by Susan Fox
His teeth flashed white in the dim light. “I’m a macho dude. A little bullet hole isn’t going to stop me.”
“I guess it was some other guy who fainted the other day.”
“I didn’t faint. I passed out from loss of blood. That’s a different thing.”
“That’s your story and you’re sticking to it?” She kissed his shoulder.
His arms tightened around her and he kissed the top of her head. “Damn right. And if you value your life you won’t be telling anyone otherwise.”
“Ooh, I’m so scared. Gonna come after me with your gun?”
“Nope. The other thing in my pocket.”
Laughter shook her body. “Oh, Jake, I do like you.”
“And I like you, Brooke. A whole lot.”
“So, you figure we ought to take this act home to bed?”
“That’s the joy of being grown-ups. We’ve got a bed. Might as well make use of it.” He stroked her back in a long caress that swept from the top of her head to her buttocks and made her shiver. “Besides, you need a good sleep. I didn’t let you get much rest last night.”
“I’m fine.”
“You might not be if you don’t get enough rest.”
She realized what he was talking about, and groaned. “Those darn books on bipolar. You know far too much about me.”
“Sleep, regular meals, exercise. Jess and Evan fed you, we just took care of the exercise part, and now it’s time for sleep.”
She wondered what it meant that he was so concerned about her. Was it just part of being a cop? “So, short of feeding me sleeping pills, how are you going to ensure that I get a good night’s sleep?”
“Wear you out, babe.”
An hour and a half later, Jake smugly thought that he’d kept his promise, though he’d worn himself out in the process. As he lay in the darkness with Brooke cuddled up beside him, he ached from head to toe. And he felt wonderful. Since they’d come home they had used another two condoms.
“Mmm,” she purred, “I’m definitely going to sleep well tonight. You’re just what the doctor ordered.”
He smiled and stroked her bare shoulder. “The meds you take—the lithium—it really works for you?”
“Yes, I’m lucky.”
“You’ll be on it for the rest of your life.”
“Until they find something even better, or cure the condition.”
“Side effects?”
“Very few.”
“That’s great.” He thought about Evan and Jess’s baby, and wondered about its future. “But not everyone’s so lucky. The meds don’t always work. Some people hate the side effects. Some refuse to take the drugs.”
“You absorbed a lot of information.”
“I’m used to reading for information. It’s a kind of focused skimming.”
“And you remember without taking notes.”
“Yeah, well.”
“Honestly, Jake, I’m fine. The lithium really works for me.”
“Uh . . . I was wondering about Evan. And the new baby.”
“Oh. Now I see where you’re heading.”
“Yeah. But if you don’t want to talk about it . . .”
“It’s okay. Yes, there may be a genetic component to bipolar disorder. For me, through my mom and probably her mother too. Well, Evan’s fine so far, and he’s almost thirty. Onset usually occurs by early adulthood, especially if there’s lots of stress, as there certainly was when he was young. I really don’t think he’s going to turn out to be bipolar. Or an alcoholic.”
“Hard for him, not knowing for sure, though. Hard for Jessica too, I’d think.”
She nodded against his chest. “Jess and Evan came to me after she accepted his proposal. She loved him very much and had no qualms about marrying him, but they both wanted to know exactly what might happen. We’ve had some frank discussions about bipolar and alcoholism.”
“And now they’re having a baby.”
She sighed, her breath warm against his skin. “They talked to their doctor, my doctor, and my psychiatrist, and decided to take the risk. The odds are their baby will be fine.”
He heard the concern in her voice and guessed that if Jess and Evan’s baby had bipolar disorder she’d blame herself. But he reminded himself of all the things she’d survived, and knew that she was strong enough to cope with whatever hand of cards the fates dealt her.
“The kid couldn’t have better parents or a better grandma. Or sister, in Robin.”
“Thanks, Jake. At least if there’s a problem, we know the symptoms to look for, and the treatments. As my psychiatrist says, no baby comes with a guarantee.”
