“Thanks, Frasier.” She stopped him and planted a sisterly kiss on his cheek as he tried to bypass her, the Pug under one arm, the basket under the other.
“What are friends for.” he replied gruffly. “By the way…” He paused at the door. “Who’s the lucky guy? Brock the Rock?” Sarcasm dripped from the question.
“Frasier, it really doesn’t concern you.” She crossed her arms and stood looking at him evenly. “We’re friends, but that doesn’t mean we have to share the details of our love lives.”
“No, definitely not. Sorry I asked,” he mumbled.
Feeling like he’d just swallowed a lump of hot coal, he adjusted his cargo and went out into the clear moonlight of an October night already beginning to hint at winter’s frosts. As he slumped off toward his cabin, he remembered Mildred Carter’s remark about Emma’s men having expiry dates and found himself hoping that Mr. Autumn, whoever he was, was on his way to the recycle bin.
****
Two a.m. Frasier looked over at her dark cabin again, another in a long line of so many glances he’d lost count. Then he strode to the refrigerator and took out a beer. It had to be a Bud, he thought bitterly as he opened the long neck. With an exasperated sigh, he dropped onto the couch in front of the fire languishing on the hearth. Bruiser awoke in his basket, looked up at Frasier, gave a lazy wag of his curly tail, yawned, and snuggled back to sleep.
“You’d think he’d be a little concerned, wouldn’t you?” he addressed Scout who was curled up on the far end of the couch. “You’d be worried if I didn’t come home, wouldn’t you?”
Scout gazed at him for a moment, then stuffed his nose back under his tail, fox-fashion, to return to sleep.
“Great! So I’m on watch alone.” Feeling stiff, he pulled himself to his feet. He’d covered what he believed to be every square inch of the area in the last month. Jolting over rocks and roots was beginning to seep into his joints. About the only breaks he got were when Emma and the Pug interfered.
Emma.
“Argh!” He took a long pull on his beer, grabbed a map from the bookcase, and spread it out on the kitchen table. An image of her and Brock enjoying a romantic evening at the restaurant where they’d had lunch flashed across his mind. A grunt of frustration escaped. Stop it. Just stop it. He sat down and bent over an aerial survey of the region.
“Where to look next, where to look next—”
****
“Emma, are you awake?” Mandy Cooper knocked gently on her guest room door, then peered around its partial opening.
“Mandy, come on in.” Emma was sitting up in bed wearing a pair of her friend’s flannelette pajamas, reading a romance novel. “I was going to go down to put the coffee on, but I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“You wouldn’t have.” With a sigh the redhead sank down on the edge of the bed. She wore a filmy nightgown and fluffy slippers. “I didn’t sleep very well. With Jeff away on some sort of secret assignment, I never really relax.”
“Wish you’d never married him?” Emma teased, grinning.
“You know better than that. But I do wish he hadn’t been shipped off two days after our honeymoon.”
“You’d better get used to it, buddy.” Emma stretched and slid her feet over the edge of the bed. “Such will be the life of a law enforcement officer who’s on his way up. Just thank your lucky stars he’s got a career that is making a difference to society, not chasing a ghost cat through the woods.”
“Come on now, Emma. You don’t really feel that disrespectful of Frasier’s work. You’re just mad because he’s placed it ahead of you…for the present. And because…”
Mandy’s voice trailed off.
“Go on. Because…” Emma prompted, narrowing her eyes as she challenged her friend.
“And because he’s the first man who didn’t fall groveling before the charms of Emma Prescott.”
“Mandy, really! You’d think I was some sort of femme fatale!”
“I know you don’t see yourself in such a light, but, believe me, there’s a lot of guys around Carleton who regard you as the uncatchable Emma Prescott.”
“Oh, come off it! Let’s go make some coffee.”
“Are you saying you don’t care all that much for this Frasier MacKenzie?” Mandy pressed, as the two friends headed downstairs in Mandy’s new two-storey home. “Because if you are, I see no reason for the elaborate subterfuge you set up last night…letting him think you had a hot date, then spending the evening sharing a bottle of wine with me.”
