ON DEAN'S WATCH

by Linda Winstead Jones

  The first response would break her heart; the second was impossible. Dean wouldn't ever get serious about a woman who had once been involved with a man like Eddie Pinchon.

  She tried to write off her old love for Eddie as a foolish mistake of youth, but she knew it was more than that. She'd never known her father, her mother had always been too busy for her, and her stepfather had tolerated her. She had been pretty enough to have men make passes at her all the time, but desire wasn't the same as love.

  Eddie had made her believe he loved her, and she had been so starved for that emotion she'd convinced herself she loved him back. For almost two years she'd enjoyed the life she'd always wanted, ignoring the signs that something was not quite right. When she could no longer ignore the signs, it was too late. Eddie owned her; he wouldn't let her go.

  That wasn't love.

  She wasn't gullible anymore, she wasn't a child. But she was vulnerable and always would be.

  Sitting on Cooper's bed with the spring breeze washing over her, Reva finally decided that Dean wasn't coming back. That realization shouldn't hurt so much, but it did. It settled in her gut like a brick, heavy and cold. He'd used her and walked away. He'd taken what he wanted and lied to her. She was a foolish and gullible woman, sitting here in the dark waiting for a man to come to her, to make her believe she could become someone she was not, that she could have, just for a while…

  A hand appeared on the windowsill, and a moment later Dean vaulted himself up and into the room. He didn't wear khakis this time, but jeans and a dark T-shirt that would blend with the night.

  "I thought Miss Evelyn would never let me go to bed," he said as he turned to her. Maybe in the dark he couldn't see that there were tears in her eyes. "She wanted to know everything."

  "I hope you didn't tell her everything," Reva said as she stood.

  "Nope. I talked about the food a lot," he said. "And if anyone asks, we played cards. I didn't know what was on television tonight, so I didn't want to go there."

  "I'll remember that."

  He wrapped his arms around her easily, as if they'd stood just this way a thousand times. When he kissed her, she fell into him, grateful and angry with herself for feeling that way.

  "What's that in your pocket?" she asked as he took his mouth from hers.

  "An embarrassment of choices," Dean said as he lifted her off her feet and carried her into the hallway. "Condoms in every color you can think of, some that glow in the dark and a few with doodads."

  "Doodads?"

  "Don't ask."

  Standing before her rumpled bed, he very gently eased her down. With large hands that were much more tanned than they'd been when he'd arrived in Somerset, Dean untied the sash at her waist, and opened the robe.

  A few minutes ago she'd been afraid that Dean wasn't coming back. How could she have doubted him? He wanted her, and he was honest and open. Even if she couldn't admit that she loved him, she could certainly admit that she cared for him in a way she'd never cared for another man.

  He undressed himself, joined her on the bed and took her in his arms.

  She almost told him that she'd been afraid he wouldn't return, that moments before he'd come through the window she'd been certain he wasn't coming back. But what she'd asked of him didn't require that kind of confession.

  * * *

  Dean found himself kicked out again about four in the morning. Reva seemed to think that a safe time for him to make his covert trek across the street.

  He hadn't had much sleep. Maybe an hour here and a half hour there. He was exhausted. Drained. So tired he could hardly stay on his feet.

  And if Reva hadn't chased him out, he'd be awake still, making the best of this night.

  He let himself into the Fister house, making sure the door didn't creak as it closed. A light from the kitchen burned softly. Was the old lady already awake? Or had she left the light on all night? Frugal as she was, he couldn't imagine her leaving the light on.

  So he was extra careful as he climbed the stairs. Reva didn't want anyone to know he'd spent the night at her house, and he couldn't blame her. He'd soon leave the gossip behind, but Reva had to live here.

  He made it all the way to the top of the first flight of stairs before a bright voice called, "Good morning! My, you're up and about awfully early."

  Dean turned slowly. Damned if the woman wasn't every bit as quiet as he was! "Couldn't sleep. I thought maybe I'd take an early-morning run."

  "I suppose a young man of your ilk must work to keep up your figure."

