The Librarian's Secret Scandal. Jennifer Morey

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СКАЧАТЬ that whole exchange with the prison officer had been weird.

      He’d gotten good at recognizing when someone wasn’t on the up-and-up. Too many times he’d trusted his first impressions only to learn it was all a facade, especially with women.

      Now he was more than a little curious about what had brought Lily to the prison. He’d make a call in the morning. He knew people at the prison.

      “Have you always lived in Honey Creek?” Lily asked.

      Good. She felt like talking. “No, I moved away after high school and joined the navy.” He didn’t want to get into his SEAL training. It had been a youthful impulse, but as soon as he’d grown up enough he’d realized the daredevil employment wasn’t really all that impressive. It didn’t pay well, either. Neither did being a sheriff in a little town like Honey Creek, but he liked the sense of community and being close to his family—however dramatic they could be at times.

      “How did you go from the service to law enforcement?” she asked.

      “After I was with the navy, I went through training and worked as a peace officer for a while. Worked my way up the ranks and then ran for sheriff here.”

      “You’ve been back some time then?”

      “A few years.”

      She nodded conversationally.

      He was glad she didn’t ask more about his background with the navy. “You have a daughter, don’t you?” he asked just in case, redirecting the topic.

      The smile that formed on her profile was warm and lovely. The sight revved his interest. When he’d first seen her get out of her truck, he’d almost forgotten all about the wreck. She was tall, which he liked since he was six-two, and slender and she had smooth skin.

      “Yes,” she answered. “May. She’s fourteen going on thirty. Or so she thinks.”

      Wes smiled in return. “Sounds normal. I put my parents through hell at that age, too.”

      “She’s adorable until she opens her mouth. And boys don’t have those hormones affecting their emotions.”

      He chuckled. “It’s different, but I think the torment is the same.”

      Now she chuckled. He liked the sound. It was soft and genuine.

      “How long has it been since you left Honey Creek?” he asked.

      “Fifteen years.”

      That sparked his interest. “You were around when Mark Walsh was supposedly murdered.”

      “Yes. I remember that.”

      Some of the gossips said she’d slept with him, too. He saw her lips tighten and she adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, almost as if she were preparing herself for questions; or maybe she wondered if he thought what most others thought and didn’t like it.

      “When was the last time you saw him?” he asked, watching her.

      She gave him a warning glance. “Are you wondering if I knew where he went instead of dying like everybody thought?”

      “I’ll try anything if I think it might help me find his killer.”

      “The last time I saw him was at the post office with his wife, about a month before he died … or everyone thought he did.”

      “He never contacted you after that?”

      “No.” Her voice sounded sharper. She knew why he’d asked that question. The rumors. Could she blame him? He had no way of knowing unless he asked.

      Before he could explain that, she added in the same sharp tone, “And just for the record, I didn’t sleep with him.”

      He almost smiled at her defensiveness. He’d bet his badge that she was telling the truth. When some people lied, their defensiveness gave them away. But Lily’s was driven more by vulnerability. He wondered if she knew that about herself. that she protected her vulnerability with defensiveness.

      The way his interest kept intensifying the longer he spent with her made him check himself. He believed her about Walsh, but how much of the other rumors were true? There were a lot. He didn’t want to involve himself with a Jezebel. But if the talk was exaggerated.

      “Is it true you danced naked in front of the market on your twenty-fifth birthday?” he asked, making sure he sounded teasing.

      She gave him two quick looks as she drove, without smiling. “Trying to find out if all the gossip is true?”

      “What if I was?” He was serious now, because he really wanted her to tell him.

      “I’d want to know why.”

      “I think you know the answer to that.” He looked at her suggestively. He wasn’t asking in the capacity of sheriff.

      She concentrated on driving. He waited for her to reply, but she didn’t. Maybe she didn’t like it that he’d asked. Maybe she wondered if he was like many others in Honey Creek, buying all the talk. He never took rumors to heart, but right now he wanted the truth.

      “Aren’t you going to answer my question?”

      “Yes.”

      “Yes, you danced naked in front of the market?”

      “And I went sailing for two weeks with a man I met in Vegas. Two of his friends went with us. I jumped from airplanes. I went on a safari in Africa and survived a hurricane in Barbados. I raced dirt bikes. I got in fights with other women. I even tried mud-wrestling.” She stopped talking and he found himself absorbing everything she said. She’d left a couple of things out. “Oh, and I drank a lot of whiskey, smoked pot and broke up a couple of marriages.”

      Wes knew that one of the women whose husband she’d taken was still angry and not at all happy she was back in town. “The quilting group had a lot of fun with the sailing thing,” he said. And the rumors were X-rated.

      Lily rolled her eyes. “I heard about that group.”

      “Quilting’s just their excuse.”

      He liked how that made her smile. But she didn’t say any more.

      “Not going to comment on the sailing thing, huh?”

      “What do you want me to say? It’s all true. Is that what you want to know? Is that why you’re asking me all these questions? Yes, I went sailing with three men.”

      He stared at her. The rumors hadn’t been kind. She’d gone sailing with three men and had sex with all of them. More than once.

      She looked over at him, her expression matter-of-fact. She wasn’t denying anything, nor did she appear ashamed. But he was pretty sure that was a cover-up. She wasn’t proud of her early adulthood.

      “How did the quilting group find out about that?” he asked.

      “I was friends with СКАЧАТЬ