ON DEAN'S WATCH

by Linda Winstead Jones

  But chopping wood and hauling it to the street? Dean didn't own a house; he lived in an apartment. For just this reason.

  But given the circumstances and his increasing frustration, he found the exertion unexpectedly soothing.

  Dean was surprised to see Alan stalking across the yard, cell phone in hand, white paint from Miss Evelyn's fence spattered across his own John Deere T-shirt and brand-new jeans. Dean lowered the chain saw and grinned.

  "Do I look as ridiculous as you do?"

  "No. You look a lot more ridiculous than I do." Alan lifted his hand. "Where's your cell phone?"

  Dean glanced over his shoulder. His phone sat on top of his toolbox. With the chain saw operating, he'd obviously not heard it. His smile faded. "What's up?"

  "We're out of here," Alan said. "Thank God. This has been the most bizarre assignment. So long, Somerset. And none too soon."

  "They have Pinchon?"

  Alan shook his head and lowered his voice as he came near. "No. But he was spotted last night at his cousin's house in North Carolina. The police moved in, but they were too late. Pinchon escaped out a window and disappeared into some nearby woods. But—" Alan shook his finger "—the cousin is spilling his guts. We know where Eddie's been and where he's heading." He glanced back toward the big house. "The cousin didn't even mention Reva Macklin."

  Dean sighed in relief. It was almost over. Almost, but not quite.

  "You go ahead," he said. "I'll stay here until Pinchon is in custody."

  Alan shook his head slowly. "We're to join the others in North Carolina tonight. Eddie has a meeting scheduled with one of his old cohorts, according to the cousin."

  "Which he may not keep, knowing his cousin was arrested and could very well talk."

  Alan wiped a paint-spattered hand across his face. "This detail has been called off, partner. We're out of here. Story over."

  No. Nothing was over, dammit. This should be easy; he should be grateful to be out of here. He wasn't. "I'll stay on my own time."

  For a moment or two, Alan glared at Dean. "I should've driven you to Nashville myself," he said in a low voice.

  "This doesn't have anything to do with my nonexistent sex life."

  "Of course it does."

  "I have a gut feeling this isn't over, that's all."

  "So, you're going to take vacation time to baby-sit for Eddie Pinchon's—"

  "Don't say it," Dean cut in, knowing what was coming. Alan covered his face with his large, paint-stained hands. The man was annoying at times, spoke his mind when he shouldn't, didn't know when to back down … but he was a good partner. Dean would put his life in Alan's hands without a second thought.

  "Fine," Alan said, dropping his hands. "I'll keep you posted on the Pinchon situation and you … you be careful."

  "I'm always careful," Dean said with a grin.

  "I used to believe that," Alan said as he turned away. "Right now, I'm not so sure."

  * * *

  Reva was ready to go home, but Dean was still out there, hauling the wood he'd cut to the street. She would have watched carefully and timed her trek so that her contact with him would be minimized, but she couldn't do that, not this afternoon.

  Somewhere along the way, Dean had taken off his shirt. It was criminal for any man to be so tempting when he was dirty, sweaty and half-dressed. He looked too good, and no matter how certainly she knew it was wrong, she longed for a closer inspection. No, she couldn't take the chance that they might end up face to bare chest.

  Reva stood at the kitchen window and watched as Dean loaded up the wheelbarrow with tree limbs.

  "Nice view," Tewanda said as she walked up behind Reva, a teasing lilt in her voice.

  "It's kind of disgusting," Reva said, trying to keep her demeanor cool.

  "Yeah. That's why you've been standing here watching for the past twenty minutes, because the view is so disgusting."

  Reva turned to her smiling friend. She would try to make up some other reason for lingering at the window, but she knew better than to lie to Tewanda. "He does have rather interesting muscles."

  "That he does," Tewanda said, glancing over Reva's shoulder. "You could take the poor man some iced tea or a glass of water. Something. Wouldn't you like a closer look at those muscles?"

  The truth, spoken so bluntly, made Reva shiver. "No," she said quickly.

