A Priceless Find

“You care about him,” he said, stating the obvious.

She raised her hands. “Of course I care about Mr. Rochester. And Mrs. Rochester, who’s been worried sick about her husband. They’re a sweet couple. The way they are with each other, you’d think they were in the honeymoon phase of their relationship. They’ve been married more than forty-five years.”

He mentally added romantic to the list of her attributes. And the list was getting long. She had intelligence, warmth and compassion. She had a spirit of fun that he readily admitted he was lacking but admired. And, needless to say, he loved the way she looked.

But she had a boyfriend and he had to stay focused on the case. “Another question, if you don’t mind. Is there anything more you can tell me about Adam Rochester or his mother?”

“Not really.” She stared down at the table. “I told you everything I know the other night.”

He’d been watching her intently—couldn’t take his eyes off her. So he’d noticed that the warmth fizzled out as she talked about the nephew. “You don’t like him.”

She raised startled eyes to meet his. “What makes you say that?”

“I’m a detective, remember. Well-honed observation skills,” he responded, trying to put her at ease again and lighten the mood. It had the desired effect, making her smile again. “So, why is that?” he asked.

She seemed to consider his question for a moment. “I don’t dislike Adam. We’ve just never...connected.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Since I started working at the gallery. Nearly five years ago now.”

“That’s a long time not to connect with someone.”

“Perhaps,” she acknowledged. “But I don’t think connecting is a function of time. We’re too different.”

Soon after, Sam ran out of questions, and he needed to take Chelsea back to the gallery. He dropped her off there and said good-night.

But he found himself thinking about her as he drove home.

He was drawn to her in a way he couldn’t remember being drawn to anyone else...other than Katherine. He’d been tempted to ask Chelsea about her relationship with Joel again, but he didn’t want to cross the line from business to personal. Her reaction to his impromptu question in the car had told him she was sensitive about it.

Didn’t it just figure that when he finally met a woman he could be interested in, it was during an investigation and she was in a relationship. Even if those obstacles didn’t exist, he recalled her comment about not connecting with Adam Sinclair because they were too different.

Weren’t they too different? Sam wondered grudgingly as he let himself into his apartment. Not from his perspective. And her comment about connecting not being a function of time? His own reaction to her had been almost immediate, so he had to agree.

It was only when he closed the door behind him that he realized he’d neglected to ask her what she’d meant about this being one of her worst days.

CHAPTER SEVEN

VERY GENTLEMANLY, CHELSEA mused, how Sam had walked her to her car at the gallery and waited until she’d pulled out of the parking lot. It was a thoughtful gesture.

Although Detective Sam Eldridge was about as far from what she considered her “type” as she could imagine, he intrigued her. He was undeniably attractive, but it was more than that. She found his personality appealing, so steady and solid—and her complete opposite.

Wouldn’t it be fun to throw him off his game? Get him to be a little more spontaneous?

And she was known for her spontaneity!

There was no ring on his finger—she’d checked—and she was sure he’d be the kind of man to wear one if he was married. She went into her apartment, hung up her coat and scooped Mindy into her arms as she headed to the kitchen. She placed the purring cat on a kitchen chair and searched through her handbag for the business card Sam had given her.

Samuel D. Eldridge.

The name suited him. She wondered what the D stood for but wasn’t surprised to see the use of his middle initial. He just seemed to be the type. Stuffy was the wrong word. Proper was more like it.

Mindy meowed and Chelsea scratched her behind the ears.

Sam looked like someone who could use some fun in his life, she decided.

It was less than a half an hour since he’d dropped her off. Chances were that he’d be home or wherever he’d been going.

She tapped the card against her fingers and grinned.

Grabbing the phone, she dialed his cell number.

“Eldridge here,” was the brusque response.

“Owens here,” she said, mimicking him.

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