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She replied, and in a couple of minutes, the door opened with a perfunctory knock, and Abby walked in.
Her heart was beating her up, but she managed a calm expression, noting that both men got to their feet as she entered the room. Old-world courtesy, hardly seen in modern times. It made her feel good and she smiled.
“Yes, Mr. Owens?” she asked.
Beside her, Cody was feeling a rush of emotion. It had been too long since he’d smelled that soft, floral unique scent that clung to her skin, since he’d been near her. The blonde trooper had done nothing for his senses, but Abby made them stand on end.
“Cody needs someone to go to see Julia Donovan with him and take notes.”
“Oh?” She struggled for words, suddenly tongue-tied.
“I’m investigating an attempted murder,” Cody replied.
“Oh. Poor Mr. Whatley,” Abby said, nodding, because everybody in the small town already knew that Horace had been poisoned. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine. But the poison was in a pie that Julia brought him...”
“But she loves him,” Abby protested, finally meeting Cody’s dark eyes with her light ones, which made her flush. “She’d never do anything to hurt him!”
“We know that,” Mr. Owens told her. “But any connection to an attempted murder must be investigated and reported.”
“I see,” Abby replied.
“So, will you go with Cody?” Mr. Owens asked.
She drew in a breath. “If he needs me to,” she agreed, ignoring Cody, right beside her.
“I do need you to go with me,” Cody said finally. “It will be easier for Julia if there’s another woman there. Are you free now?” he added.
“Yes, she is,” Owens replied, smiling at Abby. “It’s only a couple of hours to quitting time and I don’t need the work you’re doing until day after tomorrow. Get your things and go with Cody now, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind,” she replied, her heart racing.
“Thanks, Abby,” Owens said, dismissing her.
“I’ll be in touch,” Cody added with a grin at Owens.
Owens sighed. “That’s what I’m afraid of,” he said, but he managed a smile.
ABBYSATLIKEa statue next to Cody in the sheriff’s car. She couldn’t find the right words to express what she felt, and apparently he was struggling with them as well, because he was silent until they reached the crossroads that led toward Horace Whatley’s ranch.
“Do you know who actually poisoned Mr. Whatley?” Abby asked at last.
“Yes,” he said. “And it isn’t Julia.”
“Thank goodness,” she said.
He watched her hands moving restlessly over the nice slacks she was wearing with black boots and a silky blue blouse and a thick charcoal wool coat. She was obviously nervous with him.
“It’s Debby,” he said abruptly, and there was a flush high on his cheekbones as he tried to express why he’d absented himself from Abby for so long.
“Debby?” she faltered, turning in the seat to look at him.
He drew in a rough breath. “This is hard. I don’t talk about...personal things. Not much. Debby sold me out. I put her on a pedestal all those years. I never knew what she really felt about me, what she was doing in Denver when I wasn’t there. I felt like a fool. It took a while for me to deal with it.” He hesitated. “That’s not true. I’m still dealing with it.”
“And you don’t trust women anymore.”
He grimaced. “That’s a little more bluntly than I’d have put it.”
