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“There could have been a collision at the track yard,” she insisted. “The switching lane is just a few hundred yards from the house. It isn’t used much, but when it is, we can feel it, almost like the ground is moving.”
“But if your theory is correct,” he mused, “then the paint remover had to be open when it tipped.”
“The workmen sometimes just set the cap on the neck and didn’t screw it down until they were done,” she told him. “They warned me about an open can more than once when I came into the room where they were.”
Asher leaned back in his chair. “Plausible,” he admitted, but his tone implied that he found it just barely so.
He stroked a fingertip over the cleft in his chin. “You, ah, mentioned going on a date the previous evening.”
Ellie blinked at the change in subject. “What about it?”
“Just wondering if you’ve broken anyone’s heart lately.”
She scoffed, laughing. “Hardly.”
“There hasn’t been anyone special then?”
“I wish,” she quipped. “What there have been are a lot of first dates, emphasis on the word first, as in not many second dates.” She wrinkled her nose. “I just don’t seem to find any keepers, if you take my meaning. Dallas says I’m too picky, but I notice that she doesn’t have a steady boyfriend, either.”
He smiled then abruptly sobered again. “By any chance, might one of those first dates have been with Garrett Willows?” he asked carefully.
Ellie blinked and frowned, shaking her head. “I never met him before that night. Why?”
“I’m just trying to understand the overall situation.”
“But I’ve told you what happened.”
“You put forward a supposition,” he pointed out, “but you’ve as good as said that you don’t really know what happened.”
She slid to the edge of her seat and laid a hand on his desktop beseechingly. “Look, however it happened, it wasn’t malicious.”
Asher beetled his brow. “And how do you—”
“It just stands to reason,” she said too quickly. “I mean, it’s not as if we have enemies.”
“Then who set the fire, Ellie?”
“I don’t know!” she shot back. And she didn’t. Not for sure. “No one! It was an accident.”
“Did you arrange that fire to promote a romance between our relatives?” he demanded.
She gasped. He suspected her? Here she was trying to protect his beloved but harebrained sister, and he would put the blame on her? Indignant, she rose to place both hands on his desk. Leaning forward, she brought her face close to his, so close that she could smell the minty freshness of his breath. “I had absolutely nothing to do with that fire!”
“Nothing?” he asked skeptically.
“Zip,” she declared flatly, punctuating her denial with taps of her forefinger against his blotter. “Nada. Nil. Zero. Zilch. I didn’t set it! I didn’t cause it! I didn’t have anyone else do it! I didn’t know it was going to happen. I still can’t believe that it has!”
After a very long moment, Asher relaxed back in his chair. “I had to ask,” he said, as if that excused all.
Sighing, Ellie dropped her head. He believed her. He believed that she had nothing to do with the fire, and in that moment, fool that she was, that was all that mattered.
Asher still had serious questions, but he felt sure that whatever had happened, Ellie had not purposefully caused the fire at the Monroe house. Deeply relieved, he smiled. She blinked and smiled back. For a long moment he couldn’t look away. Then another thought came to mind. Though she might not have been responsible for the fire, she was certainly guilty of meddling in other people’s lives.
“So you didn’t start the fire, but you’re not above using it for your own purposes,” he accused, frowning.
She dropped down onto the edge of the chair again. “My grandfather taught me that God doesn’t let anything into the lives of His children without a reason, and getting together two people who care about each other seems like a pretty good one to me.”
“Please,” Asher scoffed. “Odelia and your grandfather haven’t had feelings for each other in fifty years.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Even if they did have feelings for each another, I would discourage them from entering into a relationship at this late date. It isn’t sensible.”
Ellie gasped. “You can’t be that cold!”
That, surprisingly, stung. Coldness was what his ex-wife, Samantha, had accused him of when her tears had not moved him. Perhaps if she had not employed them after making angry demands, he would have been more amenable. Perhaps she wouldn’t have left him then. Perhaps his wouldn’t have been the first divorce in his family. He blocked further thoughts on the matter.
“I’m simply pragmatic,” he refuted, keeping his voice level. “Two people the age of your grandfather and my aunt ought not become entangled romantically. It’s just not wise, fiscally, emotionally or in any other way.”
