Within His Sight

by Denise A. Agnew

  His eyes widened a bit, and then he chuckled. “Why would you care?”

  Heat flooded Mary’s face as she tried to think of a way to salvage her huge, revealing statement. “Well … I don’t. I just hear that her boyfriend is the jealous type.”

  Dace rubbed the back of his neck. “I didn’t slip her anything. I wasn’t interested. So you didn’t see that guy again?”

  “He’s long gone.” She pulled the itchy coat collar down away from her face. “At least I learned what a jackass he was that night.”

  His jaw tightened as anger sparked in his eyes. “What did he do?”

  “Pawed me when I didn’t want to be pawed.”

  Oops. Wrong thing to say.

  Dace’s eyes narrowed, danger coiling his hard, tall body. “Did he hurt you?”

  “No. No. He kissed me and took me by surprise. Then when I said I didn’t feel that way about him, he yanked me into his arms and kissed me again anyway.”

  “Son of a bitch. What an ass.”

  “Yeah, he is.” She grinned, wanting to defuse his outrage. “I kneed him in the cojones.”

  She expected him to smile. He didn’t. His mouth twisted. “I ought to go over to his house and—”

  “Whoa. Whoa there, cowboy.” She gripped his biceps on impulse and solid muscle moved beneath her fingers. “Take it easy. He never bothered me again after that. Besides, he’s left town for greener pastures.”

  He drew in a deep breath. “Sorry. It pisses me off to think of any man hurting you in any way.”

  To Mary’s horror, the idea that he could feel this worked up on her behalf sent her hormones into overdrive. Whether she liked it or not, her breath became shorter, her body warmed until she couldn’t feel the chill wind swirling around her ankles.

  “I need a grown-up relationship with a grown man. Not a man wannabe.”

  “There are real men in Gold Rush who want a grown-up relationship.” His gaze centered on her lips, then glided with heated hunger over her breasts and back to her eyes. “You’re a grown-up. Most definitely.”

  Flashfire arousal warred with indignation inside her. “Mentally, Dace. I need to find my way.”

  “Sure, I understand that, too.” He scratched his chin. “Do you have another job lined up?”

  Curiosity led her to her own question. “Why are you so interested in what I do, Dace? We’ve only known each other six months. It’s not like we’re friends…”

  “What?” His cop hardness came to the forefront. “Of course we’re friends.”

  “I’m leaving Gold Rush entirely, not just finding a new job.”

  His eyes widened a fraction. Enough to tell her she’d thrown him a one-two punch. “Why?”

  “Because this town doesn’t have what I need anymore.”

  “Maybe you haven’t looked hard enough.”

  She gritted her teeth, then poked him in the chest. Her index finger met the unforgiving hardness of bulletproof vest backed by solid muscle. “You know, that’s one thing that irritates me, Dace Banovic. You’re always splitting hairs. A person can’t ever be right around you, can they?”

  His mouth popped open, but then he slammed it shut. Good. She’d silenced him for once.

  “I need to go.” She pushed one hand through her hair. She shivered as cold wind snaked up her pantyhose-clad legs.

  “I just…” Uncertainty flickered through his eyes.

  The radio on his shoulder squawked, and with efficiency he reached for the microphone and the dispatcher relayed a mission.

  “Ten-four,” he said into the mike, his voice crisp and business-like, “responding.”

  “Old man Douglas is at it again?”

  “He’s barricaded himself in that trash heap he calls a house. Damn the old bastard.” Dace shook his head. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  She started to walk away. “See you.”

  “Wait.”

  She halted at his cop-in-command voice and turned back.

  One hand on his holster, he gave her a keen look. “Be careful. The roads are getting slick.”

  She saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  He smiled and shook his head at her mocking tone.

  As he walked toward his car, she headed to hers. As always, Dace had left something unsaid. It seemed all their aborted conversations ended this way. Things hanging in the air. Emotions bubbling right below the surface. Thoughts and feelings dangling like promises never fulfilled.

