He heard Roger’s voice, but it wasn’t Lieutenant Jane Renner he pictured.
There’s something about her....
And he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stay away from her.
* * *
ANNA PACKED A lunch on the Monday morning after the skiing expedition. In fact, she went to more trouble than usual, making a salad to go with a leftover burrito she could heat in the microwave in the staff room at Angel’s Haven. She was pleased with herself when she plopped the insulated canvas lunch bag down on the passenger seat next to her purse. She could credit herself with some pride, at least. She’d be damned if she was going to make excuses to herself every day about why having lunch at the Kingfisher Café would be a really fabulous idea—at, of course, exactly the time she and Reid had met there.
Her phone rang before she backed out of the driveway, and she groped in her purse for it. What crisis now? But when she saw the caller’s number, her heart gave a bump.
“Reid,” she said, answering coolly but pleasantly.
“Good morning. I was hoping we could meet for lunch.”
She almost groaned. Closing her eyes, she felt her pride melt like candle wax. Damn it. “The café? Or shall we shoot for some variety?”
“Are we talking Chandler’s or A&W?” His amusement was apparent.
“Actually, either.” Anywhere he wanted to go.
Her certainty shocked her, given that she hardly knew him.
No, if she were honest with herself, she didn’t know him at all and wasn’t sure she ever would. She had a very bad feeling that a woman could marry the man and spend the next fifty years with him while large parts of him remained closed to her.
“Chandler’s is close to the police station, too,” he said. “But your wish is my command.”
She’d have to drive either way. She agreed that sounded good, and they set a time. After dropping her phone back in her bag, she looked ruefully at the lunch, debated taking it back into the house, and decided she could safely leave it in the refrigerator at work. It would still be good tomorrow.
Her morning was less than exciting, spent working on reports for state agencies. She never let herself feel resentful, unlike some coworkers. Anna believed deeply in concepts like compliance and accountability. On her watch, no child would ever fall through the cracks. No foster parent would go unvisited for too long. She encouraged the caseworkers to make a certain percentage of their visits unexpected drop-ins, too. Foster parents with Angel’s Haven were all warned that would be the case when they signed on.
She wasn’t sorry to break at noon, however, hustling out of the office. The day hadn’t warmed up, and the gray of the clouds had a milky cast, making her suspect they might get another snowfall whether this was supposed to be spring or not.
Maybe Reid would like to take his new skis out again this weekend.
But this time, he’d have to do the asking, she vowed. Pride. Remember?
Parking downtown was more plentiful than it was much of the year. The ski areas hadn’t shut down yet, but would soon, snow or no. Once people flipped their calendars to April, their thoughts turned to gardening and summer sports. For locals, this was the best time of year to hit the slopes, with lift lines short.
She walked into Chandler’s to find Reid waiting just inside. As usual, he wore a well-cut dark suit that made her think attorney, not cop. When he saw her, his eyes crinkled in a smile that barely touched his mouth.
The hostess signaled to them, and he gently touched Anna’s back to steer her ahead of him. That slightest touch sent a shaft of pleasure through her.
She knew the menu at Chandler’s well enough to barely need to take a glance, which left her free to study Reid as he read his more thoroughly.
Somewhat dreamily, she decided it was especially sad that he should have to hate to own a face so perfectly formed. The camera would love him if he wanted to be a model. He possessed the kind of hollows beneath the jut of his cheekbones that she’d seen only a few times before in real life. His nose was thin and straight, his jaw cleanly cut, his mouth just soft enough to suggest a sensual nature. And then there was the color of those eyes, so mysteriously dark.
To her horror, she realized he was looking right at her, amusement quirking his mouth. “Did I turn purple?”
“No, I was just, um—” Give it up, she told herself, and laughed even as she knew her cheeks had warmed. “I was admiring you. And thinking that if your brother looks like you, the girls are probably blushing when he so much as glances their way.”
Warring emotions showed on his face. “Damn, I’d really like to kiss you,” he said at last in a low, husky voice.
They stared at each other. Anna’s entire body tingled.
“Hi, can I take your order for drinks?”
Anna started. Beside the table stood a curvaceous waitress in a snug, short black skirt and equally tight white shirt buttoned up barely high enough to keep her boobs contained.
Reid gave no sign of noticing the waitress’s deep cleavage or the way she fluttered her lashes when she looked at him. After a questioning glance at Anna, he told the waitress they were ready to order their meals, then he and Anna did so.
“Wow,” she mumbled, watching the ridiculously young and sexy creature saunter away. “Now I know why I don’t come here more often.”
Reid’s eyebrows drew together. “What?”
“Every single waitress I can see is young, beautiful and buxom. Ours was flirting with you besides. That’s tacky.”
Reid laughed. “Do you know how disgruntled you sound?”
She pretended to sniff haughtily. “I was going for disapproving.”
The grin made his handsome face breathtaking. “Jealous.”
“I’m entitled.”
