The Last Honest Woman

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Book: Read The Last Honest Woman for Free Online
Authors: Nora Roberts
Tags: Fiction, General, Romance, Contemporary, Love Stories
was a careful man. "Abby, one question."
    "Off-the-record?"
    "This time. Why'd you give up show business?"
    This time she really laughed. It was low and smooth, a distinctly sensuous sound. "Did you ever happen to catch our act? The O'Hurley Triplets, I mean."
    "No."
    "I didn't think so. If you had, you wouldn't ask."
    It was difficult to resist people who could laugh at themselves. "That bad?"
    "Oh, worse. Much worse." Taking her cup to the sink, she rinsed it out. "I have to go up and check on the boys. When they're this quiet for this long, I get antsy. Help yourself to more coffee. The TVs in the living room."
    "Abby." He wasn't satisfied with her, with the house, with the situation. Nothing was precisely what it seemed, that much he was sure of. Still, when she turned toward him, her eyes were calm. "I intend to get to the bottom of you," he murmured.
    She felt a little jolt inside, but quickly smoothed it over. "I'm not as complex as you seem to want to believe. In any case, you're here to write about Chuck."
    "I'm going to do that, too."
    That was what she was counting on. That was what she was afraid of. With a nod, she walked out to go to her children.

Chapter Three
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    For the second time, Dylan heard his door creak open. In bed, abruptly awake, it took him only a moment to remember he wasn't in some hotel room on assignment. Those days were over, and the gun he'd kept under his pillow for three years running wasn't there. Out of habit, he kept his eyes closed and his breathing even.
    "Still sleeping." The quiet, slightly disdainful whisper was Ben's.
    Chris jockeyed for position and a better view. "How come he gets to sleep late?"
    "'Cause he's grown-up, stupid. They get to do whatever they want."
    "Mom's up. She's a grown-up."
    "That's different. She's a mom."
    "Ben, Chris." Dylan judged the low call to be coming from the bottom of the stairs. "Let's move it. The bus'll be here in ten minutes."
    "Come on." Ben narrowed his eyes for one last look. "We can spy on him later."
    When the door closed, Dylan opened his eyes. He couldn't claim to be an expert on kids, but he was beginning to think that the Rockwell boys were a different kettle of fish altogether. So was their mother. Pushing himself up, he glanced at his watch. 7:20. It seemed things ran on time around here. And it was time he began.
    Twenty minutes later, Dylan walked downstairs. The house was quiet. And empty, he decided before he came to the bottom landing. The scent of coffee drew him to the kitchen. It looked as though a hurricane had struck and moved on.
    There were two cereal boxes on the breakfast bar, both open, with a trail of puffed wheat and little oat circles leading to the edge. A half-open bag of bread lay on the counter between the sink and stove. Next to it was a good-sized dollop of what Dylan assumed to be grape jelly. There was a jar of peanut butter with the top sitting crookedly and an assortment of knives, spoons and bowls. Muddy paw prints ran just inside the back door, then stopped abruptly.
    Didn't get far, did you? Dylan thought as he searched out a cup for coffee. With the first swallow of caffeine rushing through his system, he walked to the window. However confused things looked inside, outside seemed peaceful enough. The rain had frozen and covered what was left of the snow with a shiny, brittle layer. It glistened as the sun shone brightly. By the end of the day, he decided, it would be a mess. Without the fog, he could see past the barn to the rolling hills beyond. If she had neighbors, he thought, they were few and far between. What made a woman bury herself like this? he wondered. Especially a woman who was used to lights and action.
    There was something else that bothered him, something that had been bothering him all along. Where were the men in her life? He took another sip, letting his gaze sweep over paddock and outbuildings. Surely a woman who looked like Abby had them. She'd been a widow for

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