Thieves In The Night by Tara Janzen

into motherly solicitude. The mitten came to rest on Chantal’s cheek. “You work too hard, honey. Josh noticed your lights on into the wee hours. Them little orphans aren’t going to feel better by your wearing yourself to a frazzle. Did you eat the fried-chicken dinner I sent home with you the other night?”
    “Yes, Mrs. Palmer,” she lied. “It was delicious.” No lie this time. Jaz had loved every bite.
    “Such lovely, old-world manners.” The mitten patted and patted her cheek. “Well, don’t you worry, honey. Sheriff Lowe will get to the bottom of this.”
    “That’s wonderful.” Her words sounded as sick as she felt. Thankfully, Lily didn’t seem to notice, and her mitten added one final pat to Chantal’s pale face.
    “Well, you drop over and see us real soon, and don’t hesitate to bring your young man. Josh and I are very liberated about these things. Three grown sons don’t allow you to live in the past.”
    “My . . . young . . . man?” The words dropped from Chantal’s lips in dismay, each one softer than the one before. Her stomach started churning its way up from the floor into a knot in her middle.
    “Goodness,” Lily said, clucking. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you. But when you didn’t answer right away, I peeked through the window.”
    Omigod.
    Lily lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’s quite handsome, isn’t he? A little on the thin side, but don’t tell him that. Men are so vain. Just fatten him up. I’ll copy off some recipes for you.”
    Chantal’s hand fluttered to her breast. “Mrs. Palmer,” she said with a gasp, then had to stop to catch her breath. “Mrs. Palmer, I slept on the couch.” She swung her arm out behind her, in the general direction of the blanket-smothered sofa.
    “Some nights are like that, honey.” Lily shook her head a little sadly and opened the door. “Hell get over it,” she assured the younger woman.
    Chantal closed the door and leaned her head on the solid oak panel. Anyone who moved to the mountains for privacy was crazy, she thought. The fewer people per square mile, the more interested they were in each other—helpfully, curiously, dangerously interested. Lily knew everything except that the necklace and papers were in the hope chest.
    It wasn’t that bad, she told herself, trying to buck up her spirits.
    “Your young man can’t find his clothes.” The husky drawl drew her attention to the bathroom. “But I used the new toothbrush I found in your cabinet.”
    Chantal turned around, leaning against the door for support. Her gaze flickered over the lanky body lounging against the bathroom jamb. Long after he was gone, the dusky-pink bath towel would hold memories for her. Low on his slim hips, hanging by a thread . . . Certainly she’d never worn it with such style.
    Lily Palmer was wrong; he wasn’t too thin. And Lily Palmer was right; he was quite handsome, his sun-streaked hair tousled by sleep and sweeping around the back of his neck, his face lean and boyish, his eyes crinkled by the teasing smile curving his mouth. A real heartbreaker. But not of her heart.
    “Your clothes are in the dryer,” she said. She’d laundered them during the lulls in their late-night—early-morning contest of wills. “I’d offer you a cup of coffee, but we’d better hit the road and get you out of here before the sheriff arrives.”
    Good-bye came closer to reality, and Chantal suddenly felt she was making the biggest mistake of her life. That feeling was getting pretty easy for her to recognize. She’d had it at least a dozen times in the last twenty-four hours. Why should it be hard to let him go? Regardless, she had to get rid of him. By her estimation, he was the biggest clue in the valley.
    “Kicking me out, huh?” he asked.
    “ ’Fraid so, Jaz.” She pushed herself away from the door and headed for the kitchen, not giving her doubts a chance to form on her face.
    “Then I’m not going to get over your