Free Devil's Deception by Doreen Owens Malek Page B

Scotch?”
    “Scots. Scotch is whiskey.”
    “Ah. I see. Where are you from, Brett?”
    “Kansas.”
    “So far! And what do you do there?”
    Brett glanced at Angela, and she thought she detected a gleam of mischief in his eyes.
    “I grow corn,” he replied flatly.
    “You’re a farmer?” Virginia said, clearly appalled.
    “Yes, ma’am. Corn, soybeans, spring wheat. Some alfalfa.”
    “Alfalfa?” Virginia repeated faintly. Then she smiled again. Devlin’s obvious physical charms clearly outweighed the prospect of continuing a conversation with an alfalfa grower, and so she blundered onward with false cheer.
    “Tell me, Brett, what do you do in Kansas for fun?”
    Brett hooked his thumbs in his belt like the hillbilly Virginia thought he was. “Oh, let’s see. Church socials, community sings, barn dances. Quilting bees.”
    Angela choked on her last sip of tepid coffee. The other two looked at her as she tried to convert her strangled laughter into a coughing fit.
    “Sorry,” she said. “Frog in my throat.”
    “Hmm,” Virginia said, turning her attention to Devlin once more. “Quilting bees. How interesting. Well, you two, I really must run along. No time to chat. I have to Shepardize ten cases for my first class, too busy to do it before this, so I’ll wind up spending the night in this place. Take care of yourselves.” Virginia exited, stage left, trailing clouds of sporty scent.
    Devlin looked at Angela and they both dissolved in helpless laughter.
    “I can’t believe she didn’t know you were pulling her leg,” Angela gasped, wiping her eyes.
    “What’s a quilting bee?” Devlin asked, and they cracked up again.
    “Why did you say that?” Angela asked.
    “What? About the quilting bee?”  
    “Yes.”
    His eyes twinkled. “She obviously thinks that Kansas is on the dark side of the moon, and quilting bees sounded sort of, I don’t know . . . frontiersy. Didn’t they used to have them in colonial times or something?”
    “You’ve got me. Are you sure you aren’t thinking of Betsy Ross stitching up the American flag?”
    He grinned. “In Kansas?” he said, and they laughed once more.
    “Why did you tease her like that?” Angela asked, still giggling.
    Devlin sobered, lifting one shoulder. “I could see that she wasn’t a friend of yours. She was just . . .” His voice trailed off, leaving the thought unfinished.
    “She was just using me to get to you,” Angela stated, supplying what he didn’t want to say.
    He made no reply, watching her face.
    “That happens to you a lot, doesn’t it? Women pursuing you, I mean.”
    “The women I want to pursue me never do,” Devlin answered, looking at her directly.
    Angela flushed, standing and crumpling her cup in her hand. “We’d better get back. I want to finish what I’m working on in time to get home for a couple of hours sleep.”
    Devlin went with her back to the library.
    * * * *
    Angela finished her work at four in the morning. Devlin’s eyelids were at half mast, making him look sexy and somehow boyish at the same time. His elbow was propped on the table and his chin was propped in his hand as he watched her pack up her things, getting ready to go.
    “Do you want me to carry that?” he asked, gesturing to her book bag.
    Angela examined his sleepy face. “It looks to me like you’ll have enough trouble carrying yourself. You know, I’ve been noticing that you look tired lately. Have you been getting enough rest?”
    Devlin sat up straighter, alert. Were the effects of his nightly prowling about the house becoming apparent? “I didn’t get any rest tonight, but that’s all you see. Shall we go?”
    “Okay.”
    As they made their way outside Angela said, “I’m hungry. There’s a Greek diner across the street where Holly and I sometimes go. The food is good and they’re open around the clock. Can we stop?”
    Devlin stretched his hands out as if he were sleepwalking. “Just point me in the right direction,”