Always the One: (Meadowview Heroes # 2) (The Meadowview Series Book 6) (Meadowview Heat)

by Rochelle French

  Reinhardt had thrown the book at her when he hadn’t needed to. And he’d made her feel like a pile of steaming manure as he did so.

  The same way he’d made her feel when she’d crashed into town and Remy had tried to help her.

  “Uh, Coraleen?”

  She realized Jacob was waving a hand in front of her face. “Sorry,” she said. “I got a little lost there. What were you saying?”

  “I was asking what was up with the horse and Judge Reinhardt.”

  “Oh, well, Reinhardt won big on one race with him—won huge, actually, not that I approve of betting on horse racing, or horse racing in general—but then Visada had some sort of injury and had to be retired. I guess Reinhardt had other horses so he gave Visada to my grandpop. Pop had to promise not to sell him, is all. Like I would have ever let that happen—I loved that horse!”

  Tears came to her eyes—because god, life was hard without Pop—and hoping no one would notice, she wiped the tears off with kitten fur. Apparently Hot Tub liked being used as a tissue because her little motor throttled up and she purred like crazy.

  “I’m totally into horses,” Jacob said awkwardly, in what was clearly a valiant attempt at shifting gears to get her to not cry. “I love riding them, but to tell you the truth, they kinda freak me out.”

  Coraleen heaved in a long breath, steadied herself, and sneaked a glance at Remy. He still half-sat on Bill’s desk and had one booted foot hooked behind a knee as he spoke to Bill. His expression was intense concentration and a worry line transected his brow. A vein throbbed in his neck, pittery-pat, pittery-pat. How nice it would be to lick that line.

  Enough, she mentally berated herself, and ordered her mind to pay attention to nice Jacob and not to her body’s intense and utterly inconvenient reaction to Remy’s sweet, sexy body and heavenly eyes and—

  He glanced up and caught her gaze with his. Raised an eyebrow. Did he realize she’d been checking him out? Oh, god, he couldn’t read her mind, could he? He couldn’t see how she’d been about to undress him mentally, right there in the sheriff’s station, right?

  Or was he remembering their kiss?

  A little bit of sorrow worked its way through the fuzzy arousal—no future, she reminded herself, almost desperately.

  She’d known that five years ago when she’d asked him to arrest her. And had known it even more clearly the day he’d come to see her in AZ/PC.

  He’d sat across the scarred and graffiti-covered table from her, strong hands clasped together so tight she could see his knuckles turning white, his gaze flickering around the room, checking out Irma the guard, Janice her cell-mate, Ginny the long-haired hippie playing pinochle in the corner.

  She’d never asked why he’d come. Just drank in the sight of him like he was the last Pepsi on Earth and forced herself to respond to the strained and nearly one-sided conversation he attempted.

  Until he asked her that question.

  Then she said what she had to say. She’d hurt him. Made him go away. There could be no happy ending for the two of them.

  It took a second for her to realize Jacob still was waiting for her to respond. What had he said? Oh yeah, something about being frightened of horses.

  “Don’t be scared,” she said. “Horses just want to belong, and they want someone to tell them who’s boss. Just pretend you’re uber cool and make them think you’re someone they want to hang out with. Act like you’re in command. They’ll respect you and want to be your new BFF.”

  He laughed, his face losing some of the haunted expression he’d worn earlier, and reached out to rub the kitten’s ears. “Cute kitten. How’d the two of you end up here tonight?” he asked. “Were you really trespassing?

  She frowned. “No. But Bill didn’t know that. Some people around here think I’m a bad seed and don’t much like me. I think Bill is one of those people. Actually,” she amended, “I think he might like me fine, it’s just that he doesn’t trust me.”

  “Why were you in prison? Kill someone? Run a drug-dealing operation?”

  “God, no!” She bit her lip and squeezed the kitten maybe a bit too tight because it let out a soft meow, but then went back to purring like crazy. “Embezzlement. It’s a white collar crime.”

  “You went to one of those country clubs, then, right?”

