Worth the Wait

by Lori Foster

  Colt laughed as he said, “It’s just Diesel and me.”

  The dog was good company, and good protection—not that Colt needed it. “I won’t be home tonight at all, but I’ll check back in the morning.” Briefly, he explained about Violet and that he didn’t want to leave her alone in case she needed anything.

  Colt said, “At least she doesn’t make you hide under the bed.”

  Frowning, Hogan wondered at his joke. “Don’t make more out of this than there is.”

  “I won’t.” With definite amusement in his tone, Colt added, “I know you do goodwill sleepovers with all kinds of women. Doesn’t mean anything at all.”

  “Colt,” he warned.

  “Good night, Nurse Guthrie. Tell Violet I hope she feels better soon.”

  As he disconnected the call, Hogan blew out a breath. Great, all he needed now was for rumors to get started. Who wouldn’t believe them, especially if they were spread by his son?

  He glanced back at the door. Would Violet mind? He didn’t think so. She didn’t strike him as a woman who cared much what others thought. Then again, no one would have any reason to think anything less than positive.

  Violet was a strong woman—intelligent, warm, hardworking, beautiful, sweet... Jesus. Hogan ran a hand over his face.

  What struck him most was the fact that Colt had teased him about it. Because it was Violet? Since the death of his mother, Colt hadn’t said much about Hogan dating, but his silence on the matter had been more damning than words anyway.

  He’d hurt Colt, and he hated that. Didn’t matter that he’d been hurting, too.

  Colt hadn’t been silent about Violet. No, instead he’d joked. Maybe he knew Violet was too discriminating to get involved with him.

  Rather than brood, he dialed his brother next.

  Jason, at least, had been sleeping. He answered with a very groggy “What’s wrong?”

  “Sorry to wake you. I’m going to stay over at Violet’s and Colt is already in bed. He’s got Diesel there with him, but if you wouldn’t mind—”

  “Honor’s been mothering him,” Jason said around a yawn. “No worries.”

  Of course she had. Honor was a true sweetheart; she and Colt had a very special relationship. Diesel did sometimes stay the night with Jason, sort of picking and choosing between the two houses at his own whim, but likely he’d either known Colt was alone and felt protective, or Honor had insisted he keep the dog with him. Either way, he was relieved.

  Hogan felt like a schoolboy explaining, but he did so anyway. “Violet has pneumonia. She was pretty hammered by the time we got back from the ER. She’s crashed right now, but I figured I’d—”

  “Got it. Take good care of her, okay?”

  In the background, Hogan heard Honor ask, “What’s going on? Take care of who? Is Colt okay?”

  Jason said only, “Hogan’s sleeping over at Violet’s.”

  Alarmed by how he put it, Hogan protested, “Don’t make it sound like—”

  Honor seemed far more alert when she sang, “Oh, he is, is he?”

  “Damn it, Jason, tell her—”

  To Honor, Jason said with far too much gravity, “You know how noble my brother is.”

  They both laughed. At him.

  Hogan heard some shuffling, a few whispers, and Jason said, “Later, brother.”

  Standing, Hogan put away his phone and leaned on the rail, looking out over the quiet street, most of the porch lights glowing in boxy homes set close together. Single-car driveways, mature trees everywhere.

  Before long the sun would be up. On Saturdays, kids played in their yards and on every cul-de-sac, crowding the sidewalks with their bikes. Older folk walked their older dogs and groused about the bikes. Hogan smiled. The area was as different as night and day to where he used to live in Columbus.

  He didn’t use to think so, but now he knew it was better. Cleaner. Calmer.

  A whole new life greeted him here—now if only the old life didn’t still plague him.

  Pushing that aside as he often did, he wondered if Violet was sleeping okay. He’d like to go in and check on her, but she thought he’d left. She was in her bed, not fully dressed, and he didn’t want to intrude further. It was enough to stay over on her couch.

