When Mason had pulled Becky’s diary from the box, he’d expected to find a young girl’s ramblings about boys and sweet prom kisses. He had not expected a steamy pornographic journal of the sex she was having with some guy named Honey Bee.

The journal explained why Becky wanted the house. She didn’t want to lose the place where she had her secret rendezvous. Mason found that puzzling. Why did she keep her affair a secret? Not only was the prose steamy, it also rambled on and on about her love for the guy. If she loved him, why didn’t she date him openly? There was only one answer he could think of.

Honey Bee was already married.

As a divorce lawyer, Mason had seen it time and time again. A husband having a secret affair because he had no intention of leaving his wife. It was more than likely that Honey Bee was just using Becky.

A meow pulled his attention from the diary. A mangy-looking cat sat on the end of the porch. Its gray fur was matted and one of its ears looked like it had been chewed off. Mason didn’t know a lot about cats, or dogs for that matter. His mother had been allergic to animal dander, so he hadn’t had pets as a kid. And now he was too busy to deal with a pet. But if the skinny body and desperate look were any indication, this cat was starving.

He got up and walked inside. He had gone into town earlier and stocked up on groceries. He pulled some deli turkey out of the refrigerator. As he was placing a couple slices on a paper plate, the ornate urn on the windowsill caught his eye.

The kitchen probably wasn’t the best place for his mother’s ashes. But he didn’t want them in his bedroom, and there was no furniture in the living area or the other bedroom. So unless he wanted to put the urn on the back of the toilet, the kitchen was the only place left. Besides, cooking was one of the few things his mother had enjoyed doing.

That, and reading Tender Heart novels.

As soon as he set the paper plate on the porch, the cat dove into the turkey, holding the plate with its paw as it licked it clean. Since it was so hot out, Mason went back inside and got a bowl of water. He issued a warning as he set it down next to the plate. “This is a one-shot deal. I don’t want a cat.”

The cat lapped some water before it shot him a disdainful look and curled up on the porch. Mason was considering running the animal off when an Oldsmobile came up the road. The Oldsmobile appeared to be driven by a big Easter bonnet. It came to a dust-spitting stop in front of the porch, and a little old woman got out.

“Goodness, it’s hotter than Hell’s pepper patch today.” She patted her forehead with a white-gloved hand before she opened the back door of the car and pulled out a basket that was almost as big as she was. Being from Texas, he knew a welcome basket when he saw one. While he had no desire to become chummy with his neighbors, he couldn’t exactly ignore a sweet-looking little old lady.

He quickly came down the porch steps. “Let me get that, ma’am.”

She handed the basket over, then gave him a thorough once-over that had him feeling embarrassed about not having a shirt on.

“Well, no wonder Becky wants to make sure you feel welcome,” she said. “You look like Cary Grant on steroids.”

Becky? Now why would Becky want to welcome him when she wanted him out of her love nest as soon as possible? Obviously, she was up to something. He glanced at the brownies inside the basket. Had she baked him poison brownies and talked this innocent little old woman into delivering them? He wouldn’t put it past her.

The woman held out her white-gloved hand. “Maybelline Marble. School teacher for close to forty years and now the baker for Lucy’s Place Diner.”

“Mason Granger.” Mason took her hand expecting a gentle squeeze. Instead, he got a firm shake.

“An excellent attorney from what I hear.” When he lifted an eyebrow in question, she shrugged her thin shoulders. “I Googled you. It always pays to have a little information on the new people who come to town. We don’t want any riffraff, but we certainly could use a good cutthroat attorney.”

Mason took a closer look at the woman. She might be elderly and petite, but there was a sharpness in her steely blue eyes that made him realize she wasn’t a woman to underestimate.

“I don’t usually go for the throat as much as the wallet,” he said dryly.

She tipped back her head and laughed. “I do love a man who doesn’t beat around the bush.” She hooked her arm through his. “Now let’s go inside and get out of this blasted heat. I have a few questions about my will I need answered.”

Since he couldn’t be disrespectful, he led the woman up the steps of the front porch. He picked up the diary out of the chair on the way past. The woman’s direct gaze landed on the book briefly before moving to the cat.

“A cat man. How sweet.”

Mason was going to deny being a cat man and sweet, but then chose to ignore the comment. He held open the door. “Sorry that it’s not much cooler inside. My air conditioner isn’t working.”

Ms. Marble released his arm and moved into the living room. “To be honest, I wasn’t really worried about the heat. I just wanted to see the inside of the house once again.”

“Once again?”

She turned back to him. “I lived here right after I married my first husband.” She got a far-off look in her eyes. “The Reeds let us live here for free because Justin had served in the military.” She smiled. “Lord, times were tough back then. I was a new teacher and working at the diner at night until Justin could find a job. But I didn’t mind. I was in love.”

She flapped a gloved hand. “But look at me going on like a love-struck ninny.” She took the basket from him and headed to the kitchen where she proceeded to pull out a thickly wrapped plate of brownies and a mason jar of what looked like sweet tea.

