“You’re involved with someone back in Atlanta?” Nix asked. He’d moved to the counter to pour his own cup of coffee. Like Doyle, he drank it black, no cream, no sugar.
“Not at the moment.”
He glanced up from his coffee cup, a flame flickering in his dark eyes. She felt a responding flood of heat deep in her abdomen and forced her gaze back to her own coffee.
“Not in the market?”
“I don’t consider myself a commodity,” she answered a little more tartly than she’d intended.
Nix’s eyebrows twitched slightly, but he didn’t seem particularly offended by her response. “I’ll take that as a no.”
Still, she felt bad about snapping at him just for showing mild interest in her availability. She should feel flattered. Hell, she was flattered; Walker Nix was an attractive man. It wasn’t his fault that she didn’t care to involve herself in a short-term, dead-end fling.
She pushed her hair back from her face, meeting his gaze. “Sorry. I’ve spent a long time trying to get my fellow marshals to treat me like one of the guys. I forget my social graces sometimes.”
“I’d rather you just say what you’re thinking, straight out. Honesty goes a long way.”
“Okay. Then, honestly, I’m here in Bitterwood for two weeks. I’m not sticking around after that.”
“And you’re not interested in a short-term fling?” The corner of his mouth twitched as he cut to the chase.
“Not that you were offering?”
“No,” he said, the twitch becoming a whisper of a smile. “I wasn’t offering. For pretty much the same reason.”
She let out a long, slow breath. “Well, then.”
He walked slowly across the narrow space between them, reaching past her to put his mug of coffee on the breakfast bar. The move brought him so close she felt his heat pour over her, igniting another blaze of heat in her center. He bent his head, his breath hot against her ear. “Not that it ain’t mighty damn tempting.”
He stepped back, flashed her a smile that she felt right down to the tips of her toes and headed out of the kitchen toward the front door.
“You’re leaving already?” she asked, her voice embarrassingly hoarse.
He turned in the open doorway. “You may be on vacation, Marshal. But I’m not.” He lifted his hand in a brief, stationary wave, then pulled the door shut behind him.
She forced herself to stay where she was rather than trail him to the door and watch him leave. She might be feeling like a giddy schoolgirl right down to her tingling toes, but she had her pride.
And more important, she reminded herself sternly, she had a mystery to unravel. She just had to figure out where to start.
As she was walking back to the bedroom, the house phone started ringing. She picked up the bedroom extension, bracing herself to explain to the caller that her brother wasn’t available.
But it was Nix. “Sorry—I meant to mention this before I left. I don’t know how much truth there is to that story about your mother, but there’s a way you can find out.”
“Yeah?”
“In the story I’ve always heard, your mother was penniless, a charity case. And the couple whose baby boy she tried to take were well-off and reputable, which made what she did that much more scandalous.”
“If it really happened.”
“If it happened,” he conceded. “But if even a germ of the story is true, then what you’re looking for is a hospital that would treat both indigent and wealthy patients.”
“In other words, not a charity hospital or a low-income care facility.”
“Right. And there’s really only one hospital close that fits that description. Maryville Mercy Hospital.”
“That’s the hospital where Doyle is.”
“That’s right. Good luck.” He hung up the phone.
Good luck, she repeated silently. She had a feeling she was going to need all the luck she could find to cut through the years of rumor and innuendo to get to the truth about her mother’s secret life in Bitterwood.
But Maryville Mercy Hospital was as good a place to start as any.
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