She wondered if Cliff would’ve dragged her from the house the night before if she hadn’t gone voluntarily. Fortunately, it hadn’t been an issue, because Maggie thought him perfectly capable of it. Yet he’d been the ideal dinner companion. While she hadn’t expected consideration from him, he’d been considerate. She hadn’t expected subtle kindness, but it had been there. Finding both had made it difficult to remember she considered him an unlikable man.

They hadn’t spoken of what had been found on her property that day, nor had there been any speculation on the whys and hows. They hadn’t discussed his work or hers, but had simply talked.

Looking back, Maggie couldn’t say precisely what they’d talked about, only that the mood had been easy. So easy, she had almost forgotten the passion they’d pulled from each other in the quiet afternoon sunlight. Almost forgotten. The memory had been there, quietly nagging at her throughout the evening. It had made her blood move a little faster. It had made her wonder if he’d felt it, too.

Maggie swore and erased the last five notes she’d copied down. C.J. wouldn’t appreciate the fact that she was mixing her bass and tenor. She was doing exactly what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t do, and as she’d known it would, the upheaval of yesterday was affecting her work. Calmly, she took deep breaths until her mind was clear again. The wisest course was to switch the recorder back on to play and start from the beginning. Then the knock on the front door disrupted her thoughts. Quiet country life. She asked herself where she’d ever heard that expression as she went to answer.

The gun on the man’s hip made her stomach twist. The little badge pinned to the khaki shirt told her he was the sheriff. When she took her gaze up to his face, she was surprised by his looks. Blond, tanned, with blue eyes fanned by lines that spoke of humor or sun. For a moment, she had the insane notion that C.J. had sent him out from central casting.

“Miss Fitzgerald?”

She moistened her lips as she tried to be rational. C.J. worried too much for practical jokes. Besides, the gun looked very, very real. “Yes.”

“I’m Sheriff Agee. Hope you don’t mind me dropping by.”

“No.” She tried a polite smile, but found it strained. Guns and badges and official vehicles. Too many police in too short a time, Maggie told herself.

“If it wouldn’t put you out too much, I’d like to come in and talk to you for a few minutes.”

It did put her out. She wanted to say it did, then close the door on him and everything he wanted to talk about. Coward, she told herself, and stepped back to let him in. “I suppose you’re here about what we found yesterday.” Maggie put her shoulder to the door to shut it. “I don’t know what I can tell you.”

“I’m sure it was a nasty experience, Miss Fitzgerald, and one you’d just as soon forget.” His voice held just the right trace of sympathy mixed with professionalism. She decided he knew his business. “I wouldn’t feel I was doing my duty as sheriff or as a neighbor if I didn’t give you whatever help I can.”