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murder? His deputies knew he preferred to have bad news reported in person. He peeked out the window. It wasn’t a deputy, but someone he hoped to never see on his doorstep again—Summer.

 

    Chapter 4
     
    Summer held a basket in one hand and again rang the doorbell of the brick rancher with the other. The house hadn’t changed much over the years. The screen door still hung a little crooked. The edge of the porch steps were still cracking, holes in the cement where the railings had fallen off. Weeds hid the flower beds along the walk. The house looked in dire need of a woman’s touch.
    Reese answered the door, wide shoulders filling the doorway. He was so handsome, so powerfully male, it froze the air in her lungs. He was a sensual banquet for the eyes. She was suddenly glad she had worn a red shift and a tunic sweater the same color and made sure her makeup was perfect.
    His gaze raked her from head to toe.
    “I, ah…” She heard herself stuttering like an idiot. The jolt she’d always felt when he admired her shivered through her.
    “Here to ease your conscience?” He leaned a hard shoulder against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his massive chest. His razor-sharp eyes softened only by those heavy lids and long thick lashes.
    She had always been a sucker for those eyes. “No,” Summer said adamantly. “I brought dinner.” She held up the basket as if it were a peace offering and noticed her hands were trembling.
    “Dinner?” He eyed the basket, his voice tight. “This some kind of bribe?”
    “More like a peace offering.”
    He looked ready to send her away, but seemed uncertain. Finally, he sniffed the air, looked a little more amenable and asked, “Is that your roast beef and homemade rolls?”
    “How did you know?”
    “I remember the smell. Come in.”
    Though he sounded cordial enough to make her feel welcome, his expression said otherwise. The awkwardness caused pressure to build in her throat as she stepped past him.
    God, he smelled good, like soap, spicy aftershave and his own testosterone-laden scent. It brought back memories that caused her heart to shift into overdrive.
    She stepped as far away from him as she could and paused in the living room. It looked the same, nothing really changed. The same leather sofa and chairs, the same beat-up coffee tables, a few empty beer bottles sitting on it. An old wool brown shag rug. The house held the faint smell of bacon grease, coffee, musty air and emptiness. The only change was a big flat-screen television filling most of one wall.
    “Nice.” She motioned to the television.
    “My one vice.” He pointedly eyed her and didn’t bother smiling again. “Bring it in here.”
    He led the way and she followed, peeking down the hallway that she knew led to three bedrooms and a bath. Was the poster down there? It certainly wasn’t in the living room. Or the kitchen as she passed through it.
    She carried the basket into the dining room. It held an antique oak table and chairs and a sideboard that she knew had belonged to Reese’s grandmother. The room hadn’t changed and she noticed that he’d kept the antiques polished, at least. No poster here, either, only two Rembrandt knockoffs depicting peasants at a market and on a farm.
    She was about to set the basket down on the table, when Reese grabbed it and pinned her between the table and his body. “I know you didn’t go to all this trouble for nothing. Why are you here?”
    “I need your help.” She touched his arm.
    He flinched, his biceps turning rock hard. “Really.” He didn’t pull away, only gazed at her hand, his dark eyes taking her measure.
    “I need something that I think you have.”
    “What’s that?” He stepped toward her, so close their bodies almost touched.
    “Do you still have the poster I drew in the sixth grade?” He looked lost and she explained, “The one your father bought at the Carver Elementary charity auction.”
    “Even if I had it, why give it to