  Tewanda crossed her arms and sighed. "What am I going to do with you? You obviously like the man, but for the past week you've been treating him like he has the plague or something. Now, it's not entirely your fault. If he was any kind of a real man, he'd hunt you down, kiss you till your knees went weak and make mad passionate love to you on your desk."

  "My desk?"

  "Okay," Tewanda said with a wave of her hand. "The recamier in the south parlor, if that's more your style. Or right there on the stairs, like he just can't wait to get you to someplace soft and easy. It's not the exact place that's important. You get my drift."

  Unfortunately she did. "I'm not interested in getting involved." Not with Dean, not with anyone.

  "No kidding," Tewanda said softly. "I have to tell you, Reva, I don't get it."

  Reva turned her back on Dean, completely and totally. "I can't get involved with a man. Cooper is everything to me. He's my life. Nothing else matters."

  "But—"

  "We've had this discussion before, when you tried to convince me to date the sheriff," Reva interrupted. Tewanda was no dummy. She had figured out all on her own that Reva steered clear of men because she'd been burned by Cooper's father. Reva hadn't offered details, and Tewanda hadn't pushed. Friends knew when to push and when to step back.

  Usually.

  "Fine," Tewanda said sharply. "Tall, blue-eyed and studly is not permanent. You don't want a man hanging around. That doesn't mean you can't sleep with him."

  "Tewanda!"

  "Sex is a fine thing, Reva, a fact you have obviously forgotten. You're only twenty-seven years old. It's just not natural."

  "I can't just … just…"

  Tewanda leaned in and laid her hand on Reva's shoulder. "Yes, you can," she whispered. "If you want," she added quickly. "I wouldn't ever suggest that you do something you're not comfortable with. But, Reva, you're lusting after studly, and he certainly appears to be willing. Sleeping with a man doesn't necessarily mean sharing your life or your secrets with him."

  "I can't," Reva said softly. "I don't… It's just not…"

  "Sorry I said anything." Tewanda grinned, but without her usual vigor. "I just hate to see you twisting in the wind like this."

  Reva nodded and didn't even try to argue that she was not twisting in the wind.

  Like a good friend, Tewanda changed the subject. "Picnic after church on Sunday."

  "I remember," Reva said with a sigh of relief.

  "Are you going to participate this time?"

  "I don't know."

  Tewanda shook a long finger at Reva. "You'd better. Last time, there were a couple of people who were very put out that the most famous restaurant in town didn't offer a lunch for raffle."

  In small towns, even Somerset, there were always a few residents who were very quick to get their noses out of joint over nothing.

  "Besides," Tewanda added, "how will it look if my best friend doesn't participate? I'm in charge of this spring's fund-raising event."

  "Fine," Reva said. "I'll put together a picnic to raffle off."

  "We need that new roof." Tewanda shook her head. "Every dollar counts. Last time you packed a box lunch for the raffle, we got twenty-five dollars for it!"

  Reva watched while her friend and number-one employee fixed a huge glass of iced tea "I'm taking Cooper home with me. He and Terrance have a project to work on. Want him to spend the night?"

  "No." She didn't want to be alone, not tonight. "I'll walk over and pick him up later. What time?"

  "Let him stay for supper," Tewanda said. "You're welcome to join us, too."

  "Thanks, but I'd bett
er not. I have a ton of paperwork to do. Might as well take advantage of the quiet."

  Tewanda nodded, understanding to well. "You can pick Cooper up around seven."

  "Sure."

  Tewanda turned and handed the cold glass of tea to Reva. "I'm going to collect the kids and get out of here while you take this out to studly. You don't have to sleep with him if you don't want to, but it would be very poor manners to let the man get dehydrated while he's working in your yard. What would the neighbors say?"

  Reva turned, iced tea in hand, and watched as Dean returned from the street and began loading the wheelbarrow again.

  Her stomach fluttered as Dean lifted a particularly heavy limb and the muscles in his arms and shoulders strained nicely. After tossing the limb into the wheelbarrow, he swiped a hand across his face. He looked so determined, so … tempting. For seven years, she'd managed to get along just fine without being tempted, but Dean was different.

