Gazette. He’d done the same earlier that morning in his quest to find information both about the case and her father.
Her chin lifted even higher when she regarded him again. She’d shed the traditional doctor’s white coat, revealing a red top that added vibrancy to her complexion and a skirt that showed off a pair of long, beautiful legs. She was undeniably attractive, but it was her underlying spunk that drew him to her, hinting at facets of her he’d yet to discover.
“There’s something you should know about me,” she said with spirit. “I never enter any situation unprepared. I like to know what I’m up against.”
“Totally understandable,” Ben said. “I can give you the phone number of the Tribune and the name of my managing editor if you like.”
From the slight widening of her eyes, he surmised she’d thought to check out his story of what had happened to Allison Blaine, but it hadn’t occurred to her to verify his credentials.
“I can find the phone number myself, thank you very much,” she said.
Even on guard and distrusting, she was polite. Yet he was more interested in what was under the stuffy facade. He’d love to get another glimpse of the woman he’d kissed the night before. That wasn’t going to happen unless he could make amends.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he began.
She put a finger to her lips and cut her eyes at the exit. The library was fairly busy, with a few of the people perusing the bestsellers regarding them with open curiosity. Sierra led the way outside into the April sunshine.
“I’d rather the entire town didn’t know what you’re doing here.” She spoke in the same soft voice she’d used inside the charming brick building even though the library sat atop a small hill a fair distance from the street.
“I’m not planning to keep it a secret.”
“You kept it from me last night,” she retorted.
“That’s why I was apologizing.” He scratched the back of his neck when she didn’t respond, wondering what he could say to get her to understand. “In my defense, I didn’t know who you were when we made plans to get together.”
“Oh, really?” Disbelief dripped from her voice.
“Really. It was only when the bartender mentioned you were a doctor that I put it together.”
“Is that when you decided to pull one over on me?”
“If that’s what I was trying to do, why didn’t I grill you about your father?”
The steel in her expression didn’t melt, not even a little. “That’s no excuse for not telling me you were a reporter.”
He remembered how crestfallen she’d looked when her ex-boyfriend had entered the bar, prompting him to temporarily put aside his investigation. “I didn’t think it was the right time to tell you.”
“You thought wrong,” she said.
She turned from him and walked away from the library, toward the sidewalk that cut a swath through the mix of delightful old buildings and new storefronts that made up downtown Indigo Springs. Some of the trees had started to blossom, giving the air a floral scent. He fell into step beside her.
“There are a few things you need to know before we go see my mother,” she announced without looking at him.
“Shoot,” he said.
“My parents grew up next door to each other. They were married for thirty-five years. My mother was devastated when my father died. She says she can’t remember a time she didn’t love him.”
She fell silent as they maneuvered around a man in khaki shorts and hiking shoes taking a photo of a woman in front of a pretty stone building. When they were free of the pair, she pointed across the street to a lush green space shaded with tall trees. It boasted park benches, a children’s play area with wooden structures and an amphitheater set well back from the road.
“That park is the one the town’s renaming for my father,” she said. “My mother’s very proud he’ll be honored in that way. The whole family is.”
Ben had a better grasp of why the town was honoring Dr. Whitmore since going through recent issues of the Indigo Springs Gazette at the library. He’d found an article about the upcoming memorial that detailed the late doctor’s involvement in a staggering number of charitable causes and civic organizations.
“I’m not trying to take anything away from your father’s memory,” he said gently. “I just want to figure out why somebody sent me that e-mail.”
She angled her head and the sunlight caught the highlights in her brown hair. He glimpsed the warmth beneath her cool exterior and wished he could turn back the clock to last night. He considered apologizing again, but didn’t see how it would do any good.
“Did you consider that whoever sent the e-mail had something against my father?” she asked in a clipped voice.
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