LITMIR.BIZ

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if he said something like that to you. Now would you?”

      “No, Minette,” she agreed.

      “Aw, she’s a girl,” Shane returned. “Girls are mean.”

      “We are not!” Julie said, pouting.

      “Baths. Aunt Sarah’s waiting. Julie first.”

      “Can I watch wrestling downstairs while Julie bathes?” Shane asked quickly.

      “Just for a very few minutes.”

      “Okay! Hayes, I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow!” He ran out of the room like a small tornado.

      Sarah appeared in the doorway, laughing. “Did Shane escape?” she teased.

      “He did,” Minette said. She put Julie down. “Go with Aunt Sarah,” she said gently. “Be good.”

      “Yes, Minette.” She peered around Aunt Sarah toward Hayes. “I wish we could stay with you, Hayes,” she sighed.

      Hayes looked odd as Sarah swept the child out of the room.

      Minette let out a breath. “Two of them.” She shook her head. “Some days I wish there were two of me and two of Aunt Sarah, just to cope. I’m sorry if they bothered you...”

      “No.” He said it abruptly, and then smiled sheepishly. “No, they didn’t bother me at all. I like kids.”

      She stared at him curiously. “You do?”

      He nodded. “They’re great.” He smiled. “Shane’s a walking wrestling fact encyclopedia, and Julie has a big heart, for such a little girl.”

      “She really does,” Minette agreed. She moved closer to the bed. He looked ragged. “Pain getting worse?”

      He glared at her.

      She retrieved a medicine bottle from the bookshelf beside the bed, read the label and shook out two pills. She handed them to Hayes, and pushed his soft drink toward him.

      He made a face.

      “Copper Coltrain said that your body can’t heal if it has to fight the pain at the same time. I’m sure he told you that, too.”

      “He did. I just hate pills.” But he swallowed them, and washed them down with the last of his soft drink.

      “We’ll bring supper up in a few minutes. It’s nothing fancy, just leftover roast beef and mashed potatoes.”

      He looked as if he’d died and gone to paradise. “Homemade mashed potatoes, again?”

      “Well, yes,” she said hesitantly. “They don’t take long to fix and they go good with beef. It’s not fancy,” she repeated.

      “To a man who lives on takeout and burned eggs and lethal biscuits, it’s a feast,” he replied. “And you have a gift for cooking potatoes,” he added self-consciously.

      “Thank you.” She hadn’t considered that he ate much. But she had heard stories of his cooking. None of them were good. “I guess you’re like me,” she replied, moving a little closer to the bed. “I don’t even have time for lunch. I eat it while I’m writing copy or helping make up the paper.”

      “I eat in the car most of the time,” he confessed. “I go out with the guys to the steak place or the Chinese place about one day a month.”

      She knew, as most people do, that Hayes could afford to eat out every day if he felt like it. But his deputies couldn’t. He wasn’t going to indulge his own appetite and emphasize the difference in his bank account and theirs by flaunting it. She liked him for that. She liked him for a lot of things. Not only was he the handsomest man she knew, he was the bravest.

      “What are you thinking so hard about?” he wondered aloud.

      “How brave you are,” she blurted out without thinking and then flushed.

      His pale eyebrows arched.

      “Sorry, thinking aloud,” she replied. “I’ll get the kids put to bed, then I’ll bring up supper.”

      “Minette,” he called as she reached the door.

      She turned.

      He averted his eyes. “I really meant it, when I thanked you. For letting me stay here.”

      She wasn’t going to say that she knew he had nobody else to look after him. No close family, no good friends except for Stuart York, who was in Europe with his wife, Ivy. It would have been unkind.

      “I know,” she said simply.

      She managed a smile as she went out the door.

      * * *

      Hayes was almost asleep when she came in with a tray. On it was a light supper of beef with gravy and mashed potatoes, with a faintly elaborate fruit salad on the side.

      “That’s more trouble than you should have gone to,” he began, propping up on the pillows.

      “No trouble at all. I like to try and make food look good.”

      “It does.”

      She settled the tray on his lap and removed the hot coffee to the side table. “Just so you don’t knock it over,” she explained. “The tray is a little flimsy.”

      He smiled. “No problem.”

      “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” she said after a minute. “There’s pecan pie for dessert.”

      “Wow.”

      She laughed. “You really don’t cook, do you?”

      He shook his head, his eyes closed on a wave of pleasure as he tasted the perfectly cooked roast beef. “This is delicious.”

      She smiled shyly. “I’m glad you like it.”

      “I’ve never had better food anywhere.”

      She laughed again. “Thanks.”

      He took a bite of mashed potatoes, perfectly seasoned, and savored them.

      “Your investigator wants to come and see you in the morning, to keep you up-to-date on the case,” she said suddenly. “Yancy thinks he may have a lead. I wanted to make sure you were feeling up to it first, though.”

      His face became somber. “I’ll be up to it. I want to find out who tried to kill me.”

      She nodded. “I don’t blame you for that. Copper said if you hadn’t moved when you did, it would have hit you square in the center of your forehead.”

      He was grim. “Yes. That means a professional hitman.”

      “That’s what Yancy thinks, too. The shot cartridge was from a sniper rifle, according to Cash Grier.”

      “It will be a short list of suspects,” he added quietly. “That sort of talent doesn’t come cheap.”

      “I know.”

      He had a sudden thought, and he frowned. “Don’t stick your nose in this,” he cautioned. “I don’t want you in the line of fire.”

      Her eyes widened.

      He glowered at her. “You have two little dependents who need nurturing,” he explained. “They don’t have anybody else.”

      “Bull. They have Aunt Sarah. She’d take care of them.”

      “Not like you do,” he replied.

      She smiled. “It’s one of the biggest stories of the year,” she pointed out. “And I’ve got an exclusive. You can’t leave.”

      “Excuse me?”

      She lifted an eyebrow. “We’ve got all your clothes in the wash, except the pajamas you’re wearing. Try walking home like

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