“I’m not playing.” She would have slithered right into his lap if he hadn’t pushed to his feet. “Look, Sylbie.”
As he was facing the door, he saw Abigail step into the opening, saw her immediate jolt of embarrassment.
“Ms.Lowery,” he said, before she could back away.
“I’m sorry to interrupt. I’ll come back.”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll talk to you later, Sylbie.”
“I’m buying that wine,” she murmured, shot him her slow smile. She turned, angled her head as she studied Abigail.
“You’re that woman who lives out at the Skeeter place.”
“Yes.”
“Everybody wonders what in the world you do out there all by yourself.”
“They shouldn’t.”
“People have a curiosity. That’s a natural thing. I’m Sylbie MacKenna.”
“One of the local potters. You do very good work. I bought one of your bowls.” Abigail looked at Brooks again. “I can speak to you later, Chief Gleason.”
“You’re here now. Sylbie’s got to get on.”
“So official. He didn’t used to be.” She gave Abigail a knowing smile. “I’ll see you later, Brooks.”
“She’s very attractive,” Abigail commented.
“Always has been.”
“I’m sorry I interrupted. The woman, your…”
“Dispatcher?”
“Yes. She said I should just come back.”
“That’s fine. Have a seat.”
“May I close the door?”
“Sure.”
After she’d done so, and taken a seat in his visitor’s chair, silence ran for several beats.
“Something on your mind?” he asked her.
“Yes. I realize I mishandled our…business this morning. In the market, and when you came to my house. I wasn’t prepared.”
“Do you have to prepare to have a conversation?”
“I’m not a social person, so I don’t have many conversations, particularly with people I don’t know. In the market,I felt uncomfortable with your interest in what I was buying.”
“My interest in what you were buying was a ploy for conversation.”
“Yes.”
Everything about her was cool, he thought, and still. He considered how she served as polar opposite to Sylbie, who always ran hot, always seemed to be moving.