  “Country club? Nope. But it could have been worse. Way worse. I’d been lucky—some women’s prisons are freaky-scary, but AZ/PC has a reputation for being, well, definitely not country club, but not a lot like what people see in the movies, either. Or at least, if there was anything nasty out there, I wasn’t exposed.”

  She thought of AZ/PC. Of the clean halls, working bathrooms, dormitory setting. Of how an inmate could earn a degree online, garden, work out, watch movies, read books. Of the work every inmate had to do that thankfully kept their minds and hands occupied.

  And of the night air that seemed perpetually filled with metallic clanging, squeaky steps from guards’ shoes, and the quiet sound of crying.

  No, she hadn’t been in a place where one worried much over shanking—or worse—but still…

  She’d covered it well, but she didn’t want to give this boy the impression that having been in prison was anything to joke about.

  “No prison could ever be called anything other than what it is,” she added. “A place where they lock you up. It’s not fun.”

  He nodded, somberly, taking it all in. Absorbing what she’d said. “How long were you in?” he asked, his tone more reserved.

  “Five years.”

  Jacob let out a long, low whistle. “Dude, that’s like, forever.”

  “Tell me about it.” She glanced over at Remy.

  He still had that hip hitched on the desk, deep in conversation with Bill, both of them with their gazes focused on a computer screen, Bill rapidly typing on the computer keyboard and Remy speaking too quietly for her to make out what he said.

  Sure did feel like she’d been gone forever. At the time she’d confessed, she’d figured she’d probably get about five years and had hoped some of the time would be cut off by good behavior. But since she never gave the money back and refused to tell the judge where it was (because she had no frigging clue but she couldn’t tell Reinhardt that), she’d had to serve the full five years of the sentence. And had lost out on so much.

  Remy straightened and came back over to her and Jacob. “Listen, kid,” he told Jacob, “you’ll be staying here tonight.” He gestured to the closet-like cell in the back of the room. “Bill will watch over you first, then Deputy Roy will take over at midnight.”

  “Wait, what did the kid do?” Coraleen asked, her voice suddenly strident and high-pitched in her ears. The kitten stopped its little motor and wriggled in her hands. “Sleeping in a cemetery can’t be that nefarious of a deed to deserve a night in jail!”

  He blew out a breath. “Coraleen, let’s go.” He glanced at the kitten, opened his mouth as if to say something, then snapped his jaw shut. “It’s time to get you home,” he added.

  It took a quick second for Coraleen’s heart to react to one particular word he’d said: Home. At first her heart went all gooey and soft and smushy—he was taking her home!—then something cold and heavy wended its way into the squishy, mushy mass and solidified there, making her grow cold.

  Home.

  She didn’t have one. Not anymore.

  She glanced at Jacob. Maybe the boy didn’t have a home to go to, either, and that’s why he was sleeping in the cemetery.

  “It’s cool, Coraleen,” Jacob called out, sketching her a wave. “I’ll be fine here. Bill and I get along great.” He turned to Bill. “Don’t we?”

  The young deputy smiled, and Coraleen recognized the very real emotion of pleasure on Bill’s face.

  Jacob seemed fine.

  Her interference wasn’t needed.

  She left, still confused, but after Remy had helped her into the front seat of his Jeep and hopped into the driver’s seat, she began peppering
him with questions.

  “Why was Jacob sleeping on a grave? What are you charging him with? Can the kid afford a lawyer? If he can’t, shouldn’t he be appointed one?”

  Remy blew out a long, steady breath as he steered the Jeep down the gas-lamp lit streets of Meadowview, headed to the country lane that led to his house.

  With the top down on the Jeep, the cold air stroked Coraleen’s cheeks and neck and flipped the edge of her towel up, threatening to prove she was indeed without undies. But as they drove over the bridge crossing Elderberry Creek, the cold chill warmed slightly and the chorus of frogs sounded like home and the scent of the creekbed filled her with such longing and nostalgia that she almost cried.

  But she didn’t. She’d stopped crying years ago, when it was clear, no matter how many nights she sobbed quietly in her dorm-style bed in the cinder-block room with the barred window, there would be no armored knight riding into AZ/PC on a white stallion, coming to her rescue. She’d made her choice and had to live with the decision.

