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His gaze heats, but then he says, “Carly’s here. She can probably find you something.”

“I’m a lot bigger than Carly.”

“Then you can wear one of my T-shirts. Or you can go naked.” He winks. “No one’s going to care.”

I shake my head. “As much as a dip in the hot tub sounds like heaven, if you guys are going to be talking about Joey, I need to be involved. Besides, I’m a professional detective. I’ll probably have some insight. Please don’t try to keep me away because you think I might get upset.”

I keep myself from laughing at my own words. All during the ride home all I could think of were pieces and chunks of information that I couldn’t make sense of. I likely won’t be any help at all, but I should be there. No matter how much I don’t want to.

“Whatever you want, baby.” Miles gets out of his truck, comes around to the passenger side, and opens the door for me.

He’s such a gentleman. He’s such…

He’s just everything. Miles Bridger is simply everything.

How did he come to mean so much to me in such a short time? Am I being overly needy?

Whatever it is, I don’t have the energy to question it right now.

Miles takes my hand, and he leads me to the front door, where we enter.

Sure enough, Chance and Austin Bridger—along with Carly—are seated in the large living room along with a man wearing a white button-down shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, and a black bolo tie.

The attorney, I presume.

Chance and Austin both rise. The attorney rises and turns, his gaze falling on me.

“Who’s this?” he asks.

“This is Sadie Hopkins.” Miles slips his arm around my shoulder. “She’s the sister of the deceased and a detective on this case. Sadie, our lawyer, Tom Shankle.”

Mr. Shankle walks toward me, his hand outstretched. I take it and force myself to give a good firm shake. I learned long ago that, because I work in a field dominated by men, I need to give a strong handshake.

Louisa, the housekeeper, bustles in from the kitchen, her hair wrapped up in a tidy bun. “Ms. Hopkins, good to see you again. Can I get you two anything to drink?”

Only then do I notice the tall glasses of fresh lemonade sitting on the coffee table in front of each person.

“I could sure use a beer right about now,” Miles says, “but I’m thinking it’s better to keep my wits about me.”

Austin gives him a smile. “I think we could all use a drink, but this lemonade’s pretty good.”

“You got a shot of Jack to put in that?” Miles asks Louisa.

She begins to respond but Miles gestures her to stop.

“I’m kidding, of course. Maybe after dinner, though.” He turns to me. “You want some of that lemonade?”

I nod. I’m not a huge lemonade fan—it’s a little sweet for me—but if I try to talk, I may choke or stammer.

“I’ll get you each a glass right away.”

“Thanks, Louisa,” Miles says.

I open my mouth to mumble a thank you, but only a squeak ekes out.

Yeah, I need to keep quiet until I’ve got a handle on myself.

Miles tightens his arm around me, holds me close. “Come on. Let’s have a seat.”