“I love petunias.”

“Uh-huh. Turn left at the house with the petunias. The Donnelly place is right across the street. You can’t miss it.”

“I was told the house was gray and brown. Is that right?”

“Yeah, that’s how I’d describe it. What do you think, Lewis?”

“Yep. It’s brown and gray, all right.”

“Great. Thanks for your help.” She turned to leave, but Dylan’s next question stopped her.

“You’re welcome, Ms.-?”

She stared at him for a prolonged moment before she answered, “Spencer.”

“Welcome to Gospel, Ms. Spencer. I’m Sheriff Taber and this is Deputy Plummer.” She said nothing and he asked, “What are you planning to do out there on Timberline Road?” Dylan figured everyone had a right to privacy, but he also figured he had the right to ask.

“Nothing.”

“You lease a house for six months and you plan to do nothing?”

“That’s right. Gospel seemed like a nice place to vacation.”

Dylan had a doubt or two about her statement. Women who drove fancy sports cars and wore designer jeans vacationed in “nice” places with room service and pool boys, like Club Med, not in the wilderness of Idaho. Hell, the closest thing Gospel had to a spa was the Peterman’s hot tub.

“Did the realtor mention old Sheriff Donnelly?” Lewis asked.

“Who?” Her brows scrunched together and dipped below the bridge of her sunglasses. She tapped an impatient hand three times on her thigh before she said, “Well, thank you, gentlemen, for your help.” Then she turned on her fancy boots and marched back to her sports car.

“Do you believe her?” Lewis wanted to know.

“That she’s here on vacation?” Dylan shrugged. He didn’t care what she did as long as she stayed out of trouble.

“She doesn’t look like a backpacker.”

Dylan’s gaze settled on her behind in those tight jeans. “Nope.” The thing about trouble was, it always had a way of showing itself sooner or later. No reason to go looking for it when he had better things to do.