“I know you’re lonely when Jeff is away.” Emma avoided Mandy’s eyes as they reached the kitchen and she headed for the coffeepot. “I thought I’d keep you company, that’s all.”
“Then why that sexy dress and Bruiser left for Frasier to babysit? You know that adorable dog is always welcome here.” A cockatoo in a big cage near the garden doors squawked. “I’ll feed you in a minute, Beauty,” she quieted him.
“Okay, okay.” Emma poured water into the coffee machine, set the dial, and turned back to face her companion. “Maybe I would like him to notice me…well, more than notice me. I’d like him to at least acknowledge that I’m a desirable woman, someone he might have a taste for once his days of chasing phantom felines are over.”
“Seems like a risky business to me.” Mandy removed a loaf of bread from its box and turned toward the toaster. “Maybe he’ll think you’re a hopeless man-teaser and decide you’re not worth the trouble.”
“Yeah, well, we’ll see.” Emma sat down at the table, green eyes sparkling wickedly. “I’m thinking that by tonight I’ll have the hermit at Loon Lake just where I want him.”
****
The sound of Emma’s car grinding and muttering up the trail awoke him. Morning was announcing itself, peering through his window in a shaft of sunlight. Feeling relief flood through him, he jolted up from where he’d fallen asleep with his head on the table, knocking over his beer. It gushed out over the map he’d been trying to study before he dozed. Cursing, he bolted toward paper towels on the cupboard.
As he sopped up the mess, a tap sounded at the door. Emma cautiously pushed it open.
“Are you decent?” she called. Then, seeing him mopping up the spill, the bottle beside it, she stopped.
Frasier stopped, too. And stared. Emma still wore the sexy green dress, but now her hair was down and, worst of all, she was barefoot in those strappy sandals.
“A little early for that, isn’t it?” She indicated the long neck as the Pug leaped out of his basket and bulleted to greet her.
“It’s from last night.” He finished cleaning up the spill and flung the wet towels into the garbage can with more than necessary vehemence. “Speaking of last night, where exactly were you?” He swung to face her. “The Pug was worried.”
“Was he?” She scooped up the little dog cavorting about her feet.
“Yes, he was. He hardly slept a wink.”
Damn! Lying again.
“Sorry, sweetie.” Emma kissed the little dog’s furrowed forehead.
“Aren’t you going to reassure him, tell him where you were, promise that it will never happen again?”
“Frasier, what’s wrong?” Emma stared at him, all emerald-eyed innocence. “I don’t…”
“I’ll tell you what’s wrong.” In two long strides he’d crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. Bruiser, sandwiched in between, squeaked as his sitter kissed his mom quick and hard at first, then, for a second time, long and deep.
“Oh, Frasier!” Emma breathed when he finally freed her lips. She looked up at him, green eyes soft and wide as she ran her free hand down his stubbled jaw.
Just what do you think you’re doing? Snap out of it, idiot!
“Emma.” He released her and backed away, rubbing his hands on the seat of his jeans. “Sorry. Sorry.” His voice sounded gruff or squeaky or a bit of both, changing tone with each word. Battling emotions that threatened to force him right back into her arms, this time for much m
ore than a kiss, he headed for the sink. “Coffee?” he managed to get out as he turned on the tap and reached for the pot.
“I hate you, Frasier MacKenzie!” The words flung at his back stung like buckshot. “I really, really hate you!”
The slamming of the door announced her departure. Frasier was left alone, his shoulders slumped, head down, as he held on to the edge of the sink with one hand, heedless of the water overflowing the coffeepot in the other.
****
“You forgot this.” Frasier thrust the Pug’s basket toward her when she answered his knock on her door at 7:00 p.m. “I thought he might need it.”
“Thank you.” The two words reeked of cold civility. She took it from him and started to turn away, but his hand shot out, stopping the door she was closing on him.
“Emma, we need to talk.”
