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He’d know how to handle this situation. Maybe she could even convince him to come down after the semester ended. Let him contact the something or someone in the foyer. And if it had been nothing more than her imagination and indigestion, then it would give that uptight college-professor cousin of hers an excuse to get away from Chicago for a few days. Yes, she’d definitely give him a call as soon as she returned to the hotel.
    On the second floor, they walked past open bedrooms, some scattered with toys, one with a poster of Hannah Montana on the wall, and another that was obviously the master bedroom. A huge four-poster covered by a colorful quilt occupied most of the room.
    Warmth oozed through Beth at the thought of spending the afternoon in that bed with the man leading her down the hall.
    Malone stopped before a short, narrow door and grabbed the cut-glass doorknob, then froze, his chin lowered. After a moment, he looked back over his shoulder. “I haven’t been up here since…”
    “Not at all?” Beth blinked several times. Was this part of the act, or genuine grief at work? “In all this time?”
    He shook his head slowly and swallowed, his Adam’s apple traveling the long length of his throat. “Pearl cleans up here, and the kids come up occasionally to find things they need for school projects, but…”
    “Not you. Just like the desk downstairs?”
    “Now that you mention it.”
    Beth chewed her lower lip. “Look, I can go up alone if you’d rather.”
    He seemed to consider her offer, but finally shook his head. “No, it’s time.” He released a weary sigh. “Past time.”
    Dramatic. Very impressive. Lorilee was—is—a lucky woman.
    “Let’s have a look then, Malone.”
    He opened the door and flipped on a light switch, then headed up the newly illuminated steep, narrow staircase.
    A girl could be in worse places than following this sexy farmer in tight jeans up the stairs. What a view.
    “If you’re going to be around here a lot,” he said without looking back, “I expect you ought to call me Ty. Everybody does.”
    It didn’t seem professional, but if it made himmore comfortable, so be it. After all, she’d been ogling his buns. That seemed grounds for being on a firstname basis, though she’d ogled more than her share of anonymous buns in her day. “All right. Ty it is, then. I’m Beth.”
    At the top of the stairs, he looked over his shoulder and grinned. “Not Dearborn anymore?”
    Beth’s cheeks warmed. Damn. It had been years since she’d blushed. “Only if you prefer it.”
    “Beth’ll do.”
    They emerged into a light-filled open space. “Nice.” Against one wall stood a desk with a computer that belonged in a museum, and against the other was an easel and a table filled with paints and brushes. A spattered drop cloth covered the floor around the area; a half-finished watercolor leaned against the easel.
    This didn’t look like a place anyone had planned to leave. Wouldn’t an artist have taken her unfinished painting with her? Or finished it first? Then again, leaving it this way may have been part of the plan—a well-choreographed, deliberate, and ingenious plot to make Lorilee’s disappearance seem sudden and unplanned.
    Against the wall opposite the stairs, three tall bureaus and a cedar chest were shoved beneath the eaves. “What’s in these?” she asked, stepping around Ty and heading toward them.
    “Photo albums. Stuff like that. You name it.”
    Beth opened one drawer and whistled low. “It’s going to take a while to go through all this.” She’d have to read every piece of paper, each document, everything.
    “I want the truth.”
    Beth closed the drawer and spun around to face the man again. “That’s why I’m here. Avery Mutual wants the truth, too.”
    Raindrops spattered against the skylights overhead. Ty glanced upward with a scowl.
    “Problem?” Beth asked.
    “Weather and farming are either great friends or great enemies.” He