by Sara Daniel
“You’re the best police chief we’ve ever had,” Zelda said, looking stricken. Apparently, she’d heard their conversation, despite Becca’s attempt to keep her voice low. “No one else takes my calls seriously. Harriet even yelled at me when I used to call Larry. I wouldn’t feel safe in my own home if I didn’t know I could call you every day.”
A routine noise concern hardly constituted a reason to question the safety of the entire town. “Zelda, you can call me whether I’m chief or not, but I intend to be chief in this town until my dying day.” He covered Becca’s hand on the tabletop. He made the gesture unconsciously, but he’d have to be truly unconscious not to pick up on the surge of awareness and need sweeping through him. “Let’s make the best hot cocoa Kortville’s ever seen.”
“Not me.” She yanked her hand from under his. “Pick someone you can work with. Ingrid would make a great choice and keep the store represented. Or pull Rochelle away from her waitressing duties. She’d love the break if it means teaming up with you.”
If he succumbed to this fiasco, he was taking Becca with him. No way would he dive in with someone he didn’t trust to have his back. “I’m a grownup. I can work with you. Unless you can’t handle being alone with me. What are you afraid of? Getting too much action?”
He’d meant to ask with a straight face, but he couldn’t help chuckling as he took her hand in his again.
“Oh my.” Looking between them, Zelda’s eyes widened, and she fanned her face with a white table napkin.
“Fine. But for the record, we’re both going to regret this.” Becca marched to the counter, tugging him along without a backward look.
Undoubtedly, he would regret it. But he didn’t yet. The warmth and tingling in his hand took over his senses, making it impossible to comprehend Pauline’s instructions. Despite Becca’s anti-romantic words, she continued to hold his hand while they stood behind the counter.
When Pauline pronounced they should begin, he was no closer to knowing what to do. He loosened the hold between them enough to slide his thumb down her palm. “Do we have a plan?”
She jerked and released his hand, rubbing hers on her jeans. “Of course, I have a plan.”
Which she’d made before she took on a partner, meaning his presence wouldn’t be required to carry it out. He’d chosen well. He could cover every detail of a building stakeout or hostage situation in seconds, but he followed the cooking instructions on his dinner package to the letter, never improvising or taking a single step out of order.
“We’re creating a cocoa scientifically,” Becca explained. “We’ll record each ingredient used and the reasons why we picked it, as well as the reasons why we reject the others. We’ll also record our response to each flavor.”
He could handle a taste test. After all, he judged the Chili Cook Off each year. “And the audience is supposed to find this entertaining?”
“Hey, be thankful I saved you from boredom and you get to be up here doing the fun part.” She shook her head. “I can only imagine what people do for fun in real cities.”
“You don’t think this is real?” Connor asked.
“I don’t think our community is a fair representation of what the rest of the world is like. And really,” she teased, “would you want a chipped ceramic mug of brown liquid to rank at the top of your memorable life experiences?”
She pulled a tray of spices from her bag and arranged it between them. “Why don’t you taste the plain cocoa first, so we have a starting point?”
Connor dutifully lifted the steaming mug, trying not to be stung that he wouldn’t count as a memorable part of her life.
“Your response should include whether the smell and taste of each ingredient makes your partner feel more romantically inclined,” Pauline added to the group.
He nearly spewed his drink. He was supposed to not only admit, but rate the increase in his attraction to Becca?
“Good, you firmly established us as a zero on the romance scale.” She smacked him on the back. “That’s where I intend to stay. If you start moving up the scale, I will poison you.”
He pressed his lips closed to keep from smirking. It wouldn’t do to let her know her murderous threats made him feel more romantically inclined.
“Here.” She passed him a small jar. “Sniff this and see what you think.”
He uncapped a lid, inhaled deeply, and then immediately turned his head aside and coughed into his elbow. “I have no idea what it is, but it’s not meant to be snorted.”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t snort cloves. Will you be offended if I don’t quote you verbatim?”
“Are you kidding? You couldn’t offend my cocoa skills if you tried. Write whatever you like.” While Becca wrote what appeared to be a dissertation, he shifted his feet and glanced down the row at the other couples whispering to each other, uncomfortably aware he and Becca were the only ones not operating as a unit. “What now?”
“You can sniff something else, or you can tell me about Kevin.”
His heart stumbled over a beat. “Who?”
“You heard me.”
“How do you know that name?” He sure didn’t make conversation about Kevin. Ever.
“It’s what you called me Friday night after I fell.”
Hell. He’d hoped if she’d noticed, she wouldn’t bring it up and certainly not in a crowded room of people who counted on him to be a sane, steady source of security. He picked up another jar and sniffed, careful not to snort. “Very cinnamon-y.”
She gave him a long look. “It is cinnamon. So, Kevin fought with you in Iraq.”
“Afghanistan,” he corrected. “I was the team expert on landmines. My success rate of ninety-nine percent meant someone got to go home in a box.”
“I’m sorry.” Becca’s steady gaze added sincerity to words he’d always found inadequate at best. “Are you working with a therapist for your post-traumatic stress disorder?”