  The last thing she needed was to come face-to-face, day after day, with a man who was different. Somehow, some way, she was going to have to convince Dean not to settle here in Somerset.

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  « ^ »

  A frantic phone call from Cooper at six-thirty had the boy begging to spend the night with Terrance. They hadn't finished their project, Russell had promised to help the younger boys after supper, and a breathless explanation of all the reasons Cooper needed to spend the night at the Hardy house ended with a long, loud "Pleeeeeze?"

  Reva gave in, packed a bag and walked to Tewanda's to drop off Cooper's things. There had been a time when she'd not allowed her son to spend the night at the Hardys' on school nights, but since Tewanda assured her all the boys behaved well and were in bed and asleep on time, she made occasional exceptions these days.

  It wouldn't be fair to make Cooper come home simply because she didn't want to be alone. It was good for him to play with the other boys, and Tewanda's husband, Charles, was a good husband and father who occasionally took all the boys out for a rousing game of catch. Charles was the coach of Terrance and Cooper's T-ball team. They had practice tomorrow afternoon, a game Thursday night. If the kids finished their project on time, Charles would probably spend a little time going over strategy with the six-year-olds. And then he'd have them doing push-ups on the living-room floor, and the kids would giggle as Charles acted like a demanding drill sergeant.

  After she'd dropped off Cooper's things and kissed him goodbye—much to his chagrin, since all three of the Hardy boys were present—Reva had walked home, taking her time, letting her mind wander as she walked. She didn't allow her mind to wander too far or to slip into territories best left unexplored. But she did glance into the driveway of Miss Evelyn's house as she passed. The car Dean and his friend had driven to Somerset was gone.

  They could be anywhere. After this afternoon's awkward encounter when she'd spilled iced tea all over the poor man, the two newcomers might be gone for good. Her heart skipped a beat. Just as well, right?

  For a moment, just a moment, Reva considered Tewanda's outrageous suggestion. She could sleep with Dean without ties, without telling him all about her past. It was tempting in a completely selfish way.

  The problem was, she couldn't separate sex from love. The act and the emotion went together, and she couldn't imagine having one without the other.

  Eddie had been the only man in her life, in her bed, and she had loved him. She'd been young, foolish and blind, but for a while she had loved Eddie with all of her gullible heart. In the end, his betrayal had twisted her inside out. He'd destroyed her world, taken away everything she'd believed to be true and right. If not for Cooper, she might not have survived.

  Which was reason enough not to fall in love again. Ever. Another betrayal, another heartbreak, would have the power to destroy her. She couldn't fall for any man and let him make her believe in a love that didn't exist.

  She had a feeling Dean would be much too easy to fall for.

  * * *

  Alan had taken the car and the telescope with him, leaving Dean basically stranded here in Somerset. He didn't mind, not at the moment, though he did miss the telescope when night fell.

  Dean sat at the window and looked out on the dark, quiet street.

  Until now, he and Alan had taken turns staying up late and getting up early to keep an eye on Miss Reva's. Each night had been as boring and uneventful as the last. So why was he so reluctant to go to bed?

  For a while, much longer than was necessary, he sat in a chair at the window, watching the big house across the street. All was dark and quiet, and would remain that way until early tomorrow morning when Reva's employees began to arrive. So why couldn't he let it go?

  Maybe Alan was right, and Pinchon was in custody—or soon would be. But then, why hadn't he called? Dean knew darn well that as soon as Pinchon had been apprehended, Alan would be happy to let Dean know he no longer had any reason to remain in Somerset.

  It was near eleven when his cell phone rang.

  "Sinclair."

  "We missed Pinchon," Alan said tersely. "You were probably right. He must've known his cousin would talk and changed his plans."

  "Are you coming back?" Dean asked, his eyes remaining on the dark house across the street.

  "If you need me, I can swing it. Personally I think I can do more good here."

  Dean thought about the offer for a minute. "You stay where you are. Keep me informed."