Ellie narrowed her wide, violet eyes at him. “Just because they’re older, you think they don’t deserve to be happy? How hard-hearted can you be?”
Asher felt his temper begin to spike. “I never said they don’t deserve to be happy.”
“Just that they should ignore their feelings for each other!” Ellie exclaimed.
“You don’t know that they have feelings for each other any more than I know they don’t!” he pointed out.
“Well, we won’t know whether they do or not if we don’t give them a chance to find out, will we?”
“What difference does it make at this point?” he demanded. “They’re past the point of contemplating children or building a financial future together.”
“Love and marriage are about more than children and finances! It’s about companionship and emotional support.”
“Oh, please! It’s not as if either of them is living a lonely, barren existence. Aunt Odelia has her sisters. Your grandfather has you.”
“But what about tenderness, satisfaction, the fulfillment of a heart’s desire?”
Asher rolled his eyes. “Believe me, it is entirely possible to live without those things. In some ways, it is even preferable.”
Ellie fell back into her chair, staring at him with those breathtaking eyes. To his horror, tears welled up. “That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard,” she told him in a soft, trembling voice.
He gaped at her, his chest tightening, and felt the urge to rush around the desk, slip an arm about her shoulders and apologize. Then he realized that she’d manipulated him exactly as Samantha had always done. His anger abruptly turned outward again, though he did his best to subdue it with reason.
“Sad?” he echoed. “But that’s just what I’m trying to tell you. Life without romance is not necessarily unhappy. In fact, it can be infinitely more comfortable. Believe me, I know.”
“You poor thing,” she whispered, her expression melting into compassion. “Who was she? Who was it who broke your heart?”
Asher’s jaw dropped as his ex-wife’s face flashed before his mind’s eye. He saw her on their wedding day, resplendent in her white dress, even then, impatience and disappointment stamped on her face. He had ignored that, knowing that he had been less engaged in the planning and process of the wedding than she would have liked. He’d told himself that once he finished law school and passed the bar, things would settle down, but he’d soon realized that she expected more than he could ever deliver, more time, more attention, more emotion. He remembered the contempt on her face the day that she’d declared him hopeless and asked him to leave their apartment.
Quickly banishing the memories, Asher told himself yet again that the divorce had been the best thing. The marriage had been the mistake. At least he and Samantha had seen the error of their ways before they’d brought children into it. God had taught him a valuable lesson with the failure of his marriage—that his career and personality would leave him neither the time nor the inclination for love and romance.
He had since come to find that such things were not necessary. In fact, given all the acrimonious divorces that he’d seen, Asher did not understand why any mature person entertained notions of romance.
“You misunderstand,” he began, reclaiming his composure, only to have Ellie interrupt.
“God can heal a broken heart, you know,” she told him gently.
“Yes, of course, but—”
“But you must allow Him to do it,” she counseled. “You must be willing.”
Exasperated, Asher muttered, “It’s not a matter of—”
“Because He surely has some lucky woman picked out for you,” Ellie plowed on, not allowing him to complete so much as a sentence. “She’s waiting right now, the one woman in the world who will treasure everything about you.”
He lifted his eyebrows at that. “Oh, really?” he quipped with equal parts intrigue and ridicule.
She nodded, smiling. “She’ll admire all your sterling qualities.”
“Sterling,” he mimicked, amused now. She was beginning to sound like his aunts. Obviously, the old girls were rubbing off on her. “I’ve always wondered. What exactly is a ‘sterling quality’?”
She sat back in her chair as if surprised that he had to ask. “Well, in your case, confidence, kindness—”
“You told me I was hard-hearted a moment ago,” he pointed out drily.
“I was wrong,” she admitted with ease. “I said that without thinking, before I knew you’d been hurt.”
He opened his mouth to tell her that he had not been hurt but he found he couldn’t quite make the words come out.
“A hard-hearted man would not take on a case just because his aunts asked him to. Plus, you’re intelligent and good at what you do, successful, respected, honest and you obviously value family. That’s all very important to women, you know. And, of course, you’re handsome.”
