Keeping Katie (A Mother's Heart Book 1)

by Patricia Keelyn

  When Cliff delivered their drinks, Maureen turned back to Alan and smiled. This place, these mountains, had worked wonders on her. All the pain and mystery had vanished from her face.

  “So,” she said when Cliff disappeared again, “what brought you back to Wyattville after college?”

  “It’s a long story.” Alan tore open a couple of sugar packets and dumped them into his tea. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

  Maureen grinned, the late-afternoon sun casting a pearly glow across her cheeks. “Sure. Why not?”

  “Well …” Alan took a sip of tea and winced. Grabbing another couple of packets of sugar, he added it to the drink.

  “Fattening,” she teased.

  Alan grinned and waved his spoon in the general direction of Maureen’s diet soda. “Better fat than whatever the chemicals in that stuff will do to you.” Stirring his tea again, he took a sip and sighed. “Better. Much better.”

  “Actually,” she said, “I figured you more as the beer-drinking type.”

  He chuckled. “I am. But I thought you might like to get back to Katie tonight. Beer and driving in these mountains don’t mix.”

  “Conscientious to the end.” She smiled, but he couldn’t tell whether she was serious or making fun. “You were about to tell me how you ended up back in Wyattville.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Alan leaned back in his chair, casually resting one leg on top of the other. “Actually, I spent most of my youth planning on how I was going to get out of Wyattville.”

  “You hated it that much?”

  “Hate’s a pretty strong word.” He paused, considering. “I don’t think I ever thought of it quite like that. I just wanted out. That’s not particularly unusual for kids raised in small towns. You have this idea that there has to be something else out there, something better than what you have.”

  “And was there?”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  “So where did you go?”

  “College first. Western Washington University, up in Bellingham. Luckily, I had good grades and a knack for football. Between the two, I managed to wrangle a partial scholarship. But it only lasted a year.”

  “You lost the scholarship?”

  “No.” He took another sip of his tea. “I enlisted.”

  “But why? What happened?” The look on Maureen’s face spoke volumes. Alan instantly knew what side of the war she was on. “If you were in college …”

  He thought of that year, of his anger, of the country’s anger. “911 happened.

  “Besides, I was a small-town boy, raised by a lawman, and I didn’t fit in on a liberal college campus. Looking back, I know it was because I didn’t want to fit in.” He paused, thinking of the day he’d chucked his scholarship. “A week after the towers came down, I walked into a marine recruitment office.”

  “The marines?” Maureen grimaced and leaned back in her chair. “Man, you are a glutton for punishment.”

  Alan laughed. He’d been such a cocky young man. “Hell, I was out to prove a point.”

  “To whom?”

  Alan’s smile turned to a wry grin, and he shrugged. “Who knows?”

  Cliff showed up with their food, and a lull fell over the conversation. They both seemed content for the moment to dig into the thick burgers and steaming fries. Cliff returned a few minutes later and refilled their drinks. Then he left them alone again.

  “So, after you got out of the service, you went back to Wyattville?”

  Alan could hear the caution in her voice, the hesitation to ask the question. “Eventually. I’d grown up and realized I didn’t want all those things the outside world had to offer.”

  Maureen nodded.

  Alan wondered if she had ever faced the same doubts, questioning the choices she’d made, realizing she’d been wrong. Something told him she had. “Anyway, when I finished my tour of duty, I returned to school and got my degree. Then I came back to Wyattville. End of story.”

  “But no law school.”

  “Nope. The town needed a sheriff, and I no longer needed to be a lawyer.”

  “And you’re happy?”

  Alan hesitated a moment. The answer to that question was not as simple as it might have been a couple of months ago. He’d been happy, or at least he thought he had. Maybe the word that best described how he felt about his life up until now was content. He’d been content—with his job, with his town.

  Now there was this woman, this Maureen Adams, with her startling blue eyes and porcelain skin. A woman who made him ache with the gentle sway of her hips and her all-too-feminine bottom. A woman living in a cloud of mystery so thick he could feel it. And suddenly, contentment no longer fit.

  “I’m happy,” he said finally.

  She looked at him, questioning. “You don’t sound so sure.”

  “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself?” he suggested, trying to change the subject.

  Maureen smiled, gracefully acknowledging his tactic. “I think you and everyone else in town already know my entire life story.”

  Alan chuckled. “Small towns.”

  “Yes, small towns.” She glanced away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “I can’t quite get used to it. In Chicago, no one knows or cares about anyone else.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “Maybe a bit. Still, it’s nothing like here.”

  Cliff showed up to retrieve their empty plates and offer dessert. The special for the day was homemade strawberry pie, and Alan convinced her to try it. Once Cliff was out of earshot, Alan informed her that at this time of year, the special dessert was always fresh strawberry something.

  “So,” he said, wanting to bring the conversation back to a personal level, “if you won’t tell me about yourself, tell me what you were doing at the Simmons place today.”

  She shrugged. “I met Tommy.”

  Alan lifted an eyebrow, encouraging her to go on. “I was stretching my legs,” she said. “He appeared out of nowhere. I went to talk to him.”