  Chapter Two

  “You look jumpier than hell,” Kelso “Freelance” Johnson said to Dace as they walked into the sheriff’s department after a long day patrolling the county. “You need to take a chill pill. You look like you’re ready to punch someone’s lights out, and it’s only Monday.”

  Dace relaxed his jaw, well aware the day’s work had brought his patience to the breaking point. “That last gig frosted my cookies. I’m tired.”

  “You look like crap on a stick.”

  Dace turned an evil eye on his rangy partner. “Gee, thanks.”

  “You need to relax. Take a tip from me. Call up a woman in your little black book and find some lovin’.”

  Dace laughed, some of his tension easing. “You are so full of shit, Kelso. As if I have a little black book.”

  His friend’s consistent mommy syndrome shouldn’t bother Dace, but today all Dace wanted was to head home, crash on the couch to watch some sports and then sleep. A dull, ordinary evening sounded good.

  Kelso scrubbed a hand over his espresso dark skin and then over his Brillo Pad hair, cut military short. “I’m serious, dude. When was the last time you had a date?”

  “Date?” Dace snorted. “What’s a date?”

  Kelso glared. His piercing black eyes scared almost everyone. He didn’t mean to intimidate the innocent, but his military background gave him a sharp edge. He’d given up a promising basketball scholarship in college to join the marines, then moved to a law enforcement career and found his niche. Dace considered him a great friend, even if Kelso did irritate the hell out of him sometimes.

  “You know what they say,” Kelso said. “Use it or lose it.”

  “You’re saying if I don’t dip my wick occasionally it’ll fall off?”

  Kelso pointed at him. “You got it.”

  Dace rubbed the back of his neck. “Your sister is pretty hot.”

  “You are not getting anywhere near my baby sister.”

  “She’s thirty years old.”

  “She’s still my innocent sister. Hands off.”

  “I don’t think I’m her type anyway.”

  “You’re damn right you’re not.”

  Dace laughed.

  Kelso headed for the locker room. “Your sudden state of mind wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain administrative assistant, would it?”

  Dace grimaced, startled by Kelso’s assessment and his own transparency. “No, it wouldn’t. Where would you get that idea?”

  Kelso waggled his eyebrows. “Come on. I know you ain’t that dense, sport.”

  Dace frowned and followed him into the locker room. “Yeah, I am. What are you talking about?”

  “Her. Mary Wickes. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “No, I’m serious.” He clapped his hand on Dace’s shoulder. “If I’m noticing it then you know everyone else is.”

  Dace grimaced. “Fuck.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “It isn’t like that.”

  “Then why does it look so much like what it isn’t?”

  “Is that supposed to even vaguely make sense, Kelso?”

  The lanky cop shrugged as he started to put on a workout t-shirt and shorts. “Made perfect sense to me.”

  Dace hoped the conversation would end right here. But hell, no. He couldn’t be that lucky, could he?

  “See, it’s like this.” Kelso sat on a bench and grabbed his athletic socks from his duffle bag. “I think you’re terrified. Worried Miss
Goody-Goody…”

  “Miss Goody-Goody? She’s not—” Dace halted as a grin broke over his friend’s face. “You fucker.”

  “Made you say it. You claim not to know what the hell I’m talking about—or in this case, who I’m talking about—then you jump right in to defend her. Let’s cut to the chase here.”

  Dace closed his eyes a second and released an exasperated sigh. “What the hell is the big deal? Why are you nailing my ass to the wall?”

  “Shit, sport, if it was just liking then we wouldn’t be having deep psychological conversations about your problem.”

  “My problem?” Dace’s ire grew. “I don’t have a problem. She’s not a problem in any way. In fact, she’s…”

  “Yeah?” Kelso pulled on his socks and jammed his feet into his athletic shoes.

  “Mary isn’t goody-goody. Hell, she’s…”

  “Yeah, spit it out. You think she’s hot.”

  Dace felt mighty itchy, an urge to run while he still possessed dignity. When Dace wouldn’t let the words pass his lips, Kelso leaned forward and said in a lower tone, “Come on, dude. Give it up.”

  “I’m not going there.”

