LITMIR.BIZ

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feel the tension in the air. He tucked himself back into the doorway of a shop, grateful he stood well behind Becca’s line of sight.

      She pushed strands of dark hair away from her face as she dug in her purse to pull out neatly folded papers. “You took my deposit and my credit-card information. Why, you even mailed me a receipt. I have the paperwork right here.”

      Confusion laced Becca’s voice. To her credit, she maintained her composure, though her hands were clenched tightly around her purse.

      The Realtor adjusted his tie, swallowed and shrugged, obviously avoiding eye contact with her. “I’ve reversed the charges, ma’am. No worries.”

      “No worries?” She blinked and began to gesture with her hands. “No worries?”

      Joe found himself unable to resist listening to the conversation, and at the same time fighting the urge to come to her defense. Why should he? Becca had made it clear a long time ago that she didn’t want him in her life. No, he reminded himself, her return to Paradise and whatever was going on here was none of his business.

      “Are you kidding me?” Becca continued, her voice louder and tight with frustration. “Couldn’t you go inside and check your files again?”

      “No need,” the man returned, his voice low and upbeat in an effort to defuse the situation. “That’s why I stepped outside. I saw you coming, and I thought I’d save you some time.”

      “Okay, so if that rental isn’t available, do you mind telling me what is?”

      “Ma’am, I don’t have anything for you right at the moment. Maybe you could try some of those new condos down by Paradise Lake.”

      “I can’t afford those.”

      “I’m real sorry, Mrs. Simpson. It’s just one of those things.”

      “One of what things?”

      The young man squirmed while gesturing helplessly.

      “Look, I rented the house a month ago. Not only that, but your ad today in the Paradise Gazette says you have at least five summer rentals still available in the area. Now you’re claiming that you have none?”

      “Ma’am, I’m real sorry.”

      Shoulders slumped, Becca shook her head. “This is unbelievable,” she murmured.

      An ache he couldn’t explain gnawed at Joe. Without thinking, he strode down the sidewalk, zigzagging around people, oblivious to a sudden flurry of shoppers creating obstacles in his path, and stepped up to Becca and the real-estate agent.

      “Everything okay here, Becca?”

      Startled, her brown eyes popped open and she looked up at him. “I... I have this under control, Joe.”

      “Doesn’t sound like it to me,” he returned, purposely shooting the other man a scowl.

      “Joe.”

      He met Becca’s gaze.

      “You need to stay out of this. Besides, my business is done here.” She turned on her heel and walked away, her face shielded by a curtain of chocolate-brown waves.

      Behind him, Joe heard the sound of bells as the real-estate agent disappeared into the storefront.

      Joe quickly yanked open the door, setting the bells into a wicked frenzy. The guy behind the desk had a solicitous smile on his face when he turned around.

      Then he saw Joe.

      He straightened and inched back farther behind the desk. “May I help you?”

      “I sure hope so...” Joe glanced at the man’s name tag. “Jason.”

      Jason came out from behind the desk and thrust a hand in greeting. Apparently his plan was to pretend that the incident outside moments before had never happened. “Have we met?” he asked.

      “No, we haven’t. Joe Gallagher. Gallagher Ranch.” Joe looked the other man up and down before offering his prosthetic hand.

      Jason’s eyes widened, and he dropped his own hand.

      “New to town?” Joe asked.

      “Yes, I am. How may I help you, sir?”

      “I want to rent a house.”

      “I’m sure we can fix you up. Anything in particular you’re looking for?”

      “I’d like the one that you were supposed to lease to Rebecca Simpson.”

      Jason’s face paled and he stepped backward, once again effectively putting the desk between him and Joe. “Sir, I don’t recommend that you get involved in that situation.” Tiny beads of perspiration popped out along his upper lip.

      “What situation is that, Jason?”

      The man swallowed hard before darting to the front door and switching the sign from Open to Closed. “Sir, if you’ll excuse me, I’m closed for the day.”

      Joe followed him, getting squarely in the man’s personal space, towering over him with as much intimidation as he could muster. “Off the record, Jason, tell me what’s going on.”

      Jason swallowed again as if he was desperate for a glass of water and a way to get rid of Joe.

      “Can you tell me why you just turned down a paying customer?”

      “I... I...”

      Joe shook his head and growled, “I don’t like this, Jason.”

      “I don’t much like it either, but I have a wife and a new baby to think about.”

      Joe turned on his boot heel and left the office. Though he did his best not to slam the door, the bells were once again ringing a dissonant tune behind him as he put distance between himself and a sour situation.

      It was time for a little chat with the sheriff of Paradise. Joe started toward his truck and then changed his mind. Walking was just what he needed. He headed in the other direction, cutting through the park in the center of town and past the gazebo toward the office of Sam Lawson, where he pulled open the heavy wooden door.

      This wasn’t about Becca, he reassured himself. It was the principle of the thing. No one should be treated unfairly. Especially in Paradise.

      Bitsy Harmony MacLaughlin, the administrative assistant, sat at a huge battered desk, guarding the entrance to Sam’s office like a geriatric bouncer.

      “Sam available?” he asked.

      Bitsy stood and realigned the silver braided knot on the top of her head. “The sheriff is on the phone. Give him five minutes.”

      Joe nodded. He wasn’t eager to lose the momentum of his purpose by chitchatting with Bitsy, so he turned to examine the bulletin board.

      “Cup of coffee, Joe? It’s fresh.”

      He eyed the pot and sniffed the air. “What do you have brewing?”

      “Vanilla caramel pecan.”

      He did his best not to grimace. “Um, no. I’m going to pass. Thank you very much, ma’am.”

      Bitsy poured herself a mugful from the carafe, all the while shooting him inquisitive glances. “I heard you’ve got some Hollywood people coming out to your ranch next week to film a movie.”

      His eyes widened with surprise. “Hollywood? A movie? Where did you hear that?”

      “Here and there.”

      Joe met her gaze. “I never told anyone they were coming.”

      “They did.” Bitsy’s blue eyes were unwavering. “Made reservations at the Paradise Bed and Breakfast and chatted with the clerk. She mentioned it to me.”

      “I see.” He nodded. “Except your source got it wrong. It’s not

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