“I guess not. I’ve never really thought about having kids.”
“Haven’t you?”
“My relationship with my parents is fucked up, and my job’s my life. No, I can’t imagine ever marrying or having kids.” Though, he had to admit, being with Brooke’s family had given him a twinge or two of envy.
“You’re not exactly the domestic type.” He heard a smile in her voice.
“How about you? Would you have another kid?”
She shook her head, silky hair caressing him. “No. Partly because of the chance it would inherit my illness, but also, I don’t know how I’d do with the stresses of raising a child. I’m good as long as I live an orderly life. Grandchildren are all the excitement I’m ready to handle.”
Chapter Fourteen
Brooke woke to a series of pleasant sensations. The warmth of sunshine on her cheek. A purring ball of cat curled against her stomach. And, best of all, Jake’s naked body spooning her backside.
Jake’s aroused naked body.
“Yum.” She reached an arm back and touched his hip, his buttock. She squirmed backward, wriggling even closer against him and breaking contact with the cat.
Sunny turned to give her his “we are not amused” look, then rose slowly, stretched languorously, and strolled to the edge of the bed. He glanced over his shoulder but Brooke didn’t say “stay,” and he leaped to the floor.
“He’s had me to himself for a long time,” she said as Jake parted her legs from behind and slipped his erection between them.
Her body was swollen and achy from last night’s lovemaking, yet she felt a quick surge of arousal. “Sore,” she murmured even as she shifted position to give him better access.
“Don’t want to hurt you.” He pulled away.
“No, don’t go.”
He gripped her hip, urging her to lie flat on her back. Then he straddled her and kissed her softly, just a quick touch on her lips. Then light little kisses on her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach. He eased her legs apart and kneeled between them, backing his way down the bed. He ran his hands under her and lifted her lower body, raising her to his face. And then, using his lips and tongue, he fed the flame of her desire.
She was helpless in his hands; she couldn’t even touch him. All she could do was respond. Finally, hot and slippery and nearing climax, she said, “I want you in me, Jake. Now.”
He glanced up, his face flushed. “Sure?”
“Positive.”
He eased her down and she rolled quickly, her hand scrabbling on the bedside table, finding a condom.
In seconds he was inside her and in only another few seconds she was coming apart around him.
He thrust hard and deep, so she felt every wonderful inch of him. Then his body shuddered and he groaned her name.
After he’d collapsed beside her, when they were again curled close together, she said, “If you were here longer, I’d go on birth control. I’d love to really feel you come inside me.”
“I’d like that too.”
She smiled against his chest. “Would you settle for pancakes?”
“Huh?”
“For breakfast. I have a craving for banana pancakes with maple syrup.” She also loved having someone to cook for.
“Sounds great. Is there a place in town we can go for breakfast? So you could introduce m
e to a few townspeople.”
Instantly, she sobered. Jake wasn’t here for her personal enjoyment; he was a man on a mission. “Yes, of course.”
After they’d both showered, Jake took his time shaving so he could watch Brooke get ready.
Clad in a blue robe, she toweled her hair, combed it, then scrunched it between her fingers. No hair dryer, no curling iron. No fuss. One kind of lotion around her eyes, another on the rest of her face, and yet another on her body. She added a little make-up around her eyes, the mascara brown, not the harsh black most women wore. And that was it. Those rosy lips needed no enhancement, nor did her glowing cheeks.
She grinned at him. “I know Arnold’s a neat-freak, but I don’t think you could shave any closer.”
Realizing he’d shaved the same patch at least ten times now, he put down the razor and went to pick out clothes. Figuring he’d set up meetings with people like Sergeant Miller and the banker Cray, he decided on Arnold’s navy suit with a white shirt and a navy tie that had a thin burgundy stripe.
He was pulling on his pants when Brooke came into the bedroom, slipped off her robe, and put on a bra and panties. The fabric was peachy colored, barely darker than her skin, and so filmy he could see her nipples and pubic hair. A tiny band of lace edged the top of each garment. The panties were cut high on the side, making her long legs look even longer.
