wind rolling off the mountain ridge.
The ME’s words echoed in Harrison’s ears. Granger fell face forward. The back of his head was one bloody mess.
His gaze met the doctor’s as he realized the implication. “Damn. He didn’t just fall, did he? He was murdered.”
Honey ignored the grief stabbing at her the rest of the day as she finalized plans for the house renovation. She left the project in her partner’s hands, trusting him with implementing her design, then drove back to the small Craftsman-style bungalow she’d bought two years ago.
This was home sweet home. Her happy place.
Here she was safe from her past. From the rumors and gossip and the nastiness that had been her life.
She had no idea how long she’d be in Tumbleweed. Only as long as it took to address her father’s will and handle his burial. She definitely would not give him a memorial service.
It wasn’t like anyone would attend if she did.
Her father hadn’t been a popular man in Tumbleweed when she lived there. She couldn’t imagine he’d made friends since.
She took a deep breath as she entered her home, savoring the cozy interior she’d personally designed to her taste. She liked the farmhouse, shabby-chic look, but avoided anything reminiscent of her childhood home.
Memories bombarded her—sleeping in a room with no heat, with raggedy quilts piled so thickly on her that she couldn’t turn over. The furnace in the den barely kept that room warm. The summers were hot and stale, the rooms reeking of smoke, rotting wood and booze.
She blinked back tears, walked to her bedroom and dragged out a suitcase. The earthy tones mingled with slate blue in the room to soothe her nerves after a long day.
But as she gathered jeans, shirts, boots and a couple of skirts, the memory of the wind jarring the windowpanes in her father’s house taunted her as if she was standing in that old house.
She would be soon.
Scrubbing her hand over her eyes to blot out the tears and wipe her emotions away, she braced herself. She wouldn’t let that place or her father’s death get to her.
Not ever again.
In her mind, he’d died a long time ago. This visit was just a formality, then she could erase him, Tumbleweed and its residents from her life forever.
* * *
ANXIETY KNOTTED HARRISON’S shoulders as he parked at the morgue the next morning. Honey Granger was meeting him here.
He hadn’t slept the night before for stewing over the fact that she was coming back to town. He didn’t exactly know why that thought unnerved him, but it did.
His first instinct had been to call his family together and relay the news about Granger’s death, but he’d kept the information between the ME, his deputy, Mitchell Bronson, and himself.
Telling his mother and brothers would dredge up all the pain again.
He also wanted to verify the cause of death. Everyone in town knew that his mother hated Granger, which would no doubt lay suspicion on her. Truthfully on his entire family.
He wasn’t ready to deal with that suspicion or to throw his mother and siblings into the line of fire.
Sweat beaded on his forehead as he climbed from his SUV onto the hot asphalt and walked toward the hospital. The morgue and ME’s office were located in the basement. Already the noonday sun was beating down full force and the temperature was climbing.
His phone buzzed. Dr. Weinberger. He punched Connect. “Sheriff Hawk.”
“Harrison, Honey Granger is here.”
“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes. I just parked.” He ended the call and took a deep breath as he entered the hospital. The image of Honey Granger at sixteen with her golden-blond hair, big brown eyes and long legs made his gut tighten.
As a teenager she’d been pretty but homely, with her ragged secondhand clothes. The popular girls had been mean to her, and the boys had joked about getting into her pants. Two football players had made a bet to see who could screw her first.
A foul taste settled in Harrison’s mouth. She had definitely gotten a bad rap.
Oddly his little sister was the one who’d stood up for Honey instead of him. He wasn’t proud of that.
Chrissy had liked Honey’s flashy clothes, jewelry and makeup.
But their mother had forbidden her from hanging out with the girl, saying Honey was too old to be friends with Chrissy and that Honey looked like a tramp.
When Honey left town abruptly after high school, rumors surfaced that she’d gotten pregnant and had gone away to have the baby.
He’d hoped that wasn’t true, that she’d found a better life.
The air-conditioning hit him as he entered the hospital, stark against the blazing summer heat. He strode to the elevator and rode down to the basement, the scent of cleaner and antiseptic was strong as he walked down the hall to the ME’s office.
The receptionist waved him in. When he’d phoned Honey, she’d obviously been shocked at the news of her father’s death and hadn’t said much.
He had no idea what to expect today. Granger was her father and the only family she had left. He was surprised she hadn’t asked for more details, but everyone reacted differently to bad news. She probably would be asking now.
And he needed to find out the answers.
He knocked then eased open the door to Weinberger’s office. Dr. Weinberger stood and nodded in greeting, then Harrison’s gaze fell on Honey.
The teenager with the too-flashy clothes had disappeared.
This woman wore jeans with a silky-looking deep blue top and strappy heels that made her legs look endlessly long. Her hair was just as blond and golden looking, her big brown eyes smoldering hot, sensual, like liquid pools a man could drown in.
His gut clenched. Dammit she was...beautiful. In a wholesome, almost-innocent way.
“Honey?” He offered his hand.
Her hand trembled as she placed her slender palm in his. Heat rippled through him at her touch.
A wary look flashed in her eyes, and she rubbed her palm on her jeans as if she’d felt it, too. Then her soft lips pressed into a thin line, and a frown darkened her face.
“We were waiting on you,” Dr. Weinberger said. “I explained to Honey that she doesn’t need to make an ID, that we recognized her father, and DNA confirms it’s Waylon. But if she wants to see him, that’s fine, too.”
Harrison arched a brow,
