by Lori Foster
She shook her head. “Gut reaction. I was...at first afraid. But the car left and didn’t come back, so—”
“Minivan. You said it was a minivan, not a car.”
“Yes.”
“Dark green, but neither of you saw the plates.”
“I told you, I wasn’t exactly looking.”
“And,” he said, still fuming, “because of dark tinted windows, you have no idea who was driving it?”
“We couldn’t see a thing.”
“But that’s not what I asked you.” Nathan had a feeling she knew damn good and well who was behind the wheel of that van.
Almost proving his assumption, she looked away, staring out at the street.
Nathan tamped down his temper. Trust, he knew, was a fragile thing that had to be earned. But damn, she didn’t make it easy.
“Can you admit,” he said, trying to sound reasonable, “that me being the sheriff had nothing to do with you calling?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I can admit that.” Then she glanced at him. “But I’m still sorry for bothering you.”
Nathan felt downright mean. “I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, we had sex two days ago, you left immediately after and you’ve dodged me since.”
Looking cornered, Brooklin fretted with the edge of the bandage wrapped around her elbow. Mr. Marson, from the pharmacy right next to the lot, had walked it out to her, saying someone had told him she was sitting there bleeding everywhere.
Brooklin had assured him that it was fine, just a scrape and that she’d clean it and put on a fresh bandage when she got home. Nathan had thanked Mr. Marson, and then the arguing had begun.
He didn’t want to argue with her. He wanted... What? To pamper her? She wasn’t a woman who enjoyed being pampered. To protect her? How could he when she wouldn’t even tell him the threat?
Though he’d asked around, no one else had noticed any more than Brooklin or Violet had. The van had nearly run them over, then disappeared. Of course, he’d alerted his deputies and the local police, but there were a lot of green vans in Ohio.
Unable to stop himself, Nathan touched a tendril of her hair, half in and half out of a fat braid. He trailed his fingers down her shoulder to the edge of that bandage. “Brooklin...”
In a sudden rush, she pressed herself against him. He could feel her trembling and he hated it. Folding her in close, lifting her onto his lap, he whispered, “Shh. I’ve got you.”
Her hand fisted on his shoulder. “But that’s just it,” she said, agonized. “I can’t lean on you.”
“Sure you can.” He rubbed his hands up and down her back, his thoughts racing. “Is that why you ran off in such a hurry? You don’t want to lean on me?”
“No.” She nodded. “Yes.”
Trying for a little levity, maybe to make up for his overbearing anger a moment before, he asked, “So it wasn’t that I’m a lousy lay?”
She sat back, horrified. “Is that what you thought? Oh my God, no. You were amazing. You are amazing.”
The grin tugged at his mouth, and when her eyes went wide, then narrowed in suspicion, the laugh broke free.
“Jerk,” she said, trying to shove away from him.
He held on. “I was teasing you—that’s all.” Lower, he added, “I am confused about why you booked, though.”
Giving up, she dropped her forehead to his chest. “You scare me, Nathan. Not like my past scares me or that van scared me. But I like you, and I don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”
Piecing together the things she said proved challenging, but he gave it a shot. “So if you tell me who you think is bothering you, who you’re afraid of, you think I’ll get the wrong idea?” Meaning, she thought he’d... What? Think badly of her?
“Don’t sound so incredulous. It’s possible.”
Since he didn’t know her background, she could be right. “Do you have a criminal record?”
Her mouth flattened and she shook her head.
“You haven’t gotten away with murder or armed robbery?”
“No. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You’re not married?” Damn, don’t let her be married. He could take armed robbery easier than that.
“No, I’m not married and never have been, but I was engaged once.”
Once, but not anymore. “I’m glad you’re not still engaged.” He kissed her nose. “Nothing else could be all that important.”
Briefly, she closed her eyes, then opened them to give him a direct stare. “Okay, if it’s not that important, will you give me a little more time to tell you?”
He didn’t want to. He wanted to insist she tell him right now. But insisting would just make her withdraw and he knew it. “You will tell me? Soon?”
“Yes. I just need to put my thoughts together.”
What could he do but agree? “All right.”
She touched the buttons on his shirt. “Could I come over tonight?”
So once again she was afraid, and that made him a slightly better choice than being alone? Not that it mattered, because he’d never turn her down. “Sure. What time?”
“What time will you get home?”
“If all goes well, around six.”
“Six works for me.” She looked at his mouth. “I could fix you dinner? I’m actually a decent cook.”
He’d rather take her straight to bed, but again, he had to take things slowly. “Sounds like a plan.” Ignoring the few people gawking at them, Nathan drew her in for a kiss. “You’ll take care of that arm when you get home?”
“Yes. Remember, I used to be a nurse.” This time she leaned in and kissed him. “I’ll see you at six.”
13
HOGAN STAYED BUSY till damn near eight o’clock. Weekdays were easier than weekends, so once the dinner crowd died down a little, he shifted everything to one grill and started cleaning the others. With any luck he’d be able to grab some alone time with Violet after the diner closed.