Mason didn’t drink tea, sweet or otherwise, but Ms. Marble wasn’t a woman you refused. While she got everything ready, he went into the bedroom to get a shirt. He shoved the diary under his pillow. He should put it back in the floor. And he would. Once he finished reading it.

When he stepped out of the bedroom, Ms. Marble was placing two glasses of tea on the scarred kitchen table. She had removed her gloves and hat, and her white hair resembled a flattened dandelion puff. There was something about her tottering around his dingy little kitchen that made him happy and sad at the same time. He didn’t know either of his grandmothers. His parents had divorced when he was only two and he didn’t have a relationship with his father’s side of the family. And his mother’s mom had died before he was born.

Ms. Marble glanced up and noticed him standing in the doorway of the bedroom and smiled. “Well, don’t just stand there dawdling. The ice in your sweet tea will melt.” He walked over and pulled out her chair. Her smile got even bigger. “Your mama taught you well.”

He couldn’t help but glance at the urn. When he noticed Ms. Marble watching him, he quickly took the chair opposite her. “She didn’t care what else I did, but she was a stickler for manners.” He didn’t know why he had confided in Ms. Marble. His past wasn’t something he shared. Mostly because he hated sympathy.

Surprisingly, Ms. Marble didn’t give him any. She studied him for a long moment with those steely eyes before she picked up the plate. “Brownie?”

If the woman was in cahoots with Becky and the brownies were poisoned, he’d die happy. The chocolaty dessert was the best thing he’d tasted in a long time. He polished off one and then moved to a second while he answered all of Ms. Marble’s questions about her will. He had heard about chocolate releasing endorphins, but he hadn’t believed it until now. For the first time in a long time, he felt content as he settled back in his chair.

“Who is putting your will together?” he asked. “Zane?”

“Zane is much too busy ranching to practice law. And since we don’t have another lawyer in Bliss, I had to get one from Austin. But I have to tell you that I don’t like the man. He treats me like I’m two steps away from the grave.” She sent him a sideways glance. “How long do you plan on being here in Bliss?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “But I’ll be happy to help you with your will while I’m here.” He nodded at the brownies. “As long as you bring me more of those.”

She smiled. “Just wait until you taste my cinnamon swirl muffins. I would’ve brought you some, but I took most of them to the diner and the rest to Becky. With Carly and Zane gone on their honeymoon, that girl will be so wrapped up in ranch work she’ll forget to eat.”

Or wrapped up in her Honey Bee.

“So, is Becky dating anyone?” Mason asked.

He realized his mistake when her eyes immediately started to twinkle. “Becky dates a lot, but no one man has caught her eye for any length of time.” She sent him a knowing look. “Of course, I have a feeling that’s about to change.” Before he could discourage any thoughts of him and Becky, she continued. “And not a moment too soon. She needs a boyfriend to get rid of that scoundrel Rich Myers for her.”

He couldn’t help wondering if this Rich was Becky’s Honey Bee. “Why is he a scoundrel? Is he married?”

Ms. Marble took a sip of her tea. “I wouldn’t doubt it. I tried Googling him, but there are way too many Richard Myers. Still, I don’t have to research him online to know a stalker when I see one. He’s been following Becky around like a stray dog after dinner scraps since he’s come to town.”

If he was Becky’s Honey Bee, she’d given him more than scraps. “Maybe Becky likes him.”

“That’s doubtful. Especially after what I saw this morning.”

He cringed. He certainly hoped the sweet little woman hadn’t witnessed some of the things he’d read about in the diary.

“When I pulled up to the ranch this morning to deliver the muffins,” she continued, “there was a huge pile of stuffing and fur right in the middle of the road. I got out to investigate and found a ripped-up teddy bear with a note attached to the ribbon around its neck.” She lifted her almost invisible eyebrows. “‘You can’t ignore me forever. You’re mine. Rich.’ Now if that’s not a stalker’s note, I don’t know what is. And if I’d received it, I would’ve done exactly what Becky did. I would’ve ripped that thing to shreds and tossed it in the road.”

Obviously, Rich wasn’t Honey Bee . . . unless they had gotten into some kind of lover’s quarrel. It was possible with Becky. That woman could provoke a saint.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” he said. “It sounds like Becky can take care of herself.”

“That’s what she wants people to believe, but every woman needs help now and—” An overhead thumping had her looking at the ceiling. “What in the world?”

Mason got to his feet and headed for the door. Outside, he stepped over the sleeping cat on the porch and moved down the steps. Two men crouched on his roof with sagging tool belts. “Can I help you?” he called up to them.

One of the men got to his feet and moved closer to the edge of the roof. “Miss Becky sent us over from the Earhart Ranch to fix your roof. It shouldn’t take us more than a couple days. Three tops.”

“I don’t want my roof—” The other man starting hammering and drowned Mason out. Exasperated, he headed for the ladder propped on the side of the house. But before he could reach it, a car came barreling up the drive and stopped in a cloud of dust. A young woman jumped out. She wore more makeup than a televangelist’s wife, but there was nothing holy about her skintight top and short shorts.

“Well, Becky certainly wasn’t lying when she said you were hot.” She ran her tongue over her brightly painted lips. “You’re sizzlin’.”