Romance with a Bite

by Tamsin Baker

  “Put there by who? That’s the question, Snuggles.”

  He gave me one of his hopeful more-food-for-me meows.

  He obviously had about as much of an idea as me.

  My bedroom on the second floor overlooked the back garden and the picturesque valley beyond. I ran up the stairs two steps at a time to get another look at the silhouette. Snuggles raced me up the steps, determined to win whatever game we were playing. At the landing, I stopped with my hand on the light switch, but instead of flicking it on, I crept around the perimeter of the room until I got to the window.

  On my hands and knees, I crawled to the middle of the window sill and slowly lifted my head to gaze across the garden.

  It was still there, inanimate as a statue. But from this angle, it was clear it wasn’t a cardboard cutout. His hair lifted in the breeze, and then he lifted his face and looked right at me. Our gazes connected and even in the moonlight, I just knew he’d smiled. The hair on the back of my neck rose and an unpleasant prickling sensation spread across my scalp.

  I dropped into a squat, and my fingers fumbled across the keypad on my phone screen. I gave my name and address, explained about the strange, black-clad man in my garden and asked for police.

  “It’s Doreen here, honey, we met on Tuesday at the school. Don’t expect you to remember. I’ll get the sheriff out ASAP. You stay right there while I put you on hold.”

  Literally, she said ASAP as if it were a bone fide word. Even under stress, the English teacher in me churned to correct her. I pursed my lips together instead. Tuesday was my first day at my new job, and I’d met so many people, their faces and names jumbled together in my head in a mess. Her thin voice made her sound as old as her name implied.

  I could have sworn the stranger’s eyes flashed a light, neon blue when our gazes connected. But no way could I see that, not even in the moonlight. I glanced at the call timer. I’d been on hold almost two minutes.

  “He won’t be long, honey. Is the man still there?”

  I risked another peek. “Yes. He hasn’t moved.”

  “Sheriff Miller will sort everything out when he gets there.”

  “I hear a siren already.” I let out a breath.

  “No one is far from anyone else here in Dogwood Grove. Can you get to the door to let the sheriff in?”

  “Yes, I’ll go to the front door now.”

  I crawled to the landing and bolted down the stairs to the front door. At the bottom, Snuggles jumped to the stair post, and swished his fluffed tail from side to side.

  “Stay on the line until he arrives, honey.” Doreen could have been swapping scone recipes. She sounded like she’d done this a few times.

  “I can’t see the man from here. What if he’s moved?” Moved closer, for example. My voice betrayed my nerves with a high-pitched tremor.

  “It’s not a problem, we just want to keep you safe. How you settling in? Tilly sure kept a fine abode.”

  I couldn’t disagree with that. She’d left the house and its contents in good condition, obviously well lived in, and well loved. “Yes, so far—”

  The siren grew closer and stopped. A car door slammed and footfalls pounded to my front porch.

  “Miss Thompson?” The knocker rapped twice against the door, the sheriff’s voice somewhat muted by the thick wooden slab.

  I peeked through the peephole. A man, tall, slim—and most importantly, in uniform—stood at the porch rails. “He’s here. Thank you, Doreen.”

  He pushed his identification forward as I swung the door open. “Sheriff Ben Miller, ma’am.”

  His sweet, southern accent tickled my ears. A brief smile lifted the corners of his mouth. He gazed at me through amazing blue eyes and my stomach did a back flip. Tall, dark and blue-eyed, with a killer smile. The combination sucker-punched me in the gut every time.

  “Louisa Thompson.” Discreetly, I wiped my palm on my jeans and held out my hand. Is that what you did when meeting an officer of the law? Never met one before, so I had no idea. But one thing for sure, I was raised with proper manners.

  “Miss Thompson.” He gave my hand a firm shake and nodded. “Can I gain entry to your garden through the gate?”

  “The side gate? Yes, it’s unlocked.” No point in locking that one, as the whole back of the property opened to one of the many creeks crisscrossing the area.

  “Bolt your door again. He probably ran when he heard the siren but I’ll have a look around.”

  I bolted the door as instructed, scooped Snuggles into my arms, and darted to the kitchen window. Snuggles jumped to the counter under the kitchen window and bumped his head into my chest.

