Rancher's Proposition. Anne Marie Winston
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in the basement of the building.” He paused. “The tenants have been complaining about an odor and somebody finally got annoyed enough to go hunting the source. Coroner says it looks like he’s been there awhile.”
“Jeez.” The stark recitation shook him, he wasn’t going to pretend it hadn’t, and he saw Lyn’s instinctive recoil from the ugly vision.
“So I have to talk to Mrs. Gal—”
“Don’t call me that.” It was little more than a hoarse whisper, but both men turned to stare at the fragile-looking woman. Lyn spoke slowly, quietly, to the detective. “I don’t think— I’m pretty sure, I mean, that I didn’t kill anyone, but I don’t know that for sure because I can’t remember—”
“Lyn.” It was a single syllable but it served to halt the words tumbling from her lips.
She stopped speaking and turned to look at Cal.
“Don’t say another word until I call a lawyer.” He turned to Joe. “Are you arresting her?”
Joe looked shocked by the suggestion. “Heck, no, Cal, of course not. But she’s got to answer—”
“Then I’m asking you to leave. Unless you want to arrest her.” He looked at Biddle. “If you want to make an appointment to talk to her, I’ll have my attorney call your office.”
The sheriff regarded him in baffled frustration. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it has to be, Cal.”
“I’m asking you to leave,” Cal repeated, ignoring the glowering detective. He held out a hand to Lyn. “I need your help in the barn.”
As if she were a flimsy iron filing and he the magnet, Lyn lurched across the room and took his outstretched hand in a grip so tight he could feel her fingernails digging into his flesh. He transferred her small palm to his other hand and put his arm around her, leaving the two men to find their own way out as he swept her out of the house and across the yard.
As they walked, he was conscious of the slender body beneath his arm, the way her rounded breasts heaved as she took deep gasps of air, the way the soft flesh of her hip brushed his with every step they took. He hated himself for his body’s preoccupation with hers, but he was powerless to do anything about it. He’d been fighting a losing battle with attraction—and arousal—for weeks.
He’d been unable to ignore her from the very beginning. Though she’d quietly insinuated herself into the daily routine, taking over the care of the house so quickly and so well that he was grateful every time he stepped through the door, he’d been fascinated by her heavy mane of red curls, her fair skin, the curves she acquired as her slender body regained some weight.
One day he’d walked into the kitchen while she was stretching on tiptoe for a vase to arrange some wildflowers she’d brought in. It was back on the shelf just far enough to be out of her reach.
“I’ll get it,” he’d said, and without thinking, he had walked across the kitchen and put a casual hand on her hip while he’d reached over her head for the vase. The moment he’d felt her slim, fragile body pressed against his, the mild arousal he’d been feeling from time to time had come back tenfold. He’d been so astonished at his body’s bold response that he’d thrust her away from him and gotten the heck out of the kitchen, too flustered to talk to her.
His mind had been astonished. He’d taken her in as a favor to his sister, and initially, he’d felt nothing but pity for the silent waif who scurried around him as if he might grab for her at any moment. After the first week, she’d relaxed and settled into her role as his housekeeper and he’d grown more and more aware of her feminine presence in his home. But he hadn’t expected to find himself fighting an inclination to tear off her jeans and lift her onto his hard, aching flesh and sate himself with her slender, elfin beauty.
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