by Terry Odell
“I can’t do this,” Colleen said.
“Sure you can. You’re as strong as he is. Probably stronger.”
“No. I can’t do this again.” Once Graham was okay—and he would have to be okay—she was going back to Pine Hills. She’d get a job in her dad’s construction office, answer the phones and do his filing. Boring, maybe, but safe. She’d find another man, maybe. He might not be Graham, but he would definitely not be a cop.
Chapter Thirty-three
Colleen squinted as the bright sun found its way under her eyelids. “Goway,” she groaned and pulled a pillow over her face. She heard the sound of draperies being pulled open. “Mom, no!”
“Sweetie, it’s Sunday. I know you’re not sleeping, and you can’t stay in bed all day. Why don’t you shower and come join us for supper?”
“Not hungry.”
“You’ve hardly eaten since you got back. It’s been almost three weeks. And I think you’ll like today’s meal. Go. Shower. I expect you downstairs in half an hour.”
“I said I wasn’t hungry. I’ll grab something later.” Colleen heard the water running in the shower. She felt the pillow being pulled from her head. Cold air raised goose bumps as the covers disappeared.
“Enough is enough, Colleen. You get in there and shower, or I’ll get your brother to come up and help me carry you in.” Her mother’s tone was one Colleen hadn’t heard since she was twelve. But it brooked no nonsense.
“Fine. I’m going.” She got out of bed and steadied herself on the headboard before stepping into the bathroom. She peered into the mirror. She looked worse than she had when she’d first left Pine Hills. A lot of good starting a new life in Orlando had done. She’d lasted a couple of weeks and come running home to Mommy.
She showered, fixed her hair into its usual ponytail and grabbed her jeans. They hung so low on her hips, she was afraid they'd drop off. She stepped out of them and found a black long sleeved knit dress that wasn't much more than a full-length T-shirt, but at least it wouldn't fall down. As she sat on the bed to pull on some thick wool socks, the heady aroma of whatever was for supper actually made her mouth water. She hadn't had an appetite since—no. She wasn't going to think of him.
Eventually, she knew, she should move on. Look at Sarah. She'd been madly in love with David, but after he died, she'd found Randy. There had to be someone else out there—if she ever thought she could want someone else.
Who cared? She'd found a clerical job so she didn't need to rely on Daddy, either. The sub-lease on her old apartment would be up in a few months, and she could get away from the guarded looks she felt every time she came out of her room here. She went to work, came home and lived via the Internet, where people couldn't get inside her defenses and hurt her.
A shout of her name brought her to her senses. She scrubbed her palms against her damp cheeks. "I'm coming. Hold your horses." She trounced down the stairs and flopped into her seat at the dining room table. Her father was already seated, as was her brother Greg.
“Glad you could join us, Colleen,” her father said.
Shit. She noticed the extra place setting and pushed away from the table. It was one thing to come down for Sunday supper, but to be tricked into having to be civil and socialized was another. “If you think I’m going to sit here and make nice, you’re mistaken. I’ll eat in the kitchen.” She stood, walked around the table and flounced into the kitchen, where a stranger stood at the stove, his back to her.
He turned, and she was staring into a pair of midnight-blue eyes, irises ringed in black. There were signs of pain around those eyes, but they held the same warmth and compassion she remembered. That she was trying so hard to forget.
“What are you doing here?”
“Sampling the soup. Are you all right? Rumor had it you weren’t eating properly. I thought you could use some chicken soup, so I came to offer my services.” He spooned up a mouthful. “Your mom seems to have it covered.”
“When did you get out of the hospital?”
“Ten days ago. Dammit, Mac. Why did you run again?”
She started at the sound of a throat clearing from the doorway behind her.
“We’re going out,” her father said. “A movie, and we’ll probably have some dessert at Sadie’s. You think you two can manage for a few hours?”
Leaving her alone with Graham? That was not the father she remembered.
Graham spoke before she could make her mouth work. “All under control, Mr. McDonald.”
