Falling for the Cop

by Dana Nussio

  Natalie turned to her small group of players. “Hey, let’s join the others. We could all use some shot practice.”

  When she jogged over to them, Natalie found Shane offering Chase some tips, pointing a few times to the ball in the boy’s hands and then to the basket.

  She swallowed the knot forming in her throat. Shane just kept proving that he was a decent guy, no matter what preconceptions she had of him. But as Shane leaned closer and offered one last bit of inspiration for Chase’s ears alone, and a new look of determination formed on the boy’s sweet face, a disconcerting tingle began deep inside Natalie. She couldn’t help but picture herself listening to whisperered words Shane intended just for her. Words that had nothing to do with basketball.

  She’d successfully expelled those thoughts, like a player with five fouls in a game, when Chase lifted his arms and prepared to take another shot.

  “You’ve got this, buddy,” Shane told him. “Just point and shoot.”

  And he did.

  Natalie held her breath as the ball went up, up, up and then skimmed the backboard, which was already a huge accomplishment for Chase. But then the ball seemed to move in slow motion as it hit the rim and spun around it. She braced herself for the echo when the ball hit the floor, and the sound came as expected.

  After the ball dropped through the hoop.

  For a few seconds, all sounds in the gym stilled. Chase stared, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

  Kendall broke the silence with a squeal. “You did it, Chase!”

  “Hoot! Hoot!” Lucas called out.

  Soon all of the players were scooting closer to the boy for high fives. Natalie rushed forward, her arms outstretched, but even on wheels, Shane reached him first. Forgetting the high fives, he leaned forward and gathered the boy’s tiny body in his arms, not seeming to care that he risked his own stability in the chair.

  Jubilant, Natalie moved from chair to chair, hugging each player. By the time she reached Chase, Shane had moved on and was hugging them all as if they’d been playing together forever. She gave Chase’s frail shoulders a gentle squeeze and then moved on to hug the occupant of the next chair.

  Only this one’s arms squeezed back with a man-size strength. Natalie’s eyes popped open. She lifted up and away so quickly that she had to sidestep to keep her balance, but it still wasn’t fast enough to stop the heat rushing to her face and other awkward places, given this was a children’s sports practice. And nothing could prevent the tingles that began where his fingers had brushed and stretched like a grassfire across her shoulders and down her arms.

  She licked her lips that had become desperately dry.

  “You okay, Coach Natalie?” Chase looked over at her with concern on his face.

  “Of course.” She forced a smile. “I was just a little off balance.”

  Off balance didn’t begin to describe this journey from her equilibrium without any sure direction home. She sneaked a glance at Shane. He looked as shell-shocked as she felt. Instead of watching her, he stared blankly at the far net where one basket had triggered this whole awkward moment.

  He caught her watching, but instead of that cocky grin she’d come to expect, his smile appeared almost shy. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who realized that they’d better roll, walk or run away from each other. And quickly.

  Shane cleared his throat. “You see, guys, I won’t say that practice makes perfect. But practice sure creates possibilities, doesn’t it, Chase?”

  He ruffled Chase’s hair, and a grin split the boy’s cherublike face. When Shane glanced back at Natalie again, his own smile was warm and direct.

  Did she really want to get away from Shane Warner? The question returned, but this time, as she pushed the thought away, it clung with winding tendrils. Needing something to do with her hands, she moved about the gym, collecting the extra balls. The team members followed her example, helping out but finishing the task too quickly.

  Parents who’d stayed for the whole practice, either watching the drills or paying attention only to their smartphones, gathered at the far end of the gym, coats piled over their arms. Had any of them witnessed the exchange she’d had with Shane? Would they wonder if there was more to their relationship than just basketball? Was there?

  Shane didn’t seem worried about anything the parents might have observed. He crossed the gym floor and greeted several of them, even speaking with Chase’s mom, pointing to her beaming son. Natalie joined them all for small talk but was relieved when the children were bundled and out the door.

  Natalie returned to the bench and collected her clipboard, dry-erase play board and the bag of balls. Sensing Shane’s presence behind her, she turned to find him putting on his coat with no small amount of effort. She knew better than to offer help.

  “You’d best be getting me home,” he said as he pulled up the zipper. “I turn into a pumpkin pretty quickly these days.”

  As soon as he’d said it, Natalie had an answer to her question about whether or not she wanted space between them. It would be the wise thing to do, for her and the trooper to move quickly in opposite directions. But the truth remained that at least one of them might want the other to stay.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  NATALIE HELD THE storm door open and pushed Shane’s chair through the opening, waiting as he reached for a light switch.

  The single light only threw shadows into the empty house. She stepped out of her boots in the entry and tiptoed into the dark family room. Once she located the table lamp, she traced her fingers down the shade to the base and flicked on the switch. The room was no longer dark, but it did nothing to relieve her discomfort.

  They were alone in his house.

  “I thought you said you always have someone staying with you?” She took in the tidy room with its simple decor.

  “I never said that. You just assumed it.”

  “That’s not safe.”

  “Now don’t you be worrying about me.”

  She could hear the smile in his voice before she took a peek to confirm it. Her face felt hot though she’d barely warmed up after coming inside.

  “I’m fine. Really. Someone is here every few hours, and someone bunks in the guest room every night.” He shrugged. “I have almost too much help. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but I still appreciate the little breaks.”

  “But what if you fall or if you need to use the...er...facilities?”

  She didn’t sound like a medical professional right now, but she couldn’t imagine if she left her mother home alone for more than a short while. Of course, her mother let her know it every time she did.

  Without taking off his coat, he followed her into the family room. “If I fell, I would use my cell phone that I religiously have on me. And about the other—” he paused, glancing over at her “—I make do. My arms are still pretty strong.”

  Of course, he was more determined to be self-sufficient than her mother was.

  “But if you’d like to check around the house for the boogeyman before you go home, help yourself.”

  He was really grinning now, and she could only frown. She doubted that any boogeyman would stand a chance against Shane Warner, chair or no chair.

  “You could also stick around to protect me until reinforcements arrive,” he continued. “I probably have a few beers in the fridge if the others haven’t sucked them down.”

  Natalie’s mouth went dry. Spending time alone with him in that house sounded like the kind of bad idea that made other bad ideas look like good ones with rough edges.

  But as she shook her head, everything inside her nodded, as if unaware of the perils. “I really should get home.”

  “And leave me here to my own defenses? Won’t you feel terrible if I break my neck trying to turn on the garbage disposal or fall off
the shower chair?”

  “You don’t take risks like that when you’re in the house alone, do you?” she asked sharply. She blinked as the image of him sitting in one of those functional shower chairs, wet and gloriously naked, stole into her thoughts. His only fall would be along with her as they tumbled to the bathroom floor.

  He shook his head, not privy to her slippery and sudsy fantasy.

  “Believe me, I’ve been read the riot act about the shower thing. I...uh...get help with that from the visiting nurse aide.”

  “Oh.” Her daydream morphed then, but only to her back in scrubs, serving as his assistant and then slipping out of all that constraining cotton. She blinked away the image. She needed to get a handle on this unacceptable slide show.

  “You could still stay a while to protect me. And have a beer.”

  “You’re a cop,” she said to remind both herself and him. “Are you suggesting that I drink and then get behind the wheel of a car?”

  He frowned. “I don’t recommend that you guzzle a six-pack. One beer won’t get you close to the legal limit. But if you’re worried, I have juice. The faucet works, too.”

  She looked back and forth between him and the door. “How long did you say it would be before someone gets here?”

  “I didn’t say.” He smiled like someone with the upper hand in an argument. “Maybe an hour or so.”

  She gave one last, flimsy try. “But you said you appreciate having time alone.”

  “But what if I do something dangerous like brush my teeth or use the can opener?”

  “Fine.” It had been a losing battle from the start, but she’d been complicit in her defeat.

  “So beer?” he asked.

  “Juice. In plastic, I hope. Wouldn’t want you breaking any glass bottles.”

  Or her getting tipsy. She had to keep her senses sharp around him. She couldn’t risk allowing alcohol to soften her rigid boundaries and make him seem too nice, too perfect. He was already a little too sexy for her to risk spending time alone with.

  “Okay, law-abiding citizen. Follow me.”

  He led her into the long, narrow kitchen that never had been intended for anyone traveling by wheelchair.

  He pointed to the wooden dinette with two chairs on the far end of the room. “Have a seat.”

  “I can—”

  “I can handle it.”

  So she sat and watched his careful, practiced moves. She had to give him credit. He could easily have asked his friends to do everything for him, but it was clear that he’d found ways to do many things himself.

  He opened a lower cabinet and placed a clear tumbler and two salad plates on his lap before closing the door. Then he reached in the drawer above it for two forks. He transported all the items to the table and then moved to the refrigerator.

  “I thought this was just juice.”

  “Oh, no. With all of the food people keep bringing, you’re not getting out of here without eating something.”

  She shrugged. She was a little hungry.

  “What do you have?”

  “Everything, but right now we’re having cake.”

  “Somebody brought you some cake?”

  “A whole cake.” He disappeared behind the refrigerator door, but when he closed it again, a two-layer chocolate cake rested on a plastic wrap–covered plate in his lap. A sizable chunk had been cut out of one side, but there was still plenty left. “People bring food when they don’t know what else to say. Just like at funerals.”

  Because she understood that notion more than she was willing to admit, she focused on the chocolate confection in his lap. She fully expected him to drop it, but he slid it on the table with the plastic intact.

  “I’m getting a lot better at this. Lots of practice.” Moving back to the cabinet, he pulled out a bread knife.

  “I can imagine.”

  Her mother had never made that kind of progress in remastering simple tasks, but then Elaine had never even tried to do most of the things she’d taken for granted before the accident.

  “These have helped.” Shane tapped the edge of one of the plates with the knife, producing several dull thuds.

  “Plastic?”

  “This, too.” He tapped the knife on the side of the glass.

  “That looks real.”

  “It is real. It just isn’t breakable.” He pointed to the dishes on the table. “They were gifts. Everyone got sick of sweeping up broken things.”

  “Speaking of glass, you only brought one.”

  He waved his index finger at her. He opened the refrigerator door, blocking her view, and then he shut it. When he approached her again, he had a half-gallon jug of orange juice in his lap along with one can—not a bottle—of beer.

  “Another thing that’s a little easier.” He pointed to the can.

  “Beer with cake?”

  “Any worse than juice with cake?”

  “Probably not.” She poured the juice, surprised when Shane didn’t insist on doing it. “Anyway, you haven’t explained yet why you have a whole cake.”

  “Not sure myself. Usually they just bring meals, but Delia was trying out a new recipe, I guess.”

  Rather than open his beer, he set it aside and uncovered the cake. He cut two large slices and handed her one.

  “Do your friends bring a lot of food?”

  He nodded. “I haven’t had the heart to tell them I can’t eat all of it. I have to sneak some into the garbage.”

  “Are you sure you can trust me with your secret?”

  “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?” He eyed her for several seconds.

  Natalie swallowed, her mouth dry. They’d been alone in his house for about twenty minutes, but the room suddenly seemed more intimate, the air too thin to draw a decent breath. He’d only said he could trust her with a tiny secret, but his steady gaze made it seem as if he was saying more. And she found she wanted to know more about him, details that had more to do with her curiosity and less with his recovery.

  “You haven’t told me about the...shooting.” The last word caught in her throat, but at least she hadn’t referred to it as an accident this time.

  His gaze fixed on hers, and then he lifted a brow. “You really want to know?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”

  At first he said nothing, as if considering whether or not to share his story, but then he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and started talking. “It was a domestic incident involving a woman and her live-in boyfriend. Domestics are our most dangerous calls because tensions are so high. Anything can happen.

  “Anyway, I got the call from dispatch and was first on the scene. I was waiting for backup—my friend Vinnie was on his way—but I heard the screams. I couldn’t wait.”

  A knot formed at the base of her throat, and her pulse thudded as she waited for him to tell the rest. She knew the end result, and yet she was no longer hearing his account as some distant listener. She had this strange urge to call out for him not to go, as a viewer might shout at a movie screen when the murderer waited behind the door.

  “I know. I should have waited.”

  “You believed someone was in danger.”

  “She was.” He paused before going on. “It was pouring, so I couldn’t see that far ahead of me. I slipped in the backyard gate and found the victim crumpled just inside it. She wasn’t moving. I checked the scene, and it appeared as if the suspect might have fled, so I called for an ambulance and tried to get to the victim.”

  He studied his gripped hands for several seconds before looking up again. “I needed to check if she was still alive, but I never reached her.”

  “The guy came back?”

  “I never saw him, and because of the storm, I couldn’t hear him.
” He shook his head. “They told me later that he’d been waiting on the other side of the house.”

  “Waiting for someone to try to help her?” Fury at a man she’d never met welled inside her, icy fingers creeping up her back. “Did he still want to get back to kill her?”

  “We assume that was his plan, but we’ll never know.”

  “Why not?”

  He held up an index finger, asking her to wait. “I was about ten yards from her when the shot went off behind me.”

  “He shot you in the back without ever saying a word?”

  “At least I don’t remember anything. But then I don’t remember much after that.”

  “Did they ever catch the guy?” The injustice of it burned inside her. He hadn’t even had the chance to defend himself.

  “Dead on the scene.”

  “Suicide?”

  He shook his head. “Sergeant Leonetti... Vinnie. He apparently arrived just as I went down. He and the suspect exchanged fire.”

  “What about the victim?”

  “He beat her nearly to death. But she survived and eventually was able to go home to her kids.”

  Because of you. She swallowed. At first she wasn’t sure whether she’d spoken those words aloud or only in the privacy of her thoughts. But as Shane took a single bite of his cake and then pushed it away, Natalie surmised that she’d held her words inside. There was nothing she could do about the lump that formed in her throat, though. She took a swallow of her juice, trying to blink back the building emotion.

  She’d imagined Shane as a cowboy, galloping in on his white horse to play the hero, and he’d really been a hero, possibly shielding that woman with his own body. If the man shot a police officer from behind, would he also have fired on an unconscious woman? They would never know, but Shane had nearly given his life trying to protect her.

  At the pop of Shane opening his beer, Natalie jerked, drawn from a chasm of thoughts she’d never expected.

  “That was a great practice tonight, wasn’t it?” he said.

  Natalie released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. He might just have been uncomfortable with his memories, but the topic change felt like a gift to her, as well. Why did it matter so much that her preconception of Shane bore no resemblance to the man sitting next to her?