Free Up in Flames by Starr Ambrose

crime scene, or to see if they questioned Zane again. He shot a look at Hooter. The man overflowed with ego and an obvious lack of respect for women. He was big and powerful, and short-tempered enough to be dangerous.
    Zane shook off the suspicion that ate at the corners of his mind. This was what other people did to him , judging him based on circumstance rather than facts. He couldn’t do the same thing.
    Nevertheless, he would keep a close eye on Sophie at the job site. And on Hooter. They would never be alone together.

    Sophie hated the feeling of being babysat, and wasn’t sure why Zane was so zealous about it. Did he think she would sneak off and search his potted trees for hidden evidence? Steal tools? Pick a fight with Hooter?
    That last one might actually be fun if she could get a well-placed knee in before he pulverized her. She was pretty sure he wanted to. She caught his sneering looks a couple of times, as if she was sticking close to Zane on purpose, like a toddler hanging on to her mother’s skirts while sticking her tongue out at the bullies.
    It wasn’t her fault Zane wouldn’t leave her, but at least they were getting along. When “Pass me the tile cutter” had become too boring, she’d started asking him about Natural Designs, and how he’d started the business. She’d been secretly dying to know, since the man she’d turned her back on ten years ago had been a grease monkey with no ambition.
    It evolved into a normal conversation, their first in ten years. Talking about his accomplishments, Zane seemed to forget to hate her. He told her about saving his money until he could afford to buy the used front-end loader, then how he had picked up the odd landscaping job with other contractors until he knew enough to start his own business.
    “I had no idea you wanted to go into landscaping,” she said as she leaned forward on her hands and knees, troweling a sandy mixture between the tiles.
    He took a mallet to the line he’d cut in a slab of stone, splitting it in two. “You thought I’d work at that gas station forever?”
    She colored and didn’t look up, hoping he couldn’t see it. She had thought that. “You never mentioned landscaping. Your plans were pretty vague.”
    “I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Just that I needed to do something I could take pride in.”
    She remembered he’d said something to that effect, which had sounded like no plan at all compared to the detailed, career-oriented path she’d been on. Even before getting to college, she’d known every class she would take over the next four years, every scholarship she would apply for, and was weighing what area she would concentrate on for her master’s thesis. Compared to her, Zane had been drifting through life with no goals.
    She didn’t want to remind him of that. “Who’d you work with on this project?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “Who did the design work?”
    “I did.”
    She lowered the trowel and sat back on her heels, looking at him in amazement. “You created all this?” She waved her hand to encompass the entire backyard of the Reznick estate with its terraced patios, outdoor kitchen, gazebo, and pool.
    His gaze followed her gesture, and she saw the quiet pride in his eyes that he’d never say aloud. “Yes.” He looked down at the tile in his hand, and appeared to concentrate on brushing away invisible specks. Without looking at her, he asked, “What do you think of it?”
    He’d tried to toss it off as a careless question, but it sounded awkward. Touched by his unexpected vulnerability, she smiled. He saw it, a flash of worry jumping into his glance, and she hurried to say, “It’s amazing, Zane. Absolutely stunning. But you must know that.”
    “I like it,” he said simply, looking around again. Satisfied.
    “I can’t believe you learned to do all this without any formal training. You didn’t even take classes in landscape architecture?”
    His expression darkened, and she watched in