  Kelso nodded, his expression bland. “I got it. You aren’t in touch with your feminine side.”

  A bark of laughter jumped into Dace’s throat and threatened to strangle him. He managed to stuff it before it roared out of control. “I’m not sure I have a feminine side.”

  “Every man does.”

  Patience running low, Dace pinned his friend with a stare. “Is there a point to all this shit you’re shoveling?”

  Fully dressed, Kelso closed his locker and stood. “Irene and I did this pretty dance around each other for a good year before I pulled my head out of my ass.”

  “Oh, is that what your problem is?”

  “Don’t wait, Dace. Don’t let your past choke something good before it has a chance to grow.”

  Dace couldn’t move and couldn’t say a word for a few seconds. “Mary isn’t like … my past.”

  “See? You can’t even say Gloria’s name. Isn’t that proof you’re still one hundred percent screwed up? When are you going to let Gloria go and allow some happiness into your life? I don’t know about you, bud, but when I’m old and grey I know Irene will be there to push my wheelchair and tell more dumb jokes. And that’s the way I want it. I don’t want a life full of regrets because I was too damned freaked to make a move.” Kelso started to walk away. When he reached the locker room door, he turned around. “We still on for dinner tomorrow night?”

  “You don’t think I’m going to let Irene waste a good lasagna on your sorry ass, do you?”

  Kelso pointed at him again in his trademark smart-ass movement, “Didn’t think you would,” before marching out with military straight cadence.

  For six months Dace had worked with him, but felt as if he’d known Kelso forever. Kelso was his partner on regular patrol, one of the few—and yeah, the proud—who worked the county as SWAT. He’d trust the man with his life any day.

  Friend or not, a man could rely on Kelso’s advice.

  “Hell, no,” Dace said as he slammed his locker shut.

  * * * *

  “Can I help?” Mary asked as she watched Irene Johnson hurry around her ultramodern and spacious kitchen Tuesday night.

  Irene turned away from cutting and chopping near the sink and grinned. “Honey, it’s almost done. Everything is in the slow cooker. All I’ve got here are veggies for the dip.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You could open the Chianti.” Irene headed for the fridge, her long, black cornrow hair gleaming under the lighting in the high ceiling. “Or you could wait and let Dace do it.”

  Silence.

  Mary swallowed her surprise. “Dace is invited?”

  Irene turned a speculative look on her. “Sure. He’s Kelso’s best friend. Why wouldn’t he invite him?”

  “Um, I don’t know. I guess I just never…” Mary shrugged as heat filled her face.

  Irene placed raw cauliflower, carrots, and other veggies on a crystal tray and added a bowl of dip Mary had brought. “Is there something weird happening between you and Dace?”

  Mary sank down on a chair in the breakfast nook, not knowing what was wise to say and what she should keep to herself. “Nothing is going on with us.”

  Before Irene could speculate out loud, the doorbell rang. She held up her wet hands. “Doll, could you grab that for me?”

  Mary slowed her steps as she walked through the brightly decorated modern living room. Not her personal style, but attractive and befitting the Johnsons’ tastes. Right now, as she took each step, time slowed. She sighed and reached for the doorknob. She had a sneaking suspicion that Irene had invited her because Dace was invited. Irene didn’t know about the raging attraction Mary felt for Dace, did she?

  Dace stood on the concrete steps, his lips parting in obvious surprise before he snapped into his usual hard-ass composure. Dressed in a thick black leather jacket and somewhat faded black jeans and cowboy boots, he didn’t look quite so fierce. She tried to remember the last time she’d seen him in civilian clothes. Two months ago at a department party. But, oh, he still looked disgustingly, undeniably gorgeous. Every corpuscle in her body stood up and took notice, her heart leaping.

  He carried an array of flowers and a bottle of wine. “Hey.”

  She stepped back. “Hi. Come on in.”

  To her surprise, he cracked a devastating grin that transformed his face from cool and composed to rakish and sexy. “Good to see you.”

  Surprised by his open pleasure, she shut the door and followed him to the center of the living room. “Good to be seen.”

  Oh, Mary. Is that all you can think of to say?

