He passed by Jimmy Mack Branson, Ranger Springs’s hardware expert, who was eating lunch with Pastor Carl Schleipinger and banker Ralph Biggerstaff. Nodding at the men, he continued to the rear of the café.
“Afternoon, Gina Mae,” he said, creasing his hat to keep his hands busy. He didn’t want the crafty real estate lady to know he was just a tad nervous about approaching her.
“Chief Parker! How are you?”
“Fine. Do you have a minute?”
“Of course. Have a seat.” She gathered up some papers she’d spread across the table’s gray Formica surface. “I was just working on a new listing. You’re not interested in a larger house, are you?”
“No, I’m real happy where I am.”
“Well, then, what can I do for you?”
“I drove out to the Franklin house last night. I suppose you rented it out.”
“Actually, the Franklins wanted a house-sitter. I thought you knew that.”
So Robin had told the truth to the dispatcher last night. “I know they’re out of the country for another two or three months. I wanted to make sure the person living there was legit.”
“They weren’t looking for rent—just someone to care for the place and the plants while they’re gone. You know how dangerous it is to leave a house vacant.”
“Absolutely. Anyway,” he said, getting the conversation back on track, “I met the new occupant. She’d been startled by some raccoons.” And upset about the wedding that hadn’t taken place to the fiancé she’d stood up at the altar. Not that he had any intention of asking Gina Mae about that particular detail. He just wanted to know more about the town’s newest resident. The one who looked really great, even late at night, and could laugh at herself with refreshing honesty.
“Ah, yes,” Gina Mae said, her sudden interest in the conversation making her push the half-eaten salad aside. “A very nice young woman from Houston. An interior decorator, I believe.”
He could hear the unspoken comment: a nice single young woman. “Miss Cummings,” he added, keeping his comments professional.
“That’s right. But you probably knew that before you went out to the house, didn’t you?”
Ethan frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Your aunt. That’s how I met Robin.”
“My aunt knows Miss Cummings?”
“You didn’t know? Well, yes. At least, she knows Robin Cummings’s great-aunt. They’re old friends.”
“Really,” Ethan said, his mind spinning with questions. Why hadn’t Aunt Bess mentioned her friend’s great-niece? Why had she arranged for Robin to move to Ranger Springs without letting him know?
“I hope I didn’t say anything wrong,” Gina Mae said, a frown creasing her smooth forehead. “Your aunt didn’t say any of this was a secret.”
“No, I’m sure it’s not. She probably just forgot to mention the connection.”
“Probably.”
Ethan stared at the faux marble Formica, wondering if Aunt Bess’s forgetfulness was deliberate or accidental. Maybe he should take off his police “hat” and start thinking like a nephew. Aunt Bess wasn’t getting any younger. Not only did she keep house for him, but she prepared several hearty meals a week. He’d told her time and again that she didn’t need to work so hard, that he could afford to hire help, but she’d insisted she enjoyed taking care of him and the house. She’d said she liked staying active and useful, especially since her husband’s death four years ago.
“Chief Parker?”
He mentally shook himself out of his musings. “Sorry, Gina Mae. I was just thinking about Aunt Bess.” He eased out of the booth, then retrieved his hat. “I hope I didn’t disturb your lunch.”
“No, not at all. You tell Bess hello for me, you hear?”
“I’ll do that. Have a good day.”
He walked out of the restaurant, ignoring more speculative looks that the townspeople might give him. He was sure Thelma and Joyce would find a reason to stop by Gina Mae’s booth after they finished their lunch, and that the men would try their best to overhear the conversation.
Okay by him. He hadn’t said anything that any of them could turn into gossip. After all, he hadn’t mentioned that he’d held Robin Cummings in his arms last night. Or stared at her bare legs and firmly rounded breasts. Or sat up late sipping coffee while they discussed wildlife.
Not his “wild life.” By anyone’s standards, his life-style was as tame as that of a baby animal at a petting zoo—without the petting. Again, that dreaded word—boring—insinuated itself into his mind. He pushed the thought aside.
Ethan jammed his hat on his head and walked back to his office at the municipal building. He could certainly recognize a mystery when presented with the evidence. And his own aunt held the clue.
AS ROBIN PULLED into the parking lot of a fast food restaurant on the outskirts of Ranger Springs, she was driving one of the only sporty coupes in an asphalt sea where pickup trucks and aging sedans rested like modest boats moored in a marina. Her heart skipped a beat when she spotted a police car in the first row, but she told herself that didn’t mean Ethan Parker was inside. One of his officers was probably taking a supper break.
While she waited in line, Robin looked around the seating area. Since she didn’t know anyone else in town yet, she searched for someone in a law enforcement uniform. Just out of curiosity, she told herself. She didn’t really expect to find the police chief having supper. But her eyes settled on the dark hair of a man with wide shoulders and perfect posture. His back was to her, and he was seated, not with a gorgeous girlfriend, but with an elderly lady who reminded her of her own great-aunt Sylvia.
“Miss? May I take your order?”
Now she jerked her attention back to the counter, where a perky blonde in bright polyester waited.
She placed her order, her glance returning to the man she thought might be Ethan Parker. He was dressed in street clothes, so she couldn’t tell without getting a glimpse of his profile.
Suddenly, the older lady caught her gaze, giving her a friendly little smile. Embarrassed, Robin smiled back automatically, then turned her attention to the plastic tray that awaited her burger and shake. She really shouldn’t ogle the locals. The man probably wasn’t Ethan Parker, anyway.
Except, how many guys in Ranger Springs could look anywhere near as good as the compassionate police chief?
A sense of traveling back in time rippled through her as she took her tray and proceeded back to the molded vinyl seats and booths. She half expected Crissy Caldwell, her best friend from high school, to scoot up beside her and ask if she’d seen that really gorgeous new hunk in chemistry class. Only this time, Robin was the “new kid in school,” and she was bound and determined not to blush when she deliberately walked by the broad-shouldered man with his white-haired companion.
Again, the older lady smiled at her. Robin slowed to get a good look at the man sitting across from the friendly woman.
“Are you, by any chance, Sylvia Murphy’s great-niece?” the lady asked.
Robin stopped abruptly. “Yes, I am. Robin Cummings.” Awareness hit, and Robin smiled with sincerity. “Don’t tell me you’re Bess Delgado!”