“No, you’re not. I’d guess that waitress was eighteen if this wasn’t a brewpub and therefore I assume has to be twenty-one. She couldn’t quite be my daughter, but closer than I want to admit. And no, until you pointed it out, I didn’t notice her breasts.”
“Really?” Oh, beg, why don’t you?
It earned her another laugh. “Really. But I suspect you’re right. Pretty waitresses probably are a draw. From what I hear, Mayor Chandler is a smart man. This is the kind of place where decorative staff helps the bottom line. What’s more, he’s also smart enough to offer a huge selection of craft beers and really good food, or people wouldn’t come back.”
“Well.”
This smile definitely extended to his eyes. “You’re too intriguing a woman to be so insecure.”
No one had ever called her intriguing. “I’m a social worker,” she said. “I don’t have cleavage I could hide a passport in. My idea of makeup most mornings is sunscreen and maybe a brush of mascara. I can’t be too witty, or I wouldn’t keep scaring you away.”
He’d remained smiling until then. The smile died abruptly and an uncomfortable moment passed. “But you notice I keep coming back,” he said, a little deeper and rougher than usual.
“Oh, God, I can’t believe I said that,” she moaned.
“Why not?”
“Because I sound like I’m whining that you aren’t calling me daily and sending me flowers. I didn’t mean it that way.”
His expression softened. The change would have been imperceptible to someone paying less attention than she. “I know you didn’t,” he said.
Their drinks arrived, and then salads. Probably to head off her next wretched outburst, he asked about the rest of her weekend, and Anna admitted her legs were a little sore.
“I punished myself by going to the health club yesterday.” She grimaced, and he laughed.
“The elliptical.”
“I swam some laps, too. And lounged in the hot tub. What about you?”
His frown came
and went so fast, she almost missed it. “I did...something of a stakeout Saturday night.”
“Aren’t police captains above boring duties like that?”
“This was pro bono. Remember the friend who had the fire? He’s had some other problems. I lurked to try to catch whoever has it in for him.”
That sounded more than a little strange to her, but maybe he thought it was fun. “Were you successful?”
“No.” If he’d been having fun, he shouldn’t sound so grim now. “He pulled another trick right under my nose.”
“What kind of trick?” she asked, feeling apprehensive for no good reason.
“He stabbed a hunting knife into my friend’s front door. A big sucker—” he measured the length with his hands “—black rubber handle.”
“That’s creepy!” Anna exclaimed.
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“But— Were there fingerprints?”
“No. Isn’t everybody older than kindergarten smarter than that these days?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Probably. And maybe even kindergartners, given what their parents let them watch on TV.”
“There you go.”
“This friend,” she said tentatively. “Is he the reason you took the job here?” And—had he ever said the friend was a he?
Well, there might be a whole lot she didn’t know about Reid Sawyer, but she felt confident he wouldn’t be spending time with her if he was already involved with another woman. He was too honorable for that.
Still, she recognized how cautious his glance was. “In a way,” he said finally. “The couple are the reason I’ve spent time in the area before.”
“Would I know them?”
“I doubt it.” He took a long drink of his cola. “Roger’s retired. They don’t mix much.”
So, not Reid’s contemporaries. Friends of his father’s? Um—the father he hated? Probably not. But even though nosiness did come naturally to her, she couldn’t bring herself to press him.
“How’d your home visit go Saturday?” he asked abruptly, telling her she’d been right not to persist.
“Oh— It raised some concerns for me, to tell you the truth.” She’d been disappointed, actually; she’d liked the couple, but the apartment had been too small to add an older child, and she’d learned that the husband was out of work and having trouble finding a new job. That made her suspect the stipend was a bigger part of their motivation than she liked.
“What do you look for?” he asked.
Since she could tell he was genuinely curious, she talked for a little about the kind of clues she sought on home visits, everything from the adequacy of the apartment or house to giveaways that might contradict something she’d read on the application or been told during the original interview.
“Everyone is sure I care deeply about dust or clutter, which is sad because I don’t. In fact, some messes suggest active, interesting people live there.”
“Sometimes you distinguish yourself from the caseworkers, but you seemed pretty hands-on with Yancey.”
She gave her introductory lecture about the web of interconnected services and supervision through the state, as well as private agencies like Angel’s Haven, and explained that she did continue to take on some children herself even as she oversaw the foster program.
“Yancey is one, obviously. But we’re not so big that I can’t keep myself informed about all the children we’re serving with foster homes.” She went on to tell him about the other services offered: counseling for kids and for families, a “shop” where low-income parents could choose clothes for themselves and their kids, and a Christmas house for holiday gifts. “We also pair with a safe house for battered women by offering day care for their children as the women rebuild their lives. It’s one way to help those kids stay with a parent and not need foster care.”
“That’s impressive,” he said. “I’m guessing a lot of locals have no idea those services are even needed.”
She chuckled. “I remember seeing an interview with your boss, Chief Raynor. He talked about how he’d chosen Angel Butte because he wanted a peaceful town for his family.”
