Blake put his arms around his fiancée and gave her a little hug. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Maureen. I’ll make sure she stays toasty warm.”
Emma turned in his arms and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Shh, don’t let Granddad hear you say that. He thinks we have separate rooms.”
They walked off hand in hand, Emma’s diamond engagement ring sparking fire in the candlelight. If Maureen had had any doubt about the depth of their commitment after such a whirlwind courtship, it had been dispelled over the last few days they had been at Twin Oaks. Blake and Emma were in love. Period. End of discussion. Maureen had no trouble at all envisioning their fiftieth wedding anniversary party here in this very room.
She turned to find her brother watching the exchange from the kitchen doorway. “I must say they do look made for each other. To tell you the truth, I never did see Emma as being right for Daryl Tubb.”
“Neither did I. Maybe he’ll find the right woman now that he’s taken himself off to Boston.” Philo and Phyllis had been full of the news of Burt and Lori’s youngest turning the Williamstown office of Berkshire Realty over to his manager and moving to Boston. Brokenhearted, they’d hinted, over losing Emma.
“Yeah, maybe.” Clint didn’t sound convinced. He’d heard the same stories Maureen had about Daryl’s numerous lady friends since they’d moved to Cooper’s Corner.
Keegan came wandering through the dining room, casting a critical eye over the sideboard and taking a baby carrot from the relish tray. “I’m starving,” he said. “When are we going to eat?”
“Ten minutes—as soon as I get rid of this apron and put on my tie,” Clint told him. “Wash your hands,” he added. “And stay out of the dill dip.” The phone in the kitchen started ringing.
“I’ll get that,” Maureen offered, waving Clint toward the family quarters so he could change. “It might be the Weatherbys’ son. He was going to try to call from overseas. Twin Oaks,” she said, picking up the receiver. “This is Maureen.”
“Mo. Good to hear your voice. It’s me, Frank Quigg. Happy Thanksgiving.” Maureen pictured her bluff ex-boss at the NYPD, in his trademark rumpled suit and ugly tie. Frank seemed to have a million of them, each more ghastly than the one before.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Frank.” A cold shiver went up and down her spine. It had nothing to do with the weather outside. She hadn’t heard from Frank in weeks. Why was he calling now? She turned to face the oven, staring unseeingly at the huge, golden-brown bird surrounded by roasted onions and carrots. A tiny corner of her mind wondered where Clint had come across the correspondingly huge china platter it was resting on. It looked big enough to shelter under in a rainstorm.
“How’s everything been going up there?” Frank’s gravelly voice carried into the kitchen. From the corner of her eye she saw Clint come into the big room, his shirt collar upturned as he struggled with the knot of his tie.
“Who is it?” he mouthed, tossing his jacket across the back of a chair, the better to do battle with his neckwear.
She covered the receiver with her hand. “Frank Quigg.”
Clint’s brows drew together in a frown. “What does he want?”
“We’re fine, Frank,” she said into the receiver, ignoring Clint’s demand. “But something must not be all right there, or you wouldn’t be calling on a holiday.”
“Well, yeah. There might be something wrong. I won’t sugar-coat this. Owen Nevil’s missed his last couple of parole meetings.”
“And you only found out today?”
“I’m sorry, Mo. Someone screwed up big time here. It’s just a fluke that I came in to the office and saw the report before someone filed it away. Seems Nevil’s regular parole officer went on maternity leave early. No one told the replacement I was to be informed if Nevil so much as put a toe wrong. Damn, Mo. I hate like hell to have let you down like this.”
Two weeks. Owen Nevil, the brother of the man who had sworn to see her dead, had been on the loose for at least two weeks. As a detective with the NYPD, Maureen had worked on Carl Nevil’s case, and her testimony had helped place the murderer behind bars. She’d come to Twin Oaks to start a new life—a safe life—for her twin daughters, but she was worried that the Nevil brothers had found out where she was. The cold shiver of dread came back, magnified a hundred times.
“You’ve completely lost track of him?”
“‘Fraid so. About three weeks ago he took off for a day or two, but he showed up for one more meeting. Then, pfft. Gone. Damn it, Mo. I don’t know what to tell you to do next.”
“It’s okay, Frank. This was out of your control.”
