Blown Away

by Muriel Jensen

  As Taylor reached out to pet him, Mel reacted like any other dog happy to take center stage.

  “Wow!” Taylor laughed. “Does he go to work with you all the time?”

  “No,” Cole replied. “I take him with me for special jobs like today, when someone is missing or when we’re looking for a perp who’s hiding from us.”

  Taylor turned to Kara and said knowledgeably, “A perp is a criminal.”

  She nodded. “I see.”

  Cole bit back a smile. “He’s also cross-trained to sniff out drugs. Sometimes when I work nights, I take him in with me. But during the day, he wants to ‘help’ whether we need him or not.”

  Mel bumped against Taylor, urging him to play. It had been a long working day for him.

  “He’s so smart! Can I play with him?”

  “Sure.”

  Taylor ran to the lawn and Mel chased him. In a moment they were rolling around together on the grass, Taylor’s laughter loud and enthusiastic.

  Cole heard Kara’s sigh. “Do you know how long it’s been since he’s laughed like that?”

  “Too long?”

  “Much too long.” She smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry he was rude. He still thinks his father’s coming back, and any man who visits is a threat.”

  “I understand.”

  “Not that you’d…that we…”

  “I understand,” he said again. But she flushed, obviously flustered. He found it fascinating that he’d inspired that kind of reaction. The women he met were either contained and controlled about their feelings, or so free and easy that they had no problem making the first move. Yet Kara was embarrassed about an inadvertent suggestion that she might be interested in him.

  Now that he thought about it, that was a curious reaction considering she’d kissed him.

  “Your son will understand, too,” he said, with what he hoped was easy grace, “if you explain to him that I’m just a friend. I was married once and have no desire to be married again. Tell him I brought you down from the hill and drove you home as part of my job, so I’m no threat to him at all.”

  KARA STRUGGLED not to betray her disappointment. “Well, tell him to get used to seeing me, because I want to come around again” was what she’d really wanted to hear.

  But Cole had made his position clear.

  She nodded and said with great dignity, “I’ll explain it to him. He’s a smart boy.”

  Cole was watching her face, probably trying to assure himself that she wasn’t about to burst into tears or otherwise embarrass both of them by telling him outright that she’d been hoping for something to develop out of their dramatic encounter.

  Frankly, she wasn’t sure what to do at this point. She needed time to think. She just knew with certainty that a woman who’d had a bad man and then found a good one wasn’t going to be easily deterred.

  But what if the good man really didn’t want to be found? Kara had a feeling that whatever approach she took here would require a delicate strategy.

  The radio on Cole’s lapel crackled and he answered it.

  “Are you 10-8?” a woman’s voice asked.

  “I’ve just dropped Mrs. Abbott at home,” he replied. “I’ll be there in about five minutes.”

  “Ten-four.”

  Kara turned to her son and the frolicking dog. “Taylor, Sergeant Winslow has to get back to work.”

  Taylor, trapped under Mel, was giggling uproariously as the dog licked his face. Kara tried to break them up, but a laughing Taylor rolled toward her, away from Mel, and dragged her down with him. The dog slurped her several times before Cole whistled sharply.

  Mel went to his side and sat. Cole told him to stay and came to offer Kara, then Taylor a hand up.

  “You’re so lucky!” Taylor said to Cole, her son’s earlier animosity dispelled by Mel’s good nature. “What a great dog. And what a great truck!”

  “He is a great dog,” Cole said. Mel was at attention now and not responding to Taylor, though the boy stroked his head. “I live just a couple of blocks up the hill. If you want to come by once in a while and help him get some exercise, that’d be good. He gets bored on my days off and when he’s not on duty.”

  Kara was surprised that he’d extended the offer, considering his insistence that he was a happy bachelor. It had to be clear to him that involvement in her son’s life was going to involve him in hers to some degree.

  Taylor looked eager, then suspicious again.

  “My neighbors have a son your age who likes to hang out at my place,” Cole told him. “I bet you’d like him.”