  “Jacob’s mom died a while back,” Remy said quietly. “His dad has a drinking problem. I suspect Jacob’s taken to sleeping away from home. I couldn’t let him sleep in the cemetery—”

  “What, you thought arrest was better? What about Child Services?”

  “—and so I made a decision. I have the discretion to do so,” Remy continued, even though his exasperated tone told her she was on his very last nerve. “My job is to make sure Jacob’s safe. Child Services would normally be an option, but if he went to the one temporary shelter available to him, he wouldn’t be able to get out to the judge’s place to work. He’d lose his job. Besides, he’s a month away from turning eighteen.”

  “But spending the night in jail?”

  “Jacob needs our help, Coraleen. This way he gets a real bed with a blanket and a real bathroom and food that doesn’t come out of a potato chip bag. He’ll stay at the station for the night and we’ll sort out what to do about him and his father in the morning. I’ll put a few calls out—the Bullards have family in this area. Someone will take Jacob in while his dad sorts out his life.”

  “Oh,” she said quietly, humbled.

  She’d thought Remy was doing his stupid rules-are-rules thing, but what she hadn’t realized was that he’d found a way to still follow the rules but by going outside the box. And in doing so, he’d not only kept a kid safe, but had protected the kid’s future, too.

  Why had she jumped so quickly to the assumption Remy was being a jerk?

  Yeah, he’d always stayed on the straight and narrow—one reason she’d picked him to confess to, knowing that even if he argued (which he had, most vociferously) he’d still do what the law required of him and put her under arrest. But he was compassionate, caring about the citizens he’d sworn to protect, and she should have trusted that. She’d been unjustified in how she’d gone off on him.

  He was still the best man she knew. He took care of the townspeople, like Jacob. Like her, even when she wasn’t truly a part of the town. Not anymore. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

  She was just passing through. She didn’t need to worry that Bill thought poorly of her. She didn’t need to get all flipped out over the fact that her body wanted Remy’s so bad it hurt. She most certainly didn’t need to think about the amazing kiss she’d shared with Remy. She just needed to stay out of trouble. Find Visada. Then get out of town to start her life over.

  Yeah, easy for you to say, her mind argued.

  Remy slowed, carefully taking the turn onto the gravel and dirt road that led to his house so as not to jostle Coraleen. The Jeep’s headlights swept a soft beam across the undergrowth, round manzanita leaves flashing silver in the light, buckeye and redbud blurring together into a dark curtain. A hare darted in front of the Jeep, switched directions twice, then finally dove off into the tall yarrow lining a drainage ditch.

  He glanced at Coraleen, who followed the rabbit’s trail with her gaze, then rubbed her temple with her fingers and squeezed her eyes shut, as if in pain. So much for taking it easy, the way Doc Witting wanted.

  He’d get his houseguest tidied up (might take a while, given Coraleen appeared to have taken a mud rather than a bubble bath) and settled back down in the guest room. He’d keep waking her up intermittently the way he had all afternoon, then in the morning he’d call every damn citizen in Meadowview to see who’d take her in.

  Because god, he’d go nuts if he had to be with her for another day.

  Not bad nuts, just…

  He took a hand off the wheel and swiped it over his face. Hell. Why couldn’t he stop imagining untucking that towel and watching the fabric drift down to her feet? Why couldn’t he forget she wasn’t wearing undies? Why had he kissed her?

  He’d done his best to put thoughts of Coraleen aside after she kept rejecting his visits at AZ/PC, but how could one forget the most effervescent, big-hearted, and sexy-innocent woman that ever existed? Not easy, even when she’d pushed him away by saying what she did. No, he could not let himself go all batty over Coraleen again.

  Besides the fact that they were all wrong for each other, besides the fact that even though she’d kissed him back she still didn’t respect him or his profession, besides all that, she’d made it clear her plans to stay in Meadowview were on a ticking clock. Once she had the Impala back in working order, she’d take off.

  Leaving him to mop up the splattered pieces of his heart again if he let her get too close.