“I don’t like things that are out of my control. I’ll get someone tracking down leads first thing in the morning,” he continued. “Just as soon as I’m done giving my people a good chewing out. I’ve already contacted the Massachusetts highway patrol. I’ll get word out to your county sheriff’s department, too. I’m sorry as hell to spoil your Thanksgiving, Mo. But I thought you’d want to know.”
“Thanks for the heads-up, Frank.”
“Watch your back, detective.”
“I will. Goodbye, Frank.”
“What’s up?” Clint demanded.
“Owen Nevil’s disappeared. Someone broke the line of communication and didn’t let Frank know he’d skipped town. He’s been gone at least two weeks. Maybe longer.”
Clint’s brows snapped together. “Maybe longer?”
“He disappeared for a day or two three weeks ago.”
“That would have been about the time that Blake Weston was shot.” Clint had given up trying to tie his tie. He yanked it off and leaned both hands on the back of a chair. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
Maureen couldn’t help herself. Her eyes went to the hook where she’d always hung her sage green coat. “That Emma Hart and I look enough alike from a distance we might be mistaken for each other?”
“Damned right, you could.”
“The thought’s crossed my mind more than once.”
“Mine, too.” Clint lunged for the phone. “I’m calling Scott Hunter.”
Maureen reached out and stopped him from punching in the highway patrol lieutenant’s number. “No. This is Scott and Laurel’s first Thanksgiving together. There’s nothing he can do tonight, anyway.”
“First thing tomorrow morning, then. You think it could have been Nevil who shot Blake Weston, don’t you?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t hide her fears from Clint. She didn’t want to.
“Me, too. I’ve got a permanent crick in my neck from looking over my shoulder all the time.”
“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean someone isn’t following you,” she said as lightly as she could. She felt the corded muscles in his arm relax slightly. She picked up his tie and slipped it around his neck, knotting it the way she used to when he was a little boy getting ready for Sunday school. “I’m a big girl, Clint. I was a cop. A good one. I can take care of myself.”
“You don’t have eyes in the back of your head.”
“That’s what you’re here for, bro. To watch my back.”
“So what do we do next?” She took his jacket off the back of the chair and held it so he could slip his arms into the sleeves.
“You’re going to pick up that incredibly delicious-looking turkey and carry it into the dining room, and I’m going to put on my best innkeeper’s smile and say to our guests, “‘Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is ser
ved.’“
* * * * *
Welcome to Twin Oaks—the new B and B in Cooper’s Corner. Some come for pleasure, others for passion—and one to set things straight...
COOPER’S CORNER,
a Harlequin continuity series,
continues with
MY CHRISTMAS COWBOY
by Kate Hoffmann
Bah humbug! That’s what single mom Grace Penrose felt about Christmas this year. Grace was in charge of the annual Cooper’s Corner Christmas Festival, and so far there was no snow, moths had eaten the pageant costumes and the sleigh-ride horses had just been sold to Montana rancher Tucker McCabe.
Here’s a preview!
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CHAPTER ONE
TUCK CAREFULLY FOLDED the bill of sale and slipped it into the breast pocket of his canvas jacket. ‘‘I have to hit the road,’’ he muttered. ‘‘I’ve got to be in Pennsylvania by nightfall.”
All hope drained from her expression and she reluctantly nodded. ‘‘I—I suppose you have a wife waiting for you at home. Big plans for the holiday.”
“Nope,’’ he replied as he jogged down the steps and headed to the barn. ‘‘No wife. But I do have plans.’’ Plans to find himself a woman. But he couldn’t say that out loud.
“Why do you even want these horses? You haven’t even looked at them.”
“My friend at Tufts has, and he says they’re a good buy. And I’ve been looking for some harness-broke stock for a while.”
She was beside him in an instant, her fingers clutched around his arm. He stopped and only then realized the effect of such an innocent touch. God, he really did need a woman! ‘‘Let me make you another offer I don’t think you’ll be able to refuse,’’ she said.
He stared down at her. Tuck wasn’t sure what it was about Grace Penrose that he found so appealing, whether it was her guileless beauty or her unabashed pluck, but he suspected once she turned those huge doe eyes on any man, he’d have a hard time refusing. Hell, why not listen to her offer? He didn’t have any place to be. Pennsylvania could wait. And that warm, willing woman would be there when he needed her—hell, she might be here in... Massachusetts? ‘‘All right,’’ he muttered. ‘‘I guess my plans could wait. Let’s hear it.”
