Chapter 13

ERIC

Three days later, I turned on the microwave and reheated the leftovers from last night's dinner. I'd already taken Sherlock for a walk, thrown out the trash, and brought my laundry inside.

I'd also finished chapter six of my book, discovered an interesting person in my hero's past, and given the medical examiner a flimsy alibi on the day the dead body went missing from the morgue. Not bad for a day that started with a bang. Literally.

At precisely five thirty-six, a pale blue Ford Fiesta collided with an oak tree at the end of the street. The tree survived. The car didn't.

I'd thrown on my tracksuit and rushed outside. Riley wasn't far behind me. While I helped the driver, Riley called 9-1-1 and found a first aid kit in the trunk. The car was a rental, the driver, a tourist. After a long flight and an even longer drive, the man from Australia was about to discover the joys of paperwork. Falling asleep behind the wheel of a car wasn't something he'd be doing again in a hurry.

It wasn't until the man was being driven away in the ambulance that I noticed what Riley was wearing below his red sweatshirt.

He blushed when he caught me staring at his legs. Long, muscular legs wearing silk boxers covered in bright blue pictures of Cookie Monster.

Riley glared at me. Only it wasn't a mean-ass glare that told me to back off. It was the type of glare that dared me to say something.

Which would have been fine and dandy if I could have thought of something to say. But by some miracle of human biology, my brain short-circuited and left me bug-eyed and tongue-tied.

I really needed to get a life. Thirty-nine-year-old men don't go gaga over a pair of male legs. Except I had, and I wasn't sure it would lead to a productive day in the office.

So, after Riley made a hasty escape, I went for a swim in the lake. A cold swim that did nothing to erase the image of Riley's legs from my brain. It wasn't until Sherlock jumped on my back and nearly drowned both of us that I started thinking logically.

Long legs or not, I was on a mission and chapter seven would wait for no one.

The microwave beeped and I took out my mac and cheese. The congealed mess did nothing for my appetite, but food was food. When I was on a roll, the only thing I needed was fuel. Whether it looked okay wasn't important.

Sherlock followed me onto the veranda, not even bothering to poke his nose into my plate.

Looking at the gooey pasta, I didn't blame him.

Sherlock's nose twitched at about the same time mine did.

Roast chicken.

I sniffed again. Onions, celery, and if I wasn't mistaken, a good dose of mixed herbs.

My stomach rumbled.

Sherlock looked pleadingly up at me.

"No. Definitely not," I whispered. "That's Riley's dinner. You've had your dog roll and I have my…" I looked down at my mac and cheese, "…dinner. Yum."

Sherlock wasn't buying my fake enthusiasm. He woofed, sending a flock of swallows high into the air.

The K-9 super dog who found more criminals and drugs than any other dog in New York City took off across the yard, barking like an out-of-control freight train.

Riley walked around the side of the cottage. "Is everything all right?"

"We're fine," I told him. "Sherlock's blowing off some steam."

Riley's eyes widened when he saw my dinner. "That looks…interesting."

"Last night's leftovers. I've been writing all day. How's the painting?"

A smile lit Riley's face. "It's great. I don't know whether it's because I'm in Sunrise Bay or because I'm trying something new, but it's coming together really well. How's the book?"

"I'm up to chapter seven."

"Does your hero know who the body belongs to?"

"He thinks he does, but he's about to be proven wrong."

Riley tilted his head to the side. I didn't know whether it was the purple T-shirt he was wearing or the soft evening light, but his eyes were an incredible shade of blue. They sparkled with curiosity and something more that made my heart race. Did he realize how attractive he was?

"How do you know what will happen?"

I pulled my mind back to our conversation. Daydreaming about Riley would only get me into trouble. "I have a broad outline of the plot on my computer. After every third chapter, I look at what's coming up and decide if I need to make any changes."

"Have any of your stories done a complete U-turn and left you wondering what will happen next?"

"My last book was like that." I thought about Taken, the first book in the eight-part series I was writing. "Sometimes a character does something so unexpected that it surprises me. When that happens, you need to decide whether their actions make the story stronger or if it'll take you down a dead end."

Riley smiled. "And if it takes you down a dead end, you need a dead body, too."

"Exactly."

Sherlock ran toward the cottage.

"I'm sorry about this morning," I muttered. "I didn't mean to stare at your legs."

Riley shrugged as if it didn't matter, but the blush on his face told me it did. "It's okay. I don't usually wear my pajamas outside."

My imagination worked overtime. If those were his pajama bottoms, I wondered what the top looked like, or if he wore a top.

I cleared my throat, grateful that he couldn't read my mind. "I'm glad you were there to help."

"I didn't do much. I'm just happy the man wasn't badly hurt." Riley moved away from the veranda. "I hope you don't think I'm overstepping any neighborly boundaries, but you're welcome to share my dinner. I roasted a chicken with lots of vegetables."

It only took me a split second to decide what I'd do. "I'll bring dessert."

Riley's smile made my breath catch. "I'll see you soon. Don't forget Sherlock."

While the big German Shepherd ambled toward the cottage, I took a carton of ice cream out of the freezer. Between Riley's chicken and my dessert, we had a meal fit for royalty. Or for a man and a dog who were desperate for a home-cooked dinner.