He couldn’t wait to meet Loretta. He was also aware he had a part to play; he’d been playing it since he arrived at Bo’s house, and that was to dial back the acuity of his senses, intellect, personality—everything that made him a lethal weapon. He’d slipped up when Bo had startled him awake, but since then he’d kept himself at a simmer instead of the rolling boil at which he normally functioned. He had to convince the good townsfolk of Hamrickville that he was Bo’s weak and sick old friend, and that he was essentially harmless. The weak and sick didn’t need much exaggeration, though it was mostly just weak; the harmless required concentration, and his audition was with the infamous Loretta Hobson.
She lived up to her billing. She was damn near as tall as he was, and outweighed him; she was built like a tank. But she had a sweet smile, and it was evident she liked Bo. Tricks, who was still ignoring him, bounced into Loretta’s cubicle for some petting and sweet talk from the dispatcher. Bo had to tell about him getting into Tricks’s seat, and Loretta sorrowfully shook her head. “She’ll make you pay.” She eyed him, as shrewd a look as he’d ever received before. “I heard you’ve had some health issues.”
“Some,” he said, admitting to it but not going into details because hell, he was tired of thinking about it.
“You’ve come to a good place to get some rest. The folks around here will take care of you. I reckon you’re here this morning because you’ve got cabin fever?”
“You’d be right about that,” he admitted.
“It’s usually pretty quiet around here, last Friday and yesterday being the exceptions rather than the rule. Still, it’s a change of scenery.”
He agreed and took a seat in the visitor’s chair by Bo’s desk. She asked if he wanted coffee and took some to Loretta before bringing a cup to him. Then she got a bottle of water for herself and settled in front of an ancient computer, one so old the monitor was a separate unit and was half the size of a footlocker. It had been a while since he’d seen one of those, but she booted it up and after what seemed like half an hour of clicking and whirring, it was good to go.
He stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. “What happens if this thing crashes?” he asked, indicating the computer. “Are parts still made for it?”
“No, but so far we’ve been able to scrounge spare parts from other old units. Our luck is still holding.”
She dove into a stack of paperwork, and he shut up so she could concentrate. The quiet Loretta had touted didn’t last long. Officer Jesse came in the back door and said, “Hey, Chief. Hey, Morg. How’re you feeling?” Which played well to the impression that Morgan was an okay guy in Officer Jesse’s book. The guy was sharp. Mentally Morgan elevated him to Officer Tucker, because he was no one to dismiss or underestimate. He’d have fit in on any big-city force if he’d wanted to.
“Better,” Morgan replied. Then followed the usual male stuff about baseball; he normally didn’t follow sports much because he was so often out of the country, but he’d been watching some baseball in the few days he’d been at Bo’s house so he could hold up his end of the conversation. So far, so good.
Then, by some kind of osmosis, word spread through town that he was in Bo’s office. He didn’t know how because he could hear every word Loretta said and it wasn’t her. Bo hadn’t called anyone. Jesse hadn’t called anyone. The only explanation was that someone had seen them arrive even though she’d parked at the back of the station.
The door opened and a short, plump, white-haired woman with bright eyes and a beaming smile came in, bearing a covered platter and accompanied by the smell of heaven.
“Miss Doris,” Jesse said, springing to his feet to take the platter from her.
“I heard your visitor came to town with you,” Miss Doris the baker said to Bo, her cheeks flushing pink as she looked pointedly at Morgan. Maybe she was excited because there weren’t many strangers who visited Hamrickville.
“He did. Miss Doris, this is Morgan Rees. Morgan, this is Doris Brown, the owner of the bakery and the best cook in the county.” By now, Morgan knew Bo well enough to hear the amusement in her tone, though no one else appeared to notice. Maybe they were too interested in the platter. God knows, his own interest was high.
Miss Doris’s cheeks flushed even pinker. “Oh, I don’t know about that. But I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Rees. I brought you a welcome basket—actually it’s a platter, but I didn’t have any baskets. Maybe there’s something there that’ll tempt your appetite.”
Morgan could feel the saliva gathering in his mouth. Damn, he was all but drooling at just the smell coming from that platter. “Ma’am,” he said, “I got tempted the minute you walked through that door.” He didn’t clarify, letting the comment stand as it was. Miss Doris got so flustered she couldn’t talk, and her flush deepened all the way into a full-out blush.
Bo made a low sound in her throat that could have been either laughter or a muffled snort. He suspected the latter, but he ignored her and took Miss Doris’s hand, lifting it for a light kiss on her knuckles. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Her mouth was an O, and she blinked several times. “Oh,” she said weakly. “Oh, my. You’re so welcome, Mr. Rees.”
“Call me Morgan,” he invited. “When you feed a man, first names are called for.”
Bo planted her hands on her hips and said, “Just when did you start kissing hands, Morgan Rees? You never did before.”