by Becky McGraw
Brock’s face floated before her eyes, and she shut them. No, Sheriff Brock Cooper had more issues than Time Magazine and Melanie had read all she needed to read from his words to know the man did not want a relationship with her. Or anyone else for that matter, which soothed her ego a little.
Last night, sleeping in that big king-sized bed without him, rolling in his scent because she couldn’t escape it, imagining his warmth there beside her had been sheer hell. Sunday night couldn’t come fast enough so she could get away from that cozy little ranch before she did something stupid like get too comfortable there and fall in love with it, and with him.
To appease her mother and friends, Melanie spent an hour in the living room listening to their complaints, recommending over the counter meds that would help them temporarily until she could get her license and the office set up for visits.
When she finally pulled up in front of Doc Carter’s office, she looked at the sky and knew she would only have thirty minutes or so before the dark clouds that threatened dumped their buckets of rain down on the town. Once they eclipsed the sun, it would be too dark to work inside. She wondered how Brady and Brock were getting along up at the cabin, if they knew it was about to rain and had appropriate shelter if that turned into a storm.
She gnawed on her lip a second, and her hand hovered on the key but she didn’t turn off the motor. Should she ride back up there to make sure?
They didn’t have rain gear, she knew that for a fact, because she’d packed for them. Brock’s mud boots were on the back porch at the ranch, and hers sat beside them. Hers—the ones he’d bought for Brady at the hardware store that were too big.
That’s where she could go to get Brady a pair that fit and they probably had ponchos too. Would it stop raining by the time she got to the cabin which was over an hour away? She’d been with her mother and aunt all afternoon and knew they were fine, and she could come back here tomorrow when the light was better.
Her heart did a funny little flip in her chest as she released the key, put her hand on the gearshift and slid it into reverse. The roads would be slick on the way, it would be past dark when she got there, and rain would probably be coming down in sheets as she trekked up to the cabin, Lucy would be livid if she found out.
Other excuses came to her too but Melanie ignored them all.
She was going out to the cabin, the place where she’d always been able to find her inner peace. Maybe while she was there, she could figure out if there was a chance in hell that she might want to stay in this town. If she had any reason to stay.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Brock stoked the fire with a branch as Brady gathered more sticks to add into the crackling campfire he’d built. The grill and skillet he’d brought sat beside a bottle of oil next to him, along with the floured fish filets from their catch today.
Brady’s almost five-pound catfish supplied most of their dinner. Lord, he’d had to hear about it all afternoon in play-by-play commentary from his son, and it had been music to his ears. Brock’s sides hurt from laughing so much, because every time his cork went under, Brady went into orbit. He caught three more smaller pan fish to round out his day. Brock caught a smaller catfish, and a couple of pan fish too, so they had a nice mess of fish for dinner.
They also had a nice mess to clean up where they’d scaled and skinned them.
Thunder rumbled overhead and Brock looked up to see storm clouds had occluded the moon. It sounded like they were about to get a flash rainstorm and he wasn’t surprised because it had been so hot and humid throughout the day. He just wished he’d have thought to pack their rain gear. Quickly, he put the grill over the fire and set the skillet on top, because if Brady didn’t have his fish for dinner, he would be disappointed.
“Brady that’s enough sticks—I need you to get our fishing equipment up on the porch. Get the trash bags out of the pack because we’re probably going to need them to line the floor of the tent tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Brady said, snapping a salute that made Brock smile. He darted around the yard gathering their rods and tackle, and Brock focused on getting their dinner cooked. He’d placed two foiled baking potatoes into the fire earlier, and now poured oil into the skillet to fry the fish. It took a few minutes for it to heat, and he stared into the flames wondering what Melanie was doing right now.
She was probably feeding the animals and making sure the barn was secure for the storm. Getting ready to sleep in his bed again. Maybe she was in the shower, he thought, and visual images of her rubbing her hands over her wet, soapy body made his insides as hot as the flames.