“Handsome,” he repeated, realizing only belatedly that he was starting to sound like a parrot.
“The graying at the temples is very distinguished,” she went on, tilting her head. “Though it’s not really gray, is it? It’s more of a champagne color, I think. Very unique.”
He suddenly couldn’t think of anything sensible to say. “I, uh…” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Um…thank you.”
She beamed so brightly that her whole being seemed to shine. His lungs locked, refusing to allow air in or out. Then she ducked her head and confessed, “You have gorgeous eyes.”
The reality of the situation slapped him fully in the face. She was flirting with him! His world tilted, leaving him clinging to the very edge of reason. Abruptly, he saw himself falling into that sanity-stealing violet gaze, and his every instinct demanded that he flee to safety. He was halfway to his feet when she bounced up, declaring that her grandfather was waiting for her at the pharmacy across the street.
“Ah.” Not exactly an intelligent observation, but it would have to do. He threw an arm toward the door, wordlessly inviting Ellie to take her leave.
She rose smoothly and walked toward the door. He hung back, snatching his jacket from the rack and throwing it on. His overcoat followed that, yet he somehow managed to catch up with her in the doorway.
Pausing there, she turned and lifted a dainty hand to brush across his striped tie. “Just think about what I said,” she whispered before moving off down the hallway.
Asher stared at her retreating figure for a long moment before he shut his eyes. No, no, he must not think about her…uh, about what she’d said. What had she said?
The door in the waiting area opened and closed, signaling that she had left the premises. He sagged against the door frame, shaking his head and sucking in huge drafts of air.
What on earth was going on? He had sworn off the fairer sex, and he’d been perfectly happy in his solitary existence. Besides, he couldn’t be attracted to Ellie Monroe. Not only was she now officially a client, she was twenty-three, too impulsive, too talkative, too…everything!
Especially too pretty.
Why, the woman was downright dangerous. Oh, she might look as innocent as lambs and sweet enough to decay teeth, but that woman was poisonous to the male population, and henceforth, he told himself sternly, he would not forget that fact. He would be on his guard—stern, disciplined, wise—just as a man in his position ought to be.
But something told him that being on his guard might not be enough to combat the charms of Ellie Monroe.
Mentally kicking herself with every step, Ellie descended the stairs outside Asher’s office to the ground floor below. She loved these old art deco buildings, but she saw nothing of her surroundings as recriminations piled on, crowding out everything else.
Could she have made a bigger fool of herself? She should have realized that Asher was not handling this case for the money. He was doing a favor for his aunts. Most likely, he would not have taken on the situation at all except at their behest. Informing him of her and her grandfather’s limited means to pay had probably even insulted Asher, and that was the last thing she’d wanted.
To make matters even worse, she had shown her hand. He knew that she wanted him to drop or stall the settlement and why—or partly why. Hopefully, he would be satisfied with that.
The saddest revelation of all, though, had to do with Ash himself. The very idea that he had given up on romance broke her heart, for him and for all the women out there who begged God on their knees for such a man, herself included. As a Chatam, he would be a responsible, fiercely loyal and faithful Christian husband, much like her beloved grandfather. Ellie liked to think that her own father would have been such a man, too, but Chart Monroe had died in a helicopter crash while on a training mission with his military unit when she was only ten years old. His death had driven Ellie’s unhappy grandmother into bitterness and her spoiled mother into paroxysms of self-pity.
Ellie had soon learned that just as she could not depend on her mother or grandmother to help her through her father’s loss, neither could she make up for his absence, so she had clung to her good-natured grandfather. Not yet thirteen when her querulous grandmother had suddenly died, Ellie had naturally turned to him for support and comfort during their mutual time of grief, and that, her mother had declared before packing up and disappearing, was just where she belonged.
Her mother’s abandonment had hurt, but leaving Ellie with her grandfather was perhaps the greatest kindness that Sonia had ever given her daughter. Ellie owed so much to that wonderful old man. For years, he had bravely smiled in the face of criticism and coldness from his wife. He had been as devastated as she by their son’s passing, perhaps more so, but somewhere along the way, Kent Monroe had learned to make his own happiness. He had taught Ellie to do the same. Just once, though, Ellie wanted her grandfather to actually have his heart’s desire, and she wasn’t about to apologize for that, not even to Ash, who had obviously allowed his own disappointment to warp his judgment about such things.
