“How’s the wrist?”
“Sore. Bruised.”
He held out his hand, and I extended my left wrist. He held it like a fragile glass, and I appreciated his cool, gentle fingers.
“Nothing broken, just bruised,” was his assessment. “Good thing we got ice on it right away.”
“Damn, girl, what happened?” Lonna walked into the room. She sniffed the air. “I smell bacon.”
“Which I’m sure you’ve already had copious amounts of,” I teased.
I made the quick decision not to tell her about the talking wolves or Leo. It would make me sound nuts, and I didn’t want to test my own credibility in the eyes of my friend, who thought I was close to going off the deep end anyway.
“I had a wacky dream and bruised my wrist on the night table.”
She looked at it more closely. “What were you dreaming?”
“Don’t remember.”
“Just bruised,” Gabriel repeated. “I shall set your breakfast on the table downstairs, Doctor Fisher.”
“Actually, I promised to meet someone for breakfast this morning,” I told him. The clock said ten fifteen. I didn’t want to miss Louise.
“Should I expect you for lunch?”
Lonna shook her head. “Dinner, probably.”
“Around seven, then?”
“That will be fine.”
As we wound our way down the mountain in the Jeep, Lonna asked me, “So, what’s up with you and the butler?”
“What do you mean?”
“He was looking at more than your wrist. And he’s a cutie. Got that Sean Connery accent going on.”
“Nothing.”
“It just seemed like you and he had some secret.”
I leaned over and put my right hand on her shoulder. “He’s not going to take over your job of protecting me, if that’s what you’re worried about. As if I need another guardian angel.”
Lonna didn’t take her eyes off the road. “Just tell me if it’s too much. I’ll go back to Little Rock.”
“Yeah, right you will.”
But from the line between her perfectly arched brows and the slight pout to her lips, I could tell she was worried.
“I need you here. At least until we know whether this Gabriel guy is legit.” I didn’t tell her the foundation of my suspicions.
The line cleared. “Good. Then I’ll drop you off at the diner, and I’ll go see the charming Peter Bowman.”
“Good luck. You may be the one who needs protecting.”
“I’ve not met a man yet I needed protecting from. Usually it’s the other way around.”
“You’ve been lucky.” As much as I tried not to think about Robert, there were times like now when I really missed our conversations.
“You’ve got that look again.”
“Will you just keep your eyes on the road?”
“And snappish. You were thinking about Robert.”
Luckily we had reached the diner, and I didn’t have to say exactly what my thoughts had been.
Instead of being greeted by Louise, I was ignored by a teenage boy with acne across his cheeks. He wiped the counter with sullen slowness.
“Where’s Louise?” I asked him. I sat down and picked up a laminated menu. A sticky brown coffee ring obscured the weekly list of blue-plate specials.
The boy didn’t even look up. “Dunno. Got the call to come in this morning because the old lady didn’t show up or call or anything.”
“Oh.” My heart fell. Louise had been the only one who had spoken with my grandfather and knew what he intended. Besides Gabriel, whom I still didn’t quite trust, but even he hadn’t been completely informed.
The bell above the door jangled, and Sheriff Bud Knowles strode in. In spite of my disappointment over Louise, I had to hide a smile. He had the air of an old Western sheriff walking into the saloon as he scanned the counter and booths for troublemakers. The change jingling in his pockets could have been spurs.
“Coffee, Terrence Junior.”
The poor kid fumbled the pad he’d held poised to take my order and scrambled to pour the sheriff a cup of coffee.
“Mornin’ Doctor Fisher,” he said and tipped his hat. I hoped he mistook my smile as friendly rather than mocking. Could he not see how ridiculous he was?
“Mornin’, Sheriff. How’s your day going?”
“Well, aside from Miz Louise’s disappearing.” He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen anything strange on your way into town, would you?”
“Nope.”
“Hear anything last night?”
My cheeks warmed, and I hoped he didn’t see the flush that must have been there. “Nope. Slept straight through.”
Terrence Junior set a mug of coffee by the sheriff and one for me. I gave him my breakfast order—a biscuit with jam—and fixed my coffee. When I looked up, my gaze met the sheriff’s, who still studied me with suspicious creases under his eyes.
“Hear you have a butler now.”
I decided to treat this as I had my dissertation defense—only answer the question, and don’t volunteer anything that might get you in trouble. “Yep.”
“Did you hire him?”
“Nope.”
“Who did, then?”
“My grandfather.”
Breakfast appeared, which allowed me to chew as I pondered how to answer the sheriff’s forthcoming questions.
“Where’s he from?”
“England.” Okay, Scotland, but it’s not like the sheriff would know the difference.
“Is he permanent?”
“Don’t know yet.”
Sheriff Knowles appeared to become impatient with my lack of elaboration. “Got to find these things out, you know,” he said, switching to a friendly, persuasive tone. “With all that’s been going on around here, we can’t be too careful.”
“I agree. What do you think happened to Louise?”
The level of background noise plummeted as people paused to hear the sheriff’s answer. I realized no one asked him questions—they just answered his and tried to get out of his way.
“Under investigation, young lady.” He put his coffee cup down a little too firmly, and I winced as it almost broke. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Have a good day, Sheriff. Oh, and thanks for buying my breakfast,” I said as I slid the fiver he put down on the counter over to Terrence Junior. With a wink, I got up and stalked outside, my heart pounding. I felt an odd mix of elation and terror, like the kid who had just gotten away with putting a whoopee cushion on the teacher’s chair.
“Doctor Fisher?” The deep voice made my heart skip a beat and I felt the rush of adrenaline that precedes panic. I turned slowly to see Leonard Bowman.
“Mr. Bowman?”
“Doctor as well, actually.”
“Oh?”
Dark circles ringed his eyes, and his hair hung in waves, still damp from his morning shower.
“Sleep in this morning?”
He blinked as though he didn’t understand the question. He had nothing of the angry attitude from the night before or two days previously, and now—in the full sunlight—our encounter began to feel more like a dream. Except for my wrist, which throbbed after I had thoughtlessly used that hand to open the diner door.
“Look, do you have something to say to me? Because, quite frankly, I have things to do, and I still need one good hand.”
Instead of becoming angry, he raised his right hand to his face, placed his thumb and forefinger on his temples and massaged them. “Would you believe I don’t remember much of our encounter last night?”
“What? Were you drunk? Drunk and trespassing? Or were you high?”
He put his hand down and looked around. “I have a lot I need to explain to you. Can we go somewhere?”
“What do you mean?”