ON DEAN'S WATCH

by Linda Winstead Jones

  "Everyone raves about it, and I get so sick and tired of hearing how marvelous that damn pie is. I thought if I could make a few fudge pies and sell them here, business might pick up."

  "Why didn't you ask?" Reva stepped to the counter to face the woman. "I would have given it to you."

  "You say that now, but if I had asked outright, you would have found a reason to refuse."

  "The recipe is going to be in the next cookbook!" Reva said. "It's not a deep, dark secret. Why would I have refused to share it with you?"

  Louella's answer was a flinty-eyed glare.

  "And why do you dislike me so much?" Reva asked in a lowered voice. She'd always wondered, and it seemed like the time to ask.

  Louella pursed her lips. "You have it so easy, with your fancy restaurant and magazine articles and newspaper coverage, while I just sit here and struggle to get by. It isn't fair."

  Dean cursed beneath his breath and set his empty cup on the counter. "Let's go."

  "No," Reva said. She planted her hands on the counter. "I struggle, too." She wouldn't tell Louella all her woes, but to accept the argument that her life was easy just didn't sit well. Especially not today. "The first year I was here, I had to take out a loan to keep the restaurant opened. There were many months that after I paid all the bills and the employees, I was lucky to have enough left to feed my child. Yes, things are looking up now. I'm doing better. But I worked hard to get here. No one handed me that restaurant on a silver platter."

  "All I wanted was the recipe."

  Reva turned away. "You can have it. Stop by the restaurant this afternoon and I'll make you a copy."

  Dean followed her to the sidewalk, and they resumed their walk to the bank. He didn't say anything. He surely found it amusing that a woman would go to such lengths for a pie recipe, but he didn't laugh. Not at her and not at Louella.

  "Was it really hard?" he asked as they reached the bank entrance.

  "Yes."

  "And you never even thought of dipping into that bag of cash."

  She rolled her eyes. "Of course I thought about it, but I never did. I didn't want any part of my life built on Eddie's dirty money. I guess you find that silly or amusing or—"

  "No," he said as he opened the door for her. "I don't. And I'm not surprised, either."

  She looked into his face as she walked past him and into the cool bank. "You don't know me well enough to say that," she said softly.

  He followed her. "Yes, I do."

  * * *

  Dean decided he could grab a couple of hours' sleep during the busiest time at Miss Reva's. He and Reva agreed that Eddie would most likely come at night. It was his style to sneak about in the dark, to hide in shadows and pop out like a bogeyman when you least expected him.

  But Reva was not alone. Until Pinchon was caught, someone would be watching her at all times. The sheriff was having lunch at the restaurant today. He would keep an eye on Reva until Dean relieved him.

  Dean was still a little surprised that Reva had agreed to stay in Somerset. It was the fear of not knowing where Eddie was or when he might show up that made her stay, he knew. She would put herself in danger to keep Cooper safe.

  Dean should be able to go to sleep with no trouble. For the past two nights he'd gotten nothing more than an hour here and there; he was exhausted.

  It would be easy enough to get Alan here. Hell, he could summon an army if he told them that Reva had Pinchon's missing money. He hadn't made that call yet. Wouldn't, unless he had no other choice.

  All his life he'd lived by the book, obeyed the rules. But he couldn't send Reva to jail for what was in reality nothing more than a foolish mistake made when she was too young and too frightened to know any better.

  There were so many ways this could go. The DA might want to press charges on principle, tie Reva in to some of Eddie's earlier crimes simply because she'd been there. It would be a tough case to make in court, though. Very tough. Then again, there might not be a single charge filed against her. It was all at the DA's discretion.

  Dean didn't have a single doubt that Reva had been telling the truth when she'd told him she'd never been involved in any of Eddie's crimes. She was no criminal; she'd done nothing wrong.

  He finally did fall asleep, stretched across Reva's bed fully dressed. His pistol was nearby, on the bedside table. The doors were locked, but he didn't think for a minute that would keep Eddie out if he was of a mind to come.

