“Couldn’t find Damon. Did find out that the landlord has storage units at the complex, I got his shit out, put it in a unit and the landlord changed the locks on Mindy’s place.”

I didn’t like the idea of Mindy staying by herself, even with changed locks, so I turned to him and noted, “That doesn’t sound exactly sorted.”

“Yeah, but Mindy’s stayin’ at Becca’s for awhile, least until we know Damon’s permanently out of the picture and after I stopped by Bitsy’s I went to the Station, talked to Mick and Jeff and they’ll be keepin’ an eye on things. Not to mention, Becca’s talked with the totality of her neighbors and told them to keep an eye out for Damon and raise the alarm the minute he’s spotted.”

“That sounds more sorted,” I muttered, he smiled and I turned back to the skillet, swirling the cream with the veg.

Then I felt his fingertips trailing across the skin of my exposed back, sweeping my hair along with it.

The shiver came back, this time with goose bumps. I turned back to him.

Before I could speak, his eyes went from my shoulders to mine and he whispered, “Like this sweater, honey.”

Shyness hit me, sudden and nearly paralyzing. “Um…” I forced out, “thanks.”

He grinned then moved away asking, “You wanna beer?”

I turned back to the food and told myself to get it together but I told Max, “I’m going to have wine.”

“I’ll get it.”

I stirred the cream one more time, saw it begin to bubble and then turned off the stove, moving the skillet off the burner and I added in the rest of the ingredients for the sauce. Stirring it, I went to the casserole dish.

“You got three bottles of wine, which one you want?” he asked, his head in the fridge.

“The Pinot Grigio.”

“Gotcha,” he said and I heard the noise of a bottle sliding off a refrigerator shelf.

“How’s Bitsy?” I asked, still stirring, waiting for all the cheese to melt.

“Pissed, scared, in shock,” he answered, I heard him moving around then I heard kitchen noises then I saw a wineglass hit the counter beside the dish and Max was at my side with a bottle and bottle opener.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Will be, it’ll take awhile. She isn’t cooperating, won’t talk to the police.”

I looked at him, surprised. “She won’t?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“She’s pissed, scared, in shock,” he repeated and I guessed if my husband was murdered by a contract killer while I was on holiday in Arizona and he was in bed with the town ice queen, I might not feel cooperative either.

“Is that why they need you?”

He looked at me and pulled the cork out of the wine. “Yeah.”

“I don’t understand,” I told him, because I didn’t.

“We’re close,” he said then said no more and I decided not to ask about Max being close to Bitsy, the wife of the dead man who sounded like his arch enemy.

It was strange, very strange, but I was presently dealing with another strange and not unpleasant feeling of moving around Max’s kitchen with Max like we’d done it every night for the last ten years. I didn’t have it in me to interrogate him about his relationship with the unknown Bitsy.

Instead I enquired, “Is she going to talk to the police now?”

“I’m takin’ her in tomorrow.”

I nodded then poured the sauce over the salmon and prawns before informing him, “Your sister came by.”

“Yeah, I hear, Mindy called. Said you tag teamed her but you dealt the death blow.”

I went to the sink and dropped the skillet in it saying, “I wouldn’t describe it like that.”

“How would you describe it?”

“Well, firstly, it wasn’t that dramatic.”

“Kami is all about drama, so I’m guessin’ you’re downplayin’ the situation.” Max finished pouring my wine, seemingly relaxed about the Kami situation, and set the bottle on the counter as I moved to stand in the front of the casserole dish and pulled the towel off the potatoes. He slid the wine close to me and headed to the fridge asking, “She act as big a bitch as Mindy said?”

I pulled in breath and scooped potatoes on the top of the sauced-up fish, uncertain how to answer.

I decided on, “She wasn’t um… exactly pleasant.”

Max sighed and I heard the top come off a beer. “She gets in moods.”

He could say that again.

“She brought you papers,” I told him.

“You look at them?” he asked and my eyes shot to his face.

“Of course not.”

He grinned and, coming close to me, he leaned a hip on the counter. “Why not?”

My head shook once, it was quick and it was short, then I repeated, “Why not?”

“Yeah, why not? I would. Anyway, you’re a lawyer, might be good to have you look ‘em over,” he stated before he took a drink of his beer.

“Are you thinking of taking the job?” I asked, again surprised.

“No fuckin’ way,” he answered instantly.

“Then why do you need a lawyer to look at them?”

“Just wanna know which way they’re thinkin’ of screwin’ me.”

“Kami said they sweetened the pot.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they did. Don’t mean there ain’t fine print.”

I went back to scooping potatoes. “It doesn’t sound like these are nice people.”

“They aren’t.”

“Then why would your sister want you to work for them?”

“I’m around more often, means she’ll have help lookin’ after Mom.”

I finished putting the potatoes on top; Max noticed and took the bowl from me, turned and headed toward the sink.

“Is your Mom all right?”

“Yeah,” he said, rinsing the bowl and skillet. “Just alone and doesn’t like it.” He turned off the tap and headed back to me. “Today, took care of Mindy’s shit, talked to Bitsy, hit the Station and then went to visit Mom. That’s why I’m late. She wanted to talk and then she wanted me to look at her kitchen sink. Spent part of the afternoon listenin’ to her bitch, another part in the hardware store, another part on my back on the kitchen floor under her sink.”

I looked down to the potatoes, smushing them around and coating the creamy fish, thinking of him taking care of Mindy, Bitsy, his Mom and what that meant about him then mumbling, “It’s good you look after your Mom.”

