“Oh my God.” Cat rocked on the seat, fighting the surge of emotion—shock, horror, pity, all jumbled together..
“Brock doesn’t talk about it. He can’t forgive himself for not being able to make her happy. He tried hard in the beginning, but over the years they just drifted apart. Sandra withdrew from the world, and Brock buried himself in his work.”
“How long ago did she die?”
“It will be four years next spring. I’m not aware of Brock having dated anyone since.” Karen threw a quick glance in her direction. “Go easy on him. They were married nearly ten years. It can’t have been a bed of roses.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Cat said and got up.
Karen occupied herself with the papers on her desk.
As Cat tended the rest of the houseplants dotted around the office, an idea rose in the turmoil of her mind. She’d thought they had nothing in common, but she’d been wrong. Both she and the sheriff had married people who took more than they gave, drained their emotional resources.
She wondered if Brock Leonetti felt as empty inside as she did.
****
Brock finished his emails. He’d reviewed the expenditures for the quarter, approved the estimate for rewiring the station electrics, and written an argument to turn down the proposal that the two deputies should work in shifts.
The lights in the outside office had gone out an hour ago, but he lingered. You never knew about women. The pair of them might be sitting on the doorstep, and he’d had enough of feminine intrigue for the day.
What in hell had possessed him to lose control like that? Even now, he could recall her scent teasing his nostrils, could feel her soft curves pressing against his body, her lips warm and responsive beneath his. With a harsh growl, he tossed down the pen and stood to stretch his limbs. He’d have to find a way to survive three more days.
That’s all. Three. More. Days.
He checked his firearm, picked up his keys, and closed the office for the night.
“Sheriff Leonetti.” A slim form emerged from the shadows.
“Dalton?” He recognized the young man when they got closer.
“Can I have a moment of your time, Sheriff?”
“What’s the problem, son?” He indicated the knee-high concrete barrier around the parking lot and perched down on the cold stone.
Dalton didn’t sit but hovered in front of him. “It’s Cat. My stepmother.”
Unease clenched in Brock’s gut. Damn. Did he have it all wrong? Had he upset her with his embrace, and she’d carted off her indignation to her stepson? An odd flood of resignation and hopelessness washed over him, but he buried it beneath anger. Did she have no sense at all, pouring out her adult problems to a boy?
“What about your stepmother?” He forced his voice to remain calm.
“I’d like to request a favor from you. A huge favor.”
“Go on.”
“Could you ask Cat out on a date?”
“What?” The single word exploded in the falling darkness.
“I’m not asking you to pretend that you’re in love with her or anything, she’s had enough of that, just take her out to a movie or dinner or something. She’s promised to start dating, but it’s been so long that she’ll panic about it. If you ask her out, she’ll relax because she’ll know she won’t see you again. Then she’ll get into the groove and will find it easier to go on more dates when she gets back home.”
Something stormy gathered inside him. “Let me get this right,” Brock said. “You’re asking me to ease her into the dating game, so that she can then soar away and go out with lots of other men.”
“You’ve got it.” Dalton bounced eagerly on his feet. “That’s exactly what I want you to do.”
“What does Cat think about you meddling in her life?”
The young man slanted him a crafty look. “She doesn’t know. But you said it yourself. While she’s here, I’m responsible for keeping her out of trouble. I think sending her out on a date with you achieves the purpose.”
Brock ignored the irritation that niggled inside him. What did the kid think he was—a eunuch, no threat to feminine virtue?
“What makes you think she’d say yes?” he asked.
“She likes you.”
His brows shot up.
“She does. She complains all the time about what a bullheaded ogre you are.”
“And that proves she likes me?”
“Yes, it does. She mutters away, not even realizing she is talking out loud. Her face is all flushed, and she keeps spilling things when her hands tremble.”
“I see.” Brock shook his head, bemused. “I’ll give the idea some thought.”
“Don’t think too long. She’s flying home on Sunday morning.” Dalton set off across the parking lot but turned to look over his shoulder. “She likes you. Trust me. I’m a psych major, and I know her.”
Brock lifted a hand to send the youngster on his way.
She likes you.
Satisfaction soared inside him. Then he recalled all the other men he was supposed to be preparing her for, and the green-eyed monster of jealousy dug its sharp claws in his gut.
Chapter Three
He had to face the fact. At age thirty-four, Brock didn’t know how to go about asking a woman out on a date. Not that he intended to. But just hypothetically speaking, he realized he’d never had to. At school, Sandra had always been around, and he’d been too aware of her sensitive nature to stray and cause her pain. At college, when he’d had his spell of wild oats, women had tumbled into his lap without any effort from his part.
He waited until Walter had set off to patrol around town and Karen carried her baby into the break room for breastfeeding. Then he got to his feet and drifted to the open doorway of his office. Cat wore the baggy chinos again, cinched in around her waist with a wide belt that gave her a voluptuous Marilyn Monroe look.
“Do you know much about Word documents?” he asked.
She turned to look at him. The white T-shirt hugged her figure. “I can try. What are you struggling with?”
