Page 66 of Deception

Most of the church members bearing dishes had come to the back door. “No. It’s probably my dad, and if it is, he would be insulted if I didn’t meet him at the door.” At least he wouldn’t expect her to have her arms wide open.

“Would you rather I leave?” Clayton nodded toward the back door. “I can go out that way.”

Madison was not ready to be alone with her father. “Please, stay. I’ll be right back.”

The doorbell pealed once more before she got the door opened. “You made it. Come on in.”

A briefcase in one hand, her dad pulled luggage with the other as he brushed past her. “Where were you?”

Same old Dad. She caught a scent she didn’t associate with him—it was more floral. “In the kitchen waiting for the mission pastor to pick up some of the food that’s been dropped off.”

“Of course. The Methodist ladies.” Then he stood his luggage up and squeezed her hand. “I am sorry about William. I know he meant a lot to you.”

She blinked back a rush of tears. “Thanks. Have you eaten? There’s plenty.”

“I grabbed something at the hotel before I left. I’ll take a cup of coffee, though.”

“Sure.” She eyed him. Something was different. His hair? Maybe a little longer on top ... but more than that. Then it hit her—he looked younger. The gray was gone except for a tiny bit at his temples.

He cleared his throat, and she swallowed her surprise. He must have said something. “I didn’t catch that.”

“Maybe because you weren’t listening? I asked which room.”

“The one you and Mom always used—I put clean sheets on the bed. While you’re stowing your things, I’ll put on a pot of coffee.”

“No chicory,” he said over his shoulder.

“Right.” They did have that in common.

Clayton looked past her when she entered the kitchen. “He’s putting his things away and will be here in a minute. Thanks for hanging around.”

“No problem.”

“I’m making coffee. Would you like some? And maybe a piece of that caramel cake I’ve seen you ogling?”

“I thought you’d never ask. How’d it go?”

“As usual.” Actually, better than she expected. Madison poured water into the grind-and-brew coffeemaker, then scooped in beans and turned it on. The tantalizing aroma of freshly ground coffee perked her up. She should have made coffee an hour ago.

“I didn’t know you had company.”

Madison flinched. She hadn’t heard her father come into the kitchen. “Sorry, I forgot to mention Clayton was here. Clayton Bradshaw, my father, Gregory Thorn.”

Clayton extended his hand. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

She almost laughed at the way the two men sized each other up as they shook hands. Her dad had left his jacket in the bedroom, and the slim-fit dress shirt hugged a trim body. Evidently, he’d lost weight and had been working out.

Clayton was no slouch in the looks department, either. Evenin his uniform, it was easy to tell he was fit. He had a rugged appeal with a strong, clearly defined jaw. She’d noticed more than one woman turn and take a second look at him. Maybe in part because Clayton’s face held kindness. Where her father’s face usually held a stony wariness.

“So, you’re a park ranger?” her father asked, glancing at the gun on Clayton’s belt then hers.

“Yes, sir. Supervisor for the southern district on the Natchez Trace.”

“Do all the rangers around here wear a gun?”

“Only the law enforcement ones.”

“Even when they’re off duty?”

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