“How much do I owe?” His grim face could have been carved out of stone.
The Patrick she remembered had smiled more. She suddenly missed that about him.
“Thank you for returning these. That will be one hundred dollars.”
“What?” His eyes widened and locked with hers, a scowl cutting two deep creases between his dark brows.
Had she really said that? She didn’t make jokes. She didn’t flirt with her patrons. No, she certainly wasn’t flirting.
She felt a rush of heat in her cheeks. “Just kidding. Our maximum fine is five dollars.”
Scanning each book back into the system allowed her to avoid looking at him. When she did glance up, it was to see a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
Relaxing, she said, “You didn’t check them out. I’m just happy you returned them. Of course, if you feel compelled to make a donation, I’ll gladly accept. It’s tax deductible.”
He pulled his wallet from his hip pocket and thumbed through it. Selecting a bill, he laid a twenty on the counter. “Keep the change.”
She smiled shyly. “Thank you. Let me get you a receipt.”
Patrick leaned his elbows on the counter and watched Shelby as she pulled the necessary form from a drawer. His intention that morning had been to drop the books into the drive-up bin. It wasn’t until he saw her walking across the parking lot that the desire to speak to her again had made him change his mind and come inside.
He was glad he had. Studying her, he tried to figure out why she was so appealing.
Her white blouse was simple and modest. She wore it tucked into the waistband of a narrow gray skirt. If she was trying to look the part of a librarian, she was succeeding.
She had a neat figure, but he’d seen far more stunning women who didn’t spark his interest the way Shelby Mason did.
Maybe it was her red-gold hair. He liked the way she wore it long and loose. Was that it?
When she glanced up at him again, he suddenly knew the answer. The appeal was in her eyes.
A pale green-brown, they changed with the light and her mood. Sometimes they were green, sometimes almost gold. There wasn’t any subterfuge or malice in her clear gaze. All he saw was kindness and curiosity and something he didn’t have. A sense of inner peace.
People might overlook a small woman like Shelby Mason, but she wouldn’t overlook anyone.
He glanced away, feeling an awkwardness that was unusual for him. Instead of staring at her, he looked around the room. The brightly painted walls and shoulder-high shelves didn’t look anything like the library he remembered from his many trips here with his mother when he was a kid.
The place was brighter, more open. The colorful red carpet underfoot helped muffle the noise. If it had been here when he was young, he might have gotten in less trouble with Old Man Hillshire for being noisy.
Patrick studied Shelby once more. Maybe it was her presence that made the place shimmer with light.
Don’t get fanciful. She wouldn’t give you the time of day if she didn’t have to.
“Will there be anything else?” she asked, handing him the receipt.
There wasn’t, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. “There’s been some changes in here. Looks nice.”
“Thank you. I’m rather proud of my accomplishments.”
She gestured toward a row of computers facing the wall. “We now have Internet access, books on tape, a regular series of speakers on Saturday afternoons and several special programs just for children.”
“I noticed the little girl who came in with you. Is she yours?”
He suddenly disliked the idea that she belonged to someone else. He didn’t want her to be happily married with children. He checked her left hand. She wasn’t wearing a wedding band.
Shelby’s smile faded. “No. Her name is Sarah Farley.”
“Farley? Why does that name ring a bell?” Picking up a loose ink pen, he began to twirl it on the counter.
“Her father, Earl Farley, was murdered and her mother has been missing for the last three months.”
He’d seen a few headlines about that in the newspapers at the house. “That must be rough on the kid.”
He glanced toward the area where Sarah was making an elephant puppet romp over the other toys. Wendy was setting out small, red plastic chairs in a semicircle around a stage.
He knew what it was like to lose a mother. At least he’d had more years with his. A kid as young as Sarah wouldn’t have memories to cling to.
“It’s hard to say how much she really understands,” Shelby continued quietly. “She still asks for her mother, especially when she gets upset. It breaks my heart when that happens.”
“Her mother was a friend of yours?”
“Is,” Shelby stated firmly as she raised her chin. “Her mother is a friend of mine.”
“After three months, you don’t think she’s going to come waltzing back into town, do you?”
“If she can—she will.”
The conviction in Shelby’s words touched him. What would it be like to have someone believe so strongly in him?
“I’m just saying it isn’t likely.”
“I know. I pray the FBI will find her. I pray she’ll come home safe and sound. I pray she’ll walk in here and smother Sarah with hugs and kisses. I get up every day with faith in my heart that today will be that day God brings her back to us.”
Patrick knew her faith in God’s help was misplaced but couldn’t bring himself to say it to her face. “Why is the FBI looking into the case?”
“The mayor requested their help. Loomis has changed more than you might guess. We’ve had three murders here since the first of the year.”
“Three?” He was surprised.
“Angelina Loring and Dylan Renault were both murdered shortly after Earl Farley.”
Patrick gave a low whistle. “Dylan Renault, of the Renaults? I’ll bet that shook up the town. Wealthy playboy meets fitting end?”
She scowled at him. “Being shot in the back is not a fitting end for anyone.”
He tipped his head, acknowledging he was wrong. “Point taken.”
Funny that he didn’t want her thinking he was crass. Generally, he didn’t care what anyone thought. Why was it important that she think well of him? He’d be gone from this town in a week or so and he’d never see her again.
He straightened, determined to ignore the nagging little voice that told him to stick around and get to know her better. Women were trouble. Even pretty librarians. He’d learned that lesson all too well.
“I should go before the PTA starts boycotting the building.”
“They won’t,” she said quickly. “Don’t you remember what’s coming up?”
Did she want him to stay? Against his better judgment, he allowed himself to be persuaded. “What?”
Shelby bit the inside of her lip. What was she doing trying to prolong this conversation? Was she reliving some teenage fantasy? It was almost ridiculous how much she felt compelled to keep him here.
“The Mother’s Day Festival is right around the corner. No one is going to make waves until after the Mother of the Year winner is announced.”
She