ON DEAN'S WATCH

by Linda Winstead Jones

  Dean turned his eyes to the field again. "Cooper's lucky. You're a great mother."

  Was he saying that just to get on her good side? "I wonder some days."

  "I can see it. So can everyone else, I'm sure." He glanced at her, his blue eyes unreadable. "Has it been hard raising him alone?"

  "It's all I know," she said. "I do feel guilty on occasion because I haven't given Cooper the ideal, two-parent, two-and-a-half-child life."

  Dean nodded absently. "Having two parents around doesn't necessarily mean they're going to be any good at the job. I had a mother and father at home, growing up. My father worked all the time. I don't think he saw me or my brothers play a single baseball game." His eyes crinkled. "My mother was so busy with her clubs and meetings and social events she wasn't around any more than my father." Again Dean looked at her. "Do you know, they haven't even seen Clint's twins yet? The kids are two months old, and the folks just haven't been able to find the time to make the trip. Eventually Clint and Mary will take the twins to meet their grandparents, but they won't stay long. Apparently having little kids around again disrupts the house." He shook his head.

  Reva tried to find a way to explain away the elder Sinclairs' indifference—and couldn't. "That sucks."

  Dean smiled at her succinct observation. "Yeah."

  Reva's own mother, Vicky Lynn Macklin, had been inattentive at best. She'd directed her energies not to caring for her child, but to searching for a man to replace the one who'd left her pregnant. The stepfather who had come into Reva's life when she'd been twelve had been stable, but not exactly loving. As soon as he'd died, Vicky Lynn had taken off. Reva hadn't seen her since.

  She couldn't go back and change her childhood, choose another mother or a father who would stick around. But she would have loved to have a brother like Dean or Clint, or a sister like Tewanda. She suspected those bonds went so deep nothing could ever sever them. "So your parents weren't Ozzie and Harriet. You have your brothers and a sister. That's a good thing."

  "Yeah."

  "And they're all married with kids."

  Dean nodded. "The family is growing. Everyone's reproducing."

  "Everyone but you," she said, immediately regretting her words. She tried to turn her attention to the ball field again. It had been a very personal conversation up to this point, but she'd just crossed a line she should not have crossed. "Sorry. None of my business."

  Dean let her blunder go for a moment, and then he asked, "What if I did have kids one day, and it turned out I was no better a father than my own?"

  He sounded so uncertain she couldn't help but reach out to take his hand. Dean Sinclair was always sure of what he wanted, of who he was. It touched her, deeply, to realize that he had fears of his own. The moment their palms met, she released him. Somehow the brief touch had been more intimate than having the man lying on top of her!

  There was an awkward moment, a strained silence, and then Cooper saved them. Dean pointed to the outfield. "Your son is wearing his glove on his head." A moment later Dean laughed, and everything was all right again.

  Standing before the dugout, Coach Charles Hardy waved frantically at the outfield. Tewanda stood not to far from her husband, watching the game. But as Reva's eyes scanned the sidelines, Tewanda glanced toward the stands. And grinned widely, as if she knew an enticing secret.

  Reva sighed and tried to return her attention to the game. How had things gotten so out of hand? She was much to attracted to Dean Sinclair. Worse, she liked him. Physical attraction she could explain away if she tried hard enough. But to like the man? Impossible. Then there was the prowler dilemma. Dean had put new locks on all the doors and said he'd take a walk around the place at least once a night before going to bed, but she couldn't help but wonder who would do such a thing. Was it troublemaking kids, as she'd suspected all along? And would they try to break in again?

  Tewanda had been counseling Reva to sleep with Dean and get the itch scratched, consequences be damned. If anyone had seen him sneaking out of her house yesterday morning, the rumors would already be circulating. But rumors were the least of her problems at the moment. Dean had a gun, and like it or not, rational or not, guns were her greatest fear. She hated them.

  Nothing could come of her attraction to Dean, and yet she couldn't manage to ignore it. Things couldn't possibly get any worse!

