Courted by the Texas Millionaire

His cheek was only an inch away from her hair, and he could feel the light brush of it, plus the warmth from her skin. He could smell more subtleties in the lotion or shampoo she used—cherry laced with … almond. Something that burrowed deep into him.

It took him a second to gather his wits, but he eventually forced himself to read the article she’d indicated.

It was dated a day after those other articles he’d found about the break-in at the sheriff’s house and Tony’s death.

“Sheriff Hadenfield’s daughter, Tessa …” he said, skimming. “… Hospital … resting comfortably …”

He backed away before he could do something foolish, like bend down and press his mouth to Violet’s. “This is about as vague as the rest of what we have.”

“Isn’t that weird? I’ve been reading other articles from this era and they’re not as haphazardly researched and reported.”

“I hate to say the word conspiracy, but it’s flashing in my mind like neon.”

They kept looking at each other for a second, then broke into tentative smiles that disappeared all too soon.

“Right,” he said. “Some kind of conspiracy here in little St. Valentine. Now that would be something to capitalize on. A great legend that outside news stations could report on, making us a countrywide vacation destination, just like Tombstone or Dodge City.”

But Violet was already tilting her head. “Davis, what if the sheriff had enough power to keep whatever happened under wraps?”

“Why would he want to do that?”

“I’m not sure. And there are no Hadenfields left in St. Valentine to enlighten us.”

But she was already out of her chair, the wheels turning, and he couldn’t help feeling the same excitement that was setting her in motion.

“Do you think the new hospital would have Tessa’s records either in hard copy or online?” Violet asked. “Unless some kind of privacy laws stopped us, could we find out what sort of injuries she had?”

“When the old hospital burned down in ‘63, all the paper went with it. They wouldn’t have had the chance to digitize their files.” In spite of this setback, he grinned at her. Whether she’d admit it or not, she was working with him again.

She rolled her eyes. “So I’m a little invested already.”

Then, with a soft smile, she went back to her computer, printing out the article. He didn’t ask her when she’d like to show up to work with him next. He wished he could just offer her a salary, put her on staff full-time, but he expected that would only make her bristle. Getting her to consider doing something freelance had been tough enough.