inn, why would he be here?”
She pointed to the small placard attached to a post near the end of the driveway. “The historical society put those up a few years ago. I worked on the project, as a matter of fact. We designed a walking tour of historical houses. Visitors can pick up a brochure anywhere in town and follow it. In nice weather we often see people, brochure in hand, taking pictures.”
“There’s no way of tracing them?”
“None. People don’t buy tickets or sign up. They just follow the map.” A shiver ran along her arms, and she rubbed them. “Sammy wouldn’t think anything about it, even if he noticed someone with a camera.” She took another step away from him. “I should get back to the laundry.”
“Wait a minute.” His hand twitched as if he thought about touching her and changed his mind. “We haven’t finished talking about this.”
“I don’t know how to find the person who took the picture. There’s nothing else to say. I want to take down the sheets before it’s time to start dinner.” And I want to put a little distance between us.
“Fine.” He seemed to grind his teeth. “I’ll help you with the sheets, if that’s what it takes. We can talk and fold at the same time.”
She’s forgotten how persistent he could be when he wanted something. “Sammy will be home in a few minutes. I don’t want him to hear anything about this.”
He slid the photo into his pocket. “I’ve already said he won’t hear it from me, Miranda.” He moved past her, then stopped and raised an eyebrow when she didn’t follow. “Aren’t we going to fold laundry?”
Without a word, she brushed past him and started around the house, aware of him on her heels. Persistent. Aggravating. Determined to have his own way. Tyler hadn’t changed—those qualities had intensified, probably from years of surrounding himself with people who always agreed with the boss. Well, he’d have to get used to the fact that this situation was different.
She reached the dry sheets she’d hung out earlier and began taking them down. Tyler let her get one more sheet into the basket before he started in again.
“There’s no reason to suppose it was a stranger, anyway.”
She frowned at him, not sure where he was going with this.
He frowned back. “Well, think about it, Miranda. Why would a stranger go to the trouble of taking a picture of Sammy? How would a stranger even know who he was? Or who his father was?”
Good questions, all of them. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any good answers. She turned it over in her mind as she took a pillowcase off the line.
“I suppose it might be some bizarre string of coincidences. Weird things do happen. Someone visiting the island to whom your name would be familiar, maybe, then finding out about Sammy.”
It sounded weak to her. Judging from Tyler’s expression, it sounded pitiful to him.
“I don’t believe in that wild a coincidence.” He unpinned a sheet and handed her one end, his fingers brushing hers. “How widely known is it that I’m Sammy’s father?”
The only surprising thing was that he hadn’t asked the question sooner. “Islanders know, for the most part.” She carefully didn’t look at him. “Our elopement was quite a sensation. People talk.”
“Gossip.” He sounded uncompromising.
“Talk,” she said again. “But folks here are used to the situation. I don’t think they’d mention it to outsiders, anyway. Islanders protect their own.”
“Unless there’s something in it for them.”
She didn’t know how to combat that kind of cynicism. “You’re wrong, Tyler. No one here would deliberately set out to hurt me or Sammy.”
“Then what’s left?” His brows twitched, impatience returning. “I can’t believe in some kind of random coincidence. You can’t believe your neighbors would meddle. What are we left with? Your family?”
“No!” She planted her fists on her hips. “Tyler, that’s ridiculous. No one in my family would do anything like that.”
“According to you, no one would do it, but it happened.” He ducked under the clothesline, and it brushed the top of his head. The movement brought him within inches of her, and her breath stuttered.
“Get rid of your rose-colored glasses for a minute, Miranda. Someone did this thing. Someone deliberately took a picture of Sammy and sent it to me. Someone who knew I was Sammy’s father and knew how to reach me.”
His words battered her like waves in rough surf. She brushed her hair from her eyes, looking at him.
“Why?” The word came out in a whisper. “Why, Tyler?”
He caught her hands, imprisoning them in his hard grip. “We’ll find out, but you have to help me. We can’t be on opposite sides in this.”
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