The teenage rampage of my hormones. The ache in my groin.
“I’ve made changes to a document, and they show up in red. I don’t know how to make them blend in.”
“I can help you with that.”
You certainly could, but it would lead to even worse problems.
She scooted up and strode across the floor. Her breasts jiggled as she moved. Brock hurried to sit at the desk to hide his swiftly rising erection.
“It’s easy.” She leaned over the keyboard, her chest practically in his face. “You have to accept the changes. I’ll add the toolbar to the top of your screen. Then you just click on this icon to accept the changes, or this one to reject them.”
“You should wear a bra around the office.”
“What did you say?” She turned to look at him. Her lightly spoken words underlined the harshness of his tone.
Brock slumped in the seat. He’d never in his life prayed as fervently for the ground to open up and swallow him. “Sorry. That was an unacceptable remark in this day and age. I apologize. But I can’t concentrate when your nipples stick out like a pair of points at the end of two exclamation marks.”
She straightened. Her mouth pulled into a tight line. Her nostrils flared as she stared at him. Brock knew he was in for it now. Her fury practically shimmered in the air. He could picture the newspaper headlines. Sheriff Leonetti suspended on charges of sexual harassment.
“Is that what you think?” Cat said, and he’d never realized a woman’s soft voice could carry so much menace. She took a step back, folded her arms across her front, and tugged up the hem of her T-shirt.
The expanse of smooth skin over her gently rounded stomach made his gut clench. His shaft jerked against the sturdy fabric of his uniform trousers. Afraid to but unable to resist, Brock allowed his gaze to drift upward to the swell of her breasts, and found them encased in a thin layer of lace and
silk.
“One Vanity Fair bra in size 36 C. Satisfied?” She yanked the hem of the T-shirt back down over her body.
Satisfied? Anything but, Brock wanted to shout, but instead he gritted his teeth in stony silence. What the hell was happening to his life, to his sanity? He must have gone raving mad, and the woman standing next to him was the cause.
Without waiting for him to regain the ability to speak, Cat stormed out. Brock lowered his shoulders over the desk and banged his forehead against the top in mock despair. How did teenage boys cope when they were learning to deal with girls? It was a miracle any males made it to adulthood.
****
Fury brewed inside her, so hot Cat expected to spew fire. The keyboard on the computer clacked like a machine gun as she hit the keys with extra force. That insolent, overbearing man! She’d actually allowed him to goad her into flashing her boobs at him, like a little girl playing a game of doctors and nurses.
Her cell phone burst to a ring on the desk. The display showed Dalton’s name. Cat cleared her throat in order to collect her voice before answering.
“Are you all set up for going out?” her stepson asked.
“Going out? I thought I might pop over and see how you’re getting on with the kids at the children’s home this evening.”
“There’s this girl from the high school who volunteers there…”
Cat exhaled a sigh. “I get it. You don’t want me there, cramping your style. I’ll just get a takeaway pizza and stay at the hotel. I’m sure I can find something to watch on HBO.”
“What about the sheriff? Isn’t he taking you out?”
Like an octopus, tentacles of understanding weaved through her brain.
“Dalton?” she asked, her throat vibrating with the angry sound.
Guilty silence met her.
“Dalton, what have you done?”
“Nothing. It’s just that I bumped into the sheriff. We chatted, and I mentioned it might be nice if he asked you out, since you don’t know anyone else in town.”
“When and where did you bump into him?”
“Err…outside the station house last night.”
“You lay in wait for him and pounced, demanding that he take me off your hands? Is that it? Dalton?”
“I wouldn’t quite put it like that.”
“Then how would you put it?”
“So, he hasn’t asked you yet. I’d better give him a call, in case he’s forgotten.”
“Dalton?” She rasped out his name through gritted teeth.
“Yes, Cat.”
“If you mention the topic to him again, I’m going to have you drugged, and castrated while you lie in defenseless stupor, okay?”
She heard his horrified gasp. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Didn’t think I’d mind?” Cat closed her eyes and counted to ten. “Forget it. Just go and do all the disgusting teenager things you do so well, and leave my personal life alone.”
She muttered a curse as she ended the call, but after a moment, excitement began to tingle on her skin. That’s why the sheriff was on edge—he was working up the courage to ask her out. Then, doubt drenched her. Maybe he was squirming with embarrassment because he believed that she expected him to ask, and he didn’t know how to wriggle out of the awkward situation.
There was only one way to find out. She’d promised herself she would no longer give a damn over what people thought about her, and that included Brock Leonetti.
Cat bolted to her feet and marched into his office.
The color in his cheeks deepened to bronze when she crossed the threshold. He watched in silence as she walked to stand beside him and seized hold of the keyboard. Cat opened up a blank Word document, turned on the tracked changes, and typed.
Will you go out with me tonight?
“Like I told you, you have these two buttons on the tool bar. If you click on “reject” this sentence will disappear. If you click on “accept” the red letters will turn black, and the question stays on the screen.
