Hot Rocks by Nora Roberts

study, “I believe you would. I think I like that.” The O’Hara in her was already on her way to the airport. “But unfortunately, I can’t take you up on it.” And that was the Tavish. “How about a rain check?”
    “You got it. Open-ended.” He watched her place a few pieces that had survived the break-in. Candlesticks, an enormous pottery bowl, a long flat dish. He had a feeling she’d put them precisely where they’d been before. There would be comfort in that. And defiance.
    “You know, looking around at all this, it doesn’t seem like a simple break-in. If that can be simple when it’s your place. It sure doesn’t strike me as a standard grab-and-run. It feels more personal.”
    “Well, that goes a long way to relieving my mind.”
    “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking. Actually, you don’t seem particularly spooked.”
    “I slept with the light on last night,” she admitted. “Like that would make a difference. It doesn’t do any good to be spooked. Doesn’t change anything or fix anything.”
    “An alarm system wouldn’t hurt. Something a little more high-tech than the canine variety,” he added, looking down at where Henry snored under the dining room table.
    “No. I thought about that for about five minutes. An alarm system wouldn’t make me feel safe. It’d just make me feel like I had something to worry about. I’m not going to be afraid in my own home.”
    “Let me just push this button a little more before we let it go. Do you think this could’ve been somebody you know? Do you have any enemies?”
    “No, and no,” she answered with a careless shrug as she scooted the ladder-back chairs back to the table. But she heard Willy’s words in her head: He knows where you are .
    Who knew?
    Daddy?
    “Now I’ve got you worried.” He tipped her face up with a finger under her chin. “I can see it.”
    “No, not worried. Disconcerted, maybe, at the idea that I could have enemies. Ordinary shopkeepers in small Maryland towns shouldn’t have enemies.”
    He rubbed his thumb along her jaw. “You’re not ordinary.”
    She let her lips curve as his came down to meet them. He had no idea, she thought, how hard she’d worked for nearly half her life to be ordinary.
    His hands were sliding over her hips when her phone rang. “You hear bells?” he asked.
    She drew back with a little laugh and pulled the phone out of her pocket. “Hello? Hi, Angie.” As she listened, she shifted the chipped jug a half inch on the server. “ Both pieces? That’s wonderful. What did . . . ? Uh-huh. No, you did exactly right. It’s called a davenport because a small desk was designed for a Captain Davenport back in the 1800s and it stuck, I guess. Yes, I’m fine. Really, and yes, this certainly perks me up. Thanks, Angie. I’ll talk to you later.”
    “I thought a davenport was a couch,” Max said when she stuck the phone back in her pocket.
    “It is, or a small sofa that often converts into a bed. It’s also a small desk with a boxlike form with an upper section that slides or turns to provide knee space.”
    “Huh. The things you learn.”
    “I could teach you all sorts of things.” Enjoying herself, she walked her fingers up his chest. “Want me to show you the difference between a canterbury and a commode?”
    “Can’t wait.”
    She took his hand, drew him toward her little library, where she could give a short lesson in antiques while they put the room back in order.
     
     
     
    When the tall, distinguished gentleman with the trim pewter mustache walked into Remember When, Jenny was contemplating what she might fix for dinner. Since it seemed she was hungry all the time, thinking about food was nearly as satisfying as eating it.
    After Angie’s big sale, the pace had slowed. She’d had a few browsers, and Mrs. Gunt had come on the run to see the lotus jug and snap it up. But for the next hour, she and Angie had been puttering, and the day took on a lazy tone that had her giving Angie an early