Read Online Stuck on Murder by Lucy Lawrence - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lucy Lawrence
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out loud what she was thinking but afraid to say herself.
He met her searching look with his grave gray stare. He didn’t look away when he said, “I never wished for his murder.”
Chapter 8
To strengthen thin papers before use, apply a coat of sealant first and let it dry completely.
Brenna woke up to a face full of dog breath. Her eyes peeled open, and she looked to find Hank sound asleep with his head on the pillow next to hers. He was on his back with his paws in the air, the picture of canine contentment. She couldn’t help but smile.
The minute she sat up and pulled on her robe, he snapped out of his deep sleep and jumped to the floor. He shook himself from head to tail, as if that was how he woke himself up, and she wondered if she should try it. Maybe another time—she’d had trouble sleeping last night and had a scorching headache. She was afraid any sudden movements might cause her head to roll right off her shoulders.
She shuffled to the kitchen and started to fix coffee. Nothing was right on her planet until she’d downed at least one steaming cup. Hank bounced around her feet and she wondered if he was hungry. Probably.
She opened her frig and looked for something suitable. She supposed she could just let him out so he could go home, but she was loath to give up his company.
She looked at him over the open refrigerator door. “How about bacon and eggs?” she asked. He wagged his tail, and she took it as an emphatic yes.
She set to work while the coffee brewed. She toasted some of the French bread she’d bought the night before. She had no appetite for the cheese soufflé. It didn’t reheat well, and for some reason it was linked in her mind to finding the trunk and the mayor. She dumped it in the garbage, knowing it would be a long time before she made cheese soufflé again.
She flipped the bacon and there was a knock on the door. She turned the heat to low and went to answer it. She ran her fingers through her curls as she went, hoping she didn’t look as wiped out as she felt but knowing she probably looked worse, like road kill worse.
As she had suspected, it was Nate. Hank got to the door first and was jumping in a circle. Brenna had to grab his collar as she opened the door for Nate.
“Hi,” he said. “I brought Hank’s breakfast.”
Sure enough, he had a big blue bowl in his hand. He set it down on the corner of the porch and Hank dove for it as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks instead of hours.
“I was just making him some bacon and eggs,” she said.
“If you do that, he’ll never leave,” Nate said.
“I wouldn’t mind,” she said, moving aside to let him in. “He’s a great dog.”
Unlike her, Nate looked great. His wavy brown hair was damp from his shower and he was wearing a charcoal-colored Henley that turned his watchful eyes the shade of wet slate.
“So you like waking up to a blond in your bed?” he teased.
Brenna felt her face grow hot. She supposed she could flirt and say that she preferred brunettes, but she wasn’t sure how that would go over and it was too early in the day to make an ass of herself, so she decided to err on the side of caution and ignore his comment.
“You might have mentioned that he’s a bed hog,” she said. “But at least he doesn’t snore.”
“No, but when he starts chasing rabbits in his sleep, you have to watch it or he’ll kick you right out of the bed.”
“Is that experience talking?” she asked. She took the French bread out of the toaster and spread whipped butter on it.
“See this scar?” He pointed to a small jagged white line in the shape of a crescent moon just above his right temple. “Nightstand at three in the morning thanks to Thunder Paws out there.”
Brenna winced in sympathy and then laughed. She couldn’t help it. There was something charming about a man who let his dog sleep in his bed despite injury to his own person.
The bacon and eggs were done so she loaded up two plates, adding a
He met her searching look with his grave gray stare. He didn’t look away when he said, “I never wished for his murder.”
Chapter 8
To strengthen thin papers before use, apply a coat of sealant first and let it dry completely.
Brenna woke up to a face full of dog breath. Her eyes peeled open, and she looked to find Hank sound asleep with his head on the pillow next to hers. He was on his back with his paws in the air, the picture of canine contentment. She couldn’t help but smile.
The minute she sat up and pulled on her robe, he snapped out of his deep sleep and jumped to the floor. He shook himself from head to tail, as if that was how he woke himself up, and she wondered if she should try it. Maybe another time—she’d had trouble sleeping last night and had a scorching headache. She was afraid any sudden movements might cause her head to roll right off her shoulders.
She shuffled to the kitchen and started to fix coffee. Nothing was right on her planet until she’d downed at least one steaming cup. Hank bounced around her feet and she wondered if he was hungry. Probably.
She opened her frig and looked for something suitable. She supposed she could just let him out so he could go home, but she was loath to give up his company.
She looked at him over the open refrigerator door. “How about bacon and eggs?” she asked. He wagged his tail, and she took it as an emphatic yes.
She set to work while the coffee brewed. She toasted some of the French bread she’d bought the night before. She had no appetite for the cheese soufflé. It didn’t reheat well, and for some reason it was linked in her mind to finding the trunk and the mayor. She dumped it in the garbage, knowing it would be a long time before she made cheese soufflé again.
She flipped the bacon and there was a knock on the door. She turned the heat to low and went to answer it. She ran her fingers through her curls as she went, hoping she didn’t look as wiped out as she felt but knowing she probably looked worse, like road kill worse.
As she had suspected, it was Nate. Hank got to the door first and was jumping in a circle. Brenna had to grab his collar as she opened the door for Nate.
“Hi,” he said. “I brought Hank’s breakfast.”
Sure enough, he had a big blue bowl in his hand. He set it down on the corner of the porch and Hank dove for it as if he hadn’t eaten in weeks instead of hours.
“I was just making him some bacon and eggs,” she said.
“If you do that, he’ll never leave,” Nate said.
“I wouldn’t mind,” she said, moving aside to let him in. “He’s a great dog.”
Unlike her, Nate looked great. His wavy brown hair was damp from his shower and he was wearing a charcoal-colored Henley that turned his watchful eyes the shade of wet slate.
“So you like waking up to a blond in your bed?” he teased.
Brenna felt her face grow hot. She supposed she could flirt and say that she preferred brunettes, but she wasn’t sure how that would go over and it was too early in the day to make an ass of herself, so she decided to err on the side of caution and ignore his comment.
“You might have mentioned that he’s a bed hog,” she said. “But at least he doesn’t snore.”
“No, but when he starts chasing rabbits in his sleep, you have to watch it or he’ll kick you right out of the bed.”
“Is that experience talking?” she asked. She took the French bread out of the toaster and spread whipped butter on it.
“See this scar?” He pointed to a small jagged white line in the shape of a crescent moon just above his right temple. “Nightstand at three in the morning thanks to Thunder Paws out there.”
Brenna winced in sympathy and then laughed. She couldn’t help it. There was something charming about a man who let his dog sleep in his bed despite injury to his own person.
The bacon and eggs were done so she loaded up two plates, adding a
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