performance she and Suse had gone to in Chicago two years ago.
Then Olivia reminded herself how Hank had attained that hard body—not by honest labor, but by working out in a prison gym.
"That's everything, ma'am," Hank said to Connie. "Would you like some help putting it away?"
"Opening the boxes would be good," Connie said. "Then Olivia and I can put things in their place. Do you mind helping, chica"?"
Olivia stood but kept her distance from Hank's smooth-as-glass chest. "Not at all."
Just as they got started, muted music sounded, and Connie reached into her apron pocket to draw out her cell phone. As she answered it, she moved outside to boost the signal.
"Everyone must have one nowadays," Hank said, shaking his head, but whether it was in disgust or amazement, Olivia couldn't tell.
Olivia tried to keep her gaze on his face, not the well-developed pectorals or the sparse arrow of hair above his waistband. "Cell phones? Yes, I suppose so."
"There were a few around before, but they were a lot bigger."
"How about computers?"
"They've changed a lot, too. There was a computer lab in Wilson. I spent a lot of time there."
"Doing what?"
He shrugged. "Took some classes. Read the local newspapers. Stuff like that."
"What kind of classes?"
Hank handed her two extra-large bags of frozen vegetables, and she placed them in one of the freezers.
"Biology grad courses," he answered.
"You have a degree?"
His eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared slightly. "Does that shock you?"
"Not many convicted criminals do."
Hank clenched his teeth and continued unpacking. Obviously, she'd touched a nerve with her assumption that most criminals were high school dropouts.
"I didn't mean anything," Olivia said. "I just assumed—"
"That's right. Most of your kind do."
"'My kind'?"
He glared at her. "Prosecutors. You all assume we're guilty."
"You usually are," she shot back.
Hank laughed, but it wasn't a nice sound. "Or we wouldn't have been arrested in the first place, right?"
Before Olivia could react, Connie returned, tears streaming down her face.
"What is it?" Olivia asked anxiously, stepping toward the woman.
"My mother. She collapsed this morning. She's in the hospital in Santa Fe."
"I'm so sorry," Olivia said, wrapping her arms around the stout woman.
"I have to go, chica" Connie said, drawing out of Olivia's hug.
"Yes, of course. Do you need anything?"
The cook pulled a white handkerchief from her apron and wiped her cheeks, then blew her nose. "No, my sister, she'll drive. She's going to pick me up in an hour." The cook surveyed the kitchen and tables. "You'll have to give the men their lunch, chica. There is lasagna in the oven and salad in the refrigerator. Slice the fresh bread for them, too."
Olivia's pulse doubled. "I-I don't..."
Connie grasped her hands. "You must. Perhaps one of the men will help you."
"I can."
Olivia had almost forgotten about Hank.
"I'm sorry, Olivia, but I have to leave," Connie said, moving to the door. "Please tell your father why I had to go so quickly."
"He'll understand. Call to let us know how your mother is doing."
"I will." Connie paused in the doorway. "There are thawed chickens in the refrigerator for dinner. You can make chicken and dumplings." Then she was gone.
Rooted in place after Connie's abrupt departure, Olivia felt the full impact of what had just occurred. Even if a temporary cook could be found, it would take more than a day or two, which meant the cooking responsibilities would be hers.
Olivia could no longer hide from the world.
Chapter Five
Hank watched Olivia as she brushed a strand of blond hair from her heat-flushed cheek. She inhaled deeply, drawing his appreciative gaze to the silhouette of her breasts. Lust slammed through him, subtle as a stripper in a monastery. His body's lightning-fast reaction shouldn't have surprised him. Six years of celibacy added up to a hell of a lot of frustration. Damned good thing he'd learned a thing or two
Then Olivia reminded herself how Hank had attained that hard body—not by honest labor, but by working out in a prison gym.
"That's everything, ma'am," Hank said to Connie. "Would you like some help putting it away?"
"Opening the boxes would be good," Connie said. "Then Olivia and I can put things in their place. Do you mind helping, chica"?"
Olivia stood but kept her distance from Hank's smooth-as-glass chest. "Not at all."
Just as they got started, muted music sounded, and Connie reached into her apron pocket to draw out her cell phone. As she answered it, she moved outside to boost the signal.
"Everyone must have one nowadays," Hank said, shaking his head, but whether it was in disgust or amazement, Olivia couldn't tell.
Olivia tried to keep her gaze on his face, not the well-developed pectorals or the sparse arrow of hair above his waistband. "Cell phones? Yes, I suppose so."
"There were a few around before, but they were a lot bigger."
"How about computers?"
"They've changed a lot, too. There was a computer lab in Wilson. I spent a lot of time there."
"Doing what?"
He shrugged. "Took some classes. Read the local newspapers. Stuff like that."
"What kind of classes?"
Hank handed her two extra-large bags of frozen vegetables, and she placed them in one of the freezers.
"Biology grad courses," he answered.
"You have a degree?"
His eyes narrowed, and his nostrils flared slightly. "Does that shock you?"
"Not many convicted criminals do."
Hank clenched his teeth and continued unpacking. Obviously, she'd touched a nerve with her assumption that most criminals were high school dropouts.
"I didn't mean anything," Olivia said. "I just assumed—"
"That's right. Most of your kind do."
"'My kind'?"
He glared at her. "Prosecutors. You all assume we're guilty."
"You usually are," she shot back.
Hank laughed, but it wasn't a nice sound. "Or we wouldn't have been arrested in the first place, right?"
Before Olivia could react, Connie returned, tears streaming down her face.
"What is it?" Olivia asked anxiously, stepping toward the woman.
"My mother. She collapsed this morning. She's in the hospital in Santa Fe."
"I'm so sorry," Olivia said, wrapping her arms around the stout woman.
"I have to go, chica" Connie said, drawing out of Olivia's hug.
"Yes, of course. Do you need anything?"
The cook pulled a white handkerchief from her apron and wiped her cheeks, then blew her nose. "No, my sister, she'll drive. She's going to pick me up in an hour." The cook surveyed the kitchen and tables. "You'll have to give the men their lunch, chica. There is lasagna in the oven and salad in the refrigerator. Slice the fresh bread for them, too."
Olivia's pulse doubled. "I-I don't..."
Connie grasped her hands. "You must. Perhaps one of the men will help you."
"I can."
Olivia had almost forgotten about Hank.
"I'm sorry, Olivia, but I have to leave," Connie said, moving to the door. "Please tell your father why I had to go so quickly."
"He'll understand. Call to let us know how your mother is doing."
"I will." Connie paused in the doorway. "There are thawed chickens in the refrigerator for dinner. You can make chicken and dumplings." Then she was gone.
Rooted in place after Connie's abrupt departure, Olivia felt the full impact of what had just occurred. Even if a temporary cook could be found, it would take more than a day or two, which meant the cooking responsibilities would be hers.
Olivia could no longer hide from the world.
Chapter Five
Hank watched Olivia as she brushed a strand of blond hair from her heat-flushed cheek. She inhaled deeply, drawing his appreciative gaze to the silhouette of her breasts. Lust slammed through him, subtle as a stripper in a monastery. His body's lightning-fast reaction shouldn't have surprised him. Six years of celibacy added up to a hell of a lot of frustration. Damned good thing he'd learned a thing or two
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