Born Innocent by Christine Rimmer Page B

the door. She tried not to gape hungrily at his broad shoulders and lean hips. He turned, just before he left. “Back in twenty minutes. If anyone with a badge shows up, tell them nothing until I’m back here beside you.”
    She liked the sound of that. Until I’m back here beside you...
    “ Claire? Did you hear me?”
    She wiped the dreamy smile off her face and snapped to attention. “Absolutely. I won’t talk. Not a word.”
    “ Good.” And he left.
    Claire sat there for a moment, thinking that the hard, honest work of making beds and scrubbing sinks had done her good. She was still very concerned about her situation, but she had a little more perspective on it now. Sheriff Brawley—and Leven, too—were working hard to discover what had really happened. The truth was bound to come out. And it was still possible that Henson would wake up and identify his assailant.
    For the first time since she saw him lying so still in his own blood, Claire thought about Henson, the man. She would have been lying had she professed to like him after what he’d done the night before. But she did hope he recovered, for his own sake as well as so the truth could be known.
    Sighing a little, she rested deeper into the chair and turned her head to gaze out the window at the lawn and the pool. This early in the evening, it was still in the high seventies outside, and one of her guests, svelte and tan in an electric-blue bikini, relaxed in a lounger near the deep end.
    Lazily, Claire smoothed the damp tendrils of hair that had stuck to her nape. She’d haphazardly piled it all on top of her head when she started to clean the rooms, but much of it had fallen down, and the work had brought up a sweat.
    Lord, it would be heaven to slip in a quick swim before Joe returned with their dinner. Claire glanced at her watch. She had fifteen minutes. If she hurried, she could manage it.
    Claire switched on the answering machine once more and headed for her bedroom, shedding sweaty clothes as she went.
     
    She was swimming a backstroke when she saw Joe’s truck pull up in front of the lobby. She made for the edge, hefted herself out and grabbed her thigh-length terry beach jacket. She had it on and was darting across the grass as he emerged from the truck with the stack of white take-out cartons held carefully against his chest.
    She beat him to the front door and held it open for him. “Allow me.”
    He stopped there in the gathering shadows of her porch, and he smiled a little, holding their dinner in conscientious hands. He looked down her legs, bare from mid-thigh, to her feet, and then back up over the fluffy robe to her face, which was pinkening now at the sweet brush of his regard.
    “ Have a nice swim?” he asked.
    “ Um. Yes. Fine.” All at once, she was all awkwardness. It was silly. It made no sense. The question about her swim was as mundane as a question could get. All he’d really done was look at her.
    But then, all he’d ever had to do was look at her. And, if she were honest, she’d have to admit that he didn’t even have to look. Just having him near her was enough.
    Suddenly she wondered, Did he mean to stay the night? He’d said he’d be beside her, until this bad time was through. And if he was at all concerned for her safety, then she knew he’d be nearby when darkness came.
    He’d sleep on the couch, of course. Their agreement still held, suspended only to the degree that he was helping her through the trouble she was in. But not suspended enough that he’d let himself love her. They were friends; that was all.
    Claire knew she must remember that, must not let her own longings have her hoping for things that would never be.
    “ Claire? Are you all right?”
    She swallowed. She made herself smile. “Fine. I’m fine.” She gave a mock bow in the direction of the door she held open. “After you.”
     

Chapter Six
    Claire insisted on putting their dinner on real plates, though she didn’t change from her