“Isn’t that why you’re here?”

“I just want to find out the truth.”

“And nail me to the cross,” he said, eyeing her.

She wanted to lie but didn’t, and at that moment headlights washed over the windows as a battered old pickup pulled into the lot. More guests?

“Must be the calvary,” he said.

“You mean cavalry.”

“Either way.” He then knocked back the liquor that had been in the second glass just as footsteps sounded on the porch. Ralph shot to his feet and trotted to the front door.

“You’re going to kill yourself.”

“Hope never dies.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “But I don’t think so. Not today. Not from a couple of drinks.”

“It’s your funeral.” Footsteps on the porch. Who? she wondered. Not wanting to get caught in another awkward conversation and explanation about what she was doing here, she hovered to one side. She just needed to get out. “I’ve got to go.”

“We’ll take you to your car.”

“Who’s we? I don’t need a ride. It’s a short walk.”

“That’s Bobby. Coming to take me to the inn.”

The man who at that moment pushed in the front door was small and wiry, with a cap pulled low over his eyes, the scent of cigarette smoke clinging to him. He gazed hard at Rebecca. “Well, I’ll be. Ralph was on to something.”

“That he was. This is Rebecca. Megan’s sister. My foreman, Bobby.”

Bobby asked, “What’re you doin’ here?”

“She thought she might find something that would help her locate her sister.”

“So she broke in?” Bobby asked, scowling. “I locked the place myself.”

“Something like that. Long story. The upshot is that she’s parked her car at the hotel, so we’re giving her a ride back.”

He looked about to argue. Instead, he just squared his cap on his head. “All right,” he said shortly.

“Look. Really. I can walk,” Rebecca declined. “It’s not that far. You’re hurt, and I doubt there’s much room in the truck.”

James was heading for the door. “Bobby’s truck’s got a bench seat.”

The thought of being wedged tight between the two men even for a short distance was daunting.

“I don’t think—”

“There’s no use arguing with him,” Bobby said. “Let’s just get on with it. Cyn—that’s my wife—she’s been texting me like crazy. I need to get home.”

“Let me grab a hat,” James said and disappeared down a hallway to return wearing a black cowboy hat that partially covered his bandaged head. “Let’s go.”

Rebecca didn’t like it, but she was hustled out of the house and to the Silverado and, along with the dog, crammed inside. Bobby was behind the wheel and James against the passenger window, Ralph curled at their feet, his dark eyes never leaving Rebecca’s face.