  “Let me watch the handsome sheriff do his stuff, bubs.”

  Snuggles was completely uninterested in Ben Miller, or what he was doing as he prowled the back garden with a powerful flashlight. The cat’s loud purring helped to steady my pulse. With his dark clothes and hair, the sheriff almost disappeared into the shrubs. Occasional flashes of light showed where he was searching.

  Damn, he was a good-looking man. Not handsome in a model way. Handsome in a sexy look-you-right-in-the-eye-and-smile-like-he-meant-it kind of way. He was surely taken. Or gay. Not that it mattered. I wasn’t looking. No, siree. As much as I loved Aunt Tilley and missed her, this inheritance couldn’t have come at a better time.

  Ben glanced up as if he felt my gaze upon him.

  My hand froze in Snuggles’ fur. I gave the sheriff a smile and little wave. Nothing wrong with watching the goings on though my kitchen window, was there? Not my fault if the man made the uniform look mighty good.

  He switched off the flashlight and made his way to my porch. I swung the door open as he mounted the porch steps, shaking his head.

  “Nothing?” I stood aside to let him enter the kitchen. “Can I get you a coffee?”

  “No one is there now.” He glanced at his watch. “Thanks, I’d love a coffee.”

  Still cuddling Snuggles, I busied myself with filling the old-fashioned percolator coffee pot and setting it on the heat. “Are you on call?”

  Ben creased his brow.

  “This evening. You arrived so quickly.”

  His smile returned. “I wasn’t far away. We should talk.”

  “Talk?” Despite his smile, his tone held an ominous ring. Too gloomy for just a stunt by wayward teenagers. “Do you know who it was? What he was doing just standing there? Should I be worried?” I set Snuggles on the table.

  “Yes, yes and maybe.” Sheriff Miller pulled out one of the old shaker chairs, sat, and interlaced his long fingers on the tabletop.

  “Wait.” I spun to face him. “You said maybe I should worry.”

  “Have you eaten? A cookie might help.”

  A cookie? A handsome chauvinist was still a chauvinist. Good. Meant I didn’t have to worry about whether he was free. “Shall I pour myself some milk as well? I’m not a child.”

  “No. But what I’m about to tell you might come as a shock.”

  My stomach decided to rumble and I remembered the spaghetti in the fridge. The salad I’d eaten at lunchtime was a distant memory. I made up a tray in silence, coffee pot, milk, sugar, and a plate of soft, saucer-sized chocolate chip cookies I’d picked up from the local bakery only yesterday.

  I grabbed two of Aunt Tilly’s fine bone china mugs from the dresser, added them to the tray and slid it to the middle of the table. “I teach high school Literature and English. I’m not easily shocked, Sheriff.”

  “Good. Hold onto that thought. And it’s Ben.” He poured for both of us, added two sugars and creamer to his cup and blew ripples across the surface of the steaming coffee. “I’m not sure where to start.”

  “The beginning too obvious? Have you heard I’m a mean marker in creative writing class?” I gave him a bright smile to show him I was keeping this light-hearted and broke one of the cookies in half. “Why not start with the strange man in my garden.”

  “About six-feet four inches. Slim build. Thick hair in
dark waves on his collar. And when you meet him properly you will find he has shimmering blue eyes. Watch out when they change to amber.”

  “Like Snuggles.” He jumped onto the table and tried to whack one of the cookies onto the floor.

  “Hunter’s eyes.” Ben finished his coffee in a few gulps, leaned back and stared at me. “You must take this seriously.”

  “You haven’t told me anything yet. Your description matches what I saw of the man.” I chewed at my lip, sure I hadn’t mentioned the eyes to Doreen, nor to Ben. “Is he dangerous? Why was he here? If you know who it is, why don’t you arrest him?”

  A device at Ben’s shoulder beeped. He turned his profile to me to listen to the call, but by the tightening of his eyes, it was obvious he didn’t like the news the caller had delivered.

  When Ben faced me again, his expression had settled into a poker face. “He’s dangerous, but not to you, not in the short-term at least, and not in any way for which I can arrest him. I must go. And we still need to talk—meaning you must listen.” He scribbled a phone number on the back of one of his police cards and thrust it into my hand.