Brock took the keyboard from her, backspaced, and typed tomorrow night instead of tonight. Then he clicked on “accept”.
“I’d like that very much,” she told him.
“I’ll pick you up at seven from the Hillside Inn where you’re staying.”
Cat nodded, then turned and fled. Her heart pounded, and her legs barely carried her back to the outer office.
She had a date with Brock Leonetti.
****
Brock’s hand pressed warm and heavy at the small of her back as he steered Cat toward his car, parked by the hotel entrance. Exhilaration soared inside her. Dalton had been right. She needed to get a life. Youth and looks wouldn’t be on her side much longer. She wanted to have some fun, play the field. Enjoy a taste of freedom after the years spent caring for the sick and the dying.
“Are you expecting a call?” Brock nodded at the cell phone she’d been clutching in her shaking fingers while she waited for him in the lobby.
“I was. From you. To cancel.”
His brows lifted, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he opened the passenger door and took her elbow to help her into the black SUV.
“You were out all day,” Cat said. She had to look up at him as he stood beside her. “I assumed you were avoiding me.”
“I had a court appearance. Karen could have told you.”
“It didn’t seem important. Either you’d turn up or not.”
His eyes narrowed. “Have I done something to deserve that? I don’t have a reputation for being unreliable.”
“No.” Cat bit her lip. Her new aim for honesty wasn’t turning out easy. “It’s just that I know that Dalton nagged you into asking me. I’m prepared to do anything to make him happy, but you might have preferred to back out.”
Brock closed her door and walked around the front of the car. After he sat down, he turned to face her, one arm draped over the seatback. “I don’t do things I don’t want to. I may sometimes do things that I’m not thrilled about, but only when the alternatives seem even less appealing.”
“Oh.” Cat couldn’t think of a reply.
Brock studied her face, a long lingering look that drew heat to her skin. “Something’s different about you,” he said. After a pause he added, “Glasses. You wore them the first time you came into my office, but never again.”
“They’re for long distance. I only wear them for driving and watching TV, or at the movies.” Her hand shifted, ready to sweep off the glasses that she didn’t like, but she conquered the urge. “I forgot to take them off that day after I parked the car,” she told him. The color in her cheeks burned hotter. Really, she’d worn the glasses on purpose, trying to look more serious and responsible after being caught in a student prank.
“They suit you,” Brock said. The way his brows drew together, Cat suspected that he had seen through her lie.
Then his searching gaze focused on her mouth.
Her lips opened, and a little sound of alarm caught in her throat.
Casually, without hurry, Brock leaned over and brushed a soft kiss on her lips. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day,” he murmured before drawing back.
Without another comment, he straightened in the seat and started the engine. As they drove away, the rebellion that had simmered inside Cat since the morning fizzled out. In the office, she’d nurtured the heady sensation that they were playing a cat and mouse game, and for once she got to be the cat. With that long scorching look and the heady impact of the kiss, she’d shriveled back into a mouse.
****
Brock pulled up outside the Victorian villa that housed the public library and an adjoining coffee shop staffed by volunteers. They’d driven through the town in silence. She hadn’t asked him where they were going. He liked that. Not as a token of trust but as a sign of confidence. Cat gave the impression that she could handle herself in any social situation. Her linen skirt and pale blue silk blouse and medium heels were smart
without being overdressed, a perfect match for his slacks, sports jacket, and open-necked shirt.
“They have a concert in the garden on Thursday evenings,” he told her as he unclipped his seat belt. “It’s chamber music today.”
She waited for him to circle the car and open the door for her. That was another thing he liked. She was strong enough to give in gracefully. He was fully aware of her mistaken belief that she was chasing him by setting up the date. He had every intention of making her realize that since he became single again, he conducted his life as he chose and could be as unmovable as a rock.
“Sheriff Leonetti. So nice you could make it.” Phyllis Bright cooed a greeting as they entered trough the arbor gate. The woman threw an acid look in Cat’s direction. Behind her, several more unmarried females had daggers in their eyes. Brock couldn’t resist sliding his arm around Cat’s waist in a possessive gesture.
He might as well use the night to shake off the pack of bloodhounds that ran after him for a wedding ring. His life would be easier if people assumed he had a long distance relationship that put him out of bounds.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked as he settled Cat at a table for two. “The usual choice is wine, beer, sodas, and some kind of fruit punch.”
“White wine, please.” She glanced around. “I thought they’d have rows of seats for the concert.”
“The garden is used as a coffee shop during the day and the tables are anchored down.”
He stopped to exchange a few words here and there and returned ten minutes later with her wine and a club soda for himself. Cat met him with a sunny smile. Not an anxious frown because strangers made her uneasy, or words of complaint because he’d kept her waiting.
“It’s chardonnay,” he said. “I hope it’s all right.”
“I don’t know much about wine. You could serve me the cheapest rotgut and convince me it’s vintage.” Cat took a sip and nodded her approval. Glancing at his tall glass, she asked, “You don’t drink?”
How Cat Got a Life Page 3