Bluegrass Peril by Virginia Smith

to upset him.”
    Jamie fell into step beside them as they headed toward the barn, but peeled off to come toward her. “I’m hungry.”
    Becky glanced at her watch. Eleven-ten. “You should have eaten more breakfast. It’s not lunchtime yet.”
    “Actually,” said Scott, giving her a sheepish smile, “I’m kind of hungry myself. You interested in grabbing a hamburger somewhere?”
    “Yeah!” Tyler ran to her side. “Please, Mommy?”
    Becky’s throat closed around any words she might have tried to force out. Was Scott offering to take them out? No, better not assume that. He was probably just suggesting a friendly lunch, Dutch treat. Unfortunately, she couldn’t afford a restaurant, not even fast food.
    “I have peanut butter sandwiches in the car.” She didn’t look at Scott’s face, too embarrassed to claim poverty. “Remember our picnic at the park, boys?”
    “We’re gonna feed the ducks,” Jamie informed him.
    From the corner of her eye she saw Scott shrug. “Peanut butter keeps. And I think Sam would love to go to the park after lunch and chase a few ducks.”
    She looked up, and her pulse danced when he smiled into her eyes. This good-looking man actually wanted to spend his Saturday afternoon with her and her boys? Either they’d behaved themselves better than she could have hoped while she was inside, or he found her…
    No. She wouldn’t go there. He probably just didn’t want to sit around the Pasture alone all afternoon.
    She found herself nodding, and the twins let out a yelp of delight. How much could a burger cost, anyway?

ELEVEN
    S cott pulled the truck into the Pasture’s driveway. He parked, then threw back his head and gave in to a jaw-stretching yawn. He’d always been an early bird, but five o’clock on Sunday morning was stretching the point, even for him.
    Somebody had to feed the horses, though, and they needed their morning medication. Life on the farm didn’t stop just because it was the Lord’s day.
    “And somebody has to feed the dog, too, huh, fella?”
    Sam lifted his head off the bench seat, and his tail thumped sluggishly. Even the dog thought five o’clock was too early. He’d follow Scott around on his morning chores, and then probably take a snooze in the barn while Scott attended church.
    He got out of the truck and clutched his jacket together as a cold predawn wind whipped it open. He ducked his head to shield his neck with his collar and trotted toward the house with Sam on his heels.
    He twisted the handle on the storm door, fumbling with his keys. Gripping the correct one, he extended it toward the inside door—
    And stopped.
    The inside door stood open. He stared at it, thoughts spinning. Did Becky close it yesterday? Yes, he remembered standing by the truck, waiting for Jamie to run inside and grab his backpack. When the boy ran out, Becky pulled it closed and locked it with her key. He didn’t open the house at all last night when he came back to the Pasture, just the barn.
    He stepped forward through the door to get a look at the handle. Yeah, it was scarred and bent. Somebody jimmied the lock.
    What could they hope to steal from the office of a nonprofit organization like the Pasture?
    Whatever they were after, they’d ransacked the place. The front room was a wreck. The couch cushions had been slashed open, as was the pathetic old armchair in the corner. The brochure rack had been thrown to the floor and the contents scattered everywhere. Odd, though. The television and DVD player were still in place. Not a random burglary, then. From where he stood he could just see a corner of the office, the floor littered with papers. All Becky’s work organizing the contents of Haldeman’s desk, wasted.
    Sam pushed past him and headed for the kitchen.
    “Sam, come.”
    The dog reluctantly returned. They stepped outside, and Scott unclipped his cell phone to call the police.

     
    The hallways of Grace Community Church were filled with Sunday morning