  Dean couldn't be sure if she was insulting him or not. He trudged to the bottom of the stairs. Crap. All he wanted was a few hours of sleep. Was that too much to ask? Apparently so.

  "When you get back, I'll make you something to eat."

  "You know," Dean said as he reached the door, "maybe I'll skip the run and just have a cup of coffee, instead."

  "Nonsense." Miss Evelyn gave him a gentle shove that sent him on out the door. "You get your run in, and I'll make you something to eat. It'll be ready in about half an hour. Is that too soon?"

  "No, ma'am," Dean said as he began to jog toward the sidewalk.

  An early-morning jog. Just what he didn't need. Why was he going to such ridiculous lengths for Reva's reputation? If she was a married woman and their affair was illicit, he might understand. But neither of them were obligated to another in any way. They were both adults. It shouldn't matter. But for some reason Reva wanted to maintain a spotless reputation. The least he could do was run a little bit to help maintain that reputation.

  He didn't go far before he noticed, thanks to the street lamp, that one of the windows at Miss Reva's was open. The screen had been propped against the side of the house, and the window itself was thrown at least halfway open.

  Dean jogged in that direction, no longer half-asleep but wide-eyed and on alert. Maybe someone had accidentally left the window open, but given the last break-in, he couldn't buy that.

  He eased himself up and through the window. The opening took him into a downstairs parlor where a dozen of Miss Reva's guests ate lunch six days a week. Nothing was out of place that he could see, there was no apparent damage, and as far as he could tell nothing was missing.

  Dean took a quick and silent walk through the rooms. All was quiet. Not a squeak or a creak in the old house warned him of an intruder. There were a few papers spread across one of the tables, and in Reva's office a small stack of papers had fallen to the floor. For all he knew, someone who worked here had left it that way.

  He made his way to the third floor, every step cautious and silent. Each room was searched quickly, but as far as he could see nothing had been disturbed. He finally ended up in the room where he and Reva had first made love. On the fainting couch. Dean stood in the doorway, wondering what on earth had happened to him. Sex was one thing. Complete surrender was another.

  A few minutes later he left by way of the window, making sure it was closed securely this time.

  * * *

  She should be sleepwalking through her Sunday morning, but Reva felt strangely rejuvenated, even though she hadn't gotten much sleep last night. She'd been up early to make her picnic lunch for the raffle. Cooper had come home in time to get himself cleaned up and dressed for church, and they'd arrived just in time to take their places in the back pew.

  Louella Vine, owner and operator of the bakery in the downtown area, turned once to glare at Reva. Reva smiled. Louella turned up her nose and snapped her head around, chin high.

  Reva had never understood why Louella hated her, but the woman's feelings were obvious. They were competitors in a sense, but their restaurants were so very different. Reva could not imagine why the woman felt threatened. It was time for the services to start when someone stepped into the aisle and past the woman at the end of the pew. Reva glanced up and almost choked on her own tongue when she saw Dean, dressed in his dark-gray suit, blue shirt and striped tie, crossing in front of her and then sitting down at
her right.

  Cooper, who sat at her left, grinned and waved, and Dean smiled back.

  Reva glared at the man beside her. "You can't be here." Her words were so soft no one could possibly hear her. Not even Dean. He read her lips.

  "Why not?"

  Dinner was one thing. Going to church with her was another matter entirely. People really would talk!

  "If I snore, just nudge me with your elbow."

  Reva glared at Dean. "Why are you here?"

  He grinned. "I understand there's a bake sale and picnic raffle after church."

  She shook her head, just as the congregation rose to their feet to sing the first hymn. "Go home."

  Discordant but enthusiastic voices rose in song. Dean shrugged and mouthed at her, "Too late."

  * * *

  He should be in bed sleeping. Dean strolled before the table laden with baked goods and perused the selections. Cakes, cookies, brownies. They all looked good. The selections were already thin. Churchgoers had bombarded the table as soon as services let out, quickly choosing the best of the baked goods.

