singed when she finally found the strength to snatch them back.
“You want to give it a try?”
Jodie moistened her lips. “What?”
“You want to take it out for a spin?”
“Me?”
“Sure.” Reaching into his pocket, he dangled the keys in front of her.
“I can’t,” she said backing a step away. “I don’t know how to drive a shift. That’s what it is, isn’t it?”
“I could give you a lesson,” Shane offered.
Immediately, she pictured the two of them riding in the car, and the image was much more potent than the one she’d pictured earlier. This time he was touching her, sitting close, his hand over hers on the gear shift.
She shouldn’t. She couldn’t. She needed some distance until she figured out how to handle the way she was feeling. There was something she had to do…if she could just think of what it was….
“Come on,” Shane said.
“I can’t. I have some work to do before dinner.” Hurrying to her car, she lifted out the package of rope. When she turned, he was right beside her. She took a quick step backward. “And I…have to get the mail. I always stop at the mailbox when I turn in the driveway, but I got distracted.”
“I’ll walk with you.”
Jodie took a deep breath as she started down the driveway. If he even brushed accidently against her…No. It wasn’t going to happen. She concentrated on putting one foot carefully in front of the other on the hard-packed snow. By the time she reached the mailbox and emptied it, her breathing and her thought patterns were very nearly back to normal. Still, she avoided looking at him by sorting through the pile of Christmas cards, advertisements, bills…The moment she saw the handwriting, the letter slipped through her fingers. Shane was quicker than she was, and he grabbed it just before it hit the snow.
“It’s addressed to you, and there’s no stamp,” he said. “It must have been hand delivered.”
“It’s probably from a student. They never have any money.” Taking it from his outstretched hand, she tucked it quickly in her pocket and started back up the driveway. “Have a nice evening.”
Shane waited until she disappeared into the house before he headed back to his car. She was as easy to read as a first-grade primer. That letter wasn’t from a student. She hadn’t even been able to look him in the eye when she said it. He was willing to bet his car that Billy Rutherford had contacted his ex-fiancée.
What he wasn’t so sure of was whether she’d call Dillon or decide to help out her former lover.
3
THE SMELL assaulted her as soon as she opened the front door and stepped into the foyer. It was the same unidentifiable scent that filled the house every time that Irene cooked. Lazarus lay in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. He twitched his tail once in greeting, but otherwise gave no sign of life. Jodie could do nothing but sympathize. Dogs had a keen sense of smell, and no doubt he knew that he’d be going hungry tonight.
“I lost the coin toss,” Sophie said in a lowered tone as she appeared in the archway to the dining room.
“What happened to your lucky streak?” Jodie asked.
Sophie shrugged. “It was bound to run out. What we need is a two-headed coin.”
“What we need is to tell Irene she can’t cook.”
Sophie frowned. “She’s having enough trouble trying to accept that Billy stole all our savings. I hate to disillusion her any more.”
Setting down the mail and the package of rope, Jodie took the older woman’s hands in hers. “I know. But when you open the bed-and-breakfast for business…”
Sophie sighed. “We’ll sit down and have a talk with her after the Mistletoe Ball next Friday. She’ll be basking in the glory of having brought it off, and that will cushion the blow.”
Jodie squeezed Sophie’s hands. “I wish I’d had a sister like you when I was growing up.”
“Well, you’ve got me now,” Sophie replied. “Why don’t you ask Shane if he can get hold of a two-headed coin? He seems like an enterprising young man to me.”
“You’ve known him less than a day, and you’re on a first-name basis with the handyman?”
“Mr. Sullivan sounds a little formal when he’s going to be joining us for meals.”
The thought of Shane Sullivan sitting down to one of Irene’s culinary creations had Jodie’s lips curving. She doubted he’d be taking many of his meals with them in the future. Then wrinkling her nose, she asked, “What could possibly smell that bad?”
“She’s calling it meat loaf.”
Lazarus moaned.
Jodie knelt and ran a sympathetic hand over him, then when he turned, began to scratch his stomach. He’d been nearly dead the night she’d found him lying along the road, and Doc Cheney, the town vet, hadn’t been sure he’d make it.
“What does that dog have to complain about?” Sophie asked. “If he doesn’t like the meat loaf, he can eat his canned dog food. We’re stuck.” She glanced down at the pile of correspondence. “Anything interesting in the mail.”
“No,” Jodie said as Sophie began to sort through it. Thank heavens she’d stuffed the letter in her pocket. “Just some circulars.”
“Oh, you’re home,” Irene said as she breezed into the foyer. Flour streaked her hair and seemed to hover in a little cloud around her. “You just have time to change before dinner.”
“Change what?” Jodie asked.
“Your clothes. Shane is joining us for dinner.”
“We have to dress up for the handyman?” Jodie asked.
Irene shooed her toward the stairs. “He’s a guest, too. And he’s worked very hard all afternoon. Haven’t you noticed all the mistletoe he’s hung?”
Jodie glanced up to see that mistletoe indeed now hung from the chandelier, as well as from every archway and door that led off from the foyer.
“We put it in every room,” Irene explained. “There was quite a bit we didn’t use for the ball, and we didn’t want it to go to waste. What do you think?”
“Very…Christmassy,” Jodie managed to reply.
Irene beamed a smile at her. “After you change, I could use your help in the kitchen. You could let me know what you think of my new gravy recipe.”
“Actually, I was planning on starting on my snare trap,” Jodie quickly improvised. “In the attic. Remember?” Grabbing the rope, she hopped over Lazarus and started up the stairs.
Once in her room, Jodie locked the door, set the rope down on her bed, then pulled the letter out of her pocket. It was Billy’s handwriting all right. She hadn’t been wrong about that. Staring at it, she sank down on the foot of her bed.
She hadn’t lied to the sheriff. Billy hadn’t tried to contact her after his arrest. But he’d given Irene a note for her shortly before the police had arrived at the house to take him away. In it, he’d asked her to believe in him, to believe in his love for her, and he’d promised she’d get her money back.
Even now, she could remember how much she’d wanted to believe him, how she’d clung for two months to her fantasy that he would keep his word. She’d checked the mailbox each day hoping for a letter until the day the bank had foreclosed on her house.
What did he possibly think he could say now? Tearing open the envelope,