"Swell. That narrows it down," she muttered. "What did you do to them?"
"Nothing!"
"What did they accuse you of doing?"
He reached for her hands and sandwiched them between his own. "Swear to God, Devon, it wasn't me."
"Who did what?"
"Got Ella Doreen pregnant."
She stared at him in stupefaction for several seconds, then she began to laugh. "Is this a joke?"
"Hardly. You wouldn't have thought it was funny either if an army of shotgun-toting rednecks in overalls had come
after you. They surrounded the office one day, demanding I make an honest woman of Ella Doreen and acknowledge her kid as mine."
"Was there any possibility that you were the, uh, donor?"
He shot her a retiring look. "She's just a kid, younger than Sage. I didn't even remember who she was until one of her kinfolk produced her from the back of a flatbed truck. Uncle Somebody shoved her forward to accuse me face-to-face."
"You recognized her then?"
"Sure. We had met a couple of weeks earlier in an office building in Henderson. I was there to see a client. As I was crossing the lobby, I noticed this girl sitting there fanning herself, looking ready to throw up or faint or both. I asked if she needed any help. She told me she'd gotten dizzy and hot. And it was hotter than hell in there.
"So I helped her to her feet, escorted her outside, and offered to buy her a can of cola, which I did from one of the vending machines at the nearest filling station. We walked there. I was never even alone with her. The only thing I touched was her elbow.
"During our conversation she asked me what I did for a living, and seemed impressed by the business card I gave her. I remember her running her fingers over the engraving. That's it. After she assured me that she could call someone to come pick her up, I left her there, sitting on a stack of retreads, sipping her coke.
"As it turns out, she had been in Henderson to see a doctor in that building, and was already about four months pregnant. I couldn't possibly have fathered her child. I was just a convenient scapegoat. Eventually she broke down and admitted it."
By the time he finished telling the tale, Devon was shaking her head with amazement. "You attract trouble like a lightning rod."
"Not intentionally."
"And it always centers around women. Even the cow." She looked away from him, adding softly, "And now me."
Laying his palm along her cheek, he turned her face toward him. "You look so sad."
"I am."
"Why? Was it terrible yesterday?"
"Yes. It was awful having to face my husband, both of us knowing that I had betrayed him. Physically. With you."
"And knowing you want to again."
She sucked in a quick little breath. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. "I didn't say that, Lucky."
"You didn't have to." He brushed his thumb across her lower lip. She whimpered quietly. Glancing down at the peaked centers of her breasts, which were making impressions against her blouse, he whispered, "Just like before, your body says it for you."
* * *
Chapter 17
Pat Bush was sitting on a picnic table in Dogwood Park, drinking from a long-neck bottle of beer. It was against the rules to be drinking in uniform, but it was against the rules to hand over official crime reports to civilians, too, so he figured he might just as well be hanged for a sinner as a saint.
Devon scanned the top sheet of the stack of documents. One of the park's halogen security lamps provided her with enough light to read by. She had slipped on her glasses. "What's a trailer?"