  There were no dreams. Dean tossed and turned, then found himself in a deep sleep. What seemed like only seconds later, a noise woke him.

  In one move he sat up and reached for the pistol, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The bedside clock read 4:15 in bright red. He'd slept longer than he'd intended and much more deeply. When Reva reached the doorway and saw the gun in his hand, she almost jumped out of her skin.

  So did he.

  "Why are you sneaking around?" he asked, quickly placing the pistol on the table. Reva looked at the weapon for a moment, then walked to the closet.

  "I needed some clothes, and you're supposed to be sleeping."

  "Where's Andrews?"

  "On the front porch, waiting."

  Dean sighed and raked the hair away from his face with both hands, while Reva rummaged through her clothes. Her back was to him, and he couldn't see her face. And still be knew she was tense, coiled so tightly she was about to explode.

  He would likely never have a chance to explain how they'd come to this point. And if he did, she wouldn't listen.

  "I did what I had to do," he said softly.

  "I'm sure you did," she replied coolly.

  "I never intended to hurt you." He stood and placed his body between Reva and the table where the gun lay, so that she wouldn't see it.

  Reva turned, a pale-green dress on a hanger swinging from her hand. Her cool tension turned to anger in a heartbeat. "Did you think the bimbo in your photograph wouldn't have any feelings? I do. I did, even then."

  "I never intended for this to become personal."

  "What did you intend?" She took a step toward him.

  "Reva—"

  "Forget I asked," she said, spinning around quickly and stepping toward the door and escape. Instead of escaping, she stopped in the doorway and turned to face him. She stood there for a moment, just staring at him. There was no expression on her face that he could read, no visible anger or disappointment.

  "For a long time after I got away from Eddie, I was sure that every man was like him. He lied to me from the day we met. He pretended to be someone he wasn't in order to get what he wanted. It took years, but I finally discovered that there were decent men out there amongst the liars and the cheats. I never so much as dreamed of having one of my own. My past would get in the way—I've always known that. How could I tell a decent man that Cooper's father was a murderer who once tried to convince me to stay with him by shoving the muzzle of a gun down my throat?"

  Dean's hands balled into fists.

  "And then you came along, and you seemed to be one of the decent ones. Handyman, cop—it didn't really matter to me. I knew I couldn't keep you, but I thought that for a while, for just a little while, I could have one of those decent men for myself."

  Dean took a step forward.

  "No. Stay away from me," Reva ordered. She held the green dress before her like a flimsy shield.

  "I'm so sorry—"

  "Save it," she said abruptly. "I don't want your apologies. They don't mean anything. They're just words you think will make you feel better."

  Didn't she know that nothing would ever make him feel better about this?

  She stared at him for a moment longer, then asked in a soft voice that crept beneath his skin, "Why couldn't you have been a handyman?"

  When she turned and ran, Dean began to follow. He stopped well short of the hallway.

  He couldn't make amends, not this time. He couldn't make Reva understand that this mess was tearing him up inside.

 
; All he could do was keep her safe and capture Eddie. When that was done, he could do her the favor of walking out of her life without making things any more difficult than they already were.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  « ^ »

  Over the next two days, they fell into an uncomfortable but workable routine. Reva slept at Miss Evelyn's. Dean slept in her bed. Cooper, who was beginning to ask a lot of questions, stayed at the Hardy house, except in the afternoons when he and Terrance came to the restaurant after school. Reva needed to see her child, and Cooper needed to spend a little time with his mother each day. The afternoons together made perfect sense.

  The boys were escorted home from school each day, either by Charles or the sheriff, and if necessary one of Ben's deputies would take on the duty in the days to come. All this was at Dean's insistence. It was just a precaution, he assured her. The boys were too young to be suspicious of the fact that for the past two days someone they knew had just happened to be walking in the same direction.