  "You know I will."

  Alan didn't have to say that Dean's insistence to stay in Somerset was a bad idea. He'd already made his opinion on the matter very clear.

  They ended the call, and Dean gave serious consideration to finding his way to bed. It had been a long day. Muscles he hadn't known he had ached. The only high spot of the day had been when Reva brought him a glass of iced tea. She'd walked across the lawn like something out of a fantasy, dress swaying as she approached, shape enticing, walk sexy as hell. When she'd come near, she'd looked directly at him, blushed, tripped over her own feet and doused him with cold tea. The tea had felt good.

  Watching Reva lose her hard-won cool had been even better.

  Alan was convinced she was a scheming liar; Dean was just as convinced that she was an innocent caught in the crossfire.

  Out of nowhere, a flash of light in the night caught his attention. Dean stood abruptly and leaned closer to the window. He held his breath. There it was again. A flashlight beam in a dark window of Reva's restaurant.

  And Pinchon's whereabouts were unknown.

  Dean grabbed his weapon from the end table by the window and tucked it into his waistband, then he left the house as quickly and quietly as possible. As a stair creaked beneath his step, he hoped Mrs. Fister was a deep sleeper. The last thing he needed was the old woman turning on all the lights in the house and following him outside to see what was going on. She would, too, shotgun in hand.

  He ran across the street, staying in shadow and keeping his eyes on the window where he had seen the flash of light. Outside the restaurant, all was quiet. He checked the front door. It was solidly locked. Without making a sound, he slipped around to the side of the house. The rarely used doors there were locked, as well.

  Listening for sounds of an intruder, he stepped onto the back porch. When he saw the door hanging open an inch or two, he drew his weapon. The pistol fit comfortably in his right hand as he edged toward the kitchen door.

  Adrenaline pumped through his veins in a familiar way, but he didn't panic. Panic was a good way to end up dead or to shoot someone who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Dean remained calm, but he listened carefully and searched the corners of the moonlit kitchen as he walked into the house.

  All was quiet. The old house had a life all its own, and at the moment it seemed to be sleeping. During the day it was such a lively place, with Reva's employees, her customers, the kids after school. At night the house was eerily silent and still.

  Somethi
ng upstairs creaked. The house settling? Or the footsteps of an intruder?

  Dean had worked in the restaurant long enough to know his way around, even when he hit pockets of blackness where no moonlight shone in. He found nothing on the first floor. He was working his way to the stairway when he again heard a noise from upstairs. A shuffle. A creak.

  Gun in hand, he crept up the stairs with his back to the wall and his eyes peeled for movement above and ahead. If he stayed close enough to the wall, the steps didn't creak. He'd discovered that in his days repairing this old house. Whoever was up there wouldn't hear him coming.

  It wouldn't have been all that difficult for Eddie to find Reva. There had been articles written about her restaurant. All Eddie had to do was type her name into an Internet search engine, and the articles would pop up, complete with the address of Miss Reva's.

  Like it or not, he had to consider the possibility that Alan was right. Maybe Eddie had called Reva days ago and she'd been waiting for his arrival. They were upstairs right now, hiding in the dark. She loved the bastard still, and she would do anything to keep him safe.

  At the top of the stairs he caught sight of a shadow at the end of the hallway, the dark outline of a person very prudently entering one of the bedrooms. No flashlight, this time.

  Again Dean stayed against the wall as he crept down the hallway. He listened to the intruder slinking around in the bedroom, noted by the sound of the footsteps where the person was located. Dean stopped outside the door, his back to the wall. The prowler—Eddie Pinchon or a common burglar—had made a circle of the room and was heading back toward the hallway.

  Dean slipped the pistol into his waistband, freeing both hands. Judging by the sounds in the house, there was a single intruder, and from the profile Dean had gotten a glimpse of, the prowler was small and unarmed.

  As the prowler exited the bedroom, Dean made his move. He made a grab in the dark, found his mark in a too-slender wrist and twisted a delicate arm behind the intruder's back.