CHAPTER THREE

Ty didn’t know whether to stand his ground or to escape while he still could. One minute she was polite and friendly, the next she pissed him off by insinuating Lorilee had abandoned her family. Of course, the fact that Beth’s sex appeal had pushed him to the brink of self-control didn’t ease back any on his confusion meter.

“Anything in particular you’d like to see in here?” He deliberately glanced at the clock again. “Before the kids get home from school?”

“I’ll be out of here before four o’clock, as promised.”

She flashed him another of those smiles that transformed her whole face. He caught his breath. Hell, he’d be better off if she’d just stick to hard-ass investigator and leave the sex kitten persona for some other poor sucker. He shoved his hands into his pockets, reminding himself that his hormones had probably translated her common courtesy into more than she’d intended.

Seven years of living like a damned monk could do that to a man.

“Is this Lorilee’s desk or yours?” she asked, still touching the wood.

“It was Lorilee’s desk,” Ty corrected.

Dearborn rolled her eyes. “Was. Sorry. Momentary lapse.” She started to raise the top. “Er, may I?”

“Looks like you already are.” He grinned. “Be my guest.” Ty folded his arms and watched the investigator’s wild curls spiral down her back to her waist. He’d never seen so much hair on one human head. Almost as if she sensed the direction of his thoughts, she pulled the same elastic band from her pocket, swept the mass onto the top of her head, and secured it again.

She had a pretty neck—long and slender. He licked his lips, imagining how sensitive and soft the skin there would be.

Damn. He cleared his throat and released a long, slow breath. “Anything in particular you expect to find in there?” His voice sounded gruff and thick. A lot like he felt right now…

“I’ll know it when I see it.” She shot him a quick glance, then pulled open drawers, leafed through appointment books, looked through Lorilee’s Rolodex. “Would you mind giving me a list of your wife’s closest friends? I’d like to chat with them while I’m in town, too.” She held up the Rolodex. “Will I find their contact info in here?”

Ty inclined his head. “I expect.”

“You aren’t sure?”

“I never use Lorilee’s desk.” He swallowed the sudden lump that formed in his throat. What he didn’t say was that taking or moving her things had always seemed too final.

“You mean you haven’t touched anything in this desk since your wife left, Mr. Malone?” Dearborn arched a dark eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe.”

Ty shrugged. “Believe it or not, I haven’t touched anything in that desk since my wife died. It’s a fact.”

“It’s not dusty in here, Malone.”

“I said I don’t touch it. Pearl cleans everything, and the kids use the supplies for homework.”

Her expression wavered and she gave an emphatic nod. “Okay. If you say so.” She turned her attention to the side drawers. “Does that mean you’ve left everything else of Lorilee’s alone, too?”

“I reckon.”

“Well, in that case, I’ll examine things more closely.” She passed a pad of yellow paper to him and a pencil from the Mardi Gras cup that had sat on Lorilee’s desk for as long as Ty could remember. “Would you jot down the names of those friends for me, please?”

“Sure.” His hand brushed against hers as he took the pad, and the sudden urge to grab hold and tug her up against him slammed into him like a gut punch. A film of perspiration coated his skin.

“Mr. Malone?”

The sound of her voice jarred him back to reality. Holy shit. He was in pitiful shape. They were talking about his dead wife, and he was attracted to another woman. That made him lower than a snake. “Sorry. I was just…” Just what? It wasn’t as if he could tell the truth.

“Not a problem.” Dearborn turned her attention to the drawers on the far side of the desk. She rose from the chair and bent over, denim hugging her curves like a lover’s caress.

Definitely a problem.

Ty mopped sweat from his forehead with the back of his sleeve, then walked to the window on the far wall and raised it. A cool spring breeze tinged with the scent of rain drifted through the window, drying the perspiration from his skin.

He had to regain his self-control. The only reason this woman had such an effect on him was because he hadn’t been around any women near his own age lately. They’d all either been a lot older or younger or married.

