Tracey V. Bateman - Suspicion Of Guilt

“Forty-five minutes? Reece, do you realize the luncheon is in exactly—oh, good grief—two hours and fifty-four minutes.”

“Have a little faith, woman. And trust me.”

Denni watched, fascinated and eternally grateful, as Reece slid another grilled chicken breast from the indoor grill. Dressed in a pair of baggy jean shorts and a T-shirt, sleeves rolled up and straining over bulging sun-bronzed biceps, he was way too distracting on a day when she needed all of her wits about her. On the other hand, if his distracting personage hadn’t shown up bearing three bags of groceries, she’d be sunk.

“Hey, you going to slice those peppers? I need to get them on the grill.”

Denni jumped at the sound of Reece’s slightly urgent tone. “Sorry,” she muttered and turned her attention back to the task she’d been assigned by the chef: slicing red bell peppers to add to the mix. She had to admit the guy had saved the day. Grilled chicken wraps on whole-wheat tortillas and a large Caesar salad made a perfect luncheon. It spoke of class, but didn’t look like she was trying too hard. And best of all, the entire meal would be ready in less than an hour, and she would still have time for a quick shower before the guests began arriving. The girls had pitched in and prepared iced tea, coffee and strawberry shortcakes for dessert.

The thought of their worry when she’d made the wretched announcement of the caterer’s incompetence sent affection surging through her. And she felt guilty for ever entertaining the notion that one of them might be out to close her down. She’d have to be careful from now on not to let herself be drawn into Reece’s world of suspicion.

“All done,” she announced, scooping up the sliced peppers and tossing them into a bowl. She walked across to the other counter where the grill sat. Intent on cubing the chicken, Reece looked up only briefly, as she set the bowl on the counter, but in that instant, he sent her a knee-weakening smile.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You’re welcome.” Oh, be still my beating heart, she pleaded.

“Why don’t you go get yourself ready?” he suggested. “I can finish up here. By the time you come back, I’ll have everything cleaned up and you’ll be all set to wow the powers that be.”

Could this guy possibly be the same man who had breezed in and out of her life at irregular times over the past three months? He couldn’t. But she could definitely get used to this Reece Corrigan. A simple thank-you just didn’t seem appropriate at a time like this. Still, she had to say something. “Reece, I don’t know what I would have done without you today. I’ll find a way to repay you.”

He shrugged. “It was only around fifty dollars. Consider it my contribution to your life’s ambition.”

Fifty dollars! She’d forgotten about the grocery bill! “For crying out loud, why didn’t you say something? Let me get my purse.” She reached for her bag, which remained on the counter where she’d set it earlier when she’d frantically searched for the caterer’s card. That moment of panic seemed a million years ago, now that all was well.

Reece caught hold of her wrist. “Forget it. I wanted to do it.”

“But why?”

His gaze locked with hers, and the honesty in his eyes melted away the periphery until he was all she saw. “Let’s not analyze it,” he said softly.

Denni nodded, swallowing hard. Reece released her wrist and jerked his head toward the doorway. “Now go, make yourself presentable.” He turned back to the meal preparation, obviously finished with any discussion.

There was nothing for her to do but follow his instructions. At the door, she turned. “You will stay for lunch, won’t you?” It was the least she could do, she silently admonished herself. To allow him to save the day and then not even bother to invite him to join them would have been plain rude. And her mother hadn’t raised her to be ill-mannered.

“I’m not exactly dressed for a luncheon,” he said.

“I disagree. No one specified dressy.” By the dubious look on his face, she knew he wasn’t buying it. Everyone would be dressed in suits or other professional clothes. As a matter of fact, she’d intended to dress professionally herself, but if it would make him feel more comfortable…

“Dress appropriately, Denni,” he said as though reading her thoughts. “I don’t need to stay for lunch.”

She hesitated, wanting to insist, but afraid she’d sound needy and desperate. A single thirty-something woman clinging to the man who had come to her rescue. But she did want to prolong his presence. She couldn’t help it.

“I’ll call later to see how everything turns out.”

Denni’s eyes grew wide at his knowing smile. Had she said that thing about wanting to prolong his presence aloud? Well, she couldn’t have him thinking she wanted him to stick around because of some personal attachment or crush or something. So she did all she knew to do. Gave a shrug. “Whatever. Just don’t forget to take your grill home.”

He chuckled. “I won’t.”

She hurried up the stairs to the solace of the bathroom where she could soak away her humiliation and be alone with her confusing emotions, which seemed increasingly to be favoring Reece Corrigan.

Reece was just drying the last of the mixing bowls, knives and cutting boards and putting them into the cabinets when the doorbell rang. He looked around. The women of the house had adjourned upstairs, presumably to get ready for the luncheon. Personally, Reece thought it was risky on Denni’s part to include the pregnant Cate, the body-pierced, tattooed Leigh and the explosive Fran, but no one had asked his opinion, and he knew offering it to Denni would only undo the good he’d done by making his famous grilled chicken wraps and saving Denni’s behind for the day.

The bell chimed again and Leigh called down, “Corrigan, get the door, already. Can’t you see we’re busy? Or do you want us to come down in our skivvies?”

He was almost sure he heard idiot added, but had no solid proof.

He put on his best smile and opened the door. Four professionally dressed people stood on the porch. One woman, dressed in a navy-blue suit and three men, similarly clad. They gave him the once-over, setting his defenses on edge. Couldn’t a guy wear a pair of shorts during his time off?

“I’m afraid we must have the wrong address,” the tallish woman said. “We’re looking for Miss Mahoney?”

“Yeah, she’s taking a shower.” Immediately he regretted giving into his wicked side—the side of him that loved to shock women like this piece of work standing in front of him.

“And you are…?”

“Oh, excuse me…” He wiped his hands on his apron—oh, brother, he was still wearing the apron—and offered his hand. “Detective Corrigan. I’m a friend of Denni’s.” He stepped aside. “Won’t you come in?”

With quadruple curt nods, they stepped inside, each set of eyes darting around the living room, beginning their perusal before they even got comfortable.

The doorbell chimed again, and Reece mentally prepared himself for another once-over. This time, however, Denni showed up, her disturbing floral scent breezing into the room ahead of her. “Oh, good, you’ve all met Reece.” She turned to him. “Would you please get the door while I show these guests to the dining room?”

Suddenly wishing for a three-piece suit, Reece realized he was staying for lunch.

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