  I rested one hand against my hip while I gesticulated with the card. “You can’t barge in here, and start telling me the stranger is dangerous. Tell me I have to listen, then disappear—”

  “No choice. Missing kid.” He ran his hands through his hair. “He’s run off before, but I have to go.”

  “Of course. Hope you find him quickly.” No question that a missing kid took priority. I was in no danger, but I’d keep my blinds closed and doors locked.

  Ben strode to the front door so fast I had to run to keep up with him.

  From the front porch, I peered around the garden and into the road. “Good luck.”

  “Your man has long gone. Sleep well.” Ben touched his fingertip to his brow as if in a small salute. “I’m sorry if I startled you. I’ll catch you tomorrow, if I can.”

  “Sure. I’ll be home all day.” I grabbed Snuggles and bolted us indoors again. “Of all the nerve.”

  Snuggles meowed his agreement. He nestled into the crook of my arm as I put the spaghetti into the microwave to reheat and tossed a salad.

  “Sounds fishy. And nothing like the prime salmon you like to eat, bubs.”

  Dangerous. But not to me, in the short-term, at least. And even though Ben knew who it was, he couldn’t, or wouldn’t arrest the man. The man with shimmering eyes.

  I shook out a light tremor in my fingertips. I’d catch the mysterious sheriff tomorrow, no point in worrying.

  Until I had something worth worrying about.

  Chapter Two

  The wonderful aroma of spaghetti Bolognese filled the kitchen. I set the table for one and turned to rinse out the coffee cups and plates from Sheriff Ben Miller’s visit.

  Out in the garden, closer this time, the silhouette stood tall, again.

  One of the coffee cups slipped from my grip and smashed onto the tiled floor. That was Tilly’s favorite set. My eyes tightened.

  The nerve of him. Both men. The sheriff’s words repeated in my head. “He’s dangerous, but not to you, not in the short-term at least, and not in any way for which I can arrest him.”

  Men could be so annoying sometimes. A lot of the time. Regardless, I couldn’t call Ben again, he had a lost kid to find. I rummaged for something I could use as a weapon and grabbed an old, heavy, rolling pin. I gave it a practice swing as I flung the back door open and strode to the top of the steps.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” I lowered my voice several octaves and aimed for the student-quelling tone of authority I’d perfected in the classroom.

  “Nicolas Gravier, at your service.” The man appeared at the bottom of the steps so quickly he must have sprinted across the lawn as I blinked.

  He placed a foot on the second step. “Please call me Nic—”

  “Stop right there.” I took a step down and brandished the rolling pin. The light spilling from the kitchen window highlighted his cheekbones.

  He lifted his eyebrows and his lips quirked. “I sure don’t want to get on your bad side, Miss Thompson.” His cultured accent held a hint of European panache.

  He shrugged his hands into his trouser pockets. His clear gaze held mine, his eyes a shimmering blue just like Sheriff Ben said. Probably in his mid-thirties, he wore his thick, dark waves brushed back from his forehead. A thin moustache and neat goatee surrounded plump, finely shaped lips. Even in casual clothes, he wore an easy, suave elegance. I leaned forward, watching carefully for any sudden change from blue to amber. He seemed amused by my silent study.

  “My bad side is not a thing of beauty, Mr. Gravier.” My tone of authority wavered, but five years teaching high school students and dealing with both parents and school administrators had given me an elephant’s memory and the ability to hold a grudge like nobody's business. “You know who I am?”

  “Your Aunt Tilly told me all about you.”

  Well, she hadn’t told me about this tall, dark, and handsome stranger. I quirked my eye at him. “I know your family name, of course.”

  “Of course.” He shrugged with the nonchalance expected of one of Dogwood Grove’s founding families.

  “I see your name in the local paper often.”

  He shrugged again and added a wave of his hand. “Properties and businesses, they build up over generations.”

  “Your contributions to community buildings and projects keeps you in the spotlight, too. The Gravier Auditorium at my new school is amazing.” He didn’t seem dangerous so far. I shifted my stance slightly. “But Tilly never mentioned you as a friend.”

