Trace clinched the picture with a playful but sarcastic remark. “Rather a romantic spot, don’t you think?” He stared at her, and she squirmed under his intense gaze.
She cleared her throat. “What’s behind that door?”
“A tiny office where I store stuff and occasionally ponder cases.”
“Only occasionally?” she asked.
“I work better on my feet. Seems we are both rather spontaneous. Hope that doesn’t get us into too much trouble.”
“Today has been a one-time reckless day for me. I usually like to walk on the safer side of the road.” Gen smiled as she said the words.
“You only think that of yourself because you’ve never indulged a freer spirit. It’s there, my dear, ready for the unveiling.”
“How do you think you know me so well after one day?”
“One of my strongest attributes, which serves me well in the field. I hope you will trust my instincts on the job and not fight me tooth and nail.”
“That is not my plan. Division hinders teamwork and respect is the wheel that steers the boat.”
“Nice to see there are still reasonable women in this world.”
“That’s a rather sadistic remark, Mr. Stapleton. Have you encountered many women who did not live up to your expectations?”
“Been around. But let’s not talk of the past. We are beginning a bright new future. Let me show you to your room.”
“My room?”
“We have two bedrooms in this house. One for you and one for me. That was the agreement, right?”
“Yes, of course.” Gen couldn’t stop the crimson blush from creeping up her neck and into her face.
“We will not have the privilege of such separation while working a case. You do realize that, right?”
“We will share accommodations?”
“I’m afraid so. But I will remain forever the gentleman that I promised.” Trace walked down a small hallway and opened a door. “Not too fancy, but serviceable.”
Gen peeked inside. “It’s perfect, thank you.” She glanced across the narrow hallway and noticed a second door.
“My room,” he answered her unasked question. “Stay out. I appreciate my privacy.”
She floundered in her understanding of the man then noticed the corner of his lips upturning. “How will I know when you tell the truth? Your words say one thing, but your mouth and eyes speak a different message.”
“Displayed only for your benefit, my dear. But don’t worry. My face won’t betray us while working cases.” He chuckled. “I’ll bring in your belongings so you can start to unpack. Keep a carpetbag fully stocked and ready to go at all times. Our assignments often require immediate departure.”
The rest of the afternoon, Gen, leisurely hung her clothes in the wardrobe, packed the emergency suitcase, and set up her toiletries on the dressing table. She glanced in the full-length standing mirror and groaned. The day’s turmoil showed on her face.
“What’s the matter?” came a voice from the door.
She twirled around. “What are you doing? I thought you’d gone out.”
“I did – three hours ago.”
She turned back to the mirror. “This day has been exhausting, and unfortunately, it shows on my face.”
“You never struck me to be one to worry about such nonsense.”
“A girl likes to look good. Youth only lasts so long, sir. One day you shall wake up and find yourself married to a middle-aged, sour-faced woman.”
“You think we will last that long?”
“I need to make a living, and I’m excited about doing it with the agency for as long as my legs will get me from place to place.”
“Not interested in a real marriage; the kind with kids and romancing around the fireplace?” he asked.
As much as she did not want to admit it, the dream of her own family persisted. But not with a business partner. “I’ve learned to take one day at a time.”
“Good. We have a case to discuss and I thought we might do it over our wedding supper at the Diner. I reserved us a window seat facing the Rockies. I love to keep the great outdoors in sight at all times. I feel confined inside.”
“We have that in common, Mr. Stapleton. And I am starving.” Gen picked up her handbag. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 3
The next morning Trace sipped on his coffee while watching Gen busy herself at the cookstove. The last wife refused to set foot in what she’d referred to as a sorry excuse for a working kitchen. But wife number three appeared to be making herself at home. Her presence proved to be a challenge for Trace. Remaining detached was near impossible while watching Gen’s expert hands knead the dough and listen to her hum uplifting hymns. He wondered about the depth of her faith and if she’d hate that he’d walked away from the truth when Sarah died. It was his fault she was six feet under. He’d turned his back for one single minute, and the brute they were chasing gunned her down in cold blood.
Gen interrupted his reminiscing by plunking a plate of eggs, strips of bacon, and fried potatoes in front of him. The smell wafted up to his nostrils and brought him back to the present.
“Good morning, Mr. Stapleton. Did you not sleep well last night?”
He’d like to shout no! Lying under his cold sheets, all he could think of was the woman in the room across the hall who shared his surname. She was downright distracting, especially when aiming those gorgeous, mysterious eyes his way. It always kept him guessing as to what was
