“I like growing things. Always have.” He tossed some spinach into a stainless-steel colander. “I started out at Oklahoma State with a major in plant and soil science, but then I discovered I’d actually have to go to class. ‘Student athlete’—now there’s an oxymoron.” He splashed water on the spinach and shook the colander. “I love the pace of city life, and as much as I like animals, I didn’t like raising them. Especially pigs.” He cleaned a handful of herbs and laid them on a paper towel. “I can’t tell you how many times those bastards managed to get out of their pen and tear up my vegetable garden. Pigs are the only animal I hate.”

She thought of Oinky. “Pigs are sweet!”

“That’s right. You sleep with one.”

“I don’t sleep with—”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “See how sweet you’d think they are, city girl, if you’d been six years old and had those two-hundred-pound porkers charge you whenever you went into their pen. One slip, and you’re lunch. They’ll eat anything.”

“Well, we eat them, so...”

“I’m not saying there isn’t some kind of divine justice at work, but kids and pigs don’t belong together.” He pulled out a chef’s knife. “I still have nightmares about them.”

“Let me get this straight. You, Cooper Graham, five-time first team All-Pro, two-time NFL MVP, are afraid of pigs?”

“Yep.” The blade hit the cutting board.

She laughed, then remembered she wasn’t here to be entertained. “I went to see Dell this morning. Not a single bruise on him.”

“Are you back to this again?”

“Did you know your close pal Keith and his girlfriend Taylor moved out of their place without leaving a forwarding address?”

He pointed the tip of the knife in her general direction. “For the last time. It was a mugging, not some preplanned attack.”

“I’m sure you’d like to think so. Help me sort through it, will you, so I can stop obsessing about it?”

He scraped the back of his hand over the beard scruff on his jaw. “Keith’s a hothead, but the two of us already had it out.”

“That was before Taylor got fired, right?” She located the eggs.

“Staging an ambush isn’t his style.”

“You have more faith in your old pal than I do.” She rummaged for some cheese and found a chunk of imported cheddar.

“While you’re sorting things out...” He gazed across the counter at her. She wished he’d pull up his pants. Or zip his sweatshirt. Or go bald. Except he’d still look great.

“Aren’t you overlooking a couple of more obvious villains in your imaginary scenario?” He carried the leeks over to a chopping board. “Starting with that mysterious client who hired you to follow me?”