Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51995 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Jane’s features crumbled, misery radiating from her, and oh, he wanted to kick himself. A disappointed Fiona shook her head at him, as if he’d failed a grade-altering test. Well, then. He’d just have to earn extra credit.
Conrad winked at the matchmaker and motioned to the yarn. “What are you making?”
“They’re called funny bunnies.” Another humph. This one seemed to be directed at herself. She lifted a perfect wool white rabbit, missing only the tip of an ear. “We donate them to different charities for children. Places that help kids who’ve lost everything. This might be the only toy the little darlings have for a while.”
A barbed lump congealed in his throat. Once upon a time, he’d been that traumatized kid who’d lost everything, surrounded by others who’d lost even more. Acts of kindness, rare as they’d been, had always turned his despair into hope, if only for a little while.
“You’re making a difference in a kid’s life,” he said, his fingers migrating to the tattoos on his forearm. “That’s…nice.”
Jane blinked at him as if she wasn’t sure how to respond.
Not face her fully? Impossible. He turned into her, breathing in a bouquet of honeysuckle and roses, magnolia, and gardenia he might have missed with every fiber of his being. Their gazes met. Locked. Different emotions glinted in her eyes. A whirlwind of confusion, excitement, worry and resolve. And yet, her air of tranquility never lessened. He remained rooted in calm.
“Would you like some sweet tea, Conrad?” she asked primly, only to slide into a short, harried ramble. “Agent? Special Agent? Special Agent Ryan.”
He’d made her nervous again. But it had nothing to do with fear, he realized. She is aware of me, too.
“No, thank you, Jane.” A ribbon of satisfaction unfurled deep inside him. His eyelids grew heavy. “And it’s Conrad, remember?”
Her lips parted, and she shivered. Between one breath and the next, she jolted, as if in the grips of a terrible panic. In a frenzy of motion, she hurried to the empty rocker near the hearth.
So. He intrigued her, but she didn’t want him to intrigue her. Why?
Taking pity on them both, he asked, “And what are you making?”
“Mine is also a bunny.” Nose wrinkled, she tapped her toy with the tip of a needle. “Obviously.”
“Ah, yes. Obviously.” He envied the kid who won her amalgamation of mythological beasts; he really did. It was a true one of a kind collector’s item. “The ears are quite… noticeable. And the colors…”
She brightened. “I know! I wasn’t sure pink, orange, and red would go together, but the end result is utterly stunning.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she gripped the “bunny” by its hunched shoulders and made it dance in the air. “I’ll make one for you to remember me by. Or because it’s the polite thing to do. Yes, that one. Because I’m polite.”
Oh, he intended to own one of her creatures all right, but not because of a gesture of good will. She would give it to him because she’d crafted it specifically for him. An event he anticipated more than he should. And why did he want to pound his fists against his chest gorilla-style?
Fighting a wry grin at his uncharacteristic urges, he said, “I wouldn’t want to deprive a kid of their only toy. Maybe you can teach me to knit so I can contribute to the haul.” Wait. He was making plans for the future? Before the case was solved?
Right. He was here for a reason. Focus on the dead body, not the brunette. He crossed his arms. “So, you think you’ve found the murder weapon?”
Jane veered from panic to serenity in a split second. “Yes. Beau and I discovered a crowbar as we walked the grounds.”
A crowbar fit the size and shape of Dr. Hotchkins’s head wound. “Is Beau another pet?”
“Beau is not.” Affection softened her expression. “He’s the owner of Peach State Security. A long-lost and recently found friend. We went to school together.”
As she spoke, a muscular man in his late twenties strode from the hallway. Out of habit, and yes, curiosity, Conrad catalogued his appearance. Green eyes. Blond hair, wet around the edges, and damp skin, as if he’d splashed his face. Or taken a shower. Though he said nothing, aggression emanated from him.
Their gazes clashed, and Conrad stiffened. In that moment, he recognized a rival for the gravekeeper’s affections. A development he did not like.
One background check, coming up.
“That’s me.” Muscles wiped his hands together as he stopped at Jane’s side. “I’m Beau Harden.”
Conrad looked between the two, his eyelids narrowing. Did Jane return her friend’s romantic interest? Impossible to tell. Beaming, she batted her lashes at one man, then the other, those baby blues flashing.
“You’re staying with Jane?” he asked the other guy. He ground his molars. All night?