Slade wanted to know.
“My old life,” she replied.
“Which was where?”
“Am I under investigation?” She was half-serious, though her tone was light.
Slade flashed her yet another devastating grin. “Nope,” he said. “If you were, it would have been a matter of a few strokes on a computer keyboard to find out all I needed to know.”
Joslyn sighed. It was true enough that her pertinent details were posted somewhere online, which gave rise to an interesting insight. Slade was curious about her past, that was obvious, and he could easily have run a search, but he was asking her face-to-face instead. What a concept.
Of course, he might already have run a background check on her and just wanted to see what she’d say.
Joslyn was still grappling with the possibilities when they crested one final hill, and the old house and barn sprang into view. Behind them, in the backseat, Jasper gave a happy little yip of anticipation. Clearly, the dog was already sold on the place, even if his master wasn’t.
“I’ve been living in Phoenix since I finished college,” Joslyn said quietly, because she knew there was no avoiding the topic of where she’d been all these years.
“And now you’re back in Parable.” Slade brought the truck to a halt between the two decrepit buildings that seemed to lean toward each other, as though silently sharing their secrets.
He didn’t move to get out of the truck, and neither did Joslyn.
Jasper began to pace back and forth across the backseat, his paws making an eager, scrabbling sound on the leather. He was anxious to explore the property on his own, evidently.
Joslyn still felt a little testy over Slade’s remark.
And now you’re back in Parable.
“Is there some law against my being here, Sheriff Barlow? A local ordinance, maybe? ‘No one remotely associated with Elliott Rossiter shall set foot in our fair community from now until the end of time’?”
He arched one of those dark eyebrows, and his lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
What, Joslyn wanted to know, did he think was so darned funny?
The dog, meanwhile, was getting more restless with every passing moment, so Slade finally got out of the truck, opened the rear door and stepped aside so Jasper could leap nimbly to the ground. He watched as the animal ran wildly around the overgrown yard, barking exuberantly.
“Are you coming inside or waiting here?” Slade asked Joslyn, his tone as calm and easy as a creek flowing over time-polished stones. This after practically giving her the third degree about her return to Parable.
Pride-wise, remaining in the truck was out of the question—not that the idea didn’t have a certain snit appeal—so Joslyn shoved open her door, grabbed her purse, and scrambled down out of the high seat. She marched around the front of the pickup, digging through the jumbled contents of her bag for the lockbox keys as she went.
She was so intent on the search—she’d often said her purse was like a portal to a parallel universe, and things disappeared into it, never to be seen again—that she arrived at her destination sooner than expected and nearly collided with Slade.
He laughed, low in his throat, and steadied her by taking a light hold on her shoulders. “Whoa,” he said, blue devilment lighting up his eyes. “I was just trying to make conversation before. If you don’t want to tell me what you’re up to, you don’t have to.”
Again, Joslyn took umbrage. She had Kendra’s keys clenched in one hand by then, and she practically brass-knuckled Slade with them, shoving them at him the way she did.
“What I’m ‘up to’?” she demanded, careful to keep her voice down. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?” She sucked in an angry breath and exhaled a rush of words with it. “Maybe you think I came back to Parable to steal whatever money my stepfather may have missed? Is that it, Sheriff?”
Slade let his hands fall from her shoulders, and, to her eternal chagrin, she actually missed his touch. That annoying little quirk appeared at the corner of his mouth again, and his eyes twinkled. Maybe she was all shook up, but he was clearly enjoying the situation—a lot.
“No,” he said matter-of-factly. He’d been holding his hat until that moment; now, he set it on the truck seat, crown side down, and shut the door. He rested his hands on his hips as he studied her, paying no heed to the wildly happy dog dashing hither and yon through the tall grass, chasing butterflies. “That’s old news, what Elliott did.”
“Then, what?” Joslyn pressed. “What could I possibly be ‘up to’?”
Slade sighed again, ran a hand through his hat-rumpled hair. “I don’t know,” he replied quietly. Reasonably. “That’s why I asked you.”
The man was maddening.
Joslyn struggled to regain her composure. Finally, measuring her words out carefully, she said, “I grew up here, Slade—just like you did. Parable is home.”
His jawline tightened, and his eyes darkened to a grayish shade of violet, reminding her of a once-clear sky roiling with sudden thunderclouds. “You couldn’t wait to get out of here, if I remember correctly,” he said.
Joslyn narrowed her eyes in consternation and tilted her head to one side as she studied him. So it was still there, that old boy-from-wrong-side-of-the-tracks hostility.
“Yes,” she said crisply, squaring her shoulders. “Having all four major TV networks converge on a person’s front lawn will do that.” Her stepfather’s very public fall from grace had been a feeding frenzy for the media; everyone wanted a comment from her, from her mother or even from poor Opal.
“You were making noises about getting out of Parable for good long before the authorities caught up with Rossiter,” Slade said, unwilling, it appeared, to give an inch. The laid-back way he’d behaved before must have been an act. “I remember how you were back then, Joslyn. You made it pretty damn clear that you thought you were too good for a hick town in Montana and most of the people in it. So I can’t help wondering—what’s the big attraction now?”
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