Connor’s heart completely stopped, and the life drained out of him. “I don’t have—” He couldn’t say the words. “I don’t have it. If I did, it would have been diagnosed. The military doesn’t just bring you back from a war zone without extensive psychological evaluations.”
He took a deep breath, hating how she put him on the defensive, how the more he protested the less likely she was to believe him. He needed to turn the tables on her and see how she’d react. “Don’t presume you know anything about me because I felt you up on Friday night.”
“The way you felt me up is the reason I can make my presumption,” she tossed back.
Although he hadn’t trusted her years ago, he had no choice but to trust the woman who ran the biggest gossip checkout line in town to keep her horrifying speculation to herself. He did not have post-traumatic stress disorder. He just had to live with a few bad memories.
No less than he deserved for not keeping the people around him safe.
…
On Wednesday, Becca used her day off work to write two blog posts, research a low-impact strength training program for Agatha, and study for her last exam that would complete her certification as a personal trainer. The certification along with her college degree would open doors, allowing her to support herself wherever she went.
Then she strolled to the police station to sign the statement she’d given to Connor. As soon as they’d finished their cocoa recipe yesterday, he had distributed his share of samples to the waiting onlookers and then bugged out of the restaurant while Becca packed up her supplies. She regretted diagnosing him with something she admittedly knew little about. He clearly took the label as an insult, which hadn’t been her intention.
Well, she’d speak to him like an adult, sign the paper, and then leave. He’d eventually catch the culprit and give him or her a slap on the wrist. The entire incident would be forgotten, and they would return to ignoring each other until she left town and moved on with her life.
Well, except for the overhyped cocoa contest. They could f
ake working well together for three more weeks. Next time she wouldn’t even attempt small talk, and the hour should pass more smoothly.
At the station, she read over everything Connor had typed up, asked him to make a small change for clarification, and waited while he printed out the revised version. Just as she finished reading it and put her pen to the paper, the door opened. Larry strode inside, followed by Wilbur, whose brown and gray tweed pants clashed frighteningly with the tiny purple and green polka dots on his yellow shirt.
Behind the counter, she felt more than saw Connor stiffen.
“I hoped we’d find you here, O’Malley,” Wilbur said.
“If memory serves, the deputy badges are in the second drawer from the bottom, left hand cabinet,” Larry said.
“Deputy badges?” Connor repeated.
“We held an emergency council meeting this morning and decided to hire Larry as your part-time deputy. Thanks to some generous donations we have some flexibility in the town budget this year. We’ll reevaluate in a month, which will give both you and Larry time to transition if necessary to who will be police chief when the new fiscal year begins on July first.”
Connor looked like someone had pulled the rug out from under him.
Since he seemed to have lost his voice, Becca decided to speak the obvious. “I thought you’d retired, Larry.”
“Retirement doesn’t suit me one whit. The life I know and love is in Kortville as the town cop, which is why I’m here.” Larry held out his hand to Connor. “Nothing personal against you, you understand.”
“I’m supposed to make him my deputy until he settles back in, and then you’ll fire me, so he can take over my job?” Connor demanded of Wilbur, ignoring Larry’s outstretched hand.
Becca didn’t blame him for being furious. After being on the job 24/7 for the past two years, the council shoved his dedication aside as if it meant nothing.
The mayor looked aghast. “I never said I would fire anyone. But considering experience levels, Larry would likely take over as police chief and you would become his part-time deputy. Truly, no offense, but Larry Delinski was Kortville’s police chief for nearly thirty years and I see no reason the legacy can’t continue for another good ten years or more.”
Disgust rolled through Becca. Wilbur and the town council were treating Connor rotten, all because they wanted to give their friend his job back. A bigger city would have policies and procedures in place to prevent this sort of thing from happening, not to mention investigative journalists who’d expose the corruption if someone tried to go around the system.
“First order of business,” Larry said. “I want to review the investigation on the bike rack incident and re-interview all witnesses. Becca, since you’re here, I’ll start with you.”
No way would she support this sham. She waved her newly signed paper. “This is my statement, given to the police chief himself and signed in his presence. I have nothing further to add, and if I do, I’ll give it straight to the man in charge.”
Connor’s expression remained impassive, but the warming of his gaze encouraged her to take her indignation a step further. She turned to Wilbur. “Furthermore, if the town council and Officer O’Malley feel more eyes and ears are needed to prevent crime, I’ll be the first one to volunteer at no additional expense to the town budget.”
“What a good idea,” Wilbur admitted, the surprise on his face an admission he and the council hadn’t considered that approach.
“Excellent, Becca,” Connor said. “I’ll pick you up after you get off work on Friday, and you can patrol with me all evening.”
She hoped she masked her own surprise as she nodded in agreement. She’d volunteered to spend her evenings cruising in the dark for hours with Connor. Like a teenager again, nervous anticipation filled her at the prospect.
“You’ll need to sign a ride-along waiver,” Larry said. “Those are in the top drawer of the filing cabinet.”
“Actually, the blank form is on the computer now, and the signed ones have been moved to another drawer,” Connor replied. When Larry looked away, he winked at her.