So…maybe she was married. That would cool his desire in a hurry. He needed to know. Dammit.

She straightened after a moment and stretched. The action pushed her breasts forward, straining against her blue T-shirt. Please be married. He drew a deep breath and said, “Must be hard on your family, you gallivantin’ around the country all the time like this.”

She froze midstretch and blinked, clearly oblivious to the effect her pose had on Ty’s deprived—and depraved—state. “Pardon?”

He walked toward her, thankful when she finally straightened and relaxed her shoulders enough to stop aiming her nipples at him. “Your family. Don’t they mind you traveling so much on business?”

“Oh, I’m not married.” She placed Lorilee’s Rolodex in her backpack. “Thanks for letting me borrow this. I promise to return it unharmed.”

Not married. Ty managed not to sigh, and he refused to acknowledge the cheering section between his legs. “What…” He shook himself and managed to form a complete sentence. “What would you like to see next?”

“Did Lorilee have a computer? An office other than this desk? A studio where she painted?” The in-vestigator tapped her chin, then snapped her fingers. “Oh, did she keep a diary?”

The woman’s enthusiasm stunned him. Her attitude had changed drastically since entering his home. Why? Was it the prospect of snooping? It didn’t matter. All he knew was that he actually liked this side of her. “Yes to most of the above,” he finally answered. “It’s a big house.”

“I can see that now.” She smiled again. “Thanks for being so cooperative. I, uh, get a little carried away with investigative work sometimes. I guess it shows.”

“You must love your job.”

Her smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and the haunted expression returned to her eyes. “Not exactly.” She looked away, the moment lost. “I used to have a job I loved,” she added, her voice soft.

Her vulnerability tugged at him. His chest tightened and his breath caught. She didn’t seem as tall now, either.

“But that’s not important,” she continued, her mask of indifference in place again. “What matters is finding out what happened to Lorilee.”

Again Ty realized this woman just might be the one to finally learn the truth, if he only kept his hormones under control and his head screwed on straight. “Yes, that’s what matters.”

“Good, then we really are on the same side, Malone.” She faced him again, but now she was all business.

“Could be.” He nodded slowly, wanting to actually believe that, hoping his gut was right. “I’m afraid it’s going to take you more than one afternoon to look through all of Lorilee’s things, though.”

She nodded and chewed her lower lip. “Do you mind if I spend time here while your children are at school?” She peered at him from beneath her lashes. “I promise to return things as I found them, and I won’t take anything off the premises without your explicit permission. Like the Rolodex.” She patted her backpack.

“Do I have a choice?” Ty arched his brows and waited.

A sly smile curved her full lips. “There’s always a choice, Malone.”

“All right.”

“Thanks for trusting me with your wife’s things,” she said, her tone sincere. “Maybe I’ll find something that will give us both answers.”

Except that Ty’s reaction to this woman had triggered an entirely new set of questions.

Ty Malone was easily the greatest temptation Beth had encountered since her college days at Northwestern. And she was one hell of a lot older and wiser now.

This is business, Dearborn. Get with the program.

“Where are Lorilee’s office and studio?”

Malone took a step nearer just as the clock chimed the half hour. “We converted the attic into one big multipurpose room. Added windows and skylights.” He rubbed his chin. “She moaned and groaned at first that skylights didn’t complement the historical integrity of the house, but she got over it once she saw how much more light she had.”

“I’ll bet she did.” Beth drew a deep breath. Malone even smelled nice, and not a damned thing like the way she’d expected a farmer to smell. Soap, fresh air, sunshine, a hint of leather, and just enough sweat to make him all man.

Where was the stench of dirt and manure when she needed it most? That would dampen her libido in a hurry.

“Mind if we take a quick look up there now?” She had to concentrate. Get the job done. “Then I’ll come back tomorrow morning for a longer look.”

“Okay.” He motioned for her to follow him across the parlor and through an archway, where a curving staircase led to the second floor. “The attic stairs are at the end of the hall.”