  Either Dean or Ben stayed close to Reva at all times. Ben had a tendency to get underfoot, while Dean kept his distance but still managed to be there. Around a corner, at the end of the street, just outside her window. Sometimes seeing him gave her a start, made her heart skip a beat and her breath catch in her throat.

  There were moments when Reva was sure running would be better than this, but she knew that wasn't the answer. If she had only herself to worry about, she'd run. She wouldn't ask Cooper to suffer the kinds of sacrifices necessary to make that work.

  She could hope that the federal marshals who were tracking Eddie in North Carolina and Virginia would be successful, and this crisis would soon be over.

  Reva had to accept that this crisis might never be over. Dean knew about the money, Eddie's money, and he couldn't just ignore the fact that she'd held on to it all these years. She could see the quandary that money put him in. Knew him well enough to know it wasn't easy for him to sit on the information even for a few days.

  Was he going to arrest her? He hadn't said so, but then, why should he warn her of his plans? The fear of going to prison would be enough to make anyone run. Maybe he wasn't really confused about what to do regarding the money. Maybe he was just stringing her along, and as soon as Eddie was captured he'd slap the cuffs on her. What would she do then? What would happen to Cooper?

  Cooper and Terrance were not yet home from school, but they would be soon. Frances and Tewanda were in the kitchen finishing up for the day. Reva had been paying bills, balancing the checkbook and making notes in her ledger. Tewanda kept trying to convince her to move her financial books to a computer, but Reva liked the feel of paper in her hands, liked making notes in her small, neat handwriting. Her ledger would never crash or be affected by a virus.

  While she worked, she listened to the sounds from the hallway above. Dean worked on the third floor, in the hall where he could clearly see the door to her office. There was so much to be done up there. Wood needed to be replaced, he said, and the whole third floor needed to be painted—except for the parlor he'd finally finished papering.

  A shiver worked up Reva's spine. He'd made love to her in that room. No—he'd had sex with her. There was no love in a lie, no love in raw seduction.

  She closed her ledger and left the desk, and when she opened the door, she looked up and saw Dean watching, his eyes sharp, his expression grim. He was prepared to follow her, but he wouldn't have to. She was going to the third floor.

  Since she'd been avoiding him for days, he was openly surprised when she started to climb his way. He put down the sandpaper in his hand, wiped dust off his face and his T-shirt. John Deere again.

  "Is everything okay?" he asked before she reached the top of the stairs.

  "No, not really," she said.

  There were times when she thought nothing would ever be okay again, but maybe that wasn't so. She'd survived Eddie. She'd survive Dean, too.

  "I have to know," she said, lowering her voice so no one below could hear. "Are you going to send me to jail?"

  Dean shook his head. "Of course not."

  "The money…"

  "You didn't participate in any crime," Dean said crisply. "Yes, it was a mistake to keep the cash, but I think if it comes down to it, I can make a case for not pressing charges, since you're assisting in the stakeout and didn't actually spend any of the money. Even if the DA tried, it would be a tough case to make."

  That I think Dean so casually threw into his explanation gave her a moment's unease. "It's not really up to you whether charges are pressed or not, is it?"

  He hesitated. "No. Not if this goes to the DA in North Carolina or a federal prosecutor."

  Like it or not, her fate was in the hands of a stranger who had no idea what she'd been like seven years ago. Scared. Pregnant. Wanting only to disappear—as she wanted to disappear now.

  "I was a different person then," she said, glancing past Dean and through the open doorway behind him. He'd finished putting up the wallpaper in that parlor all on his own. If she had the time and the money, this entire house would one day be a real showplace.

  Dean wouldn't be around to see it. He'd never lied to her about that at least. "And I didn't know what kind of business Eddie was in. I want you to know that. He told me he was a salesman." She averted her eyes and laughed harshly. "If I am ever again attracted to a man, I'm going to ask for proof of employment before things go too far."

  "I'm not like him," Dean said.

  She looked at him squarely. "Aren't you?"

  He did nothing. There was no protest. No move toward her, no defense of his actions.