She tossed him a grin. “My, what big eyes you have, Mr. Pitt.”
“I was on my way to grandmother’s house and look what I stumbled upon. How’m I going to wait until tonight?”
“Hmm, let me see. Willpower? Better yet, Arnold power. Just be Arnold.”
He zipped his fly over a growing erection. “Poor Arnold. He never gets to have any fun.”
Brooke donned a mint green blouse and a khaki skirt. “Hurry up, slowpoke.”
Man, was he slipping. He was taking longer to get ready than a woman. Of course, he was a little distracted.
They took his car into town, a scenic ten-mile drive of ranch land, patches of forest, and rolling hills.
When they reached the outskirts of town, he gestured toward the “Caribou Crossing” road sign, like a pedestrian crossing one but with the silhouette of a caribou instead. “There aren’t really caribou around here, right?”
“Not for a long time. It’s a tourism thing. That symbol has become the unofficial town logo.”
He nodded, then asked, “Where d’you want to eat?”
“The Wild Rose Inn.”
“Dave Cousins’s place,” he said.
She nodded. “It’s a popular spot for breakfast, not only with tourists but with a number of the locals.”
He’d made a quick but thorough scan of the town of Caribou Crossing yesterday afternoon, so he drove straight to the picturesque hotel.
“Parking’s off the back alley,” Brooke said.
“It’s a nice building,” he commented. “Heritage?”
“It dates back to the eighteen sixties. It was a gold rush hotel and saloon, but of course it’s been renovated a lot over the years.”
In the parking lot, he was surprised to see a couple of hitching rails with three horses tied up. “People ride into town?”
“People ride everywhere.” She went to stroke a chestnut horse with a white blaze down its face. “This is Timony. He belongs to my neighbor, Ray Barnes. Ray will definitely want to meet my cousin.” She grinned. “You can touch the horse, Arnold. If you’re thinking of moving here, you’ll have to get used to horses.”
“I don’t hate horses,” he said, putting on Arnold’s voice and a doubtful tone.
She chuckled, glanced around, then said in a low voice, “You do this so well. Well enough that I’m not even attracted to Arnold. You’re nice enough, personable enough, but the spark that makes you Jake goes into hiding.”
“You get the easier job, then.”
“How do you mean?”
“When we’re out in public, you aren’t attracted to me because I’m Arnold. But you’re still Brooke and it makes me crazy to know I can’t touch you, wink at you, even make real Jake-to-Brooke eye contact.”
She gave a very female, smug smile. “I’m glad it makes you crazy.”
The back door of the hotel opened and a young couple with a little girl came out. The child wore a souvenir T-shirt with the same logo as on the road sign. “Oh, look!” the girl said excitedly. “Horses! Can I touch them?”
“Not without the owners around,” the mother cautioned. “They might bite.”
“Words of wisdom,” Jake commented in his Arnold voice.
He and Brooke went in the door the tourists had come out, and he studied the lobby of the Wild Rose Inn. The place had a “home on the range” feel, including sepia photos of miners and cowboys, furniture that was more rustic than antique, and twangy country music playing at low volume, yet there was also a subtle elegance.
The theme carried through to the restaurant, which was almost full on this Friday morning, the babble of conversation almost drowning out the music.
As they threaded their way to an empty table, a hand waved and an elderly gent with horn-rims and a head of thick silver hair said, “Brooke. Don’t often see you here.”
“Good morning, Ray. No, I usually have breakfast at home, but my cousin came to visit. He’s thinking of moving here to start up an accounting business and I want to give him a taste of the town. Ray Barnes, my neighbor, meet Arnold Pitt, my cousin from Vancouver.”
The two men shook hands. The old guy had a strong grip and shrewd gray eyes behind those thick lenses. “Why don’t you two join me?” he offered.
Brooke glanced at Jake, who decided it wasn’t a bad idea. “That’s kind of you, Mr. Barnes,” he said.
