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next few weeks. She’d hardly given a thought to that, what with the events of the day, and she felt suddenly guilty. “Thank you, Mr. Abbott. I’ll be right there.”
    Nicholas Abbott was barely beyond earshot when Patsy whispered hoarsely, “Your fiancé? Are you really engaged?”
    “Not on your life,” Abby murmured, standing and squaring her shoulders. Then she took a deep breath. “And I intend to tell him as much right now,” she began boldly, only to be interrupted by Patsy’s droll reminder.
    “You mean, you’ll have Grace tell him as much?”
    “Uh-oh…well, yes. I mean, he knows we’re not engaged and he’ll have to realize that declaring himself my fiancé won’t get him through any more directly!”
    Patsy rose to walk beside her. “Go get ’im, Abby,” she drawled when they reached the lobby.
    Abby frowned and mumbled a low, “And here I thought I’d be free of all this…” as she spotted Grace in the office behind the desk, replacing the receiver from a call just completed. Then, her anger momentarilysuspended, she watched Ben Wyeth nod his thanks to the court officer and head her way.
    His brow arched roguishly. “Fiancé?” he taunted her in that soft drawl of his, and she knew he was about to add another clue to the puzzle. But before she could correct the misconception, he had nodded in salute and passed her on his way to the front door. She watched him helplessly, not quite sure why she felt so bothered, finally blaming it all on Sean as she took her turn with Grace.
     
    When she emerged, there was no sign of Ben either on the front porch, where she’d assumed he’d been headed, or in the living room, where a handful of the others were sitting. Somehow she couldn’t face joining them. With a sigh of defeat, she retreated to her room.
    An hour later she sat propped against the headboard of the king-size bed wondering what to do with herself. Had she been at home, she would have read or listened to music, perhaps reviewed some notes for the following day’s work. Now her mind was on the following day, but its focus was a very different kind of work.
    It was only natural to be apprehensive, she told herself. After all, everything was so new. And Sean hadn’t helped things with his argumentativeness. Even Grace had begun todespair toward the end of the call, after she’d explained the rules to him several more times. It wasn’t that he couldn’t understand them, simply that he wouldn’t accept them. But that was his problem, Abby mused, shifting her feet to the floor and standing.
    She paced slowly to the window, then turned, finally sinking back into the cushioned armchair nearby. From the minute she’d seen this room, she’d liked it. Tucked up on the third and highest floor of the house, it had the same charm as the rest of the inn, perhaps even more with its dormer windows and tiny alcoves. Even now, as her eye wandered from bed to wall to dresser and rug, she felt totally at home and comfortable.
    How had the others fared, she wondered idly? Did they too have handcrafted quilts on their beds, regional artwork on their walls, fresh flowers in the vases on their small sitting tables? This room was a palette of lavender, blue, and white. Were the others the same?
    Against her better judgment, her mind wandered to Ben. Where was he now? Had the rooms been assigned in order of arrival…in which case he might be next door? She listened for any sound that might come from either of the adjacent rooms…. Nothing. Perhaps her neighbors hadn’t come up yet. More probably, she decided with a frown, they were in bed. What about him…?
    With a soft exclamation, she jumped up and crossed the room to the nightstand by the bed. Within seconds, she had the front desk on the phone. Yes, the jurors were to be woken at seven. Oh, she wanted to run earlier? No, that was no problem. Ray would be going out at six. Was that all right with her? Fine, then; she’d get her wake-up call at ten