Joanna didn't want Eddy Sandoval to have any kind of advance warning that she was about to land on him. "No," she said. "That's all right. I may be stuck in a meeting about then. It wouldn't do to have him waiting around to hook up with me. I'll contact him once I'm free."
"Anything else I can do?"
"Actually, there is. I want you to run a check on Clyde Philips."
"Philips? The guy who's dead?"
"That's the one," Joanna said. "I want to know what, if anything, is on his sheet."
"Will do. After I run it, want me to call right back with the information?"
"No, that's okay. Just put it in an envelope and leave it on Kristin's desk. She'll give it to me as soon as I come in tomorrow morning."
"Begging your pardon, Sheriff," Stu Farmer said, "it's almost five. That's this morning."
"Right," Joanna said. "This morning."
She put down the phone and sat waiting for the sun to come creeping up over the Chiricahuas and for the mourning doves to send their sweet daytime greetings across the waking desert. The tops of the mountains were just turning gold when the screen door squeaked open behind her. With wagging tails, both dogs went to greet Butch.
"Do you always get up this ungodly early?" he asked, easing himself down beside her. Barefoot and wearing jeans but no shirt, he had already poured himself a cup of coffee.
"You bet," Joanna said. "My folks always told me that the early bird gets the worm."
Butch groaned. "I suppose it'll wreck the analogy if I point out that the poor dead worm is also an early riser. How are you feeling?"
"Okay."
He reached over and ran his index finger along the rim of Joanna's ear. "I was hoping for something a little more effusive than that. Something on the order of 'wonderful' or 'fantastic.' " He paused. "Not feeling any regrets, are you?" he added. "I mean, you're not sorry I stayed over, are you'?"
Joanna thought about that before she answered. She hadn't ever really contemplated the possibility that someone besides Andy might share the bed that had once been theirs. The likelihood of that had seemed so remote, she had succeeded in ignoring it entirely. When long-buried urges had overcome her the night before, they had taken her by surprise and created such blinding abandon that there had been no room for either guilt or regret.
She smiled at Butch and rested one hand on his knee. "I believe my heart is remarkably guilt-free."
"Whew," he sighed in obvious relief. "Am I ever glad to hear that! When I woke up and found you gone, I was afraid you were out here brooding and wishing some of what happened hadn't."
"No," Joanna said, "not at all. But be advised, we won't be able to pull stunts like this once Jenny gets home. To say nothing of my mother. Eleanor is going to take one look at my face and know I've been up to no good, although as far as I'm concerned, she and George don't have much room to talk. And then I'm worried about what my in-laws might think-that somehow I'm not honoring their son's memory. I wouldn't want to hurt Jim Bob's and Eva Lou's feelings."
"Me, either," Butch agreed. "What that means, then, is that as soon as all these people show up on the horizon, you and I are going to have to be the very souls of discretion. Absolutely above reproach. Over and above the people you've already named, are there any others we need to worry about offending?"
"I don't know about offending," Joanna said. "But there might be spies."
"Who?"
"Marliss Shackleford, for one."
"You mean she might have a paid informant on top at the Copper Queen who could provide nightly bed checks to make sure I'm properly locked in at night and staying in my designated room?"
Joanna giggled. "Maybe not, but only because she hasn't thought of it yet. If she did, I wouldn't put it past her. It sounds just like her."
"Great. Big Sister is watching." Butch stood up. "How's your coffee?" he asked.
"It's fine."
"No, it's not fine. It's almost empty. Let me get you some more."
Butch disappeared into the house. He returned a few minutes later, wearing a shirt, carrying both cups filled to the brim. They sat quietly for a while, letting the morning age around them, watching the sky turn from lavender to orange to blue.
"Bartenders don't see many sunrises," he said. "It's pretty, but it still seems like an odd time of day to be up."
"Early morning is when I do my best thinking," Joanna told him. "It's my most creative time."
"Really. Well, there may be a lesson in that. Our new friend F. W. should sit up, take notice, and start setting his alarm." He looked off across the valley. "Not a cloud in the sky," he noted. "Does that mean the rains are over? Have the monsoons come and gone for the summer?"
"I don't know. Before the end of August, they could come back and take another crack at us."
"Let's hope," Butch returned.
Joanna took one of his hands in hers. "There are other things we should probably be talking about," she ventured quietly. "Other things that need discussion besides the weather."
"Like what, for instance?" he asked.
"Like why you got divorced," she answered. "Like why you got divorced twice."
He winced and made a face. "Just lucky, maybe?"
She squeezed his hand. "No jokes, please."
"It wasn't really two divorces," he said. "The first one was an annulment. Debbie's parents got that one on religious grounds. We weren't much more than kids, either one of us. Looking back, I'm sure it was just as well."
"And the second one?"
"That one was ugly. Faith-I always liked the irony in that name-left me for my best friend," he said. "Worked me over real good in the process-mentally, financially, you name it. She managed to convince all concerned, including most of my relatives, that the whole deal was my fault. That I had somehow caused my wife to fall in love with some body else."
"No wonder you took Jorge Grijalva's part," Joanna remarked, referring to a man who had been the prime suspect in the murder of his estranged wife, Serena. It was during the course of that investigation that she had first encountered Butch Dixon.
"Right," he said. "No wonder."
"And are they still together?" Joanna asked.
"Who?"
"Your former friend and your former wife."
Butch shrugged. "Beats me, although I suppose so. There weren't any kids, so Faith and I don't exactly stay in touch. I could probably ask my mother, though. The two of them are still thick as thieves. I'm sure my mother would be more than happy to give you an update."
"I'll pass," Joanna said with a smile. "But even with that had experience," she added, "you're still willing to give romance another try?"
Butch looked at her. "You mean with you?"
Joanna nodded.
"I didn't have a choice," Butch told her. "You walked into the Roundhouse. I'm a sucker for redheads. As soon as I saw you, I was smitten. That's why they call it love at first sight."
"Come on," Joanna said. "Don't give me a line…"
"It's no line," Butch insisted. "The moment I saw you, my goose was cooked. 'Butch, old boy,' I told myself, 'here's the one you'd better not let slip away.' And nothing that's happened since has changed my mind."
He swallowed the last of his coffee. "So how about letting me whip you up a little breakfast?"
"You'll spoil me."
He grinned. "That's the whole idea."
"Well, Jenny's been gone for a week now. I doubt there are any groceries left in the house."
"Not to worry. I know there's still some of my bread left over from last night. And I believe I saw both milk and eggs in the fridge. With bread and milk and eggs, I can make dynamite French toast. What time do you have to be at work?"
"Eight."
He glanced at his watch. "Hey," he said, "as far as I'm concerned, eight is still a very long time from now." "What's that supposed to mean?"