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blaring “I Shot the Sheriff” from the pocket of her overalls. She hit the Ignore button on the side of it as fast as she could but the damage was done.
    “Nice,” said Owen.
    “My brother Jonas. He programmed it.” She was going to kill him.
    “Not a fan of the boys in blue?”
    “Just likes Marley, I guess. The bedroom is back here.”
    It was the largest room of the small house. All open space, a queen-sized bed in one corner, a large desk in another. A green couch faced a bookcase, and one of her grandmother’s comfy old recliners sat next to the window. “See? Big closet. And lots of shelves, for your stuff. The girls ran in cable and internet—if you have a TV I’m sure it would hook right up.”
    Her cell phone rang again.
    Owen winced. “Do you need to get that?”
    Lucy looked at it. “Jonas doesn’t usually call me, and he never calls twice in a row. It might be important. I’m sorry.” Owen nodded as she flipped open the phone. “Hello?”
    Owen looked out the window that overlooked the old cemetery.
    “I just heard some crap that you’re going to rent to Owen Bancroft.” Jonas didn’t bother saying hello.
    Lucy took a deep breath. “I can look into ordering that for you, but it might take a while.”
    “Dammit, Lucy, you know you can’t trust anyone in that family. I’m just looking out for you. Old Bill told me his father was in prison three times for assault with a deadly weapon.”
    Lucy frowned. “That doesn’t sound like any of your business.” Then, glancing at Owen who was trying to open the window, she hastened to add, “To order a book like that, I mean.”
    “We’re just looking out for you. There are a million people better than him. Why can’t you just . . .”
    “ Goddamn! ” Owen jumped away from the window, cradling his hand.
    Lucy jumped. “Jonas, I have to go.”
    “What’s going on? What’s he doing? Are you safe there? Do I need to come over?”
    “Don’t you dare! He cut his hand on that window latch I keep asking you or Silas to fix.” Lucy hung up without saying good-bye. “Owen, I’m so sorry. Let me see your hand.”
    “You should get that fixed. It’s booby-trapped.” Owen came toward her, examining the blood dripping from his arm.
    Lucy felt terrible, but at the same time, as she reached for his arm, she was conscious of the fact that she’d forgotten that a man could smell this good. It wasn’t cologne—he didn’t strike Lucy as a cologne kind of guy. It was a clean soap smell, not flowery, just brisk. Efficient. And something else, something richer. Nicer.
    Lucy realized she was inhaling deeply. Too deeply. He was going to notice.
    And then Owen looked at her.
    She forgot to breathe. He really did have the most amazing eyes: deep blue shot with streaks of gold. She willed herself not to look at his lips but failed. She licked her own out of nervousness, and his eyes followed.
    Then she remembered the important part—Owen was bleeding. Just what she needed. Would he sue? Could he sue? Did insurance cover that kind of thing?
    Damn. The wound. She focused. It wasn’t deep, wouldn’t need stitches, but it did need to be covered.
    “Stay right here,” Lucy said. “I’ll fix you up. Stay. I’m sorry.” She raced out of the room, leaving Owen staring at his hand.
    She ran out of the parsonage and into the bookstore. In the bathroom, she grabbed a tube of Neosporin and a box of Band-Aids. She found a clean washcloth and ran back through the garden.
    A nice quiet girl, a student, would be better anyway. School would be starting back up for the spring quarter. It was just easier that way. Not that she even wanted him to rent it. She didn’t know why she’d volunteered to let him see it in the first place—it just hadn’t seemed fair, the way they’d been going on about how he shouldn’t be allowed to.
    Lucy prayed Owen wasn’t the lawsuit type.
    When she entered the bedroom, Owen was using Kleenex from the box next to the bed to