  “Nobody likes me,” Taylor said with a candor that tore at Kara’s heart. “I don’t like a lot of stuff other kids like. And I’m bigger than them.”

  Cole nodded. “Blaine likes to build things and mess around with his trucks. I did, too, when I was your age. And don’t worry about being bigger than the other kids. When you get older, girls like that, even if other guys don’t.”

  That look again—eagerness followed by suspicion.

  “Up to you,” Cole said. “Your mom knows where I live.”

  “You want to be her boyfriend, don’t you?” Taylor asked, following Cole as he opened the back of the vehicle for Mel to jump in.

  Cole shook his head with a dispiriting lack of interest, Kara thought. “No. But your mom’s a very nice, very brave lady, and since I live nearby, I thought we could be good neighbors. That’s all.”

  Taylor leaned against the side of the truck as Cole reached inside and readjusted the blanket Mel lay on. “That’s ’cause you know she’s a good baker, right? Mrs. McGinley’s our neighbor and she’s always coming over for coffee cake.”

  That got Cole’s attention. He turned to Kara with an interested smile. “You’re a baker?”

  She didn’t waste time being modest, but blew on the fingernails of her right hand and buffed them against the front of her jacket. “I am.” She held her fingers away from her and studied the shine. “Coffee cakes, quick breads, mostly. But I can do other things.”

  “Tell me more,” Cole said.

  Before Kara could reply, Taylor jumped in with the enthusiasm of a pitchman. “Her orange-cranberry ring is a killer! It won a blue ribbon at the county fair back home three times in a row. And she makes really great almond-butter Danishes.”

  “Really.” Cole closed the hatch. “Well, Taylor, if you do come to exercise Mel, maybe you could bring a piece of this orange-cranberry ring with you.”

  Not your mother, Kara noted, just her coffee cake.

  The sound of the telephone carried through the open front door. Livvie ran to answer it. Kara wanted to thank Cole for what he’d done this morning. With Taylor all ears, she chose her words carefully.

  “Thank you so much for coming to my rescue,” she said, holding out her hand. As she spoke the words, it occurred to her that they were true on several levels, even if Cole didn’t see that yet. For the first time in a long time she had new hope. “I know how dangerous that was for you, and I appreciate the courage required to risk yourself for someone else’s safety. I’m very grateful.”

  He shook her hand. She remembered that strong and warm touch.

  “All in a day’s work,” he said with a smile, his eyes lingering for a moment on her mouth.

  Yes! He wasn’t as disengaged as he’d have her believe.

  He offered his hand to Taylor, who took it with reluctance. “I have Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday off this week,” Cole said. “You’re welcome to come over after school anytime. Just make sure you check with your mom—and call first. I’m working on the house, so I’m usually home.” He climbed into the rescue unit, and Kara drew Taylor out of the way as Cole turned and headed down the driveway with a tap of his horn.

  “You like him?” Taylor asked her as they walked toward the front door. Her son was a little more remote now than he’d been when she’d first come home.

  “He saved my life,” Kara replied. “It’s hard not to like him. And he was
very nice to you, even though you weren’t very friendly to him at first.”

  “Well,” he said defensively, “what if you get a boyfriend and Dad comes back?”

  “Honey, I’d just like to be friends with Sergeant Winslow, but I’ve explained over and over that Dad isn’t coming back. He’s got a job with the military over in Europe and he’s going to stay there. He told you that when he left, remember? He said he wouldn’t be back.” There it was again—the comforting lie that tripped off her tongue so easily. She had to find a way to tell him the truth, but not while he was worried about so many other things.

  “Being friends is how sex gets going,” Taylor said.

  Kara stopped at the foot of the porch steps, nonplussed. “What!”

  “I know all about it,” her son replied confidently. “Finlay Kirk’s mother said she was just friends with Mr. Kirk when they worked together in the same law firm. Then they fell in love. When you fall in love you have sex. That’s the way it goes. She didn’t tell me that part—I just figured it out.”