  “Tommy Simmons doesn’t just talk to anyone.”

  “Well, he was a little shy at first.” At his dubious grin, she added, “Okay, he was a lot shy.”

  “So?” Alan knew there was something more here. Something she wasn’t telling him.

  “We talked.”

  Alan considered pushing a little harder but changed his mind. Instead, he let the subject slide, not wanting to dim the smile in her eyes. But he couldn’t help thinking he’d never met a more closemouthed woman.

  “What about you and Simmons?” she asked after a few minutes of silence.

  He hesitated. Something warned him this was dangerous ground, but he couldn’t refuse to answer. “It wasn’t what you’d call a successful meeting.”

  “I take it Bud didn’t agree to keep Joey on the straight and narrow?” She smiled, but there was a tenseness about her that denied the lightness of her tone.

  “Hardly. He told me to mind my own business.”

  “And will you?”

  “Not if Joey continues to break the law.”

  “But what if Millie’s right?” She leaned forward, her hands clasped together on the table. “What if the boy’s supporting his family?”

  Alan sighed. “I admit it’s not a good situation, but if the boy’s driving without a license—”

  “But it’s such a minor infraction. Under the circumstances, can’t you ignore it?”

  “Minor infraction.” Alan sat forward in his chair. “Do you think if I let Joey get away with this, it will stop with his driving without a license?”

  “I don’t know, but—”

  “What do I allow him to get away with next? Robbing a liquor store? Or stealing old ladies’ Social Security checks?”

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “Of course not.”

  “You sound like a typical do-gooder. You want me to let the boy break the law as long as he doesn’t bother you.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”
Maureen held her ground, never flinching under his gaze. “And you know it.”

  “Do I?” Alan leaned back and crossed his arms. “Do you believe circumstances dictate whether you respect the law? That sometimes it’s okay to break the law, if the situation warrants it?”

  Maureen didn’t answer, and Alan repeated his question. “Do you?”

  “Yes,” she said at last. “I do.”

  Silence fell hard between them. There were small sounds: the couple talking on the other side of the porch, the men at the bar cheering over a game on the television, and the distant sound of a truck on the highway.

  “I disagree,” he said quietly. “No one has the right to decide when a law is right or wrong. As soon as you allow an individual to make that choice, you have chaos.”

  He saw the stubbornness in her eyes. But there was something else there, too. Something that went beyond a discussion of ideologies. The fight drained out of him and he said nothing more.

  Cliff delivered their dessert: big slices of strawberry pie smothered in whipped cream. Alan picked up his fork, but food no longer interested him. He stole a glance at Maureen, who sat staring off toward the mountains, where the sun had dipped just below the ridge.

  “Maureen?” he said tentatively.

  She turned back to look at him, her eyes cold. “What about Simmons?” she asked, her voice as chilly as her eyes. “Isn’t he breaking the law?”

  Alan sighed and dropped his fork. “Not technically.”

  “And that counts here? Is that it? He’s neglecting his sons. Possibly worse.”

  “I told you, there’s no abuse going on out there.”

  “And I’m just supposed to take your word for that?”

  “This isn’t your concern, Maureen. This is my town. I’ll handle it.”

  Again, an uneasy silence fell between them. Alan picked up his fork and took a stab at his pie. Maureen didn’t even pretend. She sat there, once again staring out toward the mountains.

  “Millie was right,” she said, almost absently. Then she turned back to meet his gaze. “You’re stubborn, hard-nosed, and narrow-minded.”

  They rode in silence back to Wyattville.

  There was no need for words. Everything had been said back at the restaurant. They were opposites. Like the two poles of a magnet. Neither understood how the other saw things.

  Yet despite everything that had passed between them, tranquility stole into Maureen’s heart. The top of the Jeep was open, and an array of stars covered the night sky. The cool evening breeze kissed her face, while soft strains of music wafted through the air. Alan had picked a classical station. She laid her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. The music fitted her mood.

  It seemed odd, Alan choosing Mozart.

  A man so firmly embedded in his concepts of right and wrong wasn’t the type to listen to this kind of music. He should listen to something hard and jarring, she decided, with no rhythm. Smiling, she laughed silently to herself. Who was she to judge or typecast Alan Parks? Or even understand him? He was a man full of contradictions. So she tried to focus on all the reasons why she should dislike him. Instead, her mind drifted, and images of him throughout the day flitted before her closed eyes.

  She recalled the way he’d looked this morning, when she’d first opened the door. He’d stood on the porch with his hands stuck in the pockets of his sinfully tight jeans, while his gaze raked her from head to toe. Even now, remembering that look, she felt an uncomfortable warmth steal over her.

  He’d reminded her of the boys her father used to warn her about. The ones none of the good girls dared speak to, while they all secretly wondered what it would be like. And like the girl she’d been, this morning she’d wished Alan had worn his sheriff’s uniform, even as she drank in the sight of him in skintight denim.