“Make yourself at home,” her father said. Good grief, had he winked at Graham?
“Harrigan, what’s this all about?” Colleen finally managed once she heard the front door close behind her family. “How did you—?”
“Come, let’s sit and talk.” Graham put his arm around her. At his touch, she lost all control, sobbing until her stomach ached and her throat was raw. Graham held her until the waterworks subsided. Then he pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket, setting off another deluge.
“Now I’ll owe you two.”
“No hurry. But how about you have a bowl of soup? Bit of a chill in here.”
“That’s because you’re in Oregon, not Florida.”
“No. We’re not going to talk about the weather, Mac.”
She looked more closely at Graham. He’d lost weight, his color was fading. He looked like she felt. “Good grief, we’re a couple of wrecks. Would you like to sit in the den? There’s a couch, and more comfortable chairs.”
“Will you eat?”
“If you’ll rest.”
“Deal.”
She walked him to her dad’s recliner and helped him settle in. He favored his left arm and his breathing was rapid. “You really shouldn’t have come this far.”
“I can finish recuperating out here. It mostly a matter of monitoring my blood-clotting meds. My doctor referred me to a clinic in Salem.”
Realization crashed over her. “You’ve been planning this. My family was in on it?”
“You wouldn’t talk to me. I had to do something.” He smiled. “I like your mom and dad. Not sure about Greg, though.”
“Greg?”
“He picked me up from the airport. But he was shooting daggers at me all the way from Portland.”
She heard the effort in his speech. He wasn’t as well off as he wanted her to believe. “Do you need anything? Pain meds?”
“Jacket pocket. I think your mom put it in the entryway closet.”
She fetched the pills, went to the kitchen for a glass of water and brought them to Graham. He had levered up the leg rest and his eyes were half closed. “How many?” she asked.
“One is fine.”
She tapped out a pill and handed it to him, watching until he swallowed it.
“Okay,” he said. “Your turn. You eat.”
“You don’t want any?”
“Had some already.”
She went to the kitchen and filled a bowl. When she returned to the den, Graham’s eyes were closed, his breathing regular. She sat cross-legged on the couch and ate the soup. It wasn’t quite Mom’s, but not exactly Graham’s. She savored the taste as well as the blended memories.
“I can see you, you know,” Graham said without opening his eyes. “I memorized you eating my soup that night. I gave your mom the recipe.”
Colleen finished the bowl, and a second one. “It’s almost as good as yours,” she whispered.
“Why did you leave?” he asked again.
“I’m a coward.” As long as those blue eyes were closed, she could talk to him. “I thought I could handle you being a cop. But when you got shot, all my fears came back, with fear for you piled on top of them. I knew I couldn’t deal with it. That I’d feel that same fear every day when you went to work.”
“So I’ll quit being a cop.”
Colleen couldn’t breathe. “Just like that?”
His eyes opened. “What do you want? I can go back to school and be an accountant. No, I hate math. Or a
chef. No, wait. Knives and fire. Too dangerous. How about a librarian? Would that work?”
“Are you being serious?”
“Colleen, I’ve been lying in a hospital room for an eternity. Every time the door opened, I hoped it was you. You didn’t call, didn’t send a card, didn’t send a message. Nothing. If my being a cop is what’s standing between us, I’ll find another job.”
“But—”
“I love you, Colleen.”
Somehow, this wasn’t what she’d pictured when she’d dreamed of a man saying those words. She was supposed to feel warm and fuzzy. Happy. Not get chills of fear.
“I love you, too, Graham. But I can’t live with being afraid all the time. I’m a coward. A failure. Not the kind of person someone like you needs in your life. You can’t have me freaking out over nothing, having nightmares, flashbacks.”
His eyes twinkled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear anything after, ‘I love you’.”
She ignored the way her insides wobbled when he grinned. “Then listen to me, Harrigan. I’m scared shitless.”