  “Closer to a colleague, perhaps.” He reached for my empty hand. I thought he wanted to shake it in greeting, but instead he rotated my wrist and touched his lips to the back of my knuckles. It was a gentlemanly gesture, practiced and somehow sincere. He didn’t even hold on to my hand for too long. “Glad to see you settling in. It’s a lovely place you’ve inherited here.”

  He sounded genuine, but the way he’d popped up out of the blue still rattled me. “Indeed." I gripped the rolling pin in both hands. "You were here earlier. Do you live nearby?”

  If Tilly really knew him well, she would've invited him in for coffee by now. She’d have a fit if she got to hear about my lack of manners. But the man, while friendly enough, gave off an air of menace and intrigue. Sheriff Miller had called him dangerous, after all—just not dangerous to me.

  He gestured toward the creek. “I live across the stream and down about half a mile. It’s such a beautiful evening, I couldn’t resist a walk.”

  Stream gave the creek an air of grandeur it didn’t deserve. A walk in the dark on its boggy banks wasn’t my cup of tea, but with a shrug I acknowledged that it takes all kinds of people to make the world work. The Gravier mansion was closer than I’d thought.

  “I’ve seen your place a few times. Aunt Tilly took me to open garden days and fetes on your gorgeous property more often than I can remember.”

  He dipped his chin to acknowledge my compliment.

  A cool wind made me wish I’d grabbed a cardigan before storming out of my nice warm kitchen. Rolling pin still in hand, I wrapped my arms across my chest.

  We stared at one another for several moments. I envied the thick waves tumbling past his collar. Many women would, but somehow it looked masculine on him. Stubble accented his cheekbones, but there was nothing unkempt about him. I had no idea why I was studying him so closely. No way was I in the market for a man, not even one this enticing.

  A flash of amber lit his eyes and drowsiness drew my eyelids down. I suddenly felt as stoned as if I’d vaped way too much hash oil.

  “Tilly took me to a fair one time.” A strange bliss loosened my tongue even as warning bells sounded an alarm at the back of my brain. “I remember eating pink cotton candy and seeing a fortune teller in a blue and yellow tent near a lake on your huge grounds. She said I’d find my calling after many wrong turns.”


  He gave a slight shrug as the glow in his eyes faded. “You are shivering. Go back inside, Ms. Thompson.” He cast his gaze from my face to my chest and back to my eyes, before half-turning and giving me a small wave. “I look forward to seeing more of you soon.”

  Alert again, I stayed on the step and watched him walk with unhurried grace to the end of my garden. He had to know I’d almost drooled over him. More of me? Or more time with me? He hadn’t made it clear. Snuggles head-butted my ankles and I bent to pick him up.

  “He sure is a good-looking man, isn’t he?” I scrunched my fingers around Snuggles’ head. “An enigma, a bit odd, and possibly dangerous, but European-model handsome.” I scooted back into the kitchen, pulled the door shut and bolted it.

  I still wasn’t sure if I had anything to worry about.

  #

  I slept well and Saturday dawned a beautiful, blue-skied September day. I gazed across the garden as I sipped coffee and Snuggles lapped up milk. I skimmed through the pile of mail and flyers on the table, and stopped at a leaflet advertising ballet for seniors every Saturday at ten am in the school’s dance studio. There was no shortage of amenities at Dogwood Grove Private High School.

  “What do you think, Snuggles? I’m not yet thirty, still decades off entering my senior years, but I have missed it.” And now I only had myself to please, not an ex-boyfriend who thought ballet was for spoiled little rich girls.

  Snuggles chirped his agreement, so I showered and dressed in a unitard I’d held onto since I’d last practiced. I covered myself with an oversize t-shirt, used the online form to register for the dance class and Googled the closest place to buy suitable shoes.

  At the school, with five minutes to spare, I stood in front of the printed notice, twirling brand-new canvas ballet slippers in my hand. I tapped my fingertip against my chin. Four years since I’d practiced properly meant I’d be rusty. I’d already Googled the teacher, a principal with the Kirov Ballet until a repetitive ankle injury cut her career short at the age of twenty-eight. That was ten years ago.