  The Jeep hit a pothole and Coraleen groaned, putting her hand back up to her forehead.

  He glanced at her and said quickly, “Almost there. I’m sorry you’ve been put through all this driving. Can’t be easy with a raging headache.”

  “The headache had actually gone away for a bit, until the house alarm went off. Got worse when Bill brought me in. He seemed to find more potholes on your road than you.”

  He’d wanted to chew out Bill for making her ride in the cruiser all the way to the sheriff’s station in Meadowview, compromising her health, but the deputy had followed protocol. Mostly.

  He glanced back at Coraleen and the ball of fluff she clutched in her arms. There was still the issue of the cat she was dragging around. Bill should have left the kitten at Remy’s house. Or dropped it off at the animal shelter outside of town. Bill had a key to the shelter and could have left it waiting in a warm cage for the volunteers in the morning.

  “Could you tell if there were any more kittens?” he asked. “Or a mama cat?”

  “Nope, she’s the only one, as far as I could tell. I looked around a bit and listened, but she’s a loner.”

  “Poor thing. I’ll take her to the animal shelter in the morning. They’ll take good care of her until she gets adopted.”

  A loud gasp came from Coraleen, and he sighed before dragging his eyes off the road to look at her.

  “She needs to be somewhere warm. Cared for,” he reasoned, not liking how Coraleen had suddenly gone even more pale. “The animal shelter is the best place for her. They have a great adoption team—she won’t get put down.”

  For a moment, all Remy heard was the low puttering sound of the engine, the gentle brush of wind against the windshield, and a faint chorus of frogs and crickets in the distance. Then a soft choking sound filled the rest of the space. He glanced over again.

  Was Coraleen crying?

  His heart churned and acid ate at his stomach. He flicked his gaze back to the road ahead of him, wondering what he should say.

  “She can’t go to the pound,” she finally said, only her voice came out thick.

  “I promise she’ll be fine. It might take them a while to find her a forever family, but she’ll be treated well there. Or is it that you want to keep her?” he asked. “Take her with you when you move into your new place in Placer County?”

  The choking sounds continued, only more muffled. He glanced at her. Her face was buried in the kitten’s soft fur and her shoulders shook, but no sounds of sobs came from h
er. She was holding back her tears, forcing herself not to cry even as her body fought to release the emotion.

  “Damn,” he whispered under his breath, aching to stop the car and take her in his arms and tell her it was okay to cry, even though it would be excruciating when he’d have to release her. But he kept his hands on the wheel and his foot on the gas.

  She sat back up again and stared out the passenger’s side window, cleared her throat, then said dully, “Janice, the woman I’m going to rent a room from, is allergic to cats. She said I could board Visada on her property, but I can’t have a cat.”

  He sighed. “Then the animal shelter it is. I don’t see any way around it, Coraleen. I’m sorry.”

  The kitten mewled, and Remy found himself reaching over and rubbing its soft face, caressing the kitten as Coraleen held it tight to her neck. The baby seemed to have found a home there, nestled next to Coraleen’s clavicle.

  Remy realized he was jealous.

  “Don’t take her to the pound. Give me a day or two to find someone who will take her. You can do that for me, right?” Coraleen asked.

  With one hand on the wheel and the other petting the kitten, Remy eased onto his driveway. “Sure. She can stay at my place for a day or two. I can try to find someone who will adopt her, too. Maybe someone with a barn needs a mouser.”

  “No!” she exclaimed. “I don’t want Hot Tub living in a barn. She needs people to love her. Adore her. Pamper her with tuna.”

  “Hot Tub?” He snorted. “Why on earth would you name a cat Hot Tub?”

  “Because I found her hiding by your hot tub. Makes sense to me,” she argued. “Besides, what difference does it make what her name is?”

  “A name should be something dignified. Respectable,” he said reasonably.

  “She’s a cat,” she responded flatly. “Her name doesn’t need to sound like it came from aristocracy.”

  “Riiiiight. Think of how embarrassed I’ll be when I have to go into the vet’s and say, ‘here, take care of my cat, Hot Tub,’” he said, coming to a halt in front of his ranch-style home.