Page 5 of Suzanna's Surrender
“He always had a dog, used to take it with him wherever he went. Sadie’s one of the descendants.”
Carefully she got to her feet again. “Did he have a dog named Fred?”
Holt’s brows drew together. “Why?”
“Did he?”
Holt was already sure he didn’t like where this was leading. “The first dog he had was called Fred. That was before the First World War. He did a painting of him. And when Fred exercised the rightde seigneuraround the neighborhood, my grandfather took a couple of the puppies.”
Suzanne rubbed suddenly damp hands on her jeans. It took all of her control to keep her voice low and steady. “The day before Bianca died, she brought a puppy home to her children. A little black puppy she called Fred.” She saw his eyes change and knew she had his attention, and his interest. “She’d found him out on the cliffs—the cliffs where she went to meet Christian.” She moistened her lips as Holt continued to stare at her and say nothing. “My great-grandfather wouldn’t allow the dog to stay. They argued about it, quite seriously. We were able to locate a maid who’d worked there, and she’d heard the whole thing. No one was sure what happened to that dog. Until now.”
“Even if that’s true,” Holt said slowly, “it doesn’t change the bottom line. There’s nothing I can do for you.”
“You can think about it, you can try to remember if he ever said anything, if he left anything behind that could help.”
“I’ve got enough to think about.” He paced a few feet away. He didn’t want to be involved with anything that would bring him into contact with her again and again.
Suzanna didn’t argue. She could only stare at the long, jagged scar that ran from his shoulder to nearly his waist. He turned, met her horrified eyes and stiffened.
“Sorry, if I’d known you were coming to call, I’d have put on a shirt.”
“What—” She had to swallow the block of emotion in her throat. “What happened to you?”
“I was a cop one night too long.” His eyes stayed steady on hers. “I can’t help you, Suzanna.”
She shook away the pity he obviously would detest. “You won’t.”
“Whatever. If I’d wanted to dig around in other people’s problems, I’d still be on the force.”
“I’m only asking you to do a little thinking, to let us know if you remember anything that might help.”
He was running out of patience. Holt figured he’d already given her more than her share for one day. “I was a kid when he died. Do you really think he’d have told me if he’d had an affair with a married woman?”
“You make it sound sordid.”
“Some people don’t figure adultery’s romantic:” Then he shrugged. It was nothing to him either way. “Then again, if one of the partners turns out to be a washout, I guess it’s tough to come down on the other for looking someplace else.”
She looked away at that, closing in on a private pain. “I’m not interested in your views on morality, Holt. Just your memory. And I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
He didn’t know what he’d said to put that sad, injured look in her eyes. But he couldn’t let her leave with that haunting him. “Look, I think you’re reaching at straws here, but if anything comes to mind, I’ll let you know. For Sadie’s ancestor’s sake.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“But don’t expect anything.”
With a half laugh she turned to walk to her truck. “Believe me, I won’t.” It surprised her when he crossed the lawn with her.
“I heard you started a business.”
“That’s right.” She glanced around the yard. “You could use me.”
The faint sneer came again. “I ain’t the rosebush type.”
“The cottage is.” Unoffended, she fished her keys out of her pocket. “It wouldn’t take much to make it charming.”
“I’m not in the market for posies, babe. I’ll leave the puttering around the rose garden to you.”
She thought of the aching muscles she took home with her every night and climbed into the truck to slam the door. “Yes, puttering around the garden is something we women do best. By the way, Holt, your grass needs fertilizer. I’m sure you have plenty to spread around.”