“No, you listen. Being scared is normal. When it mattered, you acted. When we met, you freaked out at popcorn. Last month you kept your head in the middle of a shootout and saved my life. Functioning over the fear takes courage, and you’ve got that. In spades. You can get over the panic attacks. If you’d stop and think, you’d realize you already have.”
For a moment, she was back at the Bradfords’. But only for a moment. Then she was at the Walters’. “I killed someone,” she whispered.
“We killed someone, Colleen. Four shots. Together. There’s no way to know which was the fatal shot.”
She got off the couch and knelt beside the recliner, taking his hand in hers. “Graham…”
“The pills take the edge off, but they don’t knock me out that fast. I know what I’m saying, mo chridhe.”
Overcome, she lifted his hand to her lips. “I want to be close to you. Can you walk to my bedroom?”
“You realize I can’t do much once we get there.”
“Can you hold me?”
He smiled, a smile of pure male satisfaction. “That, I can do.” He lowered the leg rest and Colleen helped him out of the chair. When they’d made it halfway up the stairs, she realized how weak he still was.
“How did you manage the airports?” she asked.
“Wheelchairs.”
The thought of him willing to accept a wheelchair made her chest ache. “I wish you’d said something. We could have stayed downstairs. I just wanted to be close to you.”
“We’ll get there. If you weren’t so damn skinny, you’d be able to handle your share here. You’re all bones, woman.”
She slid under his arm, supporting what weight she could. “There’s still some strength in these bones.” They made it up the rest of the way with only one more stop. When they got to her room, Graham was filmed in sweat, and she hurried him to the bed. “Lie down.”
It was more like falling down, but he got to the bed before he hit the floor. “Nice room,” he said. “How do you get it to spin?”
“Shit, Harrigan. I don’t think I was as bad off as you were when I got shot, and I sure wasn’t up and around like this. You shouldn’t be up.”
“I’m not. I’m back in bed, just like the doctor ordered. Help me with my shoes.”
Colleen unlaced his sneakers and tugged them off. She sat at the foot of the bed.
“Relax, mo chridhe. Lie down with me.”
She lay beside him, staring at the ceiling. All of a sudden, she was afraid to touch him. Afraid of what she would feel. His hand found hers, and their fingers entwined.
“I’ve missed you,” he said, his voice deep and low.
“I’ve missed you, too.”
“Good. Kiss me.”
“I don’t want to hurt you. You need rest.”
“There’s nothing wrong with my lips. I’ll let you know if you’re overdoing it.”
She turned on her side and propped herself up on her elbows, careful to avoid putting weight on his chest. Slowly, gently, she lowered her lips to his forehead, his eyes, his cheeks, and finally his lips. His mouth coaxed hers open, teasing, probing. She deepened the kiss, finally pulling back when she realized Graham was struggling to breathe.
“I missed you so much,” he said. She heard the emotion in his words, even as he labored to say them.
“You’re going to make me cry again, Graham. Please don’t.”
“I can’t help it. I need you. You fill a place in me that makes me whole.”
“I know. Life without you is nothing. It’s like … like trying to make pancakes without baking powder. You can find substitutes, but it’s not quite the same.”
He gave her a crooked grin. “Have you been out finding substitutes?”
“Without you, I don’t even want pancakes.”
“That’s good to know.”
She searched his eyes and saw trust, compassion…and love. She saw someone who had put everything on the line, sacrificing pride and dignity, and come across the country looking for her. “Can we make this work?”
“I’m willing to give it my best.”
She smiled and snuggled next to him. “Can you hold me at all?”
“If I can sit up a little, I think we’ll be okay. It’s only my left side that’s sore.” He reached for the pillows. Colleen took them and propped them against the headboard, then helped Graham slide up on the bed so he was leaning against them. Gingerly she sat next to him, as he wrapped his good arm around her.
“You like being a detective, don’t you?” she asked.
A corner of his mouth turned up a fraction. “All but the being shot part. I told you, you’re more important to me than a job.”
