Love Under Two Detectives by Cara Covington (good books to read for women txt) 📗

“We won’t bite, New York,” Toby said. “Let us in and give us a chance.”

“Well, when you put it that way.” Mary had gotten up close and personal with fear over the last several months. Maybe if she hadn’t, she’d be a bit more intimidated in the moment than she was.

But there was nothing about these two police detectives to engender fear within her. And while she had not had romance or sex in mind when she’d sought out Lusty, she couldn’t say that she was against either of those two things, either.

That’s not what you were thinking earlier.

I wasn’t thinking earlier, I was reacting.

And you’re not, now?

“Let us know when you’re finished arguing with yourself, cupcake.”

“Is it going to be a long one, New York? Because we can, you know, go in, get started on making those coffees for us.”

Mary scowled at Toby. “I just figured something out. You’re a smartass, Wyoming.”

“You can’t convince either one of us that was the subject of your self-dueling,” Anthony said. “Because Wyoming, as you and most of the cops on the WPD call him, is the most obvious smartass any of us have ever met.”

“You know what, copper? I don’t think I’ll bother trying to convince the two of you of a single thing.” And that was her bottom line. She didn’t feel she had to be her own advocate with these two men. She felt aroused, and cosseted, yes. But she also felt incredibly free to be herself. And that, more than anything, put a smile on her face as she unlocked her front door and invited Anthony Corbett and Toby Kendall into her home.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Toby said.

His comment prompted her to look around her own living space, to try to see it from his eyes. This was a single-story house, which suited her just fine. The layout was simple. The front door opened into the living room, which in effect took up the front third of the house. Then there was a short hall to a bathroom—well, powder room, really, as it had only a sink and toilet—and beyond that, the kitchen. The back door was actually the side door, as it opened onto a deck that ran down the right side house as you looked at it from the street and then, rather than ending, extended across the back and half way up the other side.

One more short hall, which also had a little nook that held her washer and dryer, ended at another door. A bit larger than the living room, the bedroom took the entire back of the house. It was huge, as was the bed within it. There was a master bathroom attached, which held a large tub with Jacuzzi jets and a shower that she had no doubt was big enough for three.

The door to her bedroom currently stood closed of course—she kept it closed out of a habit formed as a young girl with too many brothers and cousins in the house. There could be a total of eight Y-chromosome carriers at any given time in her house. She was no longer a girl battling cousins and brothers, but Mary wasn’t altogether ready for these two men to see that part of her private space quite yet.

She brought her mind back to the living room. She had a few photographs on display. One was of her parents, taken on the night of their fortieth wedding anniversary. She had one of just her and her parents, taken many years before at her high school graduation. There was one with her parents and her two brothers, Norm and John. And the final one, taken before Will and Norm had come to Texas, showing three full families of Kendalls—the Kendalls of New York.

Mary had only a few other items on display in the living room. One of them was, of course, her Thornbury Award. How could she not absolutely cherish an item that she credited with saving her life? Plus, it was the most prestigious award she’d ever received.

And it was the only clue in this part of her house as to her “alter ego.”

She blinked when she realized that, as adamant as she’d been about keeping her career a secret, all anyone ever had to do was to go over and pick up that award and read the inscription to know.

Well, if they do, and they ask, I’ll answer honestly.

Mary cocked her head at Toby, recalled his single sentence, as well as the conversation that had taken place earlier at the supper table, and laughed. “You mean you like what my aunt has done with the place.”

Toby’s grin widened and was, in her estimation, totally unrepentant.

“Nope, New York. You. Because, after all, you’re the one who lives here.”

“A smartass and slick, too…and you don’t even know my brother and cousin all that well.”

“There’s a story there,” Anthony said.

“Oh, copper, there’s a story everywhere.”

She headed to her kitchen to make the coffee. I’ll let them have those two clues and see what they can come up with.

* * * *

Toby let Mary’s words settle on his mind. He took a moment to look around the neat and tidy living room. He doubted she spent much time in this room, because it looked untouched. But that didn’t mean there weren’t clues for him to find to answer the burning question in his mind. Who is Mary Kendall?

It was beyond strange that the first woman to grab his interest in…well, in forever had the same last name as he. Of course, the familial connection between them at this point really was in name only. His great-great-grandfather and her great-great-grandfather had been brothers. Five generations was too big a stretch to worry about, genetics-wise.

Toby admired the photographs Mary had on display. Despite the jabs and teasing he’d noticed between the New York cousins in the time he’d been in Lusty, Mary clearly held family as important.

They were the only photos on display. No best