Page 48 of Seaside Cowboy's Second Chance

“Good to hear it.” Grant’s expression turned predatory. “Thank you for being so gracious.” His gaze washed over her, estimating, calculating.

Should she let him think he had the upper hand? Arrogant men were easier to trip. But she’d never cared enough to play games. As an accountant, she’d never sold her looks, only her skills.

Dallas interjected, “The police didn’t find anything suspicious inside the cottage except that several surfaces were wiped down.”

Hmm. To remove fingerprints?

Grant brought the cup to his lips. His facial lines seemed too smooth for his age. Was it because he lived not caring about anything or anybody, or from plastic surgery? Again, that wasn’t a kind thought. Argh. “I still want to see inside the cottage.”

So did Skylar. “We don’t have keys, but I can give you the local caretaker’s name and phone number. He could give you access as he did to the police, considering the circumstances.”

“I’m sure he will.” Grant’s eyes narrowed.

Uh-oh. Did he expect to steamroll everyone here? He was in for a surprise then. Skylar hid a mocking smile by taking another sip of her tea.

“We should talk to Dad’s maid here.” Grant drummed his fingers on the weathered, scratched table, attracting her attention to another diamond, this one on his pinkie.

“He didn’t have a maid at the cottage,” Grandma said.

Grant frowned. “Strange. Healwayshad a maid.”

They lived in different worlds. Skylar had started working as soon as she reached the legal age to do so, mostly as a waitress at her aunt’s restaurant but sometimes also as a maid at the local hotel during the tourist season. Plus, she’d picked up whatever painting jobs she could find. Most of her income had gone to living expenses, especially after Grandma had to retire from the bakery. The rest Skylar had set aside for her college fund before she’d won an art scholarship, allowing herself only a little for art supplies, hoping she could see those as business investments.

Her mother had never gotten an art degree, marrying young and becoming a mom ten months afterward. Had part of Skylar wanted to live her mother’s dream then, just like Marina had to live her father’s? Or was this Skylar’s way to keep her mother in her life for a while longer?

She had tried to escape those questions before, but it was difficult to escape them now. Both could be reasons, but art also used to make her happy and inspired just like Dallas had. Another loss, another regret. The tea turned sour in her stomach.

Grandma took a few more sips, her hand shaking again. “Okay, here’s what I know. Earl said that most things at work he could handle remotely but sometimes things came up and he needed to be present. During all his time here in town, he never had to leave. Until a week ago. He looked distraught before leaving. Worried.”

“Did he say what the issue was or how long he’d be gone?” Grant asked, the picture of a concerned son again.

Had he taken some acting lessons? Or was she suspicious for nothing? She should give him the benefit of the doubt.

“No.” Grandma rubbed her forearms as if she were cold.

Skylar got up and brought her a tawny-hued crocheted shawl and a soft matching crocheted blanket, both thin and faded by now. She put the shawl over her grandmother’s bony shoulders and spread the blanket over her legs.

Grandma sighed, misery in her eyes. “I should’ve asked, but I didn’t.”

“You didn’t know this was going to happen.” Skylar took her grandmother’s hands in hers. She should be more compassionate to Grant. If something happened to her grandmother... Skylar’s gut twisted again, more painfully this time. She couldn’t even imagine it.

“I hope your father is okay.” She turned to Grant, softening her gaze. “Could anyone wish him harm at his job?”

“He retired five years ago. I think he took on this consulting gig out of boredom. Or maybe to feel useful. Or both. He never mentioned having arguments with anyone at the company.”

“Any friends at his job? Someone we can ask?” Skylar pressed on.

Grant spread his arms. “Sorry. I don’t know.” A text beeped on his phone. He read it. “Hart just arrived.”

Skylar leaped to her feet and hurried to open the door for her. But the moment she flung the door open, she halted, staring at the woman walking up the porch steps.

There was something vaguely familiar in the posture, wasn’t there?

Maybe if the woman’s hair was covered with a straw hat and her face was hidden behind large sunglasses and she was wearing red lipstick... And if her hair was ice blond instead of ash brown like now... Different shoes, different clothes, different jewelry, but... Could this woman, now in joggers, tank top, and running shoes, be the one who sat two tables away from them at Auntie’s restaurant?

Skylar’s gaze moved down the road. And could this sleek white car with tinted windows be the one that trailed her a day ago?

“Hello. I’m Skylar. You must be Hart Lane. Please come on in.” Skylar plastered a smile on her face with about as much authenticity as the one she got in return. She waved at another part of the family her grandmother intended to marry into, then stepped aside to let the woman pass.

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