him money? Did they do that sort of thing? Loan sharking?”
Jeb glanced around as if becoming aware that they were standing together right out in front of God and everybody having a very private, very serious conversation. “Look, I shouldn't have started talking about this right now—if ever. Let's just leave it that there are things that happened prior to Josh's suicide that didn't sit right with me.” At Shelly's mulish expression, he said, “I know. I shouldn't have started if I didn't mean to finish. And I will. But not here. And not now.” He glanced around, his gaze narrowing as he caught sight of a dark blue pickup truck pulling into the small gravel parking lot of the Blue Goose. “Oh, hell, speak of the Devil.” He gave a faint jerk of his head. “There's Milo Scott getting out of his pickup at the Goose.” His eyes on Shelly's, he said, “Invite me up to the house for dinner tomorrow night—I'd say tonight, but we're a little shorthanded right now, and I'm subbing for one of the other sergeants—the reason I'm in uniform and not in plain clothes. I still live up here, but I work out of the Willits office…unless someone dies violently. I don't mean to put you off—I promise, I'll tell you what I know.” His mouth thinned. “Which is damn little. Deal?”
Shelly studied the wiry, sandy-haired man who slammed the door of the blue pickup and ambled into the restaurant. He looked nondescript, and she didn't recognize him. She turned her attention back to Jeb. “Deal. Come out about six thirty tomorrow night,” Shelly said. “And don't you try to wiggle out of it.”
“I won't—honest. But don't fret over what I've told you and convince yourself there's some big mystery. Like you, I'm having trouble dealing with Josh's death, and I'm probably jumping to conclusions to keep from making the obvious one; he killed himself.” His expression disgusted, he muttered, “Me and my big mouth. First time I see you in years, and I have to dump this on you.”
Shelly forced herself to smile. “Tact was never your strong point.”
Following her lead, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Honey, with my charm, I don't need tact.”
Laughing, Shelly threw herself into his arms again, burying her face into his warm neck. “Oh, Jeb, I've missed you…the valley…everything. I can't believe I stayed away so long. Until I came home, I didn't realize that this is my real home, this is where I belong.”
He dropped a kiss on top of her head. “I know, kid. You just had to have time to realize it yourself.”
“How did you get so damned smart?” she muttered against his skin.
He hugged her tighter. “Just those Ballinger/Granger genes, I guess.”
Neither was aware of Sloan pushing out of Heather-Mary-Marie's and walking past them until he said in arctic tones, “Afternoon, Delaney. Doing some private detecting?”
Jeb grinned and held Shelly firmly against him when she would have jerked away. “You bet. I'm a man who takes my work seriously.”
Sloan snorted and slipped into the big Suburban parked next to where they stood. His mouth grim, he gunned the engine, reversed right smartly, and sped away.
“Brrrr.” Jeb said. “Is it just me, or did you feel that glacial blast, too?”
“I felt it.” Her mouth twisted. “Some things never change, do they? Simply because I'm a Granger, the Ballingers hate me.”
Jeb chuckled. “Honey, that wasn't hatred that made Sloan all lemon-lipped and grumpy. I know a jealous man when I see one—I'm a detective, remember? And that was one jealous man. It's a wonder I'm still standing upright and not lying on the ground nursing a broken jaw. I thought he was going to take a swing at me, throw you over his shoulder, and gallop away. Whew! Sloan was pissed, no doubt about it.”
“You're wrong. Sloan was just being Sloan.”
“If you say so, kid.”
Not wanting to discuss the matter, Shelly moved away from him, and muttered, “I've got to go now.
Jeb glanced around as if becoming aware that they were standing together right out in front of God and everybody having a very private, very serious conversation. “Look, I shouldn't have started talking about this right now—if ever. Let's just leave it that there are things that happened prior to Josh's suicide that didn't sit right with me.” At Shelly's mulish expression, he said, “I know. I shouldn't have started if I didn't mean to finish. And I will. But not here. And not now.” He glanced around, his gaze narrowing as he caught sight of a dark blue pickup truck pulling into the small gravel parking lot of the Blue Goose. “Oh, hell, speak of the Devil.” He gave a faint jerk of his head. “There's Milo Scott getting out of his pickup at the Goose.” His eyes on Shelly's, he said, “Invite me up to the house for dinner tomorrow night—I'd say tonight, but we're a little shorthanded right now, and I'm subbing for one of the other sergeants—the reason I'm in uniform and not in plain clothes. I still live up here, but I work out of the Willits office…unless someone dies violently. I don't mean to put you off—I promise, I'll tell you what I know.” His mouth thinned. “Which is damn little. Deal?”
Shelly studied the wiry, sandy-haired man who slammed the door of the blue pickup and ambled into the restaurant. He looked nondescript, and she didn't recognize him. She turned her attention back to Jeb. “Deal. Come out about six thirty tomorrow night,” Shelly said. “And don't you try to wiggle out of it.”
“I won't—honest. But don't fret over what I've told you and convince yourself there's some big mystery. Like you, I'm having trouble dealing with Josh's death, and I'm probably jumping to conclusions to keep from making the obvious one; he killed himself.” His expression disgusted, he muttered, “Me and my big mouth. First time I see you in years, and I have to dump this on you.”
Shelly forced herself to smile. “Tact was never your strong point.”
Following her lead, he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Honey, with my charm, I don't need tact.”
Laughing, Shelly threw herself into his arms again, burying her face into his warm neck. “Oh, Jeb, I've missed you…the valley…everything. I can't believe I stayed away so long. Until I came home, I didn't realize that this is my real home, this is where I belong.”
He dropped a kiss on top of her head. “I know, kid. You just had to have time to realize it yourself.”
“How did you get so damned smart?” she muttered against his skin.
He hugged her tighter. “Just those Ballinger/Granger genes, I guess.”
Neither was aware of Sloan pushing out of Heather-Mary-Marie's and walking past them until he said in arctic tones, “Afternoon, Delaney. Doing some private detecting?”
Jeb grinned and held Shelly firmly against him when she would have jerked away. “You bet. I'm a man who takes my work seriously.”
Sloan snorted and slipped into the big Suburban parked next to where they stood. His mouth grim, he gunned the engine, reversed right smartly, and sped away.
“Brrrr.” Jeb said. “Is it just me, or did you feel that glacial blast, too?”
“I felt it.” Her mouth twisted. “Some things never change, do they? Simply because I'm a Granger, the Ballingers hate me.”
Jeb chuckled. “Honey, that wasn't hatred that made Sloan all lemon-lipped and grumpy. I know a jealous man when I see one—I'm a detective, remember? And that was one jealous man. It's a wonder I'm still standing upright and not lying on the ground nursing a broken jaw. I thought he was going to take a swing at me, throw you over his shoulder, and gallop away. Whew! Sloan was pissed, no doubt about it.”
“You're wrong. Sloan was just being Sloan.”
“If you say so, kid.”
Not wanting to discuss the matter, Shelly moved away from him, and muttered, “I've got to go now.
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