  She was wrong. Sheriff Ben Andrews climbed onto the stands and sat beside her. Now she had Dean on one side and an armed sheriff on the other.

  * * *

  The sheriff was sweet on Reva, according to Miss Evelyn. Dean hadn't had any feelings one way or the other about the man when they'd first met, but at the moment he didn't much care for the young lawman who looked more like a football player than a sheriff.

  Ben Andrews knew exactly why Dean was in Somerset, but he was not at liberty to share that information.

  "Sheriff, this is Dean Sinclair," Reva said crisply. "Dean, this is Sheriff Andrews."

  "Pleased to meet you," the sheriff said, looking and sounding not at all pleased. "I've heard a lot about you."

  No doubt. Dean nodded in response, noting the location of the lawman's weapon. It was holstered on the opposite hip from the one that rested to close to Reva. That was a good thing, Dean decided as he raised his eyes to find the sheriff glaring at him again.

  Sheriff Andrews's primary office was located in Cross City, but he had an auxiliary office here in Somerset. There was usually a deputy or two on duty, but the sheriff limited his days in the Somerset office, or so Dean had heard.

  "What brings you to the ballpark, Sheriff?" Dean asked, his eyes on Cooper.

  "Call me Ben," the lawman said. "Shot, I feel like I already know you. Dean, isn't it?"

  Dean turned his head slowly to give the sheriff a warning glare. "That's right."

  "Well, Dean, I came out to watch the ball game." The sheriff's drawl was just a little bit too deep, as if he was putting it on for show. "And to see Reva and Cooper. It's been to long since I called on the best cook and the prettiest woman in the county."

  It wasn't Dean's imagination that Reva's body stiffened slightly.

  "Really, Ben," she said softly, blushing.

  "Just the truth, Reva," Andrews said. He leaned back, and pretended to watch the game. "Besides, I've been trying to call you all week. Did Tewanda pass on the messages?"

  "Yes, she did," Reva said quickly. "Sorry I haven't returned your calls. I've just been very busy this week."

  Andrews glanced sharply at Dean. "Do tell."

  After a few minutes the sheriff sat up straighter. He adjusted the tie of his khaki shirt and shifted about on the metal bleacher seat as if he was sitting on a small rock. Yeah, the man was definitely uncomfortable.

  Finally the sheriff said, "There's a dance Saturday night at the Cross City VFW. I have to go, you know how it is, and I thought maybe you'd like to join me."

  "I can't," Reva answered with a shake of her head. "I, uh, have plans."

  "Plans," the sheriff repeated in a low voice.

  "Yes, I'm afraid so."

  "What plans?"

  Dean had been here long enough to know that Reva's life was regimented. Dull. She worked, she took care of Cooper, she was a good mother and a savvy businesswoman. She did not have plans for Saturday night. Surely everyone knew that, including the persistent sheriff.

  Dean glared at Andrews. He could understand the lawman's infatuation with Reva, but she'd made her feelings on the matter clear. More than clear. "She has a date with me," he said quietly.

  Reva's head snapped around and she looked up at him with wide, dark eyes.

  "A date," Andrews repeated. Poor guy, he sounded like someone had let the wind out of his sails.

  Reva took a deep breath and turned to face the sheriff. "Yes, I guess you could call it a date. Dean is coming over to have dinner with Cooper and me."

  Smooth. Very smooth. She included Cooper in the mix to keep things safe and still managed to maintain h
er excuse for not accepting the sheriff's invitation.

  "I see," Andrews said, standing cautiously. "Sinclair." He turned his full, angry attention to Dean. "One of these days you and I need to have ourselves a long talk."

  "Any time, Sheriff," Dean answered. "Any time."

  * * *

  Reva kept her eyes straight ahead as the three of them walked toward home. The three of them. Oh, that sounded so natural, so right. There wasn't much light left in the sky, just a hint. The shadows along the sidewalk were already deep.

  Cooper and Dean walked behind her, talking about T-ball and batting stances and the differences between a cap and a glove. A cap went on the head, Dean explained with an abundance of patience, the glove did not. Yes, testosterone was heavy in the air; but not as heavy as it had been when the sheriff and Dean had been talking to each other.

