“I was told Number Two Timberline was on Timberline Road.”

“Are you sure about that?” Lewis asked as he glanced across the light bar at Dylan.

“Yes,” the woman answered. “I picked up the key from the realtor in Sun Valley, and that’s the address he gave me.”

Just the mention of that house conjured up some wild memories in people’s minds. Dylan had heard the house finally sold to a real estate property manager, and apparently the company had found a sucker.

“Are you sure you want Number Two Timberline?” Lewis clarified, turning his attention to the woman in front of him. “That’s the old Donnelly place.”

“That’s right. I leased it for the next six months.”

Dylan pulled his hat back down his forehead. “No one’s lived there for a while.”

“Really? The realtor never told me that. How long has it been empty?”

Lewis Plummer was a true gentleman, and one of the few people in town who didn’t outright lie to flatlanders. Lewis had also been born and raised in Gospel, where prevarication was considered an art form. He shrugged. “A year or two.”

“Oh, a year or two isn’t too bad if the property has been maintained.”

Maintained, hell. The last time Dylan had been in the Donnelly house, thick dust covered everything-even the bloodstain on the living room floor. MZBHAVN was in for a rude shock.

“Do I just follow this road?” She turned and pointed down Main Street where it curved along the natural outline of Gospel Lake. Her fingernails had that two-tone French manicure that Dylan had always thought was kind of sexy.

“That’s right,” he answered. From behind his mirrored glasses, he slid his gaze to the natural curves of her slim hips and thighs, down her long legs to her feet. One corner of his mouth turned up, and he fought to keep from laughing outright at the peacocks painted on her silver-toed boots. He’d never seen anything like them this side of a rodeo queen. “Keep driving about four miles until you come to a big white house with petunias in the window boxes and a swing set in the yard.”