  "By the time I found out what he was like," she went on, "it was too late."

  "It's never too late."

  "If I can't hide from Eddie now, what makes you think I could have pulled it off then?" she asked sharply. "I tried to leave. You know what happened!"

  "The gun."

  "The gun," she whispered. She knew there was one nearby right now. Since Eddie was coming, Dean didn't dare leave his weapon hidden in a drawer somewhere just because the sight of the thing spooked her.

  Dean reached out, slowly and cautiously, and took her hand in his. She could've snatched her hand away, and he wouldn't try again to touch her. Reva knew that. But she didn't pull her hand back. A spark twisted through her body from the place where Dean's flesh touched hers. It was warm, exciting and comforting at the same time. She'd missed that contact so much.

  "I hate to see you afraid of anything," Dean said, lifting her hand and studying the palm.

  "You made that case once before," she said, not quite as calmly as she'd planned.

  Dean's argument that the hand was to blame, not the weapon, made perfect sense. To her brain, anyway. Her heart wasn't yet convinced. If they had a few weeks or months or years, maybe he could convince her to one day set her dread of guns aside. Unfortunately they didn't have that kind of time. They didn't have any time at all.

  He held on to her hand long past the moment when he should have released it. His hands were large, strong and marred here and there by scuffs and scrapes that hadn't been there when he'd come to Somerset. She ran her finger over one blemish, a new, very small scratch across the top of his hand.

  "The other day, you said you wished I was a handyman," Dean said, his voice soft. "For the first time in my life, so do I."

  "Don't—" she began.

  "But I'm not," he continued. "I never will be."

  Her heart sank, just a little, even though she already knew who and what Dean was. Just being close to him made her remember, made her body remember, what they were like together. The way he'd made her feel, the joy and freedom she'd felt in his arms. Had it all been a lie?

  He tugged on her hand and she stepped closer to him. Too close. "But I do wish I'd told you sooner why I'd come to Somerset I should have, I know that. I just—"

  Reva tilted her face up and kissed him. He wasn't expecting the move; neither was s
he. It just happened, as if her body was drawn to his no matter what had come between them.

  She fisted her fingers, grasping at his T-shirt as he kissed her back. Gently at first, and then harder. His arms encircled her, and he held her as if protecting her from everything outside this circle. He kissed her in a way he never had before. Hungrier. More desperate. She had a feeling—no, she knew—that Dean Sinclair didn't taste desperation very often.

  There was unexpected comfort in the kiss. A simple meeting of mouths, and she was no longer alone in this hell she'd made for herself. She had Dean with her, beside her, all around her, and she wasn't alone.

  She melted inside. Her knees went weak.

  And she wished again that Dean was just a handyman.

  * * *

  Dean followed Reva down the stairs. The kiss had unsettled her; it had unsettled him, too. Just when he'd accepted that everything between them was over, she went and did something like kissing him out of nowhere.

  Eddie was going to show up here, but when? They couldn't continue like this indefinitely. Dean was still officially on vacation, though if he called in and revealed the news about the cash, that vacation would very quickly be over. He'd stalled for a couple of days, but eventually he would have no choice but to call Alan and report what he'd found. Somehow he had to find a way to put a spin on the revelation that wouldn't land Reva in a world of legal trouble.

  Dean Sinclair, spinning. It was definitely not his style.

  Cooper and Terrance came through the front door with their usual exuberance. The sheriff was right behind them. When Andrews caught sight of Dean, he nodded, then turned and walked away. The kids were in Dean's hands now. Just as Reva was in his hands.

  "Hi!" Cooper said with that brilliant grin of his. "Sheriff Andrews walked home with us again, but he said he couldn't stay for lemonade because he had to catch some bad guys or something. He talked to our class again today, but not about drugs. This time he talked about strangers, and how we shouldn't ever go anywhere with a stranger or talk to a stranger."

  "We already knew that," Terrance said in a calm, almost disgusted voice.