  Later, at the Simmons place, he’d put on his badge before going in to see Bud. It hadn’t helped. Not with Bud. Not with her reaction to Alan. The scene played out in her mind, and she remembered details she hadn’t noticed at the time. There was the smell of dust and the utter stillness of the yard. But mainly there was Alan, standing with his back to her, the tension in his shoulders pulling the fabric of his shirt tight across his broad back. His masculinity had screamed at her, making her forget all the reasons why she should avoid him.

  Then, when he’d picked her up in Seattle, his copper eyes had offered comfort. She’d wanted nothing more than to crawl into his lap and cry. For a moment, she’d been tempted to unburden herself to him, to let someone else carry her problems for a while. She had needed it desperately, and he’d been willing. The memory warmed her, making her realize that this was the most threatening side of this very dangerous man.

  When they pulled up in front of Rita’s house, Maureen didn’t want to move. Odd that she should feel this way—after all that had happened today. Alan must have felt the same, because he, too, sat silently, without making a move to get out of the Jeep.

  After a few moments, Maureen opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. He sat sideways in the seat, watching her.

  “Thanks,” she said softly, so as not to disturb the silence.

  “Thanks?”

  “For driving me to Seattle. For dinner.”

  He reached out and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. Closing her eyes again, she savored his touch. She knew she should turn away, but she couldn’t. Something stronger than common sense kept her still, treasuring the moment.

  She sensed his shift toward her. Opening her eyes, she started to speak. He stopped her words by bringing his fingers to her lips. Trembling, she inched backward and met the hard metal of the door at her back.

  “Why are you fighting this?” he asked, so softly that she wasn’t sure he’d actually spoken the words aloud.

  “Fighting this?”

  “Yes.” His hand left her mouth, sliding across her cheek and into her hair. He paused there for a moment, his fingers toying with the strands around her ear. “Why are you running from me?”

  “I’m not.”

  “But you are.” He came closer, his lips within a whisper of her face. He dropped a feather-light kiss on her cheek. “And you want this as much as I do.”

  “No.”

  He kissed her again, gentler still, on her temple. “Then why are you trembling?”

  “I’m not.”

  He pulled away, just enough to look deeply into her eyes. She saw the amusement there, the acknowledgment of her lie.

  “It could be good between us,” he whispered.

  “No.” But she couldn’t put force into her voice or conviction into the word. His closeness overwhelmed her, draining her strength.

  “Yes.” He found her mouth. Soft, like a summer breeze, he teased her with just the lightest brushing of his mouth against hers.

  “Please, Alan.” It took all her willpower to get the two words out and all her strength to say the last word. “Don’t.”

  He stopped, a mere breath from her lips.

  She edged backward, just enough to put a little distance between them. “It won’t work.” Once again, there was no certainty in her voice, no potency.

  His lips touched hers again, briefly.

  She moaned. She wanted this. Damn him!

  Abruptly, he released her. With catlike grace, he moved away from her, leaving a wall of cold darkness between them. She sat for a moment, stunned, unable to make order of the chaos in her mind. He sat staring out the front window, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

  She fought the urge to touch him, to beg him to pull her back into his arms. At the same time, she wanted to run, to get out of the Jeep and flee for her life.

  There was no telling which choice would have won. Before she could act, Alan climbed out of the Jeep and came around and opened her door. She thought maybe he was angry, but she couldn’t be sure. There was no reading the expression on his face.

  They walked toward the house. When Maureen reached for the
doorknob, he stopped her with a hand on her wrist. This time, without asking, he pulled her into his arms until she felt the entire length of his body against hers. And he kissed her. Not the feather-light kiss of a moment ago. But a deep, yearning, searching kiss, which stole the breath from her lungs.

  Letting go of her mouth as quickly as he’d taken it, he said, “Tell me this isn’t right.” His voice was a low growl, daring her to lie again. But before she could speak, he stepped away from her. Opening the front door, he entered the house, leaving her alone on the porch.

  The instant Maureen followed Alan into the house, Katie descended upon her mother. Filled with the day’s activities, Katie was eager to share her adventures. Maureen lifted the little girl into her arms, but her thoughts and gaze strayed to Alan. He stood watching the two of them, his expression devoid of any evidence of what had just passed between them.

  Maureen stumbled through the next hour. Later, she would recall most of what was said, but as it was happening, she could think only of Alan. Or, more specifically, she could think of nothing but the taste of his lips and the feel of his body pressed close to hers.

  Katie and Rita talked of nothing but the Apple Blossom Festival. Katie bubbled over about the rides and ponies. Rita told them about the craft booths and who was showing what this year. They made plans for the following weekend, Alan promising Katie he would personally take her on the pony rides. And when he was gone, and Katie was tucked into bed, Maureen felt herself on the edge of a gaping pit.

  She lay in bed knowing that Alan would be her undoing. And there was nothing she could do about it. Eventually, he would prevail. She would lose this battle she fought with herself. She would give in to her desire, and Alan would win. And then, she and Katie would be at his mercy.

  Sam Cooper glanced at his watch, thinking it was just about time to call Anderson.

  It had been a hell of a few weeks, but he finally had something to report.