Beth gave a silent prayer of thanks that they weren’t going through the foyer again just yet. She wasn’t ready to face whatever—or whoever—had greeted her when she’d first arrived. Maybe she never would be. It would be better that way. She needed to talk to her cousin Sam. He’d know how to handle this situation. Maybe she could even convince him to come down after the semester ended. Let him contact the something or someone in the foyer. And if it had been nothing more than her imagination and indigestion, then it would give that uptight college-professor cousin of hers an excuse to get away from Chicago for a few days. Yes, she’d definitely give him a call as soon as she returned to the hotel.

On the second floor, they walked past open bedrooms, some scattered with toys, one with a poster of Hannah Montana on the wall, and another that was obviously the master bedroom. A huge four-poster covered by a colorful quilt occupied most of the room.

Warmth oozed through Beth at the thought of spending the afternoon in that bed with the man leading her down the hall.

Malone stopped before a short, narrow door and grabbed the cut-glass doorknob, then froze, his chin lowered. After a moment, he looked back over his shoulder. “I haven’t been up here since…”

“Not at all?” Beth blinked several times. Was this part of the act, or genuine grief at work? “In all this time?”

He shook his head slowly and swallowed, his Adam’s apple traveling the long length of his throat. “Pearl cleans up here, and the kids come up occasionally to find things they need for school projects, but…”

“Not you. Just like the desk downstairs?”

“Now that you mention it.”

Beth chewed her lower lip. “Look, I can go up alone if you’d rather.”

He seemed to consider her offer, but finally shook his head. “No, it’s time.” He released a weary sigh. “Past time.”

Dramatic. Very impressive. Lorilee was—is—a lucky woman.

“Let’s have a look then, Malone.”

He opened the door and flipped on a light switch, then headed up the newly illuminated steep, narrow staircase.

A girl could be in worse places than following this sexy farmer in tight jeans up the stairs. What a view.

“If you’re going to be around here a lot,” he said without looking back, “I expect you ought to call me Ty. Everybody does.”

It didn’t seem professional, but if it made him more comfortable, so be it. After all, she’d been ogling his buns. That seemed grounds for being on a firstname basis, though she’d ogled more than her share of anonymous buns in her day. “All right. Ty it is, then. I’m Beth.”

At the top of the stairs, he looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Not Dearborn anymore?”

Beth’s cheeks warmed. Damn. It had been years since she’d blushed. “Only if you prefer it.”

“Beth’ll do.”

They emerged into a light-filled open space. “Nice.” Against one wall stood a desk with a computer that belonged in a museum, and against the other was an easel and a table filled with paints and brushes. A spattered drop cloth covered the floor around the area; a half-finished watercolor leaned against the easel.

This didn’t look like a place anyone had planned to leave. Wouldn’t an artist have taken her unfinished painting with her? Or finished it first? Then again, leaving it this way may have been part of the plan—a well-choreographed, deliberate, and ingenious plot to make Lorilee’s disappearance seem sudden and unplanned.

Against the wall opposite the stairs, three tall bureaus and a cedar chest were shoved beneath the eaves. “What’s in these?” she asked, stepping around Ty and heading toward them.

“Photo albums. Stuff like that. You name it.”

Beth opened one drawer and whistled low. “It’s going to take a while to go through all this.” She’d have to read every piece of paper, each document, everything.

“I want the truth.”

Beth closed the drawer and spun around to face the man again. “That’s why I’m here. Avery Mutual wants the truth, too.”

Raindrops spattered against the skylights overhead. Ty glanced upward with a scowl.

“Problem?” Beth asked.

“Weather and farming are either great friends or great enemies.” He appeared resigned. “I hope Cecil got that last field hauled.”

“Speak English, please?” She shrugged. “City girl, born and bred.”

He aimed his thumb toward the sky. “We were hauling hay today when I heard you…”

“Ah.” Beth nodded. “Let me guess. You heard some damn Yankee was in town asking questions about Lorilee?”

