A knock sounded at the front door and Dara wondered if she should answer. Obviously whoever had arrived wasn’t Chaerin. Well, why not answer? She had several perfectly good reasons for being in Chaerin’s house—even if the thoughts she’d been entertaining about her host the last few minutes had been anything but businesslike.

“Hi, can I help you?” she asked when she pulled open the door.

A woman in a khaki sheriff’s uniform stood on the porch, her legs slightly spread, her hands on her hips. She didn’t say anything as she took her time assessing Dara, her bold dark brows drawn low over wary eyes. Dara was used to being the focus of attention, although this perusal was more intense and unapologetic than the shy glances of her readers. She waited for the woman to speak, and while she did, she made her own survey.

The woman filled out the uniform very, very nicely—the shining belt accentuated the subtle flare of hips and the swell of ample s and broad shoulders above a long waist. The sharply creased trousers were not tight, but tailored to fit muscled thighs. She was pretty in an earthy, sensual way. Sultry eyes, full lips, and a wide, generous mouth.

“Is Chaerin home?” The woman’s voice was resonant and warm, as voluptuous as her body.

“No, but I expect she will be soon,” Dara said.

The woman extended her hand. Her grip was strong but not challenging.

“Sheriff Gong Minzy.”

“Durami Sam,” Dara answered automatically, as she usually did in situations where she didn’t know the individual. She spent most of her life as Durami. Her editors, her publicist, and her public all called her Durami. Only Bom called her Dara. Well, Bom and now Chaerin.

“Durami Sam,” the sheriff repeated, sounding surprised. Then she smiled, really smiled, and the heat that had been simmering under the closed gaze flared. “I like your books. In fact, you’re one of my favorite authors.”

Dara smiled. “Thank you.”

“Might you also be Dara Park?”

“Oh, yes, sorry—I guess I just assumed you’d make the connection. I don’t know why.” Dara gestured to the house behind her. “I suppose because I’m here. Why else would I be?”

“Well, hell could have frozen over and Chaerin might have…” Minzy grimaced, swept off her wide-brimmed Smokey-style hat, and brushed her forearm over her damp brow. “Never mind. Out of line there.”

She gave Dara another long look, and the question in her eyes said the sheriff had a bit more than casual interest in Chaerin. Dara considered how she must appear to the sheriff—barefoot, her hair a little tangled from her shower, and alone in the house when Chaerin wasn’t home. She probably looked like more than a casual guest, but she wasn’t about to discuss her relationship with Chaerin with the sheriff.

“Sorry about the wasted trip,” Dara said.

“Not at all,” Minzy said. “I would have wanted to meet you anyhow. My condolences about Grace. Everyone in town knew and liked her.”

“I wish I’d had a chance to meet her.” Dara doubted she would have made the effort had she simply discovered the presence of a great-great-aunt under other circumstances, but now she’d been drawn into Grace’s world and she was curious about her. “Do you need me to do anything today? I was going to check in at the hotel—motel—and then make an appointment with the attorney. Is there something I should—”

“No, there’s nothing pressing. The coroner—that being Chaerin, which I guess you know—will provide you with a death certificate. Lee Seungri, Grace’s attorney, will guide you through the rest of the paperwork. I do need to know what you want to do about securing the house.”

Dara let the screen door close behind her and settled into one of the rockers on the porch. The sheriff leaned against the white railing opposite her, her arms braced on either side of her hips. The posture accentuated her s and Dara appreciated again how attractive she was. She wondered if the sheriff and Chaerin had ever dated. Were still dating. Just as quickly, she reminded herself again that Chaerin’s personal business was none of hers. “I’m sorry. What do you mean, secure the house?”

“I’m sure the crime rate around here isn’t what you’re used to in the city, but we do have our share of vandals. Grace has some pricey farm equipment in the barns, and an empty house is going to be an invitation for someone to break in. If you’re planning on selling, the real estate agent may be able to advise you as to the best way to protect the place.”

Dara rubbed a spot between her eyes that had started to twinge. She hadn’t even thought about the house or its contents or what she would do about the property.

“How much property are we talking about?”

Minzy shrugged. “The attorney will pull the deeds for you if he doesn’t already have them, but I think Grace’s place runs about a couple hundred acres or so. Used to be a pretty big dairy farm with a few hundred head, but Grace hasn’t done anything on that scale in over twenty years. The house and barns are in pretty good shape. She’s still got a few cows, the stray chicken, an old donkey or two.”

“Cows and donkeys and chickens.” Dara stared at the sheriff. “What does one do with them besides milk them or eat them?”

The sheriff laughed, a clear, melodic laugh that made Dara think of water rushing in a crystal brook. Oh, yes, she was very attractive. Funny, though, the sheriff’s lush good looks seemed to pale in comparison to Chaerin’s. And we’re not going there again, are we?

“Pretend I’m clueless,” Dara said, “which obviously I am.”

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