Under His Protection

Lisa stabbed a chunk of torte enjoying the calories one at a time. “You could join me, but I know how you look running in those high heels you refuse to lose. It ain’t pretty, sugah.”

Trisha smiled and forked a bite of the dessert.

Lisa devoured bite after bite, knowing that not even gooey chocolate would keep her mind off Nash and that he thought she was capable of murder.

Chapter Three

The next day Lisa was still fuming, and the best thing for her temper was to dig in the dirt. Leaving Kate to oversee the register, she repotted new stock and replaced the plants in the smaller gardens that had been sold in the past few days. She scrubbed terra-cotta pots, clipped cuttings, clipped herbs and tied them to dry, then deadheaded flowers. Anything to keep her mind off Nash Couviyon and the fact that he thought she was capable of killing another human being. It made her ill. And it hurt.

Lord, it hurt.

Obviously whatever relationship they’d had—and she still wasn’t certain they’d had a real one—meant nothing. Not when you’re faced with murder charges, she supposed.

Peter was dead. She grieved for him of course, but it was mild. That shamed her. She’d been his wife, in name only for the past three years. Still. He didn’t deserve to die, although she’d learned quickly in their marriage that he wasn’t a very nice person. Once she wore his ring, he’d become controlling, manipulative, obsessive.

He’d damn near driven her crazy in a few short months. And she’d learned her true purpose in his life. Be pretty, behave, give great parties, and schmooze…

A trophy wife.

Boy, did he learn he’d chosen poorly. And so did she. She’d left and started over. Started over a couple of times, in fact, she mused, and now she had every cent she’d earned in the past three years sunk into this house and her nursery business. She’d done most of the work herself and business was steady. Temple Couviyon had steered some contractors her way for her more exotic plants. Life was getting back to good, she thought, and felt as if she’d spent a century getting to this very moment.

And now it could be over. If word leaked out that she was a suspect in a murder case, she’d be ruined. Her reputation would be shot.

Shaking her head, she plowed her hands deep into the potting soil she was mixing. Though the fresh compost smelled fine, the stench of cow manure was strong enough to make her eyes water.

It was how Nash found her. Elbow deep in black dirt, pausing to add vermiculite to the mix. Outside the greenhouse, she kneaded and folded the soil, and although there were tears in her eyes, her expression said she wasn’t crying. She looked on that road between pissed off and pleased.

Nash wasn’t sure he should interrupt. “Lisa?”

She hesitated, then kept folding dirt in the large galvanized tub.

“What is it, Detective?” Lisa recognized his voice instantly, almost felt his presence before he spoke. It was irritating as hell that he could still do that to her.

He moved to her side. She glanced at him.

The impact of those green eyes left him momentarily hurting for air. “Peter was poisoned.”

Her head whipped to the side, her eyes wide. “Good Lord, how?”

“That we don’t know yet. Did he have heart trouble?”

She snorted and went back to mixing. “No. He was never sick. He’s…he was a guru about eating healthy foods, taking vitamins. Working out. It was really annoying that the man wouldn’t relax and just have fun. Be a slug, lie like a potato.” She bit her lip, knowing she’d said more than she should have. “I don’t think I should talk to you without a lawyer present.”

“You haven’t been charged.”

“And that makes a difference?”

“Cooperating will go in your favor. Do you want to impede an investigation?”

“I’ve told you all I can recall.”

“Except what you and Peter discussed, exactly.”

“He wanted me back… It doesn’t matter,” she said tiredly. “He was alive when I left him.” She moved to the sink and washed her hands. “I get it. You don’t have motive.”

“You were his wife—”

“Ex, or soon to be, at the time,” she stressed.

“—and you stood to gain. On the day of his death you were still legally married.”

“Splitting hairs, Nash. I didn’t ask for anything of his when I left him, and I hadn’t been his wife in any sense, including the biblical, for three years.”

Nash’s brows shot up. Where had she been all this time? “Not according to the legal system.”

“Fine. Have it your way. You always do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She turned, resting her rear against the sink edge and drying her hands. For a second she debated opening up this can of worms, then decided he could take a piece of the truth. “Four years ago you wanted me to wait around till you were ready for more than a few dates a month.”

Nash said nothing, bracing for the attack.

“You wanted me to be yours, but you weren’t willing to ever claim me. Even your brothers thought I was just a friend.”

The bitterness in her voice smacked him across the face. They’d shared a bed, shared each other, dammit. “So you went elsewhere?”

“I was still here before I met Peter and a couple of months after that.” She hooked the towel on a peg near the sink. “It doesn’t matter that it didn’t work out. At least I did something about it. Fish or cut bait, you know.”

“You’d have wanted to force me into something I didn’t want, then?”

She made a face. “No. Which is why I ended it.” So he wouldn’t feel he had to do the right thing because of their baby, she thought. “But that’s not the point. Face it, Nash. You weren’t ready for me.”

“You didn’t give me a chance.”

She made a sound between a laugh and disgust. “You had plenty of chances. You just didn’t want me the way I wanted you.” Forever.

There was hurt in her voice, a hint of it, barely disguised. She pushed past him, but didn’t make it far.

He caught her arm, the move putting her nearly against him. “My God, Lisa, did you think I didn’t care about you?” His gaze raked her face as he searched for something to grasp and knew he shouldn’t even be trying.

“Caring was all I got from you.” And a baby I never got to hold, she thought.

Nash struggled with his heart. He wanted to say things, things she needed to hear and he wanted to tell. But he couldn’t. Not when just looking at her pushed the heat simmering between them up a notch. Even in the apron and grubby T-shirt and steaming mad, she turned him inside out. He’d always felt incredible heat and electricity with her, more than anyone else. He’d never trusted it. And there was more here, this time. Yet the expression on her face said he didn’t have a chance. And the fact that he was prying into her life and considered her a prime suspect wasn’t helping his position. Did he want something with her? Was he willing to resurrect the past? No. Attraction was only about hormones, he thought, and forced himself to shut off the thoughts and turn up his cop brain.

He let her go. After a moment he asked, “What herbs and flowers do you use to make the teas?”

Back to detecting, she thought, rubbing the warmth from her arm. “For the bath I use lavender, rosemary, lemon balm…eucalyptus, if I have it. For drinking…mint, lemon mint, chamomile and catnip. A couple of other herbs if they’re growing well.” Her frown deepened. “Why?”