by Diane Saxon
“I’m sorry.” Bill inspected his plate a little more closely as Cherry narrowed an annoyed look at her “I’m mistaken. It’s a little piece of red pepper.” Smiling she lifted innocent eyes and glanced around the table. “Still can’t be too careful when you wear falsies, never know when and where they’re going to fall off.” She chortled as Cherry slapped the silverware on the table and stomped off in the direction of the kitchen again.
Jack shook his head and picked his radio up as it crackled to life.
“Sheriff, we have the mayor here asking to see you on a matter of some urgency.”
With a long, drawn-out sigh, Jack stood and picked up his burger, pushed his plate of fries and salad toward Bill, and answered the radio.
“On my way, Ethan. Tell him I’ll be there in two minutes.” Gritting his teeth, he gestured toward the food with his radio. “Finish your lunch, and then come on back. The mayor probably only wants us to change the paper in the toilet again.”
Bill smiled and pulled his plate toward her, glancing briefly at Michael. “You want to share?”
“Yeah, why not?”
They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, and then Bill pointed toward the piece of white paper with one of her fries.
“You going to take her up on her offer?”
Michael pushed the paper into the middle of the table and shook his head. “Nah, she’s not my type.”
“Oh, living, breathing is most men’s type according to my brothers. Are you looking for something special?”
He leaned back in the booth, picked up a long fry, and pointed it at her. “Sure. Black hair, brown eyes, long legs.”
She looked as though she was trying to swallow sawdust for a moment as his meaning sank in. Smiling crookedly, she picked up her coffee and slugged the rest of it down as she stared hard at the table. She rubbed a hand across her mouth as her brow furrowed.
“I’ve got to get back to work.”
He let her legs tangle with his as they both tried to stand at the same time.
“What about the bill?” he asked, watching with curiosity as she scooped up the little piece of white paper.
“You pay it,” she threw over her shoulder as she ambled out the front door.
He flung enough dollar bills on the table to cover their tab, confused by her sudden withdrawal and raced out of the air-conditioned restaurant after her.
Heat and humidity bounced from the sky off the pavement as he sucked in his breath and nearly collapsed by the time he reached her side. Keeping up with her loose-legged stride, he almost wheezed as he fell in step.
“Why did you take Cherry’s number?”
Glancing at him like he should know better, she paused momentarily, and then continued along the sidewalk. “Because I wouldn’t want her feelings hurt by you leaving her number there in the middle of the table for everyone to see.”
He took a hold of her elbow, pulled her to a halt. “But, you just spent the best part of your lunch time insulting her.”
“Yeah.” She stood toe-to-toe with him, studying his eyes for a moment, moved her gaze down his face until she reached his mouth. As she touched her tongue to her bottom lip, he felt the raw rush of lust hit his chest, and a small groan emitted from his throat.
Her gaze shot back up to meet his. “We’ve