“You say that now, but five, ten years down the road, when you’re stuck in a library with all those musty books, don’t you think you’ll wonder what it would have been like?”
“Not if I come home to you.” His voice was a low, deep growl. “I said I love you, Colleen.”
“Fears and all?”
“Fears and all.” He grinned. “Lets me feel needed. Besides, I have a few of my own.”
“Like what?”
He yawned. “Like right now. Jet lag has me running on fumes, my meds are kicking in, and I’m desperately afraid that if I fall asleep, you’ll be gone again. Promise me something?”
“What?” That was the word she heard come out of her mouth, but inside, she knew she’d said, “Anything.” That no matter what, being with Graham was better than anything else she could imagine. With him, she knew she would never have to hide from herself again.
“Be here when I wake up.”
In response, she reached over and stroked his cheek, tilting her face to his. After a deep, lingering kiss, she cuddled up beside him. “Always.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Acknowledgments
This book took root a long time ago, but would never have seen life outside my hard drive without a lot of technical help.
With heartfelt gratitude to the dedicated men and women of the Orlando Sheriff’s Office for everything they do for the citizens of the county. Special thanks go to PIO Jim Solomons, and to SWAT Commander Tom Stroup for taking the time to answer my endless questions about how things work in the department, and to Mark Hussey, Mick Kispert and Darrell McCaskill for their help. Don’t blame them for any errors. They’re either my mistakes or liberties I’ve taken using the ‘it’s fiction’ defense.
Thanks to Wally Lind at crimescenewriters for his vast knowledge and willingness to help with all things crime-related, and to The Graveyard Shift’s Lee Lofland. For the medical consults, thanks to Drs. Randy Ferrance and CJ Lyons, and to Robin Tennenbaum.
To all my critique readers—the Pregnant Pigs for their continued support and patience through revised chapters and a full manuscript read. Each of you brings something special to the tale.
To Steve and Karla at Novel Alchemy.
; To the ladies at CFRW.
To Jessica for her brainstorming and fight choreography. Thanks so much.
A look at FINDING SARAH:
Book 1 in the Pine Hills Police series.
Chapter One
Sarah Tucker's hands shook with anger as she fumbled the keys into the lock of That Special Something. Bad enough the bus driver stopped beside a puddle the size of Crater Lake, which she cleared despite the restrictions of her skirt and pumps, thank you very much. But when that headbanger in the heavy metal-blasting SUV had sped by, any satisfaction at her nimble footwork disappeared in a dousing of muddy water.
The cheerful jingle of the boutique's door chimes did nothing for her mood. Sarah rushed to her small office behind the glass sales counter and shrugged out of her coat to assess her wardrobe damage. She had an appointment with Mr. Ebersold at the bank to discuss her loan application. She couldn't go home and change, and the last thing she wanted was to look like she actually needed a loan. If you needed money, you couldn't get it, but if you had it, they'd give you whatever you asked for. She dampened some paper towels and daubed at her mud-spattered shoes and stockings.
Enough negative thoughts. Sarah hung up her keys and tossed her instant soup packet into the basket by her coffeepot. Another gourmet lunch. At a knock on the door, she checked her watch. It wasn't quite ten, but she'd open for a possible sale. Patting her windblown hair into place, she hurried to the front door.
Christopher Westmoreland stood there, looking impeccable as always. No headbanger would dare splash water on his perfectly creased black trousers. His strawberry-blond hair wouldn't dare blow in the wind.
"Chris. What brings you to town?" She stepped back into the store and toward the register. "I'm getting ready to open, but if you need anything, I'll be glad to get it for you." As if he'd actually buy something.
"Not today. I've got some appointments over in Salem. Thought I'd say hello before I head out." He strolled to the counter and leaned over its glass top, close enough for Sarah to smell his sandalwood aftershave and the cinnamon gum he chewed. "You haven't returned any of my calls. I know things have been tough since David … died. I want to help. Why won't you let me? For old times' sake?"