  Reva's stomach did a sick little flip. Surely Dean understood that they weren't really going to have dinner together on Saturday night. She was grateful for his improvisational excuse, but the "date" was a ruse, nothing more.

  Ben Andrews was a nice enough guy, but he was doggedly tenacious. Maybe if he believed she was willing to date other men, just not him, he'd back off. She hated to hurt Ben's feelings, but she didn't want to spend another three years telling him no on a regular basis.

  "Mom," Cooper said brightly as he skipped forward to walk beside her. "This weekend Mr. Sinclair is going to teach me how to catch a fly ball!"

  "You know how to catch a fly ball," she said.

  "He's going to teach me how to catch good. He played left field. He knows how to catch a fly ball." Cooper's words were fast, as usual, his sentences running together.

  "I'm sure Mr. Sinclair has other things to do with his weekend."

  Dean stepped up beside her. Again she was bracketed by two males. One little, one not so little. "Not really," he said.

  Reva sighed. The last thing she wanted to see was Dean and Cooper playing catch in the yard as a father and son might. She was already in to deep, and to watch such a simple activity would probably hurt like hell. It would remind her too clearly of what she could not give her son. But how could she forbid something so harmless?

  As they neared home, Cooper took off running. They had almost reached Miss Evelyn's house. Surely Dean would say good-night and cross the street now. Heavens, she could barely breathe when he was this close to her!

  But Dean didn't say good-night. He watched Cooper cut through the yard and head for home.

  "Does Cooper have his own key?" Dean asked.

  "The kitchen door is unlocked," Reva answered.

  Dean's response was to take her arm in a firm grasp and come to a dead stop on the sidewalk. "What?"

  Reva turned to face him. She had to look up to see the stormy blue eyes and firmly set jaw. "I told you, people don't lock their doors in Somerset."

  "That's ridiculous. How can you be sure your home is secure if you don't lock your doors?"

  Reva glanced at the hand on her arm, and Dean reluctantly dropped it. "I always lock the restaurant doors, and that didn't stop the person who broke in the other night."

  A muscle in Dean's jaw jumped. "You should be more careful."

  "This isn't Atlanta, Dean. It's Somerset. All the neighbors know there's a key under the mat if the door is locked and they need to get in."

  "You keep a key under the mat?" he asked, obviously appalled.

  "Sure. Look," she resumed her easy trek toward home, and Dean stayed beside her. "If someone really wants to get into my house, into any house, they'll manage somehow. Break a window, bust a lock—I don't exactly live in a fortress."

  He didn't head for his rented room, but remained with her as she stepped onto the grass and turned toward home. "I know that's true, but you could have an alarm system put in."

  She laughed. "An alarm system? In Somerset?"

  He shook his head.

  "Why are you following me home?" she asked as they passed beneath the tree where she'd caught him lurking that first night.

  "I just want to take a look around, make sure everything's all right before I go back to my room."

  She didn't say anything for a few minutes. Home grew closer. Her heart, what was left of it, grew a little heavier. "You're not going to quit your job and become a small-town handyman, are you."

  "We had this discussion yesterday."

  Yes, but it couldn't hurt to drive the point home once again. "You're to much a cop for anything else. You might enjoy your vacation, but you were made to take care of other people. I can't see another career making you happy."

  "I'm enjoying my time here, I really am."

  "I don't doubt that," she said. "But you're not going to stay."

  "No," he answered softly.

  Just as well. More than that, exactly what she'd wanted all along! If she ever did decide to let her guard down and love again, it couldn't be a cop. A man who carried a gun, who dealt with criminals and danger every day, who would have access to information best kept buried.

  "It's nice of you to spend time with Cooper," she said as she stepped onto the porch of her cottage. "It is, truly. But please don't make him think you're going to stay. Don't make him think you're … someone you're not, then walk away and break his heart."

  Dean stopped on the bottom step. She wasn't going to invite him in, not tonight.

  "What about your heart?" he asked.

