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“Jesus, can I eat one raw?”
“No, but I made some guacamole, too. With more minced peppers, just the way you like.”
“Give it,” Isabelle said, managing to growl out a quick thank-you before she stuffed a chip into her mouth. She groaned her approval as the creamy goodness melted over her tongue. Yes, this was the perfect, perfect day.
“I’m going to paint another picture for you this spring,” she promised Jill. “Though I’d have to paint ten a year to repay you for all the food.”
“If I didn’t make food for you, I’d make it for myself, and I’d gain twenty pounds every winter instead of five.”
“Okay. Just get those puff pastries in the oven and we’ll call it even.”
“All right, greedy. But first I’ll grab the pies out of the car.” She headed toward the front door, and Isabelle rushed after her, her skin actually flushing with excitement.
“Pie? You brought pie? You really are the perfect woman.”
Jill winked over her shoulder as she opened the front door. “I normally don’t hear that until after sex.”
“Vixen,” Isabelle said before realizing there was a petite blonde stranger standing in the open doorway, her frown answering their laughter.
“Oh, hello,” Jill said brightly, as if the woman wore a decidedly more friendly expression.
The woman’s scowl deepened. “I’m Deputy Marshal Jones.”
“Isabelle,” Jill said slyly, “you’re under arrest again.”
“It figures.” Thank God Tom had warned her he was sending another deputy over or she’d be fighting off a panic attack. Isabelle craned her neck to see past the porch to the driveway beyond. “Is Tom coming?” she asked. “He said he was coming over to keep an eye on Veronica Chandler.”
Jill gasped. “Tom’s coming? I’m going to spoil him like he’s the only boy at a girls’ night party.”
Isabelle poked her shoulde
r. “You’re the worst lesbian ever, and a terrible feminist to boot. Focus on feeding us and forget about the boy. He wasn’t even invited.”
Marshal Jones watched them with a wariness that suggested she wouldn’t be surprised if they both pulled out revolvers and started whooping their way down the porch steps, shooting pistols in the air.
“I’m sorry, Marshal Jones,” Isabelle said. “But we are in the mood for a party. Did you want to come inside?”
“No, I’m only here to take a quick look around the property before it’s full dark. Tom will be over soon with Ms. Chandler.” She stepped quickly off the porch and headed for the side of the house.
Oh, shit. Tom, Marshal Jones had said with a little sneer in her voice. As if she didn’t approve. As if she had reason not to.
He’d said something about his second-in-command coming by, which meant that he spent a lot of time with this woman. Time on the road, at restaurants, in hotel rooms. An occasional night of mutual stress relief would be totally normal, but those situations rarely played out with equal levels of feeling on both sides. This was going to be awkward. No wonder Tom hadn’t stayed for a quickie last night.
“That woman needs some good food,” Jill said, climbing back up the steps with a pie in each hand.
Isabelle quickly grabbed one and backed into the house. “I guess she’s tired after a full day at the courthouse. Crap, I didn’t even check the news. Is everything okay?”
“It seemed quiet. Some motion was filed by the defense, and everything ended around 3:00 p.m. Aside from the lawyers and reporters blathering on for endless interviews, of course. They received another letter this weekend. Did you hear?”
Isabelle frowned. “Maybe?” She couldn’t quite remember, but she did recall how tired Tom had looked the night before. She sifted through her constantly crowded brain, trying to tuck away all the useless bits of anatomical details and medical facts that were currently crowding the way. “Right. A threat against the judge’s family. I talked to Tom about it last night.”
“Oh, you did? Now, that is something I hadn’t heard.”
Isabelle shrugged. “He comes to see you, too.”
“Yes, but I’m luring him with food. What are you luring him with?”
“My tits. And my sparkling personality, I’m sure.”