  Finlay Kirk lived across the street and was one of the few children in the neighborhood that Taylor could relate to. She’d skipped a grade, and though she was mature for her age, all her classmates considered it uncool to keep company with her because she was a year younger. Taylor often met her at the playground, and Kara was happy to see that he appreciated her.

  “While that might be true in a lot of cases…” Kara said, urging Taylor up the steps. Not sure why she was telling him this, she said, “Sergeant Winslow was married and his wife died.”

  “And he misses her?”

  “I’m sure he does. I really don’t think he wants to get married again.”

  Taylor sighed. “Well, that’s not good.”

  “Why not? I said he doesn’t want to get married. I thought you’d be happy about that.”

  He gave her a disgruntled look. “But you always figure out how to get people to do things. There’s lots of stuff I never want to do, and you always explain it to me and I end up doing it anyway—even when I really don’t want to. So even if he thinks he doesn’t want to get married, I bet you’ll change his mind.”

  Kara hugged her son to her, suddenly feeling better about everything.

  “NOW, WHY wouldn’t you want to get to know a beautiful woman like that?” Brad asked Cole. They sat at their aunt Shirley’s table, spooning up a rich ham, potato and vegetable casserole and catching up on what had happened in their lives over the past week. Brad’s wife Emily usually joined them, but she was at a baby shower tonight.

  Shirley Bowers was Cole and Brad’s maternal aunt. She’d moved to Courage Bay four months ago, after the death of her husband.

  “I’ve already learned a lot about her,” Cole said, passing Brad a basket of rolls. “That hour and a half on the Embrace was pretty distilled.”

  “He didn’t say he didn’t want to get to know her,” Shirley corrected, finally sitting down at the head of her stately mahogany table. It took up most of the space in the tiny dining room, but Shirley had refused to part with it. An antique that had been in the family for years, the table had been moved from her three-story house in Portland, Oregon, to her cozy but modest little place in Courage Bay. “He said, ‘I don’t intend to have a relationship with her.’ That’s code for, ‘I don’t want her to get to know me.’”

  Cole sighed. His aunt had moved closer to him and Brad to bring a sense of family into their lives, and she certainly had. She’d instituted Sunday night dinner at her home, and nothing he or Brad did ever went without comment or a few words of advice.

  Brad laughed smugly. “Aunt Shirley’s got your number, Cole. And if you ask me, I think that Kara Abbott would like to have it. She looked at you like you were some kind of hero.”

  “I was.” Cole struck a heroic pose. “You should have been there.”

  “I’ve seen you in action.” Brad pointed to the butter dish with his knife and Cole passed it to him. “So, show some guts where she’s concerned. Break free of the spectre of Angela. That wasn’t your fault. You gave up a lot for her, and she wouldn’t give up anything for you.”

  Cole agreed. That was pretty much the way it had been in his marriage. “The thing is, if it’s not about doing what you think your partner needs, what is it about?”

  Brad buttered his roll, then put both roll and knife down, his expression serious. “Right now, it’s about the incredible love that I feel for Emily and our beautiful baby. I almost can’t see beyond that to analyze it. And I know it’s the same for Emily.”

  Cole was sincerely happy to hear that. “Then go with it. Love is a wonderful thing. I thought I had it once and then it was gone. But I’d like to figure out why, before I try again.” Wanting to divert the conversation from his own predicament, he studied his brother for a moment. “You know, you’re looking pretty good for someone who’s probably not getting much sleep.”

  Brad rolled his eyes. “Fortunately, my job is the best training there is for sleep deprivation. Residents live on coffee and the hope of forty winks somewhere quiet.”

  “How’s Emily coping?”

  “She loves that baby so much she could probably do without sleep—and me.”

  The teasing note in Brad’s voice told Cole his brother wasn’t serious.

  “But you were essential to the production of the baby in the first place. I’m sure Emily realizes this and will want to keep you around.” Cole let his words of encouragement sink in, then said with weary resignation, “I personally see little value in your role here on Earth, but I’m sure your wife does.”