Pushing through a heavy glass door, Ellie stepped out onto the sidewalk of the downtown square that framed the Buffalo Creek courthouse. Pausing to toss on her jacket, she spied Lance Ripley coming toward her.
She had done her best to avoid Lance after their date on Valentine’s Day. It was not an easy task. As coworkers, they taught in the same building, but while she loved teaching and enjoyed children, Lance, she had discovered, despised both. He had told her bluntly that he would continue to teach only until one of his unlikely inventions sold, the latest of which was a backpack containing an air bag. Ellie shuddered at the idea of school hallways filled with exploding air bags as children did what came naturally, bumping, shoving and jabbing each other.
Lance called out to her even as she quickly turned in the opposite direction. “Ellie!”
Sighing inwardly, she resigned herself and put on a smile before slowly facing him. He strode up to her, hunching inside his rumpled trench coat. His tall frame seemed to fold in upon itself as if unable to support the shock of wheat-blond hair that sprouted from his scalp, too thick to part or comb down without a proper styling. One of those men who could have been truly handsome with just a bit of attention to the details of grooming, he had once struck her as a bundle of possibilities. Now, he represented every dating disappointment she’d ever experienced.
“I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” The pale blue eyes that pinned her from beneath the line of a shaggy unibrow seemed oddly calculating, but she forced a tight smile anyway.
“Hello, Lance. I’ve been, um, busy.”
“Not too busy for me, though, I’m sure,” he insisted, sliding an arm across her shoulders.
Ellie stepped aside, frowning at his familiarity. They’d shared a single date, for pity’s sake, and she’d regretted it long before their dinners had arrived. He’d asked her out a full week in advance, and she’d been happy to accept. She’d dressed carefully, twisting up her hair and donning one of her favorite dresses, only to find that he hadn’t even bothered to make reservations. After driving all over town, they’d wound up eating burgers in a joint frequented primarily by loud teenagers while he droned on and on about his invention. She’d avoided his good-night kiss after that and his calls ever since.
“Actually,” she told him, “this is not a good time. I’ve got to run. Sorry.” She attempted to step away, but his hand shot out and fastened around her arm.
“Now, hang on,” he said, frowning.
Ellie glanced around meaningfully, but Lance seemed not to realize that they were on the verge of a very public scene. “Please let go of me.”
“You’ve been avoiding me for the past week or more,” he accused, as if she had not realized that fact, “and I want to talk.”
“Lance, I don’t have time for this,” she began firmly, but he cut her off.
“Those old ladies you live with, the Chatams, they might be interested in investing in my safety pack. I didn’t get a chance to meet them last time, so I thought I could come by sometime soon and do that.”
He’d picked her up at Chatam House for their date. Thankfully, the Chatam sisters had been out at the time; otherwise, he might have hit them up for investment funds right then and there! Alarmed to think that he would try to use their tenuous connection to importune the Chatams, Ellie glared up at him.
“Absolutely not! My grandfather and I are just guests at Chatam House. We’ve only been here for a couple of weeks. I wouldn’t feel comfortable having my own company come over.”
“Huh,” he said, as if the niceties of such things had never occurred to him. “But I’m not really company. We’re dating.”
“No, Lance, we’re not,” she stated flatly, drawing herself up straight. “And I really have to go.”
Scowling, he gave her arm a shake. At that precise moment, Asher pushed through the door of the building and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Barely glancing at Lance Ripley, he walked over, calmly took Ellie’s arm in his, breaking Lance’s grasp, and turned her toward her grandfather’s pharmacy.
“Excuse us,” he said over his shoulder, propelling her down the sidewalk. “Mr. Monroe is waiting.”
Stunned, Ellie glanced back at Lance. He brought his hands to his hips and glowered but did not seem inclined to follow. “I’ll phone you,” he called, as if that alone would prompt her to take his calls when she had not done so thus far.
“You can try,” she muttered, swinging her smile up at Asher. She couldn’t help a tiny thrill of appreciation. It really was rather gallant, the way he had swooped in and swept her away.
