The Shelter of His Arms (Harlequin Heartwarming) by Dawn Stewardson

hundred feet, trying not to think he might have let a flaw or two creep into his logic. Because regardless of that possibility he wanted to spend as much time with her as she’d let him.
    Maybe he hadn’t known her long, but he was already reconsidering his theory about cops and serious relationships. They weren’t always a bad mix. The divorce rate on the force might be high, but it was nowhere near a hundred percent.
    After he’d been waiting out front for half an hour or so, Celeste emerged from the building.
    He simply watched her at first—aware that she seemed even more beautiful than she had only yesterday—then he started toward her.
    “Hi,” he said, falling into step beside her.
    Celeste hadn’t noticed Travis until he spoke, and it amazed her that the mere sound of his voice could brighten her mood.
    “Hi yourself,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
    “Oh, I just happened to be in the neighborhood so I figured I’d give you a ride home.”
    “Just happened to, huh?”
    She shot him a smile, then waited, expecting him to ask about her appointment with Walter Namouth. He fooled her, though, and didn’t say another word until they’d reached his car.
    After sticking the key in the ignition, he looked over at her and said, “You wanted me to let you know about your brother’s autopsy. It’s today.”
    “Oh,” she murmured, her throat suddenly tight.
    “So you can firm up the funeral arrangements for any day from tomorrow on,” he added gently.
    “Yes. I guess...he wanted to be cremated. Did I mention that?”
    “No.”
    “Well, he did. He told me after our mother died. So instead of a funeral I should really be calling it a memorial service. But as for the time...Saturday, do you think?”
    He nodded, hesitated, finally said, “I’d like to go to it with you, but I can’t. There’ll be guys from Homicide there. Checking out the mourners. It’s standard procedure. And as long as you’re a suspect, I’d be in hot water if I...”
    “I understand,” she said. She wished he could be with her, though—so much that it frightened her, because it wasn’t a wish that was consistent with the decision she’d come to last night.
    After hours of thinking, she’d concluded the only thing to do was keep their relationship platonic. At least until she no longer was a suspect.
    Once her life was back to some semblance of normality, she’d be in a better position to figure out whether her feelings for him were the genuine item or she merely wanted a strong man to lean on.
    Yet, despite knowing it wouldn’t be a good idea to—
    “But you’ll have someone there with you?” he asked.
    “Yes. I have an aunt. My mother’s sister. I’m close to her—and to my cousins. And I know some of my friends will come.”
    “Good.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “Would you like to grab an early lunch?”
    “Thanks, but I’d better go straight home. I should call and firm up the arrangements for the service. Get it over with. And someone’s stopping by for that manuscript.”
    “Right.” He pulled into the flow of traffic. “What about dinner? Are we still on for that or...?”
    “Sure,” she said, even though she knew finalizing those arrangements wouldn’t leave her in the best of spirits. “I’ll be better off going out than sitting home alone.”
    He drove another block or so before finally asking how her meeting with Namouth had gone.
    “Well...I’m glad I talked to him, although I couldn’t really tell him much. Just that the police thought there’d been a woman at Steve’s apartment on Saturday evening, and I’ve gathered she’s a suspect. And that Hank must figure she was me because...
    “I explained about the survivor clause in my mother’s will. Even though you didn’t say exactly why Hank figures I did it, there’s nothing else I can think of.”
    Travis still didn’t tell her whether she was guessing right or not. He merely said, “And what did Namouth