“Ray, please. We country folk don’t stand on formality.”
When they were all settled at the table, Jake noted that Brooke didn’t go for pancakes, instead choosing a blend of fruit, yogurt, and granola. Trying to balance his own hearty appetite with Arnold’s city sensibilities, Jake stuck with bacon, eggs, and toast though he’d rather have had the rancher’s special—steak, eggs, and hash browns—like Ray.
Sitting with Ray Barnes proved to be a good decision, as it turned out the man was a retired pharmacist who knew all the townspeople. Jake could only imagine the secrets he’d learned over the years, but the man didn’t let any slip, not even by the slightest shift of his expression when he greeted the liquor store manager, then a woman who owned a clothing store, a couple of doctors who were in practice together, and several others.
Brooke quietly ate her breakfast and let Ray Barnes take over, introducing Jake as Arnold and telling people, “Let’s make this young fellow understand what a wonderful town we have here.”
Unfortunately, people followed Ray’s instructions, gushing about business opportunities and the healthy environment, when what Jake really wanted to hear about was the seedier side of Caribou Crossing. Still, it was a starting point. He was making lots of contacts.
Brooke left to go to work, and Jake sat on for a while with Ray. “This Wild Rose Inn seems like an impressive business,” he said to the older man. “I understand it’s owned by a man named Dave Cousins. Is he around?”
“Haven’t seen him this morning,” Ray said. “He’ll be at the big fund-raiser later today. You should get Brooke to bring you.”
Jake nodded. “We’re planning on it. How about you? Are you coming?”
He shook his head. “Already gave Dave my check, but I’m a morning person, not much for going out in the evening. Like to stay at home with a good book. It reminds me of all the years my wife and I would sit down together after supper, out on the porch in summer or by the fire in winter.” His gray eyes held a wistful expression.
“I’m sorry you lost her,” Jake said. “It must be tough.”
“Yeah, but a person carries on. We had a lot of good years, and I have a store of memories to keep me company.” His gaze sharpened. “Fellow your age, you should be
looking for a nice girl to share your life. Caribou Crossing’s a good place to settle down and raise a family.”
The way Evan Kincaid had. Yes, if he’d really been Arnold, there’d have been something appealing about that. “You’re probably right. It’s hard meeting nice women in Vancouver. They’re so busy with their jobs, their friends.”
“Mark my words, Arnold Pitt, you move to Caribou Crossing and I’ll be dancing at your wedding before the year is out.”
At the end of the afternoon, Jake drove Brooke into town again for the fund-raiser. They slipped into a loading zone by the town square where several teens helped them unload the appetizers she’d made, then drove away to find parking on a side street.
When they strolled back to the square, Jake realized their steps were keeping time to the music that filled the air. He didn’t recognize the song, but—inevitably—it had the unmistakable twang of country and western.
When they arrived and purchased admission tickets, he saw that the square—a park with lawns, flower beds, benches, a bandstand, a gazebo, and several decorative wire-framed caribou—had been fancied up with Heritage Committee banners and posters featuring its restoration projects. Tables along the side held food, drinks, and silent auction items, and young people in white straw Stetsons and Heritage Committee T-shirts circulated with platters of food.
“There’ll be everything from chuck wagon stew to sushi,” Brooke commented. “Everyone brings their specialty.”
The crowd was diverse too, with seniors in wheelchairs, babies in strollers, and everything in between. Clothing ranged from business suits like the gray one he wore to shorts and flip-flops, but there was a preponderance of Western shirts, Stetsons, and cowboy boots. Two uniformed RCMP officers, one female and one male, mingled; both were younger than Sergeant Miller, who was nowhere to be seen.
The scene was colorful and cheery, the scent of food made his stomach growl, and though he’d never been a country music fan he was getting used to the twang. Though he wasn’t thrilled about playing Arnold, it was pleasant doing U/C work in a place like this rather than a seedy biker bar.