Crazy for Her by Sandra Owens

disappeared back into her room. “Good morning to you, too,” he muttered. Was she angry about last night?
    She could have at least asked how his head was. Christ, he was really mucking things up. Since arriving, he’d insulted her, wrecked her car, and was no closer to catching the creep stalking her. He shoveled eggs into his mouth and again considered bringing Buchanan up to guard her. No. No way was he letting Romeo anywhere near her.
    Irritated about everything, he decided he shouldn’t be the only one not having a good day. He called Jake Buchanan to give him hell.
    “What time is it?” Buchanan asked, sounding half-asleep.
    “I don’t give a damn about the time. I want to know if there are prints on the fucking bear.”
    “What bug crawled up your butt? I left you a message last night telling you what we got.”
    Damn, he hadn’t bothered checking his messages. “Humor me here and tell me again.”
    Logan heard a big sigh from Buchanan and then a female voice in the background. Typical Romeo.
    “Can’t this wait until I pour about five cups of coffee down my throat? Better yet, why don’t you hang up and listen to my voice mail? I’ve got a bit of sweetness here, wanting my attention.”
    Meanness crept into Logan’s voice. “If you still want to be employed tomorrow, tell me about the damned fingerprints.”
    “Yes, sir.” Logan could almost hear Buchanan’s salute. “We lifted a thumbprint. Strange thing is, there were no matches, but the whorls and pattern lines are similar to Prescott’s. The print’s not Evan’s, but almost could be. What does it mean, boss?”
    Damn. He’d started having a suspicion, but had hoped it wasn’t true. “It means you send your guest home, and then spend today delving into Evan’s life. His parents, birth certificate, everything, no matter how insignificant you think it is. Put Turner on a plane and send him to Dallas. Tell him to track down anyone who might remember the Prescotts—old neighbors, church, whatever. You got that, Romeo?”
    “Not having fun in Asheville, boss?”
    “Go to hell,” Logan said, and clicked off.
    The rest of his eggs had congealed into an unappetizing mess by the time he hung up. He crammed two pieces of bacon and the last of his toast into his mouth, and then walked outside. Taking a deep breath of the crisp, early-morning mountain air, he tried to find his balance. The woman hiding in her room was throwing his world out of alignment. He just didn’t know what to do about it.
    Logan stood on the deck and watched the sun come up over the mountain. When it was light enough to see the oak tree, he focused on it, but didn’t sense anyone there. Who the hell are you? The back door creaked open and he turned.
    His gaze hungrily slid over Dani, taking in the white T-shirt that showed a slit of stomach above the waist of a pair of cutoff jeans, lingering a moment on the silver belly ring, and then on down to the latest toenail color, a purple so dark it was almost black. Did she change the color of polish to suit her moods? Should he take the near black as a warning?
    “When you’re done ogling me, maybe you’ll tell me why you’re looking into Evan’s background.”
    Yep, black toenails didn’t bode well. Not wanting to answer her question yet and since ogling her obviously annoyed her, he made a slow perusal in reverse direction, from her toes up. When he reached her eyes, he cocked a brow. “Sorry, did you say something?”
    “You’re an ass,” she said, disappearing back inside to the sound of the slamming door.
    He couldn’t deny the reality of their situation, and the sooner she accepted it, the sooner she would stop looking at him with hurt in those Irish green eyes. Not only was she Evan’s wife, but Logan Kincaid wasn’t good enough for her. How could a woman born into a house with seven bathrooms ever love a man who grew up in little more than a glorified shed with one barely working bathroom, a man whose