“Really? I’ve always believed actions spoke louder than words.” She paused and looked up at him, her expression hard and hurt. “Today yours yelled that you’re only attracted to me physically…or maybe it’s because I’m the only female human game at Loon Lake. It doesn’t really matter which.” She held up a hand to stop him when he started to protest. “Most importantly, you’ve told me your work takes precedence over anything that might develop between us. So, sorry, Frasier. I don’t have time for a guy who’s only capable of a knee-jerk relationship that he feels he has to apologize for.”
This time she succeeded in shutting the door on him.
****
Frasier MacKenzie couldn’t sleep. He kept tossing and turning, seeing images of Emma, her touchable, smellable hair a tousled chestnut mass, her feet bare in sexy sandals, her smooth shoulders taunting him to touch them, to bury his face against them, inviting his lips to her neck, her cleavage.
Then another image crashed across his roiling mind; an image of Brock Kelly kneeling before Emma, slowly and sensuously removing first one shoe, then the other. Of Brock Kelly reaching to remove those sexy black pantyhose. Of Brock Kelly…
He grabbed his pillow and pummeled it. The woman was driving him nuts. He had to think of all the reasons why a relationship with her would be a big mistake. First, there was his assignment. She had it in her power to ruin his chances of success and incite the Professor to assign someone else to do the job. Second, there was the suspicion that she might be involved in dealing drugs to students. And third, there was her aggravating little dog. The Pug had been nothing but trouble ever since Frasier had dived into the lake to rescue him.
He rolled over, stretched out on his back, locked his fingers behind his head, and heaved a sigh that bordered on a groan. Get your hormones under control, my friend, or else accept the fact that you can spend the rest of your career shuffling papers in some office cubbyhole, feeling like a failure.
The possibility brought him back to his senses. He closed his eyes, determined to get at least some sleep that night.
****
“What are you doing?” He was out of his cabin in a bound. It was 6:00 a.m. the following day. He’d awoken an hour earlier to see every light in her cabin blazing out into the darkness of the frosty fall morning. He watched, wondering what she was up to, but when he saw her emerge dragging a big suitcase, a bag of dog food under her arm, he could no longer contain his curiosity.
“What does it look like? I’m moving out.” She looked up at him. In the shadows of the porch light, he saw her eyes were puffy. “It’s what you’ve always wanted, right? Bruise and me out of the way so you can concentrate on your stupid project?”
“Yes…no…ah, damn it, Emma!”
“Would you mind either helping me or getting the hell out of my way?”
“Okay, okay.” He grabbed the suitcase and dog food and headed for her car. Like she’d said, this was what he’d wanted, what he needed to happen, right? Then why did he feel so downright sickly rotten?
“Where are you going to stay?” he asked, as she cracked the trunk and he swung both his burdens inside.
“With Mildred Carter, the woman you met in the office at school. She has a big house and needs to share expenses. Since she has two cats, another animal isn’t a problem.”
“But the woman’s jealous of you, made nasty remarks about you!” He caught her by an arm as she started back toward the house.
She glared up at him. He hated the fact that she’d obviously been crying. “I don’t have a lot of options with Bruise. Now I’ll thank you to let me go.” She shrugged free with a hard, decisive jerk and strode back into the cabin.
****
Late in the afternoon, Frasier braked his muddy ATV to a halt in front of the storage shed and dismounted. He opened the doors and wheeled the vehicle inside. After locking up, he turned to go up to his cabin, Scout at his heels.
Halfway there, he paused to look over at Emma’s former home. The curtains were drawn, no smoke issued from the chimney, and no Pug sounds or loud music broke the silence of the cold, foggy day.
A wave of emptiness enveloped him, making his belly reach for his backbone. With an impatient jerk, he pulled off his gloves, stuck them under his arm, and headed for his cabin. There was a big, juicy steak in the freezer and a package of the Shepherd’s favorite meal, liver. He’d fry himself and Scout up a meal fit for a couple of kings. That would cure that hollow feeling.
An hour later he was sitting on his couch in front of the fire, staring into the flames and nursing a cup of coffee in the bleak silence of the October twilight, when he heard a familiar sound. A car, a distinctive car, one that rattled and sputtered, was making its way up the trail.