  "My heart is not in danger," she said coolly. It was the truth. She didn't have enough left to break.

  * * *

  Dean climbed the stairs, trying to be quiet. The last thing he needed tonight was more advice from his landlady.

  He knew the moment he opened the door to the upstairs parlor that he was not alone. Miss Evelyn never locked her doors, either.

  When Dean saw the flash of khaki in the corner chair, he was grateful he'd moved the huge box of condoms to his bedroom.

  "I didn't see your car in the driveway," Dean said as he closed the door.

  "I parked on the next street over and walked," Andrews said, his Tennessee accent thick. "Thought maybe you and I should have a little talk, private like."

  Dean switched on the antique table lamp by the door. "Talk away, Sheriff."

  "Does Reva know who you are and why you're here?"

  Right to the point. "No."

  "Then by all rights I should kick your ass, no matter who the hell you work for."

  "You can try."

  Sheriff Andrews remained seated and relaxed. "Is this really her?" He reached out to the table beside him and lifted the old, grainy photo of Reva.

  Dean's heart thudded hard. No matter what, that photo could not make the rounds here in Somerset. "That photograph is property of the U.S. Marshals Service, Sheriff. It is as confidential as the reason for my presence here."

  "I didn't plan to give it to the newspaper," Andrews said gruffly. He returned the photo to the table facedown. "And I'm not going to tell anyone who you are or why you're here. That kind of information would be hurtful to Reva, and I won't stand for that." The big man rose to his feet. "But I also won't stand for you coming in here and taking advantage of her."

  "I haven't taken advantage of anyone."

  "See that you don't." Andrews passed close to Dean on his way to the door. As he stood there, with his hand on the doorknob, he added in a lowered voice, "If you're going to look at a woman the way you look at Reva Macklin, you shouldn't lie to her."

  "I don't have any choice in the matter."

  "Of course you do. There's always a choice, Sinclair. Always. I have a choice myself." He glanced over his shoulder. "I could tell her the truth. I could tell her who you are, why you're here, and that you came here believing she was somehow in cahoots with this old boyfriend of hers."

  "Everything you were told about this assignment was confidential."

  "Like I said, there's always a choice." The sheriff nodded his head and opened the door. "You tell her, Sinclair, or I will."

/>   * * *

  Chapter 10

  « ^ »

  "So," Miss Edna purred as she swept through the front door at eight-fifteen on Friday morning. "What are you cooking for that nice young man tomorrow night?"

  For a moment Reva stood in the entryway in stunned silence. "Excuse me?"

  "That nice-looking fella who's been fixing up the place. Dean of course. I hear you're coking dinner for him tomorrow night." She lifted her eyebrows and smiled. "A date! How exciting."

  Gossip apparently now traveled through Somerset at the speed of sound.

  "Where did you hear that?"

  "Well," Miss Edna confided. "Lisa Carlton was at the ball game last night, and of course she couldn't help but notice that you were being paid court to by two handsome young men. She heard you mention a date for Saturday night, and she just happened to have mentioned it to her sister Constance on the phone after she got home, as they were planning their menus for Sunday's picnic raffle, and of course Constance told—"

  "That's all I need to know," Reva interrupted, palm up. If she told Edna there was no date, word would get to the sheriff. Probably long before noon.

  "So what are you going to prepare?" Edna continued. "Surely you've decided on a menu."

  "Not yet."

  "Not yet!" Miss Edna was properly horrified. "Dean has eaten here many times, but while they were your recipes, you did not actually prepare the meals. The first meal you prepare for a man with your own hands is special, you know. You must give the menu proper consideration."

  "I will." Maybe she'd make grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup from a can. She certainly wasn't out to impress Dean Sinclair with her culinary skills.

  At least she'd been smart enough to include Cooper in the invitation. With her son there, no one could possibly call the dinner romantic. It was a date only in the broadest sense of the word.

  Tewanda breezed in, an impossibly wicked smile spreading across her face. "I hear I'm going to be babysitting tomorrow night."

  "You are not!" Reva declared.