Alice Sharpe - Cowboy Incognito

“What can I do to help you?” Kinsey asked. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of a darn thing.

Frances took a deep breath. “When I couldn’t reach you, I called James Fenwick.”

“Mr. Dodge’s attorney?”

“Yes. You’ve met him.”

“Guy about fifty, kind of stuffy?”

“I wouldn’t describe him that way,” Frances said. “He’s been very kind to Bill. Lately he’s been helping him go through his collection of books.”

Kinsey could easily picture the room Mr. Dodge used as a bedroom. Every wall was covered with floor-to-ceiling shelves and each of those housed a wide array of books. She felt bad that she’d been less than flattering in her description of James Fenwick and now she mumbled, “That’s very nice of him.”

“Yes, it is. He’s one of the few considerate people left on the planet. Anyway, Mr. Fenwick is out of town on business, but he’ll come straight here when he drives home tomorrow. He said he’ll leave before dawn.”

“Good. What if I come by before work just to make sure things are okay until he gets here? Would that help?”

“Yes. Thank you. I know how busy you are.”

“I wanted to ask you something, Mom,” Kinsey added. “Do you know a woman named Sherry or Mary Smith?”

Her mother shook her head. “No. Why?”

There was no way in the world that Kinsey was going to add more stress to her mother. She omitted the fact that people had been asking about Bill Dodge’s housekeeper—she’d tell her that tomorrow when the poor woman wasn’t so overwhelmed. “No reason. I just heard the name.”

Frances nodded. “Come early, okay? Bill is better in the morning and always enjoys your visits. And heaven forbid, you don’t want to run into Chad.”

Though Kinsey had never met Mr. Dodge’s nephew face-to-face, she did know his name was Chad Dodge. If her mother was any judge at all, Chad was a greedy, demanding man. Everyone knew he was set to inherit this house when Bill Dodge died, but apparently he wasn’t content to wait.

Fatigue dragged at Kinsey as she agreed to be back bright and early in the morning. Her feet in the stacked-heel sandals hurt like blazes, her hair drooped down her sticky neck. Frances stepped back to ease open the front door and listen intently, her profile vivid in the stream of light flowing from within the house. Though still attractive, the years were taking a toll and Kinsey glanced away.

“I hear Bill coughing,” Frances said. “I have to go.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Kinsey said. “Try not to worry too much.”

Her mother slipped inside and closed the door behind her. Kinsey heard the slide of the dead bolt. It was a relief to collapse back into her car, start the air conditioner and polish off the now-tepid iced tea.

Fifteen minutes later, it was an even greater relief to turn onto Hummingbird Drive, a charming name for a decidedly ordinary-looking road. She pulled into her parking spot behind the house and got out, juggling the apple and banana she hadn’t eaten yet, longing for the privacy of her own space in the apartment above the detached garage and the cool softness of her bed.

A voice from the shadows made her drop both pieces of fruit and she whirled around to find herself facing a large man. Even as she gasped, he moved into the light and she saw who it was.

With a hand on her chest, she blinked unbelieving eyes. “Zane?”

He had knelt to retrieve the fruit. “I didn’t know for sure where you lived,” he said softly as he straightened up. “I knocked at the main house, but no one is home.”

“My landlord is up fishing in Alaska,” she said. “My place is above the garage.” She couldn’t make sense of his being here. “Why aren’t you in the hospital? You sound funny.” She saw now that he wore hospital scrubs with a white lab coat. That didn’t make any sense, either.

“I wasn’t followed here,” he said. “I made sure of that.”

“Followed? What’s going on? Wait, do you remember things about yourself?”

“No,” he said. “No, that’s not it.” He looked directly into her eyes and her breath caught from his intense gaze that easily penetrated the dim light. “May I come inside for a few minutes?” he asked in that newly hoarse voice.

She wasn’t sure what to do. It seemed insane to invite a stranger inside her home, especially one twice as big as she was. But she picked up no violent vibes directed her way. “I have to admit I’m curious about what’s going on and why you’re dressed like that, so I’ll bite, come on in.”

He followed her up the outside stairs and waited while she unlocked the flimsy little lock on her door, which, come to think of it, needed to be changed to a stronger one. When she turned to face him in the light of the room, she gasped again.

“What happened to your throat?” she asked, eyes wide.

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze seemed to fly around the room, from one wall to the next, one painted canvas after another, as though he couldn’t quite take them all in at one time.

All those paintings in so little space probably came across as too much, but when you had a lot of paintings and limited wall space, they tended to add up.

“Did you create all of these?” he asked.

“Well, not the landscape, that’s a Vincent van Gogh print, and the lilies are Monet...well, all the people, yes.”

“You’re amazing,” he said, his gaze finally settling back on her face. “Who are all these people?”

She shrugged, unwilling to be distracted. “What happened to your neck?” she asked again.

He set the fruit on her table, then ran a hand through his hair. He seemed to exist in a perpetual state of sexy. It was just the way he was put together, the way he moved, his mannerisms and the expression in his eyes. But now bone-weary fatigue vied with that innate magnetism and seemed to win. “Mind if I sit down?” he asked.

“Help yourself,” she said as she locked the front door.

He settled on her lime-green love seat. The apartment consisted of a kitchen/living area and a small bedroom/bath. Most of time it seemed pretty roomy, but Zane was at least six foot two and possessed a kind of commanding presence. She’d noticed this hours earlier when he stood on the sidewalk. “Would you like something cold to drink?” she offered as she started the electric fan in the window.

“Some water would be great,” he said, and she fetched him a glass before perching on a counter stool.

After finishing his drink, he started in on his story. When he got to the part about waking up to find someone choking him, she almost fell off the stool.

“It has to be the same person as this afternoon,” she said. “I’ll never forget the brazen way he pushed you. Is the nurse okay?”

“She’s fine.”

“Thank heavens she came into your room.” With a shudder, she added, “I can’t believe you took out your own IV.” She and needles were not the best of friends.

He rubbed his face with his hands as though trying to stay awake. It was the middle of the night by this time and she sympathized and shared his fatigue although his presence had driven most of hers away.

“And you have no idea what he looked like because of the disguise?”

He nodded. “That’s right. Even his size was hard to gauge because it all happened so fast.”

“But why did you leave the hospital? I don’t get it. Woods told you he planned on posting a guard.”

“I’m not entirely positive why I left,” Zane said. “I guess I thought my chances were better on my own than being stuck in that place. Besides, what did I do to get in this kind of trouble? I’d kind of like to find that out before the police do. Anyway, I didn’t know if they’d actually let me leave if I asked—I still don’t know whose going to pay my bill, for instance. So I sneaked away and that’s also more or less why I ended up at your house. I was going to borrow your phone and call Woods to try to explain, but I just decided against it.”