maybe believing it would be easier if she had the kind of faith Helen did.
I’m trying, Lord. You know I’m trying.
A police car came slowly down the street and pulled to the curb in front of the bed-and-breakfast. She let the curtain fall behind her, her heart giving an awkward thump. Mitch Donovan was here.
In a moment she heard footsteps in the hall beneath, heard Kate greeting him—fondly, it seemed. Well, of course. Bedford Creek was his home. Anne was the stranger here, and she had to remember that.
By the time he knocked, Anne had donned her calm, professional manner. But after she opened the door, her coolness began to unravel. He still wore the uniform that seemed almost a part of him, and his dark gaze was intent and determined.
“Chief Donovan. Come in.”
He nodded, moving through the doorway as assuredly as if he were walking into his office. The small room suddenly filled with his masculine presence.
It’s the uniform, she told herself, fingers tightening on the brass knob as she closed the door. That official uniform would rattle anyone, especially combined with the sheer rock-solid nature of the man wearing it.
“Getting settled?” His firm mouth actually curved in a smile. “I see Kate gave you her best room.”
Apparently he hoped to get this meeting off to a more pleasant start than the last one. Well, that was what she wanted, too. You need his cooperation, she reminded herself. For Emilie’s sake.
“Any friend of Mitch’s deserves the nicest one—I think that’s what she said.” Anne couldn’t help it if her tone sounded a bit dry.
He walked to the window, glanced out at the street below, then turned back to her. “Kate said you took a walk around town.”
The small talk was probably as much an effort for him as for her. She longed to burst into the crucial questions, but held them back.
Cooperate, remember? That’s how to get what you want.
“I stopped by the pharmacy to pick up some extra diapers for the baby. The pharmacist already knew I’d been to see you.” That had astonished her. “Your dispatcher must work fast.”
The source of the information had to be the dispatcher. Mitch Donovan certainly wouldn’t advertise her presence.
He grimaced. “Wanda loves to spread news. And it is a small town, except during tourist season.”
“Tourist season?”
He gestured out the window, and she moved a little reluctantly to stand next to him.
“Take a look at those mountains. Our only claim to fame.”
The sun slipped behind a thickly forested ridge, painting the sky with red. The village seemed wedged into the narrow valley, as if forced to climb the slope from the river because it couldn’t spread out. The river glinted at the valley floor, reflecting the last of the light.
“It is beautiful.”
“Plenty of people are willing to pay for this view, and the Chamber of Commerce is happy to let them.”
“I guess that explains the number of bed-and-breakfasts. And the shops.” She had noticed the assortment of small stores that lined the main street—candles, pottery, stained glass. “Bedford Creek must have an artistic population.”
“Don’t let any of the old-timers hear you say that.” The tiny lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as his face relaxed in the first genuine smile she’d seen. “They leave such things to outsiders.”
“Outsiders.” That seemed to echo what she’d been thinking. “You mean people like me?”
He shook his head. “They make a distinction between outsiders and visitors. Outsiders are people like the candle-makers and potters who want to turn the place into an artists’ colony. The old guard understands that, whether they approve or not. But visiting lawyers—visiting lawyers must be here for a reason.”
“So that’s why everyone I passed looked twice.”
He shrugged. “In the off-season, strangers are always news. Especially a woman and baby who come to call on the bachelor police chief.” His mouth twisted a little wryly on the words.
She’d clearly underestimated the power of the grapevine in a small town. But his apparent concern about rumors might work to her advantage.
“No one will know why I’m here from me. I promise.”
She almost put her hand out, as if to shake on it, and then changed her mind. She didn’t want friendship from the man, just cooperation. Just his signature, that was all.
“Thanks.”
He took a step closer…close enough that she could feel his warmth and smell the faint, musky aroma of shaving lotion. Her pulse thumped, startling her, and she took an impulsive step back, trying to deny the warmth that swept over her.
She must be crazy. He was tough, arrogant, controlling—everything she most disliked in a man. Even if she had been remotely interested in a relationship—which she wasn’t—it wouldn’t be with someone like him.
But her breathing had quickened, and his dark eyes were intent on hers, as if seeing something he hadn’t noticed before. She felt heat flood her cheeks.
Business, she reminded herself. She’d better get down to business. It was the only thing they had in common.
“Have you thought about signing the papers?” She knew in an instant she shouldn’t have blurted it out, but her carefully prepared speech had deserted her. In her plans for this meeting, she hadn’t considered that she might be rattled at being alone with him.
Whatever friendliness had been in his eyes vanished. “I’d like to talk about this.” His uncompromising tone told her the situation wasn’t going to turn suddenly easy. “About the woman, Tina.”
“Do you remember her now?” She didn’t mean the words to sound sarcastic, but they probably did. She bit her lip. There was just no good way to discuss this.
“No.” Luckily he seemed to take the question at face value. “Do you know when she was here?”
“Emilie was born in June. Tina said she’d been here the previous summer and stayed through the fall.” He could count the months as easily as she could.
He frowned. “Tourist season. They come right through the autumn colors. That means there are plenty of transient workers in town. People who show up in late spring, get jobs, then leave again the end of October.” He shook his head. “Impossible to remember them all or keep track of them while they’re here.”
She’d left her bag on the pie-crust table. She flipped it open and took out the photograph she’d brought. A wave of sadness flooded her as she looked at the young face.
“This was Tina.” She held it out to him.
He took the photo and stood frowning down at it, straight brows drawn over his eyes. She should be watching for a spark of recognition, she thought, instead of noticing how his uniform shirt fit his broad shoulders, not a wrinkle marring its perfection. The crease in his navy trousers looked sharp enough to cut paper, and his shoes shone as if they’d been polished moments before.
He looked up finally, his gaze finding hers without the antagonism she half expected. “How did you meet her?”
She bit back a sharp response. “Isn’t it more pertinent to ask how you met her?”
His mouth hardened in an already hard face. “All right. I recognize her now that I’ve seen the picture. But I never knew her name. And I certainly didn’t have an affair with her.”
That was progress, of a sort. If she could manage not to sound as if she judged him, maybe he’d move toward being honest with her.
She