  If Miss Evelyn hadn't mentioned the picnic to him when he'd been ready to head to bed, he'd be asleep right now. But the idea of spending the morning with Reva was too tempting to resist. He wanted to see if she still glowed. She did. He wanted to know if he ruffled her feathers at all. He did.

  If he was smart, he'd call Alan in to relieve him and get the hell out of town. Nothing could come of his relationship with Reva. As soon as she found out why he'd come to Somerset, she'd despise him. Game over.

  Dean was usually smart, but apparently not today.

  He came to a huge platter of sugar cookies. He recognized that platter with its pattern of roses. Miss Evelyn had carried it out of the front door this morning. He cast a glance to the end of the table where a gaggle of older ladies stood. Miss Evelyn's eyes cut to the untouched platter of cookies. Was that a touch of panic he saw in her eyes?

  Dean lifted his head to the young woman who stood behind the long table of goodies. "How much for the sugar cookies?" He pointed to Miss Evelyn's platter.

  "How many?"

  "All of them."

  She cast a surprised smile his way and began to bag the cookies. He took his wallet from his back pocket and flipped it open to withdraw the correct number of bills and hand them over.

  Brown paper bag heavy with cookies in hand, he took off in search of Reva and Cooper.

  A small playground had been erected on the church property. There wasn't much to choose from in the way of equipment. A swing, a slide, one of those horses that rocked back and forth on a sturdy spring. He wasn't surprised to find Cooper and Reva there; Cooper was playing with his friends while his mother watched.

  "Cookie?" he asked, startling her.

  Reva snapped her head around and positively glared at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked in a lowered voice. "Go away."

  Ignoring her, Dean grinned and took a cookie from the bag. No guts, no glory. He took a small bite. Apparently Miss Evelyn had taken Clint's advice. The cookies were actually quite good. "Why should I go away?" he asked after he'd swallowed the small bite. "Half the town is here. The other half is across the street. I didn't snore in church and I haven't made any improper advances. Yet."

  "People will talk," she said.

  "Let 'em," Dean said gruffly. "What are they going to say?"

  Reva turned her gaze to Cooper. He and his friends were taking turns on the slide, laughing and shouting. "They'll say a man doesn't sit with a woman at church unless he has intentions of some sort."

  "Intentions?" He couldn't help it; he laughed.

  Reva blushed. "I'm serious. Just … go home before things get any worse."

  Dean was about to argue with her when the sheriff joined them, placing himself at Reva's other side. No way would he walk away while that man was here. Dean reached around Reva with the open bag and glared at the sheriff.

  "Cookie?"

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  « ^ »

  She felt as if she'd just run a marathon her heart beat so fast. Her knees were none too steady, either.

  If Tewanda wasn't in charge of this blasted picnic raffle, she'd grab her basket and go home. She didn't like the way Dean and Ben glared at each other, and she didn't like the way Dean looked at her. If she thought they had anything more than what they'd enjoyed last night, she wouldn't mind the glint in his eye and the set of his mouth. She'd probably adore what was undoubtedly a very permanent look.

  Dean looked wonderful in his suit and tie, and that didn't help matters any. His Sunday attire suited him in a way the jeans and T-shirts didn't. He was comfortable in his suit. She had a feeling this man who laid his eyes on her in a way that made her bones melt was the real Dean Sinclair, much more than the sometimes inadequate handyman he had transformed himself into for his vacation.

  Her heart hitched. He wasn't wearing a gun today, at least not that she could see, but as a deputy U.S. marshal a gun was surely a part of his everyday life. If nothing else, she knew she couldn't live with that. Not that she'd ever be forced to make that choice.

  Rafer Johnson bid twenty-five dollars for Louella Vine's lunch, and she preened as she passed the picnic basket to him. That was the highest bid so far. Most of the picnics were simple and fetched no more than fifteen dollars. Husbands bought their wives' lunches, sweethearts did the same, though sometimes with a little more flair than the more-settled husbands. Grandsons paid too much for sandwiches and sweet tea made by their grandmothers.