  He saw again her slim body nestled in that big bed. From the day he’d met her, he’d appreciated her fair skin and red hair. She was so petite that with one splayed hand he could span the width of her from hip bone to hip bone. But her breasts weren’t small. Not really large, either. Just full and soft and perfect.

  Closing his tired eyes, Hogan breathed deeply.

  Heavy humidity thickened the night air and filled his lungs. Insects carried on a cacophony of sounds, and when he listened closely he could even hear frogs in the large creek that served as a social gathering spot for the small town.

  Clearbrook was a good place. Peaceful, close-knit, filled with friendly people. He discounted the remaining crime element since incidents were fewer and far between. The refurbishing of the town had been, by all accounts, a huge success. What used to be a slum area was now occupied by middle-class families.

  Since he’d gone from a prestigious accounting firm to a small local business, supplemented by weekend restaurant work—that now included him and Colt.

  Heading back inside, he quietly closed and locked the door. He flattened his mouth at the sight of the short, squat couch, but he wouldn’t roam her house looking for a guest room.

  After turning down the volume on his phone and setting it on the coffee table, he sat on the couch and removed his boots and socks, peeled off his shirt, then unsnapped and unzipped his jeans. He’d like to lose the jeans, but yeah—probably not a good idea.

  There was no way to stretch out, so he sprawled as best he could, his head and one calf on the sofa arms, one leg dropping over the side. He snagged the knit throw over the back of the couch, half-heartedly tossed it over his body and closed his eyes.

  He thought of Violet.

  He thought of her panties.

  Soon he was sound asleep and dreaming.

  * * *

  Violet found him on her couch. At 8:00 a.m., it was too early to be up, especially after the late night, but when she’d gotten up to use the bathroom and find more ibuprofen, she’d heard a snore.

  It didn’t scare her only because she immediately guessed the source.

  Her first thought when she found him there was that he was too big for her couch, his shoulders too wide, his legs too long.

  Keeping the comforter swaddled around herself, she tipped her head and studied him—specifically she studied his body. Still wearing jeans, now open, he rested on his back, one arm above his head, the other folded over his stomach. Only a corner of the throw blanket covered him; the rest was on the floor with his right leg. He looked in danger of sliding over the side with it any moment.

  Of course she’d seen him without a shirt many times at neighborhood picnics, but she hadn’t been able to stare then, not with him so aware of her and neighbors all around them.

  Now her eyes felt gritty, and she stared anyway. A sparse covering of crisp, dark hair went from his collarbone to just below his pecs, faded in a narrow line to his navel, then widened a little before disappearing into his jeans. Beneath his raised arm she saw softer hair.

  She’d teased him about being hairy, but in truth, she thought he was the sexiest man she’d ever known. She loved his masculinity, which included that enticing dark hair.

  Sleep masked his usual edgy persona so that he looked more peaceful now. His hair stuck up in tufts and beard shadow darkened his face. He, his brother and his son all had the most amazing, enviable lashes. They were long and thick, and looking at him, Violet liked the way they rested on his high cheekbones.

  He wasn’
t overly muscle-bound, but there was no denying the strength of his lean, toned body. Even in sleep his biceps were pronounced. Her gaze traveled over his shoulders, down his body again to his flat stomach. Out of self-preservation she skimmed her gaze over the bulge inside his jeans to glance along the length of his long, strong legs and down to his feet. She admired them, as well.

  She would have gone on admiring him except that she drew in a breath—and coughed.

  Hogan stirred, shifting his big body, stretching a little before opening one eye.

  Violet froze. Damn him, he looked gorgeous sleep-rumpled, while she knew she looked completely wrecked. Only half her hair remained in the ponytail, and she was so weak, she started to shake.

  “Morning,” Hogan rumbled.

  “Good morning.” Trying for sarcasm, she asked, “Comfortable?”

  “Not really. Your couch is too short.” He stretched again and sat up with a wide yawn.

