But an odd, purely female instinct told her that something was going on in his life. She’d never admit to him that she’d snooped when she could, finding no clues whatsoever in the call log on his phone or anywhere in his room at the Weston house. Mary Beth had replaced the phone exactly where he’d left it and gone through his things looking for—she didn’t know what. He wouldn’t leave incriminating items around for his mother to find.

It was more the way he acted. Cool and careless. The same overconfidence that had her nerves on edge after he’d showed her the office building had intensified.

Why? Was he getting what he needed elsewhere? Mary Beth thought ruefully that she was far from the ideal fiancée. Another thought occurred to her. His rakish good looks seemed a little frayed around the edges, like he wasn’t getting enough sleep. She didn’t dare ask Alma when he came in at night.

“I want to believe you, Bobby Joe,” she began.

“But you don’t. Go ahead and play detective.”

She studied his profile. He was handsome to a fault and always would be. Cocky too, but that might fade as he got older. There was something weak in Bobby Joe that she hadn’t fully understood before. She could no longer ignore the fact that he was incredibly unsure of who he was and who he wanted to be. It was ironic that she tended to think of herself in the same terms—or did. But she had changed a lot in the last weeks.

“I’d rather not do that, Bobby Joe. In fact, I wish we weren’t having this conversation.”

He shot her a sidelong look. “Me neither. But if talking can keep this engagement going, then let’s talk.”

Bobby Joe’s reluctance was so obvious that Mary Beth couldn’t help her next question.

“Do you mind if I ask why you want to keep it going?”

He answered quickly and a little irritably. “Because I want to marry you, Mary Beth. It’s the logical next step in my life. I want us to have a fine home and children and all the good things in life.” He spoke as if he’d rehearsed the words, wrapping up with what seemed to be an afterthought. “And I love you, don’t forget that.”

You almost did. Just in time she stopped herself from blurting out the comment.

The conversation was going downhill. His sullen silence conveyed a very different message from his carefully delivered speech.