She left the police station with the sinking feeling she’d done the exact opposite of what she’d planned to do when she entered. So why did she feel a lightness in the very heart she’d vowed never to trust Connor with again?
…
Connor watched from inside his car as Becca locked the glass front doors of the grocery store from the inside. As she moved out of sight into the backroom, he pulled the squad car around to meet her at the supermarket’s rear entrance. She fiddled with the door to get it to close tightly, turned the key in the lock, and checked the knob before she swung toward him.
Her smile made him suck in his breath. He hadn’t been on a date in a while. Patrols every morning and evening, along with extra patrols on Friday and Saturday nights, made the timing difficult. Not many women found the constant drives through town romantic, especially when they realized his dedication to his job took priority. But as Becca sauntered toward him with a smile of anticipation on her face, he wished he’d offered her more than a spin around the square and maybe a carryout container from the diner.
“Hi.” She opened the door. “I doubt you want me wearing my ever-so-attractive apron all evening.”
The cream smock with the grocery’s store emblem stamped on it gaped out over her chest with the sides open, affording him a view of her navy knit shirt molded to the swell of her breasts. Only one week ago, his fingers had caressed the smooth creamy skin underneath. He cursed his overactive memory and looked away. “If you want to take it off, you can borrow my jacket again.”
“I remembered my own jacket.” She stripped off the apron before stepping into the car, holding both it and her jacket on her lap. “I plan to stick to my own clothes tonight.”
A wise choice. “The offer still stands,” he said, hoping his casual tone and shrug conveyed his indifference. He set the car in motion and headed down the street.
“What do you know? Mrs. Parker’s talked the teen boys into coming into the library on a Friday,” Becca observed. “I’m going to have to figure out her secret.”
He frowned, recognizing the cars parked in front of the small brick building just as she did. Making his presence visible kept crime virtually nonexistent. When he showed up, people tended to think twice before topping someone else’s idiotic idea with a worse one of their own. “Let’s find out now.”
As he got out of the car, Becca tossed her apron on the seat. Then she pushed her arms through the sleeves of her jacket, stretching her navy knit shirt tight across her breasts. She zipped the jacket before he could look his fill and turned toward the library, giving him a view of her trim backside instead.
Suggesting she spend the evening patrolling with him had not been a well thought out decision. Blindsided by Larry and Wilbur’s announcement, he’d grasped for a safety net and connected himself with the woman who had every right to view his demise as nothing more than he deserved. Instead of pushing him to fail, she’d been saving him from tight spots with the same combination of sweetness and humor that had first captivated him years before.
Now her shapely figure held his attention, the sunset adding an auburn glow to her glossy hair and her formfitting clothes showing off her athletic body. Luckily, darkness would soon prevent him from admiring the stunning view, but he couldn’t count on the night to save him, not when spending all evening in a dark car together had been his favorite teenage date.
No matter that she’d never let him go as far as his adolescent hormones had wanted. Being so close to her had been an exquisite kind of torture he would have walked through hot coals to get more of. Apparently, nothing had changed. At least, being on duty would have the same effect as her physical limits back in high school and keep him from doing anything stupid.
Inside the library, three boys, all high school seniors, and the triple reason behind the at-risk mentorship program, clustered around a computer. “I
f this is a school project, you each need to do your own research on separate computers,” Mrs. Parker admonished them. “Of course, we only have two here, so you’ll need to take turns.”
The boys shifted, and Connor caught their eyes individually. They immediately looked away, rather than hold his gaze. They apparently had a reason to feel nervous around him, which worried him, but he’d much rather have the fear of getting caught motivate them to make better choices than compel them into fessing up to bad behavior.
Nick and Otto each took a computer, leaving Toby to stand over his friends.
“What kind of a project do you have?” Becca asked.
“Science,” Nick said. The other two boys laughed, as if he’d said something extremely funny. But they peeked at Connor, and their laughter turned shaky and died away.
He gave them a quelling stare before the widowed librarian could shush them. Although he couldn’t admit it as long as he wore the uniform, he and his friends would have gotten a good, long laugh about the bike rack prank back in the day. Knowing he’d lost his impulsive sense of adventure and hadn’t seen it happen made him sigh. Another regret to add to his list.
Mrs. Parker limped to the checkout desk, where she continued to shoot anxious glances at the boys. Connor strolled over to calm her. “How are you doing, Mrs. Parker? Got a hot date for this weekend?”
Her wrinkled cheeks flushed. “Oh, you. I wouldn’t know what to do with a hot date, and you know it. My arthritis has been giving me a devil of a time. I might have to dig out my cane again.”
“Even if you don’t feel it, you look as good as ever. The cane’s a good idea. You can beat away those men who want to be your hot date.” He threw in a wink for good measure.
“Have you noticed which triggers make your arthritis flare up?” Becca asked, joining them.
“It’s mostly at home, first thing in the morning and in the evenings. I still have boxes in my garage to unpack from when I moved from the farmhouse last fall. But every time I try, I ache like you wouldn’t believe. Most of the boxes are stacked too high, and the ones I can reach are too heavy for me to carry inside.”