  Unmoving, Violet watched him scratch his belly, and she said with accusation, “You stayed over.”

  “Yeah.” After running both hands through his mussed hair, he checked the time on his phone. Giving her another long look, he patted the seat beside him, no doubt still warm from his body. “Sit before you fall.”

  She didn’t want to, but her body wasn’t giving her much choice. She stepped around the table and dropped at the far end of the couch, which wasn’t all that far.

  Scooting closer to her, he touched his palm to her forehead. “Still feverish. You need more medicine?”

  “I just took it. That’s how I found you.”

  “Gotcha.” He frowned at her hair, deftly removed the band to free it and smoothed it down, massaging her scalp in the process.

  Heaven.

  He stole his magic fingers away. “Are you a coffee person or a juice person?”

  “I’m not a baby.”

  With a short laugh, he agreed, “Definitely not.”

  She started to say she could get her own coffee, but she truly didn’t feel like it. Putting her head back and closing her eyes, she said, “Maybe both?”

  “Juice now, coffee when it’s ready?”

  She nodded, her eyes still closed.

  “You can thank me, Violet.”

  “Thank you.”

  His fingers skimmed her cheek and she heard the smile in his voice when he said, “Be right back.”

  Somehow in the time it took him to pour orange juice into a glass, she’d fallen asleep. She opened her eyes to see the juice on the end table beside her. In the kitchen, the coffeemaker spit and hissed.

  Down the hall, a toilet flushed, water ran and Hogan emerged, his jeans now fastened, his shirt still off, his feet still bare.

  Damn, he looked good like that.

  He also looked good in her house.

  “Sleep if you want,” he said as he passed her. “It’s the best thing for you.”

  She drank half the juice and nodded off again.

  Hogan’s voice, talking quietly on the phone, awoke her the second time. She saw that sunshine now flooded her front windows. More sluggish than she ever could have imagined, she sat up and tried to gather her wits.

  She focused on Hogan in the kitchen, fully dressed, his hair less messy but with whiskers still on his face.

  “I can probably take Violet’s car this morning, but I don’t want to leave my bike in the parking lot.” After waiting for a reply, Hogan said, “Yeah, that’d work. Appreciate it.”

  Who said he could take her car? Take it where?

  “No, she won’t make it in today. Damned pneumonia has really leveled her.” As he softly spoke, Hogan turned to face her, then smiled at seeing her awake. Holding her gaze, he nodded, saying, “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. Thanks again.” He pocketed the phone and moved out of sight.

  “I’m going into work,” she told him, but raising her voice put her into a coughing fit.

  He appeared with the coffee. “I reheated it.”

  Grudgingly, she accepted. Because he’d worked with her for a few weeks now, he knew she liked cream and sugar and the coffee was perfect, even better than the juice. “Thank you.”

  He surveyed her. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.” More than anything, she wanted to sleep. More and more sleep. She tried for a slow breath and managed to do it without coughing too much. “I’m sorry I keep conking out.”

  “I’m glad you did.” He frowned, then sat beside her. “You can’t go into work. You’re an intelligent woman and you know it, but you’re also stubborn. Put the stubbornness aside for now, okay?”

  “I have to go in. It’s mine and—”

  “I can handle it. I have the weekend free and I know what I’m doing.”

  “What, no hot date?” Hogan always had hot dates on the weekends, and sometimes during the week—at least until recently. “What about what’s-her-name? That kid.”

  The corner of his mouth curled. “Emma? She was twenty-five, not a kid—”

  “Ten years your junior!”

  “—and I only saw her once.”

  “I guess with you, once is enough?”

  He cocked a brow. “Are you always this nasty in the mornings?”

  “Yes,” she lied. God, she felt so awful, she wanted to curl up and sleep until she felt normal again. “Go away, okay?”

  “I haven’t had a date since I started working for you.”

  No, she didn’t want to hear that! That would mean he’d been dateless for weeks. “Poor baby, am I using up all your free time?”

