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She traced his strong jaw, the line of it so like his father’s. “I won the lottery when I got you for a son.”
He smiled and tapped her nose. “I must have four-leaf clovers in my blood with a mum like you.”
Gosh, that slayed her. “You’re going to make me cry more. But I’m stopping now. I must look a mess. How bad is it?”
He made a face and then laughed. “Bad, but it’s dark out.”
Another swat had them both laughing a little more. “Okay, let’s go.”
She realized her body was tingling like the whole thing had gone to sleep. Needles coursed through her legs as she hit the ground. The top of her head felt like it had blown off. The heat in her cheeks was sweltering. But she kept her head high as she walked around the edge of the crowd, sensing Linc’s presence. That was where she wanted to be—next to her cowboy.
Mary was still talking to Officer Hart, but he and the other officer had removed themselves to a fair distance from the crowd with Mary. Bets couldn’t hear what they were saying, and Mary’s back was to her. Beside the officer was an open duffel bag, and from her vantage point, she could see the tops of a couple cans of spray paint.
“You better, sugar?” Linc asked when she reached him. He put his arm around her as Liam headed over to where Taylor was standing.
“Right as rain after that unexpected meltdown.” She kissed his arm. “Catch me up.”
“Wilt is pulling the surveillance video for the Garda now as well as our file on Mary—which includes her ‘talk’ with Sophie when she arrived—”
“Where she called her a whore basically and told her to leave,” Bets finished. “Good.”
“I also had Wilt write up the past items—like the destruction of your roses, going back to Donal’s sheep being released and driven up your drive.”
God, that was back when she’d first started the arts center in a shed she’d had Liam refurbish behind her house. She’d asked a newly unemployed Angie whether she wanted to come over and teach painting classes, and that was all it had taken. The one spark to make the vision come together, even though it had morphed into something so much bigger than she could ever have imagined.
“Wilt is feeling a little torn,” Linc murmured. “If he’d let her begin the vandalism, the case might be more clear cut. Right now, we have her on trespassing, dead to rights. She has an established angst with the center, so we’ll push for the malicious intent under the Malicious Damage Act. Our lawyers are on top of it.”
“I’m glad they’re still in town.” She rubbed her thighs as the needles continued to stab at her legs. “But I’m starting to think we need an on-site legal counsel for the center.”
“I love it when you talk big like that.” He peered down at her. “What’s wrong with your legs?”
“They fell asleep. Maybe because of my hysterics and maybe because I was stretched across the gearshift of your car. Hurts like hell.”
His blue eyes suddenly seemed brighter in the harsh outdoor lights. “I could pick you up all Prince Charming like if you want. There’s nothing more to do here but rubberneck.”
She touched his face, swamped with the crazy love she had for him. “You’d risk that with your old bones?”
He shot her a clever grin. “You love these here old bones.”
She sure did. “Maybe later then.”
But truthfully, she didn’t need the gesture.
She already knew she had a Prince Charming.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Taylor could never have imagined she’d spend her first week at work giving interviews to the press.
But so it began early on Tuesday with Ghislaine teaching her something new she hadn’t expected—how to dress, talk, and sit on camera.
“I still can’t believe I have to play these games,” she told Liam, who was sitting on her couch when she emerged from her bedroom in a casual navy blue suit, one Ghislaine had selected from her wardrobe only an hour ago before telling Taylor to make herself up.
When she’d texted Liam that she needed him to inspect her “makeup”—an unnecessary ruse—he’d appeared with more of that delicious coffee he’d made the night of the mural painting along with some soda bread from Brady’s mother, who had dropped a few loaves off at Summercrest, a place Taylor still needed to see.
“You’re not playing games.” He rose and eyed her outfit as he came closer, munching on a slice of buttered bread, looking all hunky hot in faded jeans and a forest green pullover that made his eyes a shade darker. “This isn’t Hot Potato/Shot Potato.”
“Thatwouldbe more fun,” she said, adjusting the seam of her skirt in front of him because they were buds and all, soulmates probably.
