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calling nine-one-one.”
    All three of them laughed while Paige unloaded her tote, lining the books up on the counter to be checked in. Hailey didn’t tend to be very subtle in her worry about Paige’s lack of a sex life. Or maybe not so much worry, as a determination to fix what she perceived as broken.
    “Speaking of sex,” Fran said, “how did Mitch like your meatloaf?”
    Paige shook her head. “How does speaking of sex lead to meatloaf?”
    Fran snorted. “Speaking of sex leads to Mitch Kowalski.”
    “That it does,” Hailey agreed, smiling that silly, nostalgic smile that was practically a universal female reaction to the man’s name being said out loud.
    “I’m sure he liked the meatloaf just fine or he wouldn’t have brought Josh in for breakfast yesterday morning.”
    Hailey shook her head. “Nobody cares about the meatloaf, Paige. Mitch is in town for six weeks and you could do with a little less tension. Don’t want you killing anybody.”
    “So what you’re saying is that I have to have sex with Mitch to save lives?”
    “Absolutely.”
    Fran nodded. “Yes.”
    Paige couldn’t believe either woman kept a straight face. “Nice try. Not interested.”
    And she said that with a straight face, which was even harder to believe. Of course she was interested in having sex with the man. Didn’t change the fact it wasn’t going to happen.
    “Besides,” she said, “nothing says he’s interested in me, either.”
    Fran scooped her books off the desk and gave her a look. “Honey, if you got an innie and not an outtie between your legs, he’s interested.”
    They all laughed again, until a gruff, exaggerated throat-clearing sounded from the reference section, and Hailey shushed them. “You guys are going to get me fired.”
    “They can’t fire you,” Fran said. “You’re the only person in town who knows the Dewey Decimal System.”
    After Fran said goodbye and despite her gloating, Paige found a nice selection of sexy romances left on the shelves. She took a couple, along with a few cozy mysteries, a political thriller and a horror that looked like it would keep her up at night. Terror was probably a healthier reason to lie awake than thinking about sex with Mitch.
    As she was checking out, a couple of patrons lined up behind her, so Hailey couldn’t say anything more embarrassing than have a nice day.
    The three hardcovers made her tote a little heavier than usual, so Paige stopped to rest in the cute little park with the benches, lilacs and wild roses. And rather than think about whether or not Hailey’s comments about sexual tension were exaggerated but grounded in truth, she pulled a paperback out of the bag and settled in to read for a few minutes.
    * * *
    Mitch wedged the pickup into a parking space on Main Street and went around to help Josh out. His brother didn’t like having to accept a shoulder to lean on, but it was a long way to the ground for a guy with a bum leg.
    Once Josh had his crutches tucked into his armpits, they walked thirty or so feet down the sidewalk and Mitch held open the door to the Whitford Barber Shop.
    It wasn’t a fancy name, but it wasn’t a fancy place. There were a few salons in Whitford now—places you could get a haircut and your nails buffed and your body tanned if you so desired. Maybe get a little dermabrasion, which sounded to Mitch like taking a sandblaster to your skin. He avoided salons, as a rule.
    This was a barbershop. A shave and a haircut and, if she was in the mood, you could talk to Katie Davis about almost anything under the sun. But she wasn’t touching anybody’s naked feet and if you asked her about tanning, she’d tell you to go lay out on the sidewalk and roll over every fifteen minutes.
    “You really look like crap,” she said in greeting, and Mitch was glad she was talking to Josh.
    “Can’t wash my hair in the bathtub. I wash it in the kitchen sink, but it’s awkward because I’m tall and can only put my weight on