“Very funny.” Clean air and seeing a million stars at night were nice, but I didn’t like bugs or dust or snakes. Plus, I needed access to good restaurants, good shopping, and my citified friends.

He stroked my jawline again, and part of my brain melted. Where was the ladder to the hayloft?

“We shouldn’t.” His voice was a whisper against my ear.

“The horses won’t care.”

“There’s a murder to solve.”

“You’re a tease.”

His chuckle was low and rumbly and did things to my blood. Slow fire things. “I’ll make good on my promise later.”

Hot fire things.

I swallowed my frustration. At least his arms were still wrapped around me. I could wait until we reached the privacy of our cabin. I forced myself to focus on the murder. "Did everyone give you an alibi? Even Misty?" Crying over a man she hardly knew had struck me as mildly suspicious.

“Misty was in the kitchen all morning. Those cinnamon rolls didn’t make themselves. Also, both you and Bill saw her.

“True. What about motives?”

He gave me a tired grin. “I hope you can help me with that. Everyone claimed to like him.”

My brow creased. “Come again?”

“People don’t like to speak ill of the dead.”

“Yes, they do. They just qualify it with a ‘bless his heart,’ or ‘I hate to speak ill of the dead, but...’"

“Well, no one spoke ill to a homicide detective. Graham was a great guy. A great husband. A great lawyer. A great friend. He’ll be sorely missed. His passing is a huge loss to the firm, to the community, to his wife.”

“I heard six solid motives just this morning.”

“Maybe we should put you on the payroll.”

“The payroll?” I smiled at him. I tried to smolder. “I could take my salary in kisses.”

There was that chuckle again. “Has anyone told you that you’re hard to resist?”

“Not recently.” I tilted my head, and our lips were but a breath apart.

“A salary paid in kisses? A bargain at twice the price.” His lips explored mine.

My body melted, my toes curled, and someone—definitely not a horse—coughed.

Anarchy and I jumped apart as if someone had turned the hose on us.

Liz, who wore a linen peasant dress and looked like she’d walked off the pages of Town & Country, and Perry, who wore madras shorts and loafers without socks, stared at us, their cheeks pink with embarrassment.

Perry broke a cheeky grin. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Liz stared at the sawdust in the aisle as if she hoped a hole would open and swallow her.

“We wanted to tell you right away,” said Liz. Her forehead wrinkled and a furrow cut into the space between her eyes.

“Tell us what?” I asked.

Liz and Perry exchanged a glance, and Perry’s grin faltered.

Anarchy, who could use silence as an interrogation technique, said nothing.