Chapter 4
Gabe turned on his microwave and reheated the leftovers from last night’s dinner. He’d already taken Sherlock for a walk, thrown out the trash, and brought his washing inside.
He’d also finished chapter six of his book, discovered an interesting person in his hero’s past, and given the medical examiner a flimsy alibi on the day the dead body went missing from the morgue. Not bad for a day that had started with a bang. Literally.
At precisely five thirty-six, a pale blue Ford Fiesta had collided with an oak tree at the end of the street. The tree survived. The car didn’t.
Gabe had thrown on his tracksuit and rushed outside. Natalie wasn’t far behind him. While he helped the driver, she’d called 9-1-1 and found a first aid kit in the trunk. The car was a rental, the driver, a tourist. After a long flight and an even longer drive, the man from Sydney, Australia, was about to discover the joys of paperwork. Falling asleep behind the wheel of a car wasn’t something he’d be doing again in a hurry.
It wasn’t until the man was being driven away in the ambulance that Gabe noticed what Natalie was wearing.
She blushed beet red when she caught him staring at her legs. Long legs covered in the tiniest pair of shorts he’d ever seen.
As she’d yanked her sweatshirt lower, she’d glared at him. Only it wasn’t a mean-ass glare that told him to back off. It was the type of glare that dared him to say something.
Which would have been fine and dandy if he could have thought of something to say. But by some miracle of human biology, his brain had short-circuited and left him bug-eyed and tongue-tied.
He really needed to get a life. Thirty-nine-year-old men did not go gaga over a pair of woman’s legs. Except he had and he wasn’t sure it would lead to a productive day in his office.
So, after Natalie made a hasty escape, he’d gone for a swim in the lake. A cold swim that did nothing to erase the image of her legs from his brain. It wasn’t until Sherlock jumped on his back and nearly drowned both of them that he started thinking logically.
Long legs or not, Gabe was on a mission and chapter six would wait for no one.
The microwave beeped and he took out his mac and cheese. The congealed mess did nothing for his appetite, but food was food. When he was on a roll, the only thing he needed was fuel. Whether it looked okay wasn’t important.
Sherlock followed him onto the veranda, not even bothering to poke his nose into Gabe’s plate.
Looking at the gooey pasta, Gabe didn’t blame him.
Sherlock’s nose twitched at about the same time Gabe’s did.
Roast chicken.
He sniffed again. Onions, celery, and if he wasn’t mistaken, a good dose of mixed herbs.
His stomach rumbled.
Sherlock looked pleadingly up at him.
“No. Definitely not,” he whispered. “That’s Natalie’s dinner. You’ve had your dog roll and I’ve got my…” he looked down at his mac and cheese, “…dinner. Yum.”
Sherlock wasn’t buying his fake enthusiasm. He woofed, sending a flock of swallows high into the air.
The K-9 super dog who’d found more criminals and drugs than any other dog in New York City, took off across the yard, barking like an out-of-control freight train.
Natalie walked around the side of the cottage. “Is everything all right?”
Apart from this morning’s unexpected meeting, he hadn’t seen her for three days.
“We’re fine. Sherlock’s blowing off some steam.”
Natalie’s eyes widened when she saw his dinner. “That looks…interesting.”
“Last night’s leftovers. I’ve been writing all day. How’s the painting?”
A smile lit Natalie’s face. “It’s great. I don’t know whether it’s because I’m in Sapphire Bay or because I’m trying something new, but it’s coming together really well. How’s the book?”
“I’m up to chapter seven.”
