him with open, honest eyes.
“Maybe it was her mother’s or grandmother’s. Women often pass their wedding rings down in the family.” The bubbling in his stomach said no matter how plausible that sounded, he didn’t believe it.
Angel shook her head. “Nope. She said it was hers, but that her husband died.”
His hand slipped from the door.
“I don’t think she meant to tell me though, since she clammed up right afterward.” Angel had pulled the door open and was crossing the threshold when she spun about to whisper, “Oh, and if any of the men ask, I cooked lunch. Constance doesn’t want to encourage them. Something about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach.”
Ellis rubbed at the invisible hammers pounding against his temples, drumming up a headache like he’d never known. Constance Jennings was becoming more than he’d bargained for. Much more. What kind of woman keeps a dead husband a secret?
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