"What? I'm agreeing with you."
"You're goading me."
Yuma shrugged. "You're saying it's sexist because I think Annie Payne's in trouble. It wasn't sexist when you thought I was in trouble."
"You weren't in trouble, Yuma. You were trouble."
He laughed, a long ways from the messed-up kid he'd once been. "What about your blonde? She trouble too?"
Garvin grabbed a gallon of sealer, refusing to answer. Michael Yuma was just trying to get under his skin and force him to sort out where he stood on the subject of Annie Payne. Well, he didn't want to sort that one out. He'd have to remember the feel of her mouth on his, the look of shock and desire in her eyes. He'd have to remember the jolt of sheer panic he'd felt when he'd realized how much he wanted her.
But she was trouble. She'd connived with Sarah Linwood, she'd lied to him, she'd damned likely lied to Vic Denardo.
What she hadn't explained was why. Why buy Sarah's painting of Haley at the auction? What was in it for Annie Payne newly of San Francisco?
"You growling?" Yuma asked.
"You know, I can still throw you in the drink."
Yuma was unperturbed. "You haven't met Beau yet, have you?"
"Beau?"
"New guy. I hired him yesterday as our part-time outdoor maintenance man. He's six foot four, two eighty. He's on probation, needed a job to keep himself on the straight and narrow."
"So 'we' gave him one."
"After he'd been turned down everywhere."
"And now he likes you," Garvin translated.
"Yep. If I go in the drink, two minutes later, you're in with me. O' course," he went on, dipping a thick brush into the can of sealer, "from the looks of you, a dip in the ice-cold San Francisco Bay would do you no harm."
"Change the subject, Yuma."
"Uh-huh."
That afternoon Garvin gave up on Yuma and the new guy, Beau, and drove out to Union Street and parked within a block of Annie's Gallery. When he arrived in her courtyard, Otto was prancing around, one end of his heavy leash attached to his collar, the other dragging behind him.
"He's restless," Annie said, her back to Garvin as she checked her door, making sure it was locked. "He needs a good walk."
"I know how he feels."
She turned to him, zipping up a black fleece jacket that reminded him of her Maine roots. She wore a short, close-fitting dress in a dark burgundy, and her hair was held back, more or less, with a brightly colored scarf that trailed down her back. Garvin felt a tug of emotion, an empathy for her that he couldn't seem to resist. Annie Payne was trying so damned hard to build a new life for herself, and she'd stumbled into one hell of a mess. But he knew it wouldn't be any less of a mess if he'd just stayed away from her. She'd still have Vic Denardo on her case, thinking she could lead him to Sarah Linwood.
Knowing it.
"I was going to call you when I got home," she said in that blithe, nondefensive way of hers.
"Were you?"
She kicked off her black suede shoes and pulled on exercise socks right over her burgundy tights, then slipped on sneakers. He had on his boatyard clothes, khakis, polo shirt, denim jacket. She ignored his dubious tone. "Yes, I was."
He exhaled sharply, annoyed with himself for not just giving her a chance. Maybe she was trying to make up for lost ground and had decided to be straight with him, even to trust him. "It's quite a walk up to your place."
"Otto and I both could use the exercise."
She threw out a foot and stepped on her dog's leash, stopping him midstride. It was a sign of obedience on his part. If he'd wanted to, he could have dropped her on her behind. She swooped up the leash.
Her smile crept back. "It's a beautiful day but a little on the cool side. I saw the weather report for Maine. I'd be eating soup by the woodstove tonight."
Garvin noticed the wistfulness in her tone. "Homesick?"
"My home no longer exists."
No self-pity, just a crack in her voice that she covered with a quick tug on Otto's leash. She sailed up the walk without so much as a backward glance. Garvin sighed through clenched teeth, even as he felt a surge of warmth for her. Annie Payne wasn't a woman who liked seeing her own vulnerabilities or liked other people seeing them. It made her frustrating to be around, to try to understand, but also intriguing.
He shot forward, catching up with her as she hit Union Street.
"Cynthia Linwood stopped in again today," she said conversationally. No crack to her voice, no discomfort. "She brought an old map of San Francisco for me to frame and invited me to lunch next week."
Garvin smiled. "Cynthia as one of the ladies who lunch. It's an interesting transformation."
"Have you known her a long time?"
"We met just before Haley and I were married. She helped us find our house. After Haley's death, Cynthia stepped in and handled selling the house when I wanted out. She did everything right, so far as I was concerned. She was discreet, knew what to ask, what not to ask."