It surprised Hogan when Mr. Marson, a pharmacist in his early fifties, usually distracted and brusque, deliberately caught his eye. The man rarely gave him more than a passing greeting. But now, his hands tucked deep in his pockets and his gaze concerned, he looked ready to settle in and chat.
Curious, Hogan said, “Mr. Marson, how are you?”
“I’m fine. How’s Violet?”
That threw him. “Busy, I suppose. I haven’t seen her much tonight.” And it bugged the hell out of him. Since that night they’d had sex, she’d teased him endlessly. Subtly, so that others never caught them. He wanted her nonstop, and yet today, she’d stayed out of sight. It had been busy, sure, but they both knew she could have spared a few minutes to visit, or at least to say hi, if she’d wanted to. Most nights she came to the prep area to at least steal a kiss. Often she was the one to hand him an order for ribs.
Today, she hadn’t come anywhere near him, or anywhere near enough to where he grilled for him to even get a peek of her. Why would she decide to ignore him now?
“Busy?” Marson said. “What do you mean, she’s busy? I told her she should keep that ankle elevated with ice on it. When I didn’t see her inside, I hoped she was at home resting.”
Hogan stared at him. Violet had hurt her ankle?
“That other one,” Marson continued, “the new lady, her elbow was bleeding enough that I’m not sure she didn’t need stitches. I know I’m not a medical doctor, but I’m also not an idiot.”
“No, of course not.” What the hell had happened?
Like it was somehow his fault, Marson glared at Hogan. “It’s a wonder both of them weren’t killed, and she’s still on her feet? Not a good idea. Not at all.”
Killed? Jesus.
“Told them both to go to the ER to get checke
d, but even the sheriff couldn’t convince them.”
“Nathan was there?”
“He’s the sheriff. Of course he was there. Wouldn’t you call the sheriff if someone tried to run you down?”
Hogan stared at him. By the second he had more questions than answers. “You’re saying someone deliberately tried to hit Violet and Brooklin?”
“I didn’t see it myself, but the way it was told to me, that’s exactly what happened. Doesn’t make any sense, but you know how stories grow and get more dramatic. I was curious, though. So what do you think?”
Since this was the first he’d heard of it, Hogan didn’t know what to think. He didn’t want to admit that to Mr. Marson, though, so he asked, “What did Nathan think?”
“He was plenty irate—I know that. And he put in some calls. But the van was gone, so what could be done?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did Violet say?”
“Not much.” As in, nothing at all.
“Ah, she’s still upset. She did look ready to cry. Not because of her ankle, though. I think she was just shook-up.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Hogan barely knew Marson, but apparently he loved gossip. Maybe working at the pharmacy was like working as a bartender. He got to hear everyone’s stories. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get my son to watch the grill and I’ll go check on her.”
“You’ll make her take it easy? Get her off her feet?”
If the whole thing didn’t sound so serious, Hogan would have laughed. He had no control over Violet. But he said, “Yes, I will.”
“You make sure she’s got it propped up, okay? And discolored as it was already, if she doesn’t keep ice on it, it’s only going to bruise worse.” He picked up a pair of tongs. “Go on and get your son. I’ll keep an eye on things until he gets here.”
Divided, Hogan eyed him. “You grill?”
Marson snorted. “Of course I grill. What red-blooded man doesn’t? Go on. I won’t let anything burn.”
“Thank you.” Hogan found Colt first. He was on a break, sitting with a tableful of friends, including that supercute girl, Charish, who was new to the area. He decided not to bother him, but somehow Colt sensed him and looked up. As soon as their gazes locked, he was on his feet.
When Colt reached him, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Who said anything was?”
Colt frowned. “You know Violet was hurt, don’t you?”
Well, hell. Did everyone know except him?
Colt nudged him toward the kitchen as he explained, “She didn’t want you to know. No idea why. But she said I wasn’t to bother you. I’d have told you tonight anyway, after work, but since you already know, will you check on her? She’s been rotating things, working the floor for an hour, then disappearing into her office for an hour. I’ve tried to help out, but you know how she is.”
Yes, he knew. Stubborn, determined and sweet. “How’s her ankle?”
“I swear, Dad, it makes my ankles hurt to look at it.”
Hogan nodded. “I hate to drag you away—”
“No big deal. You want me to watch the grill?”
“Just for a few minutes.”
“Got it. Take your time.”
Hogan watched him go—then he saw Colt’s friends at the table, all of them laughing, half-empty plates in front of them, not a care in the world, no real responsibilities.
He also saw Charish’s face as she watched Colt go. Damn.
When he walked into the office, Violet was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, a plastic storage bag of ice on her ankle and a puddle around her foot.
She looked up at him and said, “Um...”
Hogan closed the door behind him, then squatted down by her foot and lifted the ice pack. Colt had warned him, but still it nearly took his breath away. Swollen, black and red and blue, it had to be broken. “You need to go get an X-ray.”
She groaned, squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “I am not a weak person.”