“I can offer you the picture-perfect New England holiday experience,’’ Grace said. ‘‘You’ll enjoy Christmas here, in Cooper’s Corner. I get you a room at our very popular bed-and-breakfast, the Twin Oaks Inn. It’s a lovely place. I’ll pay for the feed for your horses.”
“What about my kids?’’ he asked.
“Kids?”
“I have nine kids in the trailer. They have to be fed, too.”
Grace’s eyes went wide. ‘‘You—you let children ride in a smelly old horse trailer?”
The look of sheer horror on her face was enough to make the misunderstanding worthwhile. ‘‘Yeah, come on.’’ He took her hand and pulled her along after him. ‘‘I want to introduce you. After all, you’ll be spending a lot of time together in the next few weeks. And they do love to eat.”
She tagged along after him, and when they reached the trailer he unhitched the door and swung it open. Tuck hopped inside and held out his hand. Grace reluctantly took it, then followed him into the dark interior of the trailer. When they reached the front, Tuck leaned over a rope barrier. ‘‘These are my kids,’’ he said.
Grace pasted a smile on her face and stepped up beside him. Her smile faded. ‘‘These are goats,’’ she said.
“Kids. Young goats are called kids.”
“I—I thought— I mean, when you said ‘kids,’ I assumed you meant—”
“I know what you assumed,’’ he said. ‘‘No wife, no plans and no children, either.”
She studied the goats for a long moment. ‘‘All right, nine goats and four horses. Silas has already agreed that you can keep them in his barn until the festival is over. So that solves one problem. I think I can get Dave over at the feed store to donate food for the animals. Do we have a deal?”
“Not so fast,’’ Tuck said, enjoying the barter a little too much. ‘‘We’ve decided how to feed my animals. What about me?”
Grace blinked. ‘‘You?”
“Who’s going to feed me? If I’m correct, a bed-and-breakfast only provides breakfast. I’ll need lunch and dinner.”
“Well, I suppose I could give you a small stipend for your meals. There’s a nice little café in town where you could—”
“Naw. I’m not much for eating out. How are you in the kitchen?”
“What?”
“I’m pretty much a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy. Nothin’ too fancy. I like my lunch at noon and dinner at five. In between, I can fend for myself.”
Grace gasped. ‘‘You expect me to cook for you?”
Tuck watched the expression of horror return to her face. She was so easy to tease, and so pretty to look at. Grace Penrose probably appeared quite plain to the casual observer. But looks could be deceiving. A man had to look closer—to the perfect complexion and the wide, sensual mouth. To eyes that mirrored her every emotion and to a voice that could make a man go crazy with lust just listening to it. To a body not fashionably thin, but feminine, with curves in all the right places.
Not that he was looking, Tuck told himself. Grace was definitely not the kind of woman he usually associated with, the kind of woman who wore her desire on the outside. She wasn’t the kind of woman a guy just seduced, then dumped. Grace Penrose was the kind of woman that a guy—a nice guy—might marry.
Tuck swallowed hard. ‘‘And I expect some help caring for the horses and the goats. If my horses are going to appear in public, they’re going to have to look good. And that takes work. Hard work.”
She thought about the deal for a long moment, then nodded. ‘‘All right. It’s a deal.”
Tuck smiled. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad holiday season after all. It would be like a little vacation, a stay in a picturesque New England town with all his needs catered to by a pretty woman. He glanced down at the hand she offered, and he took her fingers in his, wondering at the warmth that seeped up his arm at her touch. ‘‘Deal,’’ he murmured. He let his grasp linger for a moment before he dropped her hand. ‘‘Now, why don’t you and I get my goats unloaded, then we’ll take my stuff over to this bed-and-breakfast place.”
Grace pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, then nodded, watching the goats warily. ‘‘Do goats bite?”
Tuck chuckled. She was quite a woman, this Grace Penrose. And he was looking forward to knowing her a little better.
* * * * *
ISBN: 9781460313008
Copyright © 2002 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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Strangers When We Meet Page 22