Brock sighed, and not for the first time today wished she’d come with them.
But that would’ve been a bad situation all the way around most likely. She had her mother to take care of, and there was Lucy. And he’d enjoyed his alone time with Brady.
He wondered if she’d managed to get all of the medical records requests faxed out Friday evening, and if she needed anything from him. He should’ve put this off until next weekend so he could help her. Brock also wondered how Rowdy was doing at the office, if he’d had many calls. The fact that he hadn’t heard from him at all worried him. Yeah, Rowdy was competent, but that office needed two officers most of the time. He might be pissed off that Brock took off so spur of the moment, dumping everything in his lap. Mayor Morris sure hadn’t been happy about it, but Brock really didn’t care.
Fire me if you don’t like it, Gordon. I’m doing this for your grandson.
Yes, he’d actually said that to the man, and he hadn’t been fired. His leave slip had been signed and Brock walked out of the office without another word. That did not mean he’d have a job when he went back though. Throwing gauntlets like that at Gordon Morris, the King of Sunny Glen, usually didn’t end well.
Brock glanced at Brady, who was digging through the packs on the porch, probably for the garbage bags. Damn, if he lost that job he would be SOL on his mortgage and his child support. He wouldn’t have insurance that at least half paid Brady’s medical bills.
That was probably the only reason Gordon wouldn’t hand him his pink slip. If he fired Brock, his daughter wouldn’t get the hefty payments from him monthly and someone would have to pick up the slack.
No—he was not going to let himself worry about that shit out here.
He was here to clear his mind and regroup, not to worry or obsess over things that hadn’t happened or he couldn’t change.
A water droplet hit the hot grease and the pop made Brock jump. He quickly picked up the tray of fish filets and carefully made rows in the skillet. They sizzled and he prayed they’d cook through before the rain hit. Another fat drop landed on his hair, then slid through his scalp. Three minutes later, the drops were coming quicker and he held the plastic tray over the skillet to keep the water away as he flipped the filets. Two more minutes and they should be done, he thought, as he flinched when a drop hit his forehead to slide down his nose.
“I got the garbage bags, Daddy,” Brady said, running up to stand beside him.
“Pull the sleeping bags out of the tent, cover the floor with the plastic bags then put the sleeping bags back in. That will keep our butts from getting wet tonight,” he said.
“Yeah, ew, I hate it when my butt gets wet,” Brady said with a giggle as he turned toward the tent. Brock did too, that’s why when the rain picked up more, he thought about gathering their stuff up and sleeping with the raccoons in what was left of the cabin. At least there was a floor inside, or parts of one left.
In the struggling fire, Brock leaned closer to the light and could see the filets were golden brown. He quickly used the tongs to remove them and put them on the soggy paper-towel-lined platter to his left, tonged the potatoes from the fire then set the skillet away from the fire to cool or wash itself in the rain.
He grabbed the platter, and ran toward the tent but stopped when he heard a grunt, curse and then clattering in the woods. His heart raced as he ran to the tent,
set the platter inside and grabbed his shotgun.
“Get inside the tent, Brady,” he said gruffly.
“I need to put the sleepin—”
“Now—get inside the tent and zip it up,” Brock growled, standing between his son and the woods. He waited until the tent was closed then walked toward the woods where he thought the sound had come from.
Brock knew from experience these old abandoned hunting shacks sometimes attracted vagrants or criminals looking for a place to hide out. Well, this one was taken and he was about to drive that point home—with his shotgun if necessary. Another curse and more rattling had him lifting his shotgun in that direction.
“Show yourself!” he shouted, as he pumped a shell into the chamber. It echoed through the woods but was muffled by the roar of the rain that had just started in earnest. Brock squinted to keep his eye on his sight as water sluiced down his face and into his eyes. He couldn’t see a damned thing because it was pitch black, but he could scare the shit out of whoever was in those woods if he couldn’t shoot them.