  “Hey, Hard Man, how’s it going?” Irene asked as she dried her hands, her welcoming grin unmistakable. “Kelso is out in back.”

  “Let me guess, he’s still working on your new deck.”

  Irene rolled her gaze. “You got it. The man never quits. Even when it’s threatening to snow again he’s out there shoveling and trying to make repairs. Crazy man.” Irene winked at Mary. “This is what I get for letting my hormones rule me, Mary. I get a big ole lug of a cop.”

  Oh, yeah. She could hear that pop psychologist Amanda Prather droning in her head about sexual chemistry.

  “I’ll haul his ass in here.” Dace headed for the kitchen counter. “But first, these flowers are for you, and here’s the wine I promised.”

  Irene came around the center island and gave him a big hug. Petite, she had to reach up quite a ways to hug him. “Thanks. I appreciate it. I didn’t ask you to bring wine, though.”

  “Kelso said he’d never turn down a good red when I insisted I bring something.”

  Irene laughed. “Figures. Mary was about to open a bottle of Chianti to go with the lasagna. Tell you what, help her with that, and I’ll go rescue my husband before he gets frostbite.”

  As Dace removed his jacket, Mary found her voice and her manners. “Here, let me take that.”

  He handed it to her, that gentle smile back on his face. She’d seen more of it in two days than she had in the last six months. Not that she kept track.

  The black leather jacket felt supple and warm from his body heat, and it held his special masculine scent. She inhaled deeply. “This jacket is great. Where did you get it?”

  “Gibson’s.”

  She headed for the coat closet near the front door, caressing the leather with true appreciation. Then she saw the stitching on the back. “SWAT.”

  “Tyler Gibson insisted on making that for me after that incident last month.”

  “When you walked in on that holdup?”

  “Yep.”

  Mary remembered too well how her heart had shot straight into her throat when she heard that he’d walked into a dangerous situation without backup, a weapon, or his vest. He’d been off duty and had entered the store without any idea a homeless man had c
ommandeered the store. When the man started shooting, Dace managed to tackle and take him down before anyone in the store, including the homeless man, could suffer injury.

  She slipped the jacket over a hanger and closed the closet. As she wandered back to the table in the breakfast nook, he followed. “Something wrong?”

  “I wondered what the full story was behind the jacket. I’d just never seen you wear it.”

  “I don’t wear it much because I don’t want to flaunt it in front of the other SWAT members. There’s a policy in the department against taking gifts.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  He planted his hands on his hips, drawing attention to the red turtleneck sweater molding across his hard chest. He shrugged. “Since I purchased the jacket beforehand, the sheriff didn’t see a problem with the fact Gibson put ‘SWAT’ on the jacket.”

  Concerned he might get the wrong idea, she said, “I never thought you’d done anything illegal.”

  Relief filled his face. “One of the last things in the world I want…” He shook his head.

  “What?”

  “For you to think I’m a corrupt cop.”

  His statement took her off guard, and she spoke without thinking. “I know you’re not a corrupt cop, Dace.”

  He set to work opening the bottle of Chianti. “Good.”

  She slid the wine glasses toward him. “I would never think that way about you, Dace.”

  She of all people should know.

  The corkscrew stopped. His eyes warmed. “Thank you.”

  Companionable silence gathered around them as he poured two glasses of wine. As they snatched a couple of carrot sticks and sipped wine, she watched him covertly. “Sure is taking them a while. I wonder what they’re doing out there?”

  “Plotting,” he said after he’d swallowed a bite of carrot.

  “Plotting what?”

  Before he could reply, Irene and Kelso walked in from the backyard. On instinct Mary took two steps away from Dace and then headed for the wine bottle to pour two more glasses. Irene and Kelso threw sideways looks at each other, a knowing expression that fueled Mary’s embarrassment. God, was she that transparent? Was Dace?

  They headed toward the dining room and as Dace settled in to sit beside her, Mary felt like a teenager with her first crush. But soon the guys started talking football, and when Irene started talking about a new scrapbooking project she’d started this week, Mary started to relax.