“It’s good, but isn’t fun.”

I looked at him and said softly, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said softly back then his hand came up and his finger touched my earring. I’d put my new ones in when I put away my shopping, impatient to see the way they looked then I liked the way they looked so I left them in.

“You got ‘em.”

“Yeah.”

He grinned then walked around me.

I grabbed the dish and put it in the pre-heated oven, closed the door, tinkered with the timer and set it. He came back when I went to the other counter, picked up my wine and took a sip.

After I swallowed, Max took my glass, set it on the counter and grabbed my right hand.

His head was bent to look at our hands but he was talking.

I was watching his hands working at mine.

“Went to Karma to get you those earrings you liked, they told me you’d already been by. Jenna was there, local jewelry artist that makes this stuff.” I held my breath as I watched him slide something on my ring finger then he twirled it around and slid it off. “She said she had rings to match, doesn’t make many of them, usually only does it special so she doesn’t sell them in the shop. She ran home to get one and brought it by Mom’s.” He slid the ring on my middle finger and twirled it around then his fingers curved around my palm, his thumb touching the ring as he muttered, “Fits there.”

I looked down at a ring that was the same heavy, wide, stunning web design of my earrings with solid edges. It was gorgeous and it sat perfectly, from base nearly to knuckle, on my finger.

Then I continued to stare at it and all it indicated including the fact that Holden Maxwell paid attention (which I was learning) and thus he gave thoughtful, generous gifts.

I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes and I tipped my head back to look at him.

“Max,” I whispered.

His hand came to my cheek then it slid into my hair before he asked, “You like it?”

I nodded though I wouldn’t say I liked it. I’d say I more than liked it.

He looked into my eyes, his face grew soft but his mouth grinned before he prompted, “Then you gonna kiss me or what?”

I really should have replied “or what”.

But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

The ring was beautiful, it was special and his gesture was remarkable.

So instead of saying “or what”, I did something not smart, not sane, not rational and got up on my toes. Then I slid my fingers in his hair from the neck up. Then I grabbed onto his hard bicep with my other hand.

Max helped, leaning into me, bending his neck, gliding his fingers further into my hair to cup my head and putting his other hand to my waist.

Then I kissed him, touching my tongue to his lips which he opened for me then sliding it inside, tasting beer, tasting Max and thinking he was the most beautiful taste to ever touch my tongue.

He growled into my mouth, slanting his head, his arms coming around me and he took control of the kiss.

His was better, so much better, I felt the need to slide my other hand into his hair and hold his head to me so he’d get the hint I didn’t want him to stop.

Maybe never.

Maybe I never wanted him to stop.

We made out in the kitchen for awhile, I had no idea how long and didn’t care. I was simply loving the act of making out with Max in his kitchen partly because I loved kissing, mostly because Max was a really good kisser.

Then he finally lifted his head an inch and, unfortunately, stopped.

“I’m guessin’ you like it,” he muttered, a grin playing at his mouth.

“Yes,” I breathed, unable to grin and practically unable to remain standing. Luckily, he was still holding me.

“God, you’re cute.” He was still muttering.

I wasn’t able to form a reply.

Then we both heard the loud knock of knuckles banging insistently on glass. This sound made me jump but Max didn’t jump, instead his mouth got tight.

Max twisted his neck and his torso, taking me with him and we both saw Jimmy Cotton standing outside the door.

Then Jimmy Cotton opened the door, stuck his upper body in the house and demanded, “Quit neckin’ with Nina, Max, and get out here and help me.” Then he disappeared, leaving the door open.

Max twisted back, looked down at me and he didn’t look happy.

His words proved my guess true. “Swear to God, this doesn’t quit happenin’, I’m gonna kill someone.”

He sounded like he meant it.

“You can’t kill Jimmy Cotton. He’s an American Treasure,” I informed him.

“Right now,” Max returned, letting me go, “he’s a pain in my ass.”

I watched Max stalk to the door, flip on the outside light and exit, closing the door behind him and I didn’t know whether to laugh, scream or count my lucky stars.

I didn’t do any of those. I got out a cookie sheet and the tube of crescent roll dough, popped it open and started to unwind the dough.

I was forming the crescents when the door opened and Max walked in. His eyes hit me the instant he did. He had a funny look on his face and he was carrying what looked like a somewhat large frame wrapped in plain, brown paper wrapper.

I was forming crescents but I did it while I’d stopped breathing, my eyes on the wrapped package.

Without a word, Max set it on the floor, leaning it against the wall between the doors under the loft, turned and walked right back out.

My eyes stayed riveted to the frame as my hands automatically rolled crescents.

Then Max and Cotton walked in together, Max backing in, Cotton moving forward, both of them carrying what looked like a huge frame wrapped in the same paper.

My heart stopped beating.

“Get over here, girl,” Cotton ordered when they’d set it beside the smaller one. It was so big it engulfed the space.

Silently I grabbed a dishtowel, wiped my hands and then walked into the open space entry, my eyes still on the frames. I came to a stop right beside Max.

Cotton had moved forward, taking out a penknife, he pulled it open and carefully slid it into the paper at the edge on the larger frame. Then he moved the knife through.

He did this all the while muttering, “Meant to do this when your Dad was alive, kicked myself when he passed. Holden didn’t have a place on the land. He would have wanted this at his house, seein’ as he had to live in town.”