  Tewanda lifted Reva's basket, peeked inside and told the crowd what she saw. Lemon bars. Fresh fruit. Chicken salad and potato salad. Before she could ask for a bid, Sheriff Andrews shouted, "Thirty dollars."

  Someone in the crowd gasped. Probably Louella. A few other low voices muttered.

  Tewanda grinned and nodded at the sheriff. For a moment all was silent, and Tewanda began to step toward the sheriff with the lunch basket in hand.

  Then Dean called out, "Forty."

  The murmuring of the crowd was not so soft now, but rose in excitement. Reva closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear.

  Ben spoke sharply, his voice rising above the crowd noise. "Fifty."

  "Wait just a minute," Dean said. All eyes turned to him, including Reva's, as he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He flipped it open, looked inside and leafed through the bills.

  "Seventy-seven dollars, and I'll build a fort on the playground."

  Cooper and his friends jumped up and down and shouted gleeful hoorays, and the raffle of Reva's picnic lunch was over. A very unhappy sheriff stalked away, and Dean collected the basket from Tewanda and handed over his cash. All of it apparently.

  Reva made her way toward Cooper, weaving past people who grinned at her too widely. It had been years since she'd been this furious with anyone. How could he? He'd embarrassed her, made a spectacle of her and of himself, and she would never, ever forgive him!

  "Come on, Cooper," she said when she reached her son. "Let's go home."

  "Not yet. Pleeeeze. We're going to play tag, and Terrance is going to—"

  "No," she said. "It's time to go."

  She took Cooper's hand and together they walked through the crowd toward the sidewalk. They weren't quite fast enough. Dean caught up with them long before they escaped the church grounds.

  "Aren't you going to help me eat this?" he asked, his voice friendly and relaxed and … oh, he had no idea how angry she was!

  Reva released Cooper's hand and turned on Dean. "No, we are not going to eat lunch with you."

  The expression on his face was one of innocence and serenity. It had to be an act—Dean Sinclair wasn't innocent or serene. "I can't eat all this by myself."

  "Not my problem," Reva said, turning away and taking Cooper's hand again to lead him home.

  "Wait." Dean fell into step beside her. "You are really mad."

  "No wonder you're in law enf
orcement, Sherlock."

  "All I did was—"

  "All you did was make a spectacle of me," Reva declared. "People will talk about this for years. You have no idea what you've done."

  Cooper added to the conversation. "He's going to build us a fort! Can it be a big one with a wooden ladder and a swing and a roof so we can sit up there even if it starts to rain?"

  "Sure," Dean answered.

  "I don't think so," Reva snapped. "Any structure built by Dean Sinclair will probably fall apart the first time anyone tries to use it."

  "Ouch."

  "I'm sure if you do actually build anything, it won't be fit for the children of Somerset."

  "I'm getting better," Dean said just a little defensively.

  And that was the problem, wasn't it? Every day, Dean indeed got a little better. A little more appealing, a little more important. Every day, every single day.

  "Why did you have to come to town and … and stir things up, take something that worked just fine before you got here and twist it around, and—"

  Dean grabbed her arm, gently but firmly, and pulled her to a stop. "Here." He handed the picnic basket to Cooper, but his eyes remained on her. "Go back to the church grounds and find us a picnic table. Stay out of the cookies and the lemon bars until after you've had lunch," he added. "We'll be there in a minute."

  Cooper glanced to his mother for affirmation, and she nodded her head. Slowly and uncertainly, she sent him to do as Dean had asked. When Cooper was well on his way back to the church yard, Dean said, "This has nothing to do with a picnic raffle or me coming to church or making a spectacle."

  Her heart thudded too hard, seemed to climb into her throat. "It's just all wrong."

  "You don't want me to stay."

  "You said you wouldn't…" Reva began.

  "What are you afraid of?"

  She couldn't tell him, could she? "I'm afraid that I like you too much," she said. She was going to suffer when he left. She'd known from the start that he wasn't going to stay here, had convinced herself that was the only reason she could afford to get involved with him. But when he left Somerset, it was going to hurt. To watch him drive away, to know he wasn't coming back … it would hurt forever.