“Don’t shoot!” someone shouted, and it sounded like a female. Brock lowered his gun, but didn’t relax as he waited to see who walked out of those woods. Women could be just as dangerous as men sometimes.
Water burned his eyes and he blinked twice when a woman walked out of the woods, because he was either dreaming or she looked a helluva lot like Melanie.
“Hooty?” he asked, and he heard her growl so he knew it was her.
He opened the shotgun and ejected the shell, then snapped it shut as she slipped and slid her way over to him. Pleasure tried to take root in his chest, but he pushed it back to embrace the anger it warred with.
“What the fuck are you doing out here in the woods in a rainstorm?!?” he shouted, as she slid to a stop beside him to grab his arm and steady herself. “Jesus, you could’ve fallen off a ledge into a ravine and drowned! A freaking bear or cougar could’ve eaten you!”
“I’m here so that obviously didn’t happen,” she said flatly. “I was worried about you and Brady out here since you didn’t have rain gear. I brought it with me, but it’s back in the woods where I did trip over a fallen log.”
Brock tossed his shotgun back toward the tent and it landed on one of the sleeping bags that was as soaked as his shirt and jeans. He took her shoulders and she shivered as he ran his hands down her arms which felt like smooth, wet silk under his fingers.
“Are you hurt,” he asked around the knot in his throat.
“No, I’m not hurt, but this probably wasn’t a good idea.” She shivered again, and he pulled her into his chest, which wasn’t any drier than her clothes. “I’ll walk back out as soon as the rain stops some.” As if she’d commanded it, the rain slowed, then stopped as fast as it had started, leaving behind wet blanket humidity.
“I don’t think so,” he mumbled into her hair before he dropped a kiss there. “You’re here, and I’m not letting you go.” He didn’t mention he felt like she’d been there all day as much as he’d thought about her. Or that he was glad she was here, because maybe the gnawing ache of missing her, wanting her here, would go away now.
What in the hell was wrong with him?
He knew—there was no denying it—he felt less alone when she was around. Calmer and more in control of his life. Melanie Fox had become like his ballast in the storm that his life had become for some reason.
“You sure are bossy tonight, Mr. Man. You might want to put that testosterone to work in a more productive way by going back into the woods to get the gear I brought,” she murmured into his wet shirt, and he heard her sniff him.
Brock pushed her away and grinned. “I know I smell like fish, but there’s a reason,” he said with a laugh. “Brady caught a big one today and I skinned and cooked it up for supper.” He held out his arm to her. “Let me escort you to our tent so you can hear all about it. Probably until he falls asleep.”
Melanie pulled him up short before he could unzip the tent.
“How’s he doing?” she asked, and his eyes met hers, and although he couldn’t see her well, he could feel her concern. It was real, and probably the reason she’d driven up here tonight.
“Really well. We had a great day,” Brock whispered, and happiness filled his chest. Today had been the best day he’d had, or Brady had, since he was born.
“No stomach pain? Nausea?” she asked quickly.
“No, he’s eaten like a horse today, and had three power bars for snacks too.”
Better than he’d seen Brady eat in a very long time. Today, he’d been the kid he was supposed to be. Brock took a step forward and she looked up. He fell into her beautiful eyes and put his hand on her face and Melanie blew out a breath.
“That’s good then. Maybe the fresh air is doing him some good. Or maybe it’s the company.” Her skin stretched against his palm and teeth glowed white in the now present moonlight.
Brock stroked her damp cheek with his thumb and she shivered. “Thanks for bringing us here…for suggesting it.” The words were paltry for what she’d done for them—what she was doing for him. God, he’d missed her. His eyes fell to her mouth and she licked her lower lip. His lips sizzled and he would swear the water dripping from the ends of his hair evaporated as he leaned into her and his head descended.
Their lips fused, his insides melted and a feeling of homecoming washed through him when she put her hand on his shoulder and her mouth moved with his. Her small whimper teased his senses and his cock went rock hard as his hand drifted to her ass to pull her closer.