  Shrugging a shoulder, he grinned. “I could go out during the week, I guess. In fact, Friday, before I left the office, my boss hit on me.”

  Violet stared at him, scowled and guzzled the rest of her coffee. I don’t want to picture you with another woman. Of course, it was already too late.

  Glaring, she asked, “When are the two of you getting together?”

  His gaze went to her mouth. “Never.” Gently, he took the coffee cup from her and set it aside.

  “I take it she’s homely? Not built to your specifications?”

  “She’s attractive enough. Big boobs.”

  Trying for mock surprise, Violet said, “And you turned her down?”

  “Let’s say I redirected her attention.”

  “Redirected it how?”

  “To a coworker who looked interested.”

  “Oh my God, you’re bragging about passing her off to someone else?”

  “Redirecting her,” he emphasized. “It’s not like she was looking to get married.”

  “Because that would have really sent you running!” Good God, just shut up, Violet.

  After a long look, he picked up the cup and stood. He was halfway to the kitchen when he stopped. Keeping his back to her, he said, “Obviously you know I was married once.”

  Violet’s heart started to pound. “Yes.” And she was sorry she’d brought it up.

  He looked back over his shoulder at her. “Marriage doesn’t scare me. But cheating, lying women do.”

  * * *

  Why the hell had he opened his mouth? So she’d been needling him. So what. Nothing new in that, not with Violet. The woman lived to give him a hard time.

  Hours had passed since he’d left her sleeping on her sofa, and still he wanted to chew nails. Colt rapped at the back door of the diner and Hogan let him in.

  “Uncle Jason said you were here. I was going to work with him today but he said you might need me instead.”

  “Yeah.” Hogan rubbed the back of his neck. “I rearranged the schedule for Violet since she’s down for the count. In between taking medicine, she sleeps. The doctor at the ER said she’d be feeling better by Monday, but I think that only means less miserable, not ready
to work.”

  “She’s home alone now?”

  Hogan didn’t like it, either, but he’d set her up on her couch as best he could, arranging her medicine nearby with a glass of juice, a bottle of water and the TV remote. “She’ll be okay. My guess is she’ll sleep most of the day away.”

  Colt looked around. “So what can I do?”

  Since Violet didn’t have a breakfast menu, the diner opened at noon. Kristy would be in soon, along with another employee. He’d already come up with a plan, so he got Colt going, then did some prep work on his ribs.

  With that done, curiosity got the better of him and he moved to Violet’s office to take a look at her paperwork.

  Just as he suspected, it was horribly dated, and as far as he could tell, she didn’t have a menu profitability analysis. Critical stuff in restaurant bookkeeping. He’d work on that, he decided, as well as catching her up, but he’d maintain all her regular records, too.

  Violet could be prickly. No reason to fire her up more.

  Around three, Nathan Hawley, the sheriff, stopped in. Hogan wasn’t surprised when he came around back to sit in the shade.

  “I went by to check on Violet.”

  Hogan stiffened a little. Nathan was single, and he wasn’t blind. If he hadn’t been tempted by Violet, he had to be dead. “Yeah? How’s she feeling?”

  “She told me to go away, and that if I saw you, to tell you to go away, too.”

  “How can I go away when I’m not even there?”

  “I didn’t ask her,” Nathan said. “She was too limp for me to tease her. But I did notice she was propped on the couch watching a movie. Or pretending to watch it. Overall she looked like a zombie. I told her...”

  Just then a single woman, carrying a drink and salad, dark glasses on her eyes, walked out. Ignoring them both, she went to the farthest section of the seating area, to a worn picnic table under a large maple tree.

  She sat alone, with her back to them.

  Hogan watched her, wondering about her since he’d never seen her before, then realized Nathan was watching her, too.

  Amused by the sheriff’s distraction, he grinned. “You were saying?”

  Without taking his gaze from the woman, Nathan asked, “What?”