Abby and the Bachelor Cop

‘Abigail Callahan, I know you’re in there. Answer the door, please, or I’ll be forced to come back with a warrant.’

A warrant? What the…?

‘Go away.’ She yelled it to the front door and there was a moment’s silence. And then a response, deep and serious, and only someone who knew him well could hear the laughter behind it.

‘Miss Callahan, I’m here to inform you that your dog is suspected of petty larceny. I have information that stolen property may be being stored on your premises. Open the door now, please, or I’ll be forced to take further action.’

Her dog…

Petty larceny…

She lifted the duvet and stared at Kleppy. Who gazed back, innocent as you please. What the…? He hadn’t been out. How could he have stolen anything?

She’d given back her mother’s friend’s romance novel. Kleppy was clean.

‘He hasn’t done anything,’ she yelled, and then had to try again because the first yell came out more like a squeak. ‘Go find some other dog to pin it to. Kleppy’s innocent.’

‘There speaks a defence lawyer. Sorry, ma’am, but the evidence points to Kleppy.’

‘What evidence?’

‘Mrs Fryer’s diamante glasses case, given to her by her late husband. It’s said to be worth a fortune, plus it has sentimental value. It’s alleged it was stolen from her bag, which was parked underneath the table you were sitting at yesterday. I have reason to believe your dog was tied under that very table. Circumstantial, I’ll grant you, but evidence enough for a warrant.’

Uh-oh.

She thought about it. Kleppy lying innocently at her feet through yesterday’s lunch. A big table, twelve or so women. Twelve or so handbags at their respective owners’ feet.

Uh-oh, uh-oh, uh-oh.

‘I have more serious things to think about this morning than glasses cases,’ she managed and she heard the laughter intensify.

‘You’re saying there’s something more serious than grand theft?’

‘I thought it was petty larceny.’

‘That depends whether the diamantes are real. Mrs Fryer swears they are. I knew old Jack Fryer and I’m thinking otherwise but I need to give the lady the benefit of the doubt.’

‘He hasn’t got them,’ she wailed. ‘He’d have given them to me by now.’

‘I need to search.’

‘Go away.’

‘Let me in, Abigail,’ he said, stern again. ‘The neighbours are looking.’

Oh, for heaven’s sake. Raff walking in here… If anyone in this town got even the vaguest sniff of what she was feeling…of why she’d been jerked out of her miserable life into something resembling a future…

Her future.

The word somehow steadied her. She wasn’t marrying Philip. She had a future. Okay, maybe she needed to step into it rather than hiding under the duvet.

She climbed out of bed and shrugged on her brand new honeymoon wrap. Where was her shabby pink chenille? She’d got rid of it. Of course she had. That was what a girl did when she was getting married.

So now she was stuck with pure silk. Pure silk and Raff. She shoved her toes into elegant white slippers, pasted a glower on her face and stomped through to the front door. Hauled it open.

Raff was there in his cop uniform. He looked…he looked…

Maybe how he looked wasn’t the issue. ‘Whoa,’ he said, his gaze raking her from the toes up, and she felt herself start to burn. She’d had fun buying herself wedding lingerie. She’d never owned silk before. It was making her body feel…

Well, something was making her body feel-as if it had been a really bad idea to give all her shabby stuff to the welfare store. The way Raff was looking…

Stop it. She practically stamped her foot. Raff was a cop. He was here to search the place. What she was thinking?

She knew what she was thinking, and she’d better stop thinking it right now. Instead, she concentrated on keeping her glower at high beam and stood aside as he came in.

‘I don’t want you here.’ What a lie.

‘Needs must. You say you don’t have a glasses case, ma’am?’

‘If you say ma’am once more I may be up for copicide.’

‘Copicide?’

‘Whatever. Justifiable homicide. Kleppy didn’t pinch anything.’

‘Are you sure?’

She winced at that. ‘Um… No.’

He grinned. ‘Not such a good defence lawyer, then. So what’s with the millionaire?’

‘The millionaire?’

‘The guy you’ve thrown Philip over for.’

The millionaire. If he only knew. ‘I hate this town,’ she muttered, and she didn’t need to try and glower.

‘So it’s all a lie.’

‘What’s a lie?’

‘That you’ve tossed Philip aside and found another.’

‘Yes. No. I mean…’

He caught her hand and held it up for them both to see. She’d been wearing Philip’s ring for two years now. A stark white band showed where the ring had been.

‘Proof?’ Raff said softly.

‘If I ran off with someone else I wouldn’t be here now,’ she snapped. ‘And if he was a millionaire I’d have a rock to match.’

‘But you’ve given Philip the flick.’

‘Philip and I are taking time to reassess our positions.’

He surveyed her thoughtfully, once more taking in the silk. ‘That’s lawyer speak for a ripper of a fight and no one’s speaking. Does this mean Sarah and I get our pasta maker back?’

That was a punch below the belt. But still… The pasta maker and Philip, or no pasta maker and no Philip.

No choice.

How had she changed so much? This time last week she’d been the perfect bride. Now, here she was, standing in the hall with her criminal dog behind her, with Raff right here. Right in her hall. Big, sexy, smiling.

Raff.

‘I’ll check my bag,’ she muttered but he put her aside quite gently.

‘No, ma’am. I’ll check your bag. I don’t want evidence tampered with.’

‘You’re thinking of taking paw prints?’

He chuckled, a lovely rich sound that filled the hall; that made her feel…like there might be something on the far side of this awfulness.

Her bag was by the front door where she’d tossed it when she’d come in yesterday. Big, bright, covered with Elvises. She’d made it as a picnic bag, thinking wistfully her Elvis dress would look cute on picnics. As if Mrs Philip Dexter would ever go on picnics.

Now the bag was stuffed with legally gathered loot-all the small gifts she’d been given yesterday. These were the gifts she’d have to sort and send back, with a note saying very sorry, she wasn’t marrying Philip.

She’d have to reword that. She wasn’t sorry at all. Especially now Raff was here.

He squatted beside the bag and started laying gifts out on the floor.

‘Candle holders-very tasteful. Place mats-a girl can’t have too many place mats. What’s with the Scent-O-Pine Air Freshener? Oh, that’s from Mrs Fryer. She really doesn’t like your Kleppy. Hey, His and Her key rings-very useful. Oh, and what’s this?’

This was a glasses case. Exceedingly tasteful. Pink and purple, studded with huge