“Shouldn’t.”

“I’ve got my fingers crossed.” The worry etching tiny lines across her smooth forehead gave him pause. He noticed the pulse beating at the base of her throat and the way the wind snatched at her hair.

For a second the urge to take her into his arms was so strong he nearly gave in. Standing alone at the side of the road with the sound of the truck’s engine fading in the distance and the stars flickering in the sky, he was tempted to pull her against his chest and rest his chin on her crown. She was small and warm, smelling of lilacs and honey, and he knew she’d feel like heaven against him.

She glanced up at him with those luminous eyes and he had to set his jaw against the overpowering urge to kiss her until they both couldn’t breathe.

The thought struck him hard and he shoved it quickly aside. He cleared his throat. “We’d better get a move on.”

“Oh, right.” She, as if having read his mind, couldn’t get to the pickup fast enough. The entire way back to her house she sat pressed against the passenger door, as if she, too, was touched by the growing intimacy between them, and it scared her to death. She looked like she hoped to bolt the minute he pulled into her driveway.

He switched on the radio, played with the buttons and finally settled for a rock station that was usually more heavy-metal than he liked. They didn’t talk much and he tried to ignore her, but his mind was racing down a path that was as dark as midnight; a path he didn’t like.

Who was Josh’s father?

The kid was ten or eleven. Just the right age.

But it would be too much of a coincidence for Josh to be Dave Sorenson’s son. Too much. There were dozens of kids Josh’s age who didn’t live with their dads. Besides, Ralph wasn’t sure if Dave had fathered a boy or girl or any kid at all, for that matter. Ralph Sorenson’s grandchild might be just a figment of the old man’s imagination, a pipe dream that he couldn’t yet give up.

Still, the thought that Josh Kinkaid might be Ralph Sorenson’s grandson burned deep in Luke’s brain. Like it or not, he’d have to check out the kid’s birth records. He slid a glance at Katie as the lights of Bittersweet glowed ever closer. She leaned against the window of the passenger door and chewed nervously on a fingernail.

As if sensing him watching her, she dropped her hand and Luke turned all his attention to winding through the tree-lined streets of the small town. From what he understood, she’d lived here all her life. It shouldn’t be too hard to check out the truth. The knot in his gut bothered him; she’d reacted strongly to the news of Dave’s death, with the emotion of someone who was more than just a casual acquaintance.