My hero, she thought with a melodramatic, inward sigh. If only she could believe he’d meant something personal by it. But of course, given his feelings about romance, that was out of the question. Entirely.
Chapter Four
Of all the stupid, ill-advised things to do! Asher scolded himself sternly, all but shoving Ellie Monroe along at his side. He glanced down at her worshipful gaze and inwardly groaned. If he was not mistaken, the girl had a crush on him already, and he had just added fuel to that fire. Nothing could come of it, of course. He was old enough to be…well, fifteen years her senior.
A decade and a half.
Good grief, he’d been learning to drive when she was born! But did that stop him from riding to her rescue like a knight of old? Nooo.
Yet, what else could he have done? He had come down the stairs intending to turn to the back of the building and walk right out into the alley where, as usual, he had parked his SUV. Then he’d caught sight of Ellie and that man through the front glass. Within moments, Asher had realized that the idiot had put his hands on her and that she was not particularly welcoming the familiarity. He hadn’t really thought at all after that. Before he’d even known what he intended to do, he was doing it.
“One of your ‘first dates,’ I assume?” Asher muttered.
“A first and only date,” she answered.
“He seemed anxious for a repeat performance.”
“But not for the reason you may think.”
“Oh?”
“He wants your aunts to invest in one of his inventions.”
Asher stopped short of the corner and looked down at her. “Inventions?”
“A backpack with an air bag.” He blinked slowly at that. She made an expression somewhere between a grimace and a grin. “To guard against pedestrian accidents.”
“Pedestrian accidents,” he muttered, shaking his head. Glancing back over his shoulder, he ushered her forward once more. “Doesn’t exactly take a hint, does he?”
“He’s still there?”
“Afraid so.”
Thankfully, the light changed before they reached the corner. Asher all but pushed her across the street, and they wound up in front of the door to her grandfather’s pharmacy. The lettering on the front window read, “Monroe’s Modern Pharmacy and Old-Fashioned Soda Fountain.”
“Thank you,” she said.
Nodding, he glanced back down the street, frowning. “Maybe I’d better have a word with our inventor.”
She caught him by the arm before he could turn away. “Uh, why don’t I treat you to a root beer float, instead. He’ll leave after we go inside.”
Asher lifted his eyebrows. “A root beer float? I haven’t had a root beer float since…actually, I’m not sure I’ve ever had a root beer float.”
“Well, it’s about time you did, then,” she told him, pulling him through the door with her.
He went along because, really, what else was he going to do? Dig in his heels like a recalcitrant four-year-old?
Redolent of peppermint, the shop spread out in a straightforward manner, with a single cash register and short counter at the front perpendicular to the door. Rows of products ran horizontally through the center of the store, providing a clear line of vision from the glassed-in prescription counter at the back.
“Hey, sugar! Be with you in a minute,” Kent Monroe’s gravelly voice called out.
“It’s okay, Grandpa,” Ellie answered, tugging Asher toward the candy-striped counter along the far wall. “We’re going to have a treat.”
“Help yourselves.”
It had been ages since Asher had parked himself on one of those small, round stools at the soda bar. He usually visited one of the specialty coffee shops on the square these days. Something about those red vinyl-covered seats edged in chrome and fixed atop a stationary metal pole made him feel silly. Still, he sat when Ellie motioned him to it. She rounded the corner and slid behind the counter.
“Now, let’s see,” she said, looking around her, “maybe you’d prefer something other than a float. Say, a cream fizz or a sarsaparilla?”
“Really?” he said, leaning his elbows on the counter. “A sarsaparilla? No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, then?”
“Maybe you’d better choose.”
She smiled. “A float it is, but a very special one.”
He watched doubtfully as she squirted a measure of dark syrup into a tall metal cup, added a firm scoop of vanilla ice cream, blended the ingredients and then divided the resulting sludge between two tall, fluted goblets. She flooded the goblets with cola from one of the fountain taps, forming an impressive lather on each. Plucking two straws from a container, she shoved them into the goblets and carried both around the counter, where she took a seat next to Asher, facing backward.