A couple other guys had invited her to dinner, but she’d declined. Why bother? She already knew how any relationship would end—at the mercy of the Ladling curse.
A shudder racked her at the mere thought. Family legend stated “a seed was sown in another’s field, and now the Ladling women must reap the harvest.” In other words, a Ladling ancestor had seduced another woman’s husband, ensuring the Ladling women were forever fated to lose their loves.
The claim had proven itself true in every generation. Ladling sons married and thrived while the females died alone. Jane’s mother was dumped by her father right before Jane’s birth. Though Grandma Lily wasn’t a Ladling by blood, she’d lost her husband far too soon; a heart attack took out Pops in a matter of hours. Her great-grandmother had lost her husband a year after the wedding.
Jane wanted to refute the curse, but how could she? No Ladling woman in recorded history had kept a partner. Not even the duds had stuck around.
Her senior year of high school, Jane certainly hadn’t kept a guy. She’d thought she’d fallen head over heels for Clint Lennox, son of the best baker in town. He’d spent a solid year romancing her, only to ghost her a month after graduation. Then had come Christopher, a hotshot fireman who’d dumped her after two months. Apparently, the curse had kicked into hyperdrive for Jane, who seemed to have a thing for men with C names.
“Ma’am?”
The gruff voice snapped her out of her head. Dead body. Crime. Focus. She leveled her attention at the man near the SUV. The one who’d spoken. He had salt-and-pepper hair, tanned, weathered skin and a rotund stomach. He dressed more casually than his partner, pairing a blue-collared shirt with khakis.
“I’m Jane Ladling.” She held out her hand, and they shook. “I’m the owner and operator of Garden of Memories, where your loved ones rest in beauty as well as peace.” She winced. The company motto? Really? “Sorry. Habit.”
“No worries. I’m Special Agent Tim Barrow.” His neutral expression gave nothing away. “We’re told you found a body.”
“Yes. That’s me. I’m the finder.”
Porch babe jogged down the steps. His long stride ate up the space, and her breath hitched. Sorry, Henry. There’s a new man in my life.
Forget this dude’s amazing good looks, though. The moment he stepped within sniffing distance, she noticed the most incredible scent. Dry cedar and refined spice.
And he smells good, too? How was that even fair to the females of the world? Already she craved a fresh hit each day forever and probably for weeks after.
No wonder he was the one selected to bang on her door. Who wouldn’t tell this man their deepest, darkest secrets?
“Ma’am.” He held out his hand, the sleeve of his jacket lifting, revealing a close-up of his watch—a Rolex—and the hint of a tattoo. How…delicious. Though she tried, she couldn’t identify the image.
Wait. Did he call her ma’am too? “I’m Jane Ladling.” She trembled as her fingers met his. Skin to skin. The heat! The roughness of his palm roused goose bumps. “This is my place.” She covered her uncharacteristic reaction to him by (expertly) faking a cough. The burn in her cheeks meant nothing. Everyone knew sunburns could come and go. “The cat is Rolex, in case you were wondering. He is the employee of the month.” Again.
“Rolex?” he asked, briefly tracing his fingers over his watch.
“Because he’s the world’s best watch cat. And don’t bother trying to win him over. He’s never going to like you. Not that you want to develop a relationship with my cat.” Moving on. “You want to see the dead body, I’m sure. I mean, I’m guessing he’s dead. I didn’t check for a pulse.” Was she rambling? It felt as if she rambled.
“I’m Special Agent Ryan. I’d like to ask you a few questions first.” His voice was as wonderfully rough as his features, but also as smooth as molasses. The contradiction was kind of maddening.
“So, um, nice to meet you. I mean, not nice, since someone died and all. But, um, yes. Also nice. Because you’re a great person. Or I’m guessing you’re great. I don’t really know you. You might kick puppies in your spare time.” Shutting up now.
Special Agent Ryan canted his head to the side, as if he’d just deepened his study of her. Had he? Those glasses hid everything except his intensity. Tim Barrow had been deadpan, but this guy took it to a whole new level. Not a single twitch gave away his emotions. “You’re the woman who found the victim?”
“Yes. That’s me. I was making my morning rounds, planning my chores for the day, when I came across a disturbed plot.” She waved to the cobblestone path. “Sheriff Moore is there now. Why don’t I answer your questions along the way?”