The ripping sound of the zipper being pulled woke him up, and Melanie too evidently because she leapt back from him as Brady stuck his head through the flap. Brock felt like a teenager who’d been caught necking, as Brady looked at him then Melanie and his face lit up.
“Miss Melanie!” he squealed, his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel. “You have to try some of my fish—it’s delicious!” Small bits of fish flew from his mouth as he spat out the words, and Brock laughed. Brady scrambled through the flap and stood up so he could stretch his arms as wide as they’d go. “It was this big!” he said, and Melanie’s jaw dropped comically and her eyes widened. He stretched them wider and a little behind him, poking out his chest. “No—this big!” he corrected.
Brock’s insides quivered as laughter bubbled in his chest. When he couldn’t hold it in anymore he threw back his head and it exploded from him. Melanie giggled, then elbowed him but he heard her laugh too.
“You must’ve caught that granddaddy catfish my daddy had been trying to catch out here for years,” she said, and Brady gasped.
“You think so?” he asked, his eyes wide.
“Yep, he tried to catch it every time we—” Melanie stopped, and Brock’s eyes flew to her face which had fallen. Her lower lip trembled and she bit it. He felt her pain deep inside his chest, and without thinking, he pulled her in for a tight hug. She buried her face in his wet shirt and he rubbed her back until her breath came out in a rush. He pushed her back and looked down into her moist eyes then released her to lean down and hold open the tent flap.
“Let’s eat some of that fish for your daddy,” he said. She smiled and it was like the sun came out in the middle of the darkness inside of him.
“If this little squirrel hasn’t eaten it all,” she said with a laugh, and Brady giggled as she ruffled his hair and ducked inside the tent.
At that moment, Brock gave up the fight. Whether he wanted a relationship or not, it looked like fate had decided he was having one—with Melanie Fox. Because there was some strange cosmic connection going on between them and the thought of her leaving made his damned chest ache.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Melanie moaned as she sat cross-legged inside the tent beside Brock and popped the last piece of cold fish into her mouth. The greasy piece seesawed in her throat before finally going down. “Oh my, God, Brady. This is the best fish I’ve ever eaten. You really caught this?” she asked, licking the grease
from her fingers.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied proudly, his teeth flashing in the lantern light.
When he opened his mouth again, she knew it was to recount his story to her again for the sixth time, but his jaw opened wider into a big yawn and his breath came out in a tired, but happy rush when it closed.
“You tired, sport?” Brock asked, casting a hot glance at Melanie that scorched her insides.
“Yes, sir—catching that big fish was hard work!” Brady replied.
“Give me a hug goodnight then, and crawl into Miss Mel’s pup tent and go to sleep. We’ll go fishing again in the morning before we leave, if you’re up to it.”
Melanie bought that tent and sleeping bag for herself at the hardware store, but Brock rearranged the sleeping stations after they rescued her gear from the woods where she’d dropped it when she slipped. They took the damp sleeping bags and gave Brady the dry one in her tent supposedly so he didn’t get chilled. Brady didn’t mind, the prospect of having his own tent had thrilled him.
Whether their bags were damp or not, Melanie didn’t think there was a chance of her getting chilled in this tent tonight. The tent was small and Brock put off body heat like a Coleman stove. That was a good thing, because she only wore one of his spare t-shirts because her clothes were soaked and hanging on the porch rail of the cabin to dry.
Brady scrambled up and duck-walked over to throw his arms around Brock’s neck. He surprised Melanie when he spun to her and did the same. Her insides melted as she held him closer. “Good night, buddy,” she said, as he pulled back.
“Nite, Miss Mel…nite, Dad,” he replied with a smile as he lifted the flap to walk outside.
Melanie gnawed her lip when she heard a coyote howl in the woods. “You think he’s safe over there all alone?”
“He’s five feet away,” Brock replied with a laugh. “The tent zips—he’s safe.” But his chest expanded and he yelled, “Brady, zip that tent up and don’t come out until morning, okay?”