His lips twitched. “Something like that.”

She grinned and waggled her eyebrows. “ ‘Good,’ said the spider to the fly.”

“You…” Ty threw his head back and laughed, surprising her. “You set me up.”

Beth didn’t bother to hide her grin. “Something like that.” She held her hands out to her sides, palms up in mock innocence. “Hey, I figured the sooner we got this show on the road, the sooner we’d get to the truth.”

His expression grew solemn again. “Fair enough.”

Their gazes met and locked. Something Beth didn’t dare try to define passed between them. She looked away first, breaking the spell, and walked slowly toward the easel. She needed physical distance between herself and Ty. Not only was she sexually attracted to the man, but she found something else about him compelling as well. Just her rotten luck. If only she knew what the hell it was that drew her to the man…

Focus.

Dust coated Lorilee’s unfinished painting. Beth mentally anchored herself in the half-finished scene, looked out the long window directly behind the easel, then back at the canvas. “Landscape?”

“Looks like.” Ty walked to her side and touched the corner of the canvas. “Lorilee loved this place. This farm. This house. And especially her kids. She didn’t run away, Beth. She had no reason to.”

Beth half turned to face him. He’d left out one very telling piece of the perfect family scenario. “And how about you and Lorilee? Was your marriage solid? Strong? Fulfilling? Happy?”

His lips pressed into a thin line and a muscle in his jaw twitched. Ah, so maybe everything wasn’t perfect in paradise. Her homicide-detective persona scratched at the door of her brain, asking for free rein. But Beth wasn’t ready to grant that just yet.

“Lorilee and I loved each other very much,” he said gruffly. His eyes snapped, but he continued to hold Beth’s gaze. “She would never have left me, either. We both said, ‘Until death do us part,’ and meant it.”

Whose death? The hairs on the back of Beth’s neck stood on end and a chill chased itself down her spine. As appealing as Ty Malone was, she had to remember that if his wife was dead, he might have been responsible.

Silence stretched between them again, and despite her commonsense warnings, Beth found herself pulled toward him in more than just a physical way now. She wanted to believe him, and that was dangerous. She couldn’t afford to let herself become emotional about her work. Facts, Dearborn. Evidence. Truth.

“Let’s find the truth, then,” she said quietly.

“That’s what I want.”

“No matter what it is?”

Again, he swallowed audibly. “No matter what it is.”

“Okay.” Beth walked to the nearest window and stared through the drizzle at the fields below. A stream meandered through the green valley. Cottonwood and hickory trees followed its banks. Mountains ringed the entire area, and she felt as if she’d arrived in a fairy-tale land.

At least she hadn’t experienced any other close encounters of the eerie kind since leaving the entryway. “Mr. Malone—er, Ty?” She turned to face him. “Is there another way into the house and up the stairs to this room?”

He furrowed his brow and angled his head, his expression curious. “Sure. Why?”

Beth rubbed her arms. This was awkward. How could she explain that she was afraid to use the front door again? “I think it might be less disruptive to the household if I come and go through the back door. That’s all.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he shrugged and said, “Suit yourself. We’ll leave that way, and I’ll let Pearl know you’ll be back in the morning.”

“Thanks.”

Ty handed her the list of names he’d written. “These women were in Lorilee’s women’s group at church, PTA at school, and most of them knew her from childhood.”

Beth scanned the list. “What about Rick Heppel?”

Ty chuckled. “Half-crazy Vietnam vet who lives next farm to the east. Rick’s a good old boy, but missing a few screws since Nam. Lorilee was nice to him after he first inherited his grandpa’s farm and moved down here. After that he was like her self-proclaimed protector.”

“Interesting.” Beth circled Heppel’s name on the list. She’d pay him a visit first. Maybe Lorilee and Rick Heppel were more than just friends.

She glanced at Ty through veiled lashes.

Did that leave Ty in the role of jealous husband?