  Brad leaned across the table with a frown. “Nice talk. Who set your broken arm not so long ago and drove you to the E.R. on his day off?” The last words were spoken with an air of injured dignity.

  Cole leaned toward his brother. Brad was referring to a mishap in an E.R. versus police department football game. “Who tackled me at the base of that maple tree with the big root sticking up and caused that arm to be broken? On the first day I’d had off in thirteen days?”

  Brad was trying hard not to smile. “You were the opponent. I was supposed to stop you from scoring.”

  “Well, you did.”

  “Didn’t stop you from scoring with the babes, though. Every woman in your department and every woman in mine went to visit you.”

  Cole shrugged with false modesty. “I got the charm, you got the annoying personality.”

  “If this doesn’t stop,” Shirley threatened, “there’s no dessert. And I know how you boys are about chocolate cake with sour cream frosting. You both have enough of my lovely sister in you to charm anyone, and enough of your no-good father to counteract it, so you’re going to have to create your own powers of persuasion. Both of you!”

  They subsided, but when she went into the kitchen to get the coffeepot, Cole leaned toward Brad and said under his breath, “If we lose out on dessert, it’s all your fault.”

  “Is not!”

  “Is, too!”

  KARA STOOD IN FRONT of the seventeen students who made up her carol chorus and waved her hands to capture their attention. Some were talented, some were simply enthusiastic, but all were infected with the excitement of the season even though it was only early December.

  They were rehearsing in preparation for caroling at several nursing homes and the hospital, and were even offering their services for paying gigs at office parties and similar events. The money they made would go toward a trip to a choral competition in Seattle in the spring. The kids were thrilled about the project, and Kara found it a constant struggle to keep them on track.

  She was just running through some rather challenging harmony in “Good King Wenceslas,” when Loren Ford, Courage Bay Junior High’s principal, wandered into the music room. Kara gave her students the signal to stop.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen,” Loren said. He was a tall, nice-looking man with the good-humored firmness essential in dealing with budding teenagers. The students
liked him and he seemed to like them. “You sounded so good from my office that I had to come see for myself. How’s it going?”

  The choir responded as one, their replies unintelligible. Then Jared Watson, the self-appointed spokesperson, raised his hand from the middle of the group. He was an eighth grader. “It’s going well, Mr. Ford. When people hear us downtown, we’re going to get more gigs than the Rolling Stones.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Jared,” the principal said.

  Kara knew that Loren was acquainted with this student because of the many times the boy had been sent to his office. Jared was tall, gangly and smarter than his marks indicated. He also loved to stir things up for the simple pleasure of seeing what developed. It was Kara’s belief that one day he was going to become a revered statesman, or a hitman for the mob. She couldn’t decide which.

  “Thanks to Mrs. Abbott!” Amy Carmello said. She was the group’s emotional cheerleader, a small, plump blonde who alerted everybody whenever a member of the group was sick or just blue and in need of support.

  At her words, the kids applauded.

  “Let me hear that last chorus again while I have a quick word with Mrs. Abbott about the school program,” Loren instructed.

  “Okay.” Kara nodded at the choir. There was a lot of throat-clearing and fidgeting before they could begin. But once they came through with the first couple of bars, Kara followed the principal to the classroom doorway.

  “Kara,” he said, hands in his pockets as he looked down at her, a serious expression on his face. “What do I have to do to get you to go out with me?”

  “Loren.” Kara glanced toward the students and saw that Patty Kramer, who would probably be on Broadway one day, was conducting the group through one of their jazzier tunes. “You shouldn’t even bring this up during—”

  “I know,” he interrupted. “It’s inappropriate behavior, but you leave me no other choice. You don’t return my calls to your home, and when I try to catch you after school, you always have a doctor’s appointment or some other excuse to avoid me.”

  “That’s because I’ve made it clear more than once that I have no interest in dating,” she said quietly. “My son and my work are all I have time for.” When he looked disappointed, she added reasonably, “Loren, you’re a very nice man. Don’t waste your time on me.”