“After which his nephew was kidnapped by drug traffickers and corrupt cops to put pressure on him to throw a trial.”
“There’s some famous last words.” She paused. “Did you think of Angel Butte as peaceful?”
“No.” The lines in his forehead deepened when he met her eyes. “I don’t delude myself.”
No, she thought sadly, he wouldn’t any more than she did. Abused children hardly ever grew up to be people who tried to believe the world was a kind place. They knew better.
“I’ve been wondering,” he said. “Are you ever forced to return children to a parent or guardian when you suspect the situation there isn’t safe?”
“Not often, but...occasionally.” She fiddled with her fork, not wanting to meet those sharp green eyes. “DHS—the Department of Human Services,” she corrected herself, remembering that he hadn’t grown up in Oregon, “and we are encouraged to weigh in when the court arrives at decisions. But of course in the end a judge makes the call. Sometimes, in my opinion, the wrong one is made.”
“So you just let the kids go.”
Why did she feel quite sure that was a criticism? And even that he was angry, whether it showed or not?
“‘Just’?” Suddenly, she was mad. “You say that as if it’s easy. No, it’s not. None of us like it. The truth is, though, that nobody is all-knowing. Maybe we’re sometimes too close to the child to see clearly. And what do you suggest as a better system? We immediately lynch all abusive parents—and, hey, who is going to judge the evidence?—so there’s no home the kid can be returned to? We set up an underground network to hide the kids? Of course, then the state wouldn’t refer children to us in the first place, which would mean we can’t help any kids at all.”
“I didn’t suggest—”
“Yes, you did. But before you judge, I’ll tell you that we do our damnedest always to keep a connection open with children being returned to a home, whether we believe it’s the right decision or not. We encourage the guardian to allow visits from the foster parents to ease the transition. We make sure the kids, if they’re old enough, have phone numbers they can call if things go bad. If we have any doubts, we put a lot of pressure on judges to court-order counseling and maintain supervision by the state for a reasonable length of time.” She stared fiercely at him. “We don’t toss them back like a fish that isn’t big enough and figure what the heck, win some, lose some.”
Reid looked torn between consternation and amusement. “Was all that fury really ignited by a simple question?”
“It wasn’t the question. It was the comment. ‘So you just let the kids go.’”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded gentle, as he sometimes could.
Anna’s anger immediately deflated. Her shoulders sagged. “No, I am. You hit a hot button, that’s all. Once in a while, we have to return a child to a home when we believe passionately it’s the wrong thing to do. But I also believe our system is filled with caring people all doing the best they can. Perfection is a pipe dream.”
“I suppose,” he said after a moment, “all I wanted was to hear you’re aware it happens and fight for those kids.”
“You mean, you wanted to know whether I really care.”
“No.” Now she could tell he was troubled. “I already knew that.”
She gave a little nod.
It was probably just as well that they talked about other things for the rest of their lunch.
And that a busy street only two blocks from the public safety building where he worked wasn’t a place where he could do more than kiss her lightly and say, “I’ll call, Anna.”
Getting into her car, it occurred to her that this might be
the first time he’d left her with a promise that she would actually hear from him again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
REID WOULD HAVE given a lot to be able to introduce Anna to Caleb. Paula and Roger, too. To get Anna’s take on everything that had him roiling.
Yeah, he thought with black humor—everything except his feelings for her.
It was the crack of dawn Tuesday morning, and he was running. Despite the exertion, he was cold. He’d never in his life had to wear gloves and Polartec to run, but spring in central Oregon made new demands. For God’s sake, this was the first of April.
And I moved here why?
Oh, yeah—for the kid who apparently detested him.
With each stride, his feet crunched rhythmically on the sidewalk, where leftover slush had frozen overnight. The resulting ice would make the morning commute a bitch, the cop in him thought. Pity the patrol officers.
He’d chosen a route that took him toward the butte that sat, so oddly, within the city limits. Because it was there, it set up a challenge in his psyche. He didn’t run to the top every day, but he did at least two or three times a week. The more disturbed his night, the more likely he was to feel compelled to push himself come morning. A road spiraled up the red cinder volcanic cone to the crater rim, where the huge marble angel sat on her pedestal gazing blindly out over the town at her feet.
His muscles loosened as he picked up the pace. He was breathing easily, but knew his lungs would burn by the time he reached the top of Angel Butte.
With little traffic to watch out for, and having met no other runners, Reid found his thoughts reverting to Anna.
He should have stayed away from her. Those first instincts had been dead-on. Her profession alone should have been as good as a flashing red light. Do not go here.
He wanted her. God, he wanted her. If that was all it was, he might have been able to manage a casual, sexual relationship with her—a woman who supervised foster homes for a living.
As it was... Shit. He didn’t know.
Harlequin Superromance September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: This Good ManPromises Under the Peach TreeHusband by Choice Page 11