Marie Ferrarella - Lassoing the Deputy

With that, she ended the call and slipped the phone into her back pocket again.

“Take care of what?” Cash wanted to know. She’d already begun walking away from him.

“I’m sorry, but that’s on a need-to-know basis,” she informed him crisply, recalling the line from a TV program she’d seen recently, “and you don’t need to know.”

His eyes pinned her down for a moment. “You’re lying again, aren’t you? I’ve never known you to lie before, Alma, and now you’ve done it twice.”

I’ve lied to you more than that since you came back to town, she told him silently.

She raised her chin, a clear sign that she was getting ready for a fight.

“I have no control over what you think or don’t think, and frankly, I could care less.” There, another lie to add to the pile.

With that, she turned on her heel and got into the Jeep.

She was aware that Cash was watching her. And that he continued watching her as she started up the vehicle and drove away from the diner.

Cash was right and it annoyed the hell out of her. There’d been no phone call. She’d made it up, just as she had made up the so-called conversation she’d had with the sheriff. It was the first thing that had occurred to her in her effort to get away from Cash.

At least it had worked, she congratulated herself. She’d managed to get away without becoming entangled in any kind of verbal confrontation with him.

So what did she do for the other thirteen days before the wedding? she asked herself as a feeling of uneasy desperation undulated through her.

With effort, she banked it down.

This, too, shall pass, she promised herself—and fervently hoped she was right.

Chapter Four

Sleep had eluded her for most of the night, finally descending on her at almost three in the morning. Because she was so exhausted by then, she had overslept.

Feeling as if she was running on empty, Alma rushed through her shower and into her clothes. Her stomach protested the lack of fuel, rumbling and growling as she hurried to her car.

She knew she wouldn’t be of any use to anyone if she didn’t have at least something to eat. So, with a sigh, she made a quick side trip to the diner. She was going to get an order of French toast to go. French toast was her number-one comfort food, something her mother used to make in order to cheer her up when she was a little girl. Eating it always made her remember those days and how secure she’d felt.

She needed a dose of that right now. Badly.

Miss Joan looked up the second she opened the door.

“I was hoping you’d come in today.” Glancing over her shoulder, she called out to the cook in the kitchen. “Roberto, one order of French toast to go.”

Alma blinked, surprised. “How did you know?” she asked.

“I know a lot of things. What I don’t know,” Miss Joan said, coming closer, “was what the hell that was yesterday.”

Alma did her best to look innocent, hoping Miss Joan would take the hint. “What do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean, baby girl,” Miss Joan said. “The second Harry’s boy came in with him, you hightailed it out of here like some scared jackrabbit who’d just backed up into a coyote.” There was both annoyance and disappointment in the woman’s voice.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.