“Oh.” This time she did kick him.
“What’s the matter?” the sheriff asked.
“Nothing. Just squishing a bug.” Myron wrapped his arm around her thigh and hung on so she couldn’t kick him again. She got real still, and he waited for her to squeal on him.
“If you see him near the Winnebago, give us a call.”
“I’ll do that.”
The bootheels faded and the door opened and shut. “Is he gone?” Myron whispered.
“Get your hand out from under my skirt!”
Slowly Myron slipped his palm down her soft thigh to her knee. “You have great skin.”
She took a step back and stared down at him as if he really were a bug. “You’re here to chase after Hope Spencer.”
“ ‘Chase’ is an awfully strong word.” He stood, then hoisted himself up onto the counter. He sat on the edge facing Paris, which nearly brought him to her height. “I just need her to do one little thing for me.”
“What’s that? Have your baby?”
“Hell, no. I hate that woman.”
The frown wrinkling Paris’s brow lifted. “You do?”
“Yes. She ruined my life.”
“Mine, too. Ever since she drove into town, all the men have been chasing after her.”
“Hope? She’s too scrawny.”
“Oh, you’re just saying that.”
“No. I like full-figured gals.” He looked her up and down. “Gals like you.”
Hope shoved her hands into a pair of sturdy work gloves and tackled the weeds growing in the old rose garden in front of the Donnelly house. The late-afternoon sun beat down on her head, covered with her Gap hat, while insects buzzed around her. She wore a pair of beige shorts and a red tank top, and she’d protected her exposed skin with sunscreen and bug juice. On the porch sat her big covered tankard of iced tea, and Bonnie Raitt sang from the CD player.
It had been three days since she’d first seen Myron outside the M & S. She hadn’t seen him again, but she’d heard from him. She didn’t know how he’d gotten her unlisted phone number, but he had, and although he never said anything, she knew it was him. She recognized his breathing. He’d done the same thing when he’d followed her to L.A.
When she’d told Shelly about it, her friend had waved aside Hope’s fear as nothing to be concerned about, but after the creepy phone calls kept coming, Shelly volunteered Paul to kick Myron’s ass. If only it were that simple. Hope knew from prior experience with Myron that he was very good at hiding.
“What’re ya doin‘?”
Hope looked over her shoulder at the two little boys walking into her yard wearing nothing but their swimming suits and cowboy boots. Wally’s gaze quickly moved to the big sickle leaning against the house, while Adam kept his eyes glued to the ground.
At the sight of Adam, Hope felt a warm little glow in her heart. She was surprised at how glad she was to see him. At how much she’d come to care for him in such a short time. A little boy who had a passion for rocks and anything gross. “Do you boys have sunscreen on?”
Wally nodded and asked again, “What’re you doin‘?”
“I’m trying to clear this rose bed.”
“Need help?” he asked.
Under normal circumstance, she would have welcomed help from anyone who offered. “No, thanks.”
“You could pay us,” Wally continued as if she hadn’t refused the offer. “And we’d do a good job, too.”
Hope looked at Adam and he finally took his gaze off his shoes and his eyes met hers. His cheeks flushed; then he looked away, as if he were embarrassed and uncertain. “I would, but I don’t think Adam’s father would be too happy if he saw him here.”