“Definitely not,” he agreed.
“First that stupid pneumonia, and now this. I never get sick and I’ve never been hurt before. Then you show up and...this is ridiculous.”
Hogan heard the note of tears in her voice and it almost destroyed him. “Is it hurting that much?”
“No, and don’t talk all sweet to me. I’m sappy enough already.”
“Sappy?”
“Sitting in here, feeling sorry for myself and wondering if you’re going to think I’m one of those women who always has an issue.”
First things first. “This is leaking everywhere. Don’t you have a real ice pack here?”
“No.”
“Then at least let me get you another bag.”
“In the cooler. Colt’s been refilling it for me.”
A picnic-sized cooler sat beside her desk. Inside were two more individual bags of ice. Hogan sat back on his heels. “My kid is amazing.”
“I know. He’s the one who got me all sappy, babying me and being so sweet. I had to threaten to slug him if he didn’t quit.”
“Perfect reaction to kindness.”
“I told you, that stuff makes me sappy!”
Shaking his head—and grinning—Hogan got a new bag and, as gently as possible, placed it on her ankle. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to upset you. He’s worried about you—that’s all.”
“But I’m used to taking care of myself. I don’t want him to worry. I don’t want you to worry, either.”
On that last word, her voice broke. Hogan sat down beside her, same position with his back against the wall, and took her hand. She squeezed his fingers hard. He wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t want to do anything to make those tears spill over.
“Will you tell me what happened? All I know from Marson is that you could have been killed, and a van was somehow involved.”
With a new focus, she nodded. “It was the craziest thing.” More animated and less teary, she told him about the speeding van, how Brooklin had reacted and how Nathan had looked like he could chew nails. “Nathan’s dangerous. If that idiot driver wasn’t already gone, I think our good sheriff would have had him for lunch.”
“Brooklin called Nathan?”
“Yes.”
Hogan looked at her small hand, at the short, unpainted nails, and asked quietly, “Why didn’t you call me?” It was a weird thing to admit, but he was both insulted and maybe a little hurt that she hadn’t.
She tried to laugh that off. “Right. If I was going to call anyone, it would have been Kristy. She’s less vital to the running of things here than you or Jerry.”
“I’m different from Jerry or Kristy.”
“True. But I’m paying you to cook ribs, not listen to my hysterics.”
Though the insult grew, he kept his voice calm. “Were you hysterical?”
“Maybe for a minute.” Her head dropped forward. “This stupid floor is not comfortable.”
“No, it’s not.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles. Her small, slender hands were delicate but strong. She’d had a lifetime of working, pushing past adversity. But when he thought about her doing this all day, serving customers on that hurt ankle, then coming in here to suffer alone, it bothered him deep down to his soul.
Damn it. He didn’t want things going too fast or getting too serious. But he also didn’t want this, her cutting him out and dealing with things on her own when she clearly needed someone.
He wanted to be that someone. At least for this. And for the diner.
And for sex.
Angry at himself, and at the idea that she really could have died, Hogan asked, “You can stand on it?”
“Of course. I can wiggle my toes and flex it and everything. It’
s uncomfortable, but I can do it.”
“Obviously, since you’ve been working.”
“You can stow the sarcasm, Hogan. There was no one else to fill in for me, and things had to get done.”
Frustration ripped through him. “You’re the boss.”
Incredulous, she stared at him. “More sarcasm? Colt is a lot nicer than you.”
“Thank God.”
She gave him a cross frown. “I was joking. You’re very nice.” Then she added, “I honestly don’t think it’s broken. I just twisted it.”
“It looks bad, honey.”
“I bruise easily.” Settling back with a sigh, she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I would have bet money that Colt wouldn’t tell you. I made him promise he wouldn’t.”
“He didn’t.”
She turned her face up to see him. “Then how did you know?”
“Mr. Marson. He said your foot should be elevated.”
“That old snitch.” She sighed. “It’s hard to prop it up in here. When I get home, I can—”
“Violet.” Hogan knew he had to tread carefully. She wasn’t unreasonable, not usually, so hopefully she’d do the right thing. But he had to inch carefully around her pride. “Don’t you think you should head home now?”
Her groan was long and dramatic, ending with a disgusted but resigned “Yes, I guess so.”
“Thank you.” With her agreement, Hogan released some of the tension in his shoulders. “Maybe I could—”
“No.” She cut him off with a scowl. “I can drive myself, okay? I’m not incapacitated.”
“Still...” His brain scrambled on ways to make it work. Maybe Colt could stay on the grill. One of the dishwashers could serve, and—
“No, Hogan. If it was that bad, I promise I’d say so. Besides, it’s my left foot.”
“So you won’t need it to brake the car. But getting to the car, and out of the car into your house—”
“Are you serious?” She rolled her eyes. “I’ve been working all night. Going to and from the car won’t be a problem.”
Hogan cupped her chin and looked into her eyes. “You’re one hundred percent sure about this?”
Being snide, she asked, “Gee, Dad, want me to call you when I get home safely?”