He lunged to his feet and strode out onto his verandah to watch as the headlights of Emma’s old Sundance flashed through the early evening darkness into the clearing. A rush of anticipation flooded through him like he couldn’t recall experiencing since Christmas mornings when he’d been a kid. He vaulted over the railing and stood waiting while she braked to a stop near her front steps.
“You’re back,” were his inane first words as he opened her car door.
“Yes, I’m back.” Her reply reeked of weariness as she climbed out.
She looked so spent, so dejected, as she stood in front of him, he had to fight the impulse to gather her into his arms, to hold her, to stroke her hair, to tell her how he’d missed her.
“What happened?”
“This happened.” She opened the rear door, reached in, and re-emerged with the Pug in her arms.
“Oh, my God!” In the glow of the car’s interior light, he saw the little dog’s face and snout gouged with deep, ugly ribbons of red. A heavy smear of some sort of cream didn’t improve his appearance. Between his little black ears that drooped in uncharacteristic sadness, a bandage crowned his head.
“Mildred’s cats didn’t like Bruiser any more than she likes me.” Emma cradled the little dog close. Frasier saw tears glistening in her eyes.
“Emma, I’m sorry. This is my fault.”
He reached out and gently ran a finger down her cheek. A pair of sad green eyes looked up at him over a pair of equally unhappy brown ones. His resolve to get rid of the pair melted like ice cream in a heat wave. He let his hand slip to his side, stepped back, and tried to continue matter-of-factly, “Let me help you unpack and get a fire going. Then you and the Pug can come over to my place while yours warms up. I’ll heat some soup for you, and I have some liver left over from Scout’s supper, for the little guy.”
He headed for the back of the car. “Crack the trunk and let’s get to work.”
****
A half hour later Emma, wrapped in a quilt, sat curled up in a corner of Frasier’s couch, her hands clasped around a steaming mug of coffee. On the low table in front of her were the dishes left from a thick chicken sandwich and a bowl of beef vegetable soup. In his basket, which Frasier had brought in from Emma’s car, Bruiser lay curled up at her feet, snoring away his bad day, his small belly stuffed with fried liver.
“Feeling better?” he asked as he gathered up the dishe
s and took them to the sink.
“Much. And Frasier?”
“Yes?” He turned back toward her.
“I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean what I said about knee-jerk relationships. I’m pretty sure you’re just a guy caught between a rock and a hard place…me and a job that requires peace and quiet, a job that means as much to you as mine does to me. So there’s only one solution, and we’ve already declared it. We have to remain just friends. Do you agree?”
He leaned back against the counter, thought a moment, then nodded. “Agreed. But I can’t say it’s my first choice.”
“Mine either.” She leaned forward to place her cup on the table. “But, hey, it’s not like we’re in love or anything. We’re just two people who are attracted to each other…two mature, responsible people. We can do it.” She smiled brightly up at him.
“Sure we can.” He turned back to rinse the dishes in the sink, the words “It’s not like we’re in love or anything” echoing in his brain.
“How about a tune?”
“What?” Her question snapped him out of it. He swung to face her.
“The guitar.” She pointed to the instrument leaning in a corner. “What about a tune? You’re not half bad, as I recall. I could do with a bit of cheering up.”
“Okay, sure, fine.” Anything to keep his mind off their relationship…or lack of one.
He picked it up and sat down in a chair across from her. “I have to warn you, though. I’m into classic country rock.”
“Fine by me. Let me have it.”
He strummed a chord and began to sing “Tequila Sunrise.” When she joined him in the chorus, loud and off key, while Bruiser threw back his head and howled along, he realized he was a happy man.
Only Scout didn’t seem to be enjoying their wild jam session. He lay down on the floor and put his paws over his ears. He ignored Bruiser as the Pug jostled around the room in Emma’s arms while she danced.
Finally Frasier laid the guitar aside.
“Whew!” Emma sprawled on the couch, Bruiser busily licking her face. “Okay, okay, so you’re still rearin’ to go.” She pulled herself to a sitting position and placed the dog aside. “I’m beat. That was fun…wasn’t it?” She looked over at Frasier, and he grinned back.
Holding Off for a Hero Page 11