LITMIR.BIZ

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loss had been his.

      Rowan’s chest heaved. Until today he’d never known her ears were pierced or that she’d choose anything as feminine as creamy pearls to highlight their petal-soft lobes.

      Damn, why was he torturing himself?

      An unwelcome hunger prowled his reason like a ravenous beast full of suppressed urges and needs. Habit pushed it back into the black cave at the back of his mind where it had hibernated for the past two years. Too late, far too late. The mere thought of claiming one of those glowing pink morsels with his mouth, and circling a pearl with the tip of his tongue, made him hard.

      Harder.

      Then she’d blushed.

      In all the years they’d worked together, he’d never known Jo to blush. It gave him a whole new take on her. A fresh angle corroborated by the way her cocoa-brown eyes had darkened to onyx. Arousal.

      The other signs might be hidden from view, yet he’d bet bullet-hard nipples strained against her bra and her female core would have been slick and damp to his touch. Yeah, she’d been ready, every bit as ready as himself, as ready as the bed waiting in the corner of the cabin.

      All he’d had to do was reach out, cup the back of her neck and the wanting would have been quenched.

      Jo would have been his.

      The salutary lesson had come with a look that took in his mangled leg. What else had he expected?

      Yet he still wanted her, ached with it.

      Shielding his unrelieved erection with one hand, Rowan zipped up his jeans. He’d given himself away. Years of self-discipline blown in a heartbeat.

      Time for more damage control.

      One large, black loafer slipped on to his feet followed by the next. He stood up, patted his belt buckle and pulled in a breath, ready to face Jo. From outside, the crimson tails of day’s end whipped color into the steamy haze as he left his cabin and followed the scent of freshly brewed coffee up the stairs and into the galley. Jo had made herself at home.

      She stood at the counter, staring out the window. “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said to the back of her head.

      The low hills behind the town were aflame with red, orange and purple. His mouth twisted slightly. Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight. So, they were going to have a good day tomorrow. He could certainly use one.

      She turned to face him, her eyes slightly red as if they’d captured the sunset. A smile poised precariously on her lips as if afraid the arms she’d folded across her breasts weren’t her best defense.

      Looking down the length of her body, he noticed what he hadn’t seen before, when his gaze had been fixed on her face. Jo had dolled herself up for their outing. The sleeves of her pearl-gray twinset were pushed up, businesslike, to her elbows, and the hem of her red skirt kissed the crease at the back of her knees.

      Her shoeless feet nearly floored him. The way she crossed the toes of one over the other, like a little girl awaiting punishment, and through the nylon he could see she’d painted her toenails red. Any ire or anger left inside him washed away as she changed from one foot to the other.

      He’d never thought he’d want to smile at a time like this, when life as he knew it hung in the balance, but he did. “Lost your shoes somewhere?”

      “They’re outside…on the deck…” She trailed off, and her explanation turned into a jumble of words and a spill of tears.

      Though he understood the risk, he had to go to her, comfort her. Place his hands on her shoulders, and feel her flesh mold beneath them. “Hey, hey, what’s all this?”

      “Don’t hate me, Rowan. Please. I didn’t know…it’s dreadful what I did to you, and I don’t know how to make it better.”

      “Aw, hell, Jo. Not pity.” Not from you. “I’m a tough guy and I’ve learned to live with it. I even made a New Year’s resolution. No pity allowed.”

      Though his mouth felt dry, he chanced a rendition of the phrase, “Big boys don’t cry.” His voice was husky and off-key from the lump strangling his throat, but it achieved the desired result.

      Jo smiled. “Don’t take up singing. You just murdered that.”

      He threw a quick retort into the ring. “Maybe you ought to call a cop.”

      His mind went back ten months, to New Year. He’d been two weeks out of hospital, in time for Christmas, taken a good look at himself and disliked what he’d seen.

      Life didn’t come with guarantees. Bone reconstruction, either, as he’d discovered the morning he’d put his foot on the floor and found the pin in his thigh had slid up inside the bone. Having one leg that was four inches shorter played hell on the ego.

      As the year began, he’d decided to get on with his life and make the best of what came. Meeting Jo again had thrown a spanner in the workings of his brave new life with the discovery he still hurt.

      “Want a cop, you’ve got one,” said Jo. “What can I do?”

      “You can pour me a cup of that delicious-smelling coffee and we’ll call it quits,” he said, not blinking at the lie.

      “That’s not near enough. If you’d like me to give up beating this dead horse of a case, it’s yours. Just say the word.”

      Hell, she was serious. She’d been so hung up on proving Rocky was guilty a few hours ago. Now, she was offering to stand aside, and make his problems with Skelton fade away. His leg must look a helluva lot worse than he’d feared. For as long as he’d known Jo she’d pokered up at the faintest whiff of payback.

      “Look, it’s no big deal. As long as I don’t try to run the mile in under four, I’ll be okay. I’m used to it.”

      She swallowed. Hell, he hoped she wouldn’t cry again. His resolve couldn’t cope with drying her tears.

      “That’s the problem, I’m not used to it. If only…”

      Rowan held up a hand as if to ward off the flow of regrets he could see coming. “Okay, I won’t keep on about it. Let me pour you that coffee.”

      Jo was rinsing their cups and saying, “Tomorrow, I’ll take you to Rocky’s house, what’s left of it, at Lonely Track Road. I’ll walk you through his explanation of what happened.”

      “I’ll want the afternoon free to check into his finances.”

      “That’s okay. I know Bull’s only given me a week, but that doesn’t mean I can put the rest of my cases on hold. He’d be chagrined if I didn’t keep up with them. That said, I received some new information this afternoon. No guarantees, in fact it sounds a bit iffy, but I should follow it up.” Her lip quivered. “If it comes up trumps, you can wipe out two with one blow, pay Rocky off, and still keep your bosses happy.”

      She sounded defensive and he couldn’t understand why, but she didn’t keep him in suspense for long. “Don’t think I made you that offer because I realized Rocky might be telling the truth. I don’t trust the man. If I’m wrong about this, I’ll admit it. I’ll even buy you dinner. But, if Rocky isn’t concealing the truth about the fire, then it’s something else. It might take me a while to suss exactly what, but I’ll do it. My biggest hurdle is Bull. The dope thinks the sun shines out of Rocky’s sorry behind and refuses to hear a word against him.”

      Wondering when she’d get around to hitting him with the punch line, Rowan asked, “Is this new information secret, or are you gonna share?”

      By the time they’d walked the length of the harbor wall and reached the Hard Luck Inn on the corner of Main and Broad Streets, she’d talked out Ginny’s information about Halloween with Rowan.

      “You’re right,” she told him. “Even though it disses any hope I had of pulling Rocky in, I can’t not check

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