Where There's Smoke

“Rarely.” The admission made her sound like a wimp. She was probably sacrificing any respect Bowie had for her as an individual and as an employer.

But Lara Mallory’s call had upset her terribly. She was past the point of trying to hide her feelings. Propping her elbow on the table, she rested her forehead on her hand. “Oh, God, I wish her affair with Clark had never taken place. He would have enjoyed a successful political career like Mama wanted for him. He even might still be alive. Mama would be happy. And I—”

She caught herself before saying that if events had been different, she wouldn’t feel so responsible for holding things together now. Seeing to everyone’s happiness and well-being was exhausting. It was also impossible.

Ever since the night that girl had come to the door asking for Key, he’d been even more irascible than before. He and Jody hadn’t quarreled any more, but that was because each went out of his way to avoid the other. Key answered direct questions in gruff monosyllables. He was preoccupied with only God knew what, and Janellen didn’t dare guess. He stamped through the house with his shoulders angrily hunched, his expression belligerent. He was so unhappy at home that he often left as abruptly as he had appeared.

Now, Lara Mallory had just burdened her with a new source of worry. Before she realized that she was crying, a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Hey, what’s this?”

She sensed the movement of Bowie’s arm, but she didn’t expect him to touch her. When she felt his callused fingertips against her cheek, she raised her head and looked at him, her lips parting in stunned bewilderment.

She was rarely touched by anyone, and, because she was starved for the touch of another, she reflexively raised her hand and folded it around his.

He went incredibly still. Nothing moved except his eyes. They went from hers, to her hand covering his, then back to her eyes. Janellen sat just as still as he, but inside she was all aflutter. Her lower body felt feverish, full, heavy. Her breasts tingled and tightened, making her want to press her palms over them to contain the rush of excitement.

How long they remained staring at each other she never knew. She was held in thrall by Bowie’s sad, sweet eyes and the pressure of his fingertips, which were damp with her tears. If he hadn’t heard Key’s car approaching, she might still have been frozen in that tableau when her brother slammed in.

As it was, she hastily shot to her feet and whirled around to greet him. “Key! Hi!” Her voice was unnaturally high and thin. “What are you doing here?”

“When I left this morning I still lived here.” He divided an inquisitive look between her and Bowie, who she hoped could conceal guilt better than she. Her face was fiery hot. She knew she must be flushed from her throat, where her pulse was pounding, up to her hairline.

Key took a beer from the refrigerator. “Hi, Bowie. Want a beer?”

“No, thanks.”

Janellen said, “I already offered him one, but he wanted lemonade instead.”

“I just stopped by to tell Miss Janellen that—”

“He thinks the MCF on well number seven is low and—”

“It’s probably nothing, but—”

“He thought we ought to know in case—”

“So I brought it up with Miss Janellen and—”

“And that’s what we’ve been doing. Talking about that,” she finished lamely.

“Uh-huh.” Looking amused, Key popped open the beer and tilted it toward his mouth. “Well, don’t let me interrupt this high-level business conference.”

“No, it’s all right.” Bowie snatched up his hat as though it were a piece of incriminating evidence. “I was just on my way out.”

“Yes, he was about to leave when you came in. I’ll… I’ll just walk him to the door now.” Flustered and unable to look at either her brother or Bowie, she fled the kitchen and was waiting for Bowie in the entry, holding the front door open for him. She kept her eyes averted as he joined her there. “Thank you for the information, Bowie.”

He pulled on his hat. “Just figured it ought to be brought to your attention. It’s your money.”

“I’ll check into it.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

At the sound of her brother’s voice, she swung around. His shoulder was propped against the arched opening of the dining room as he nonchalantly sipped his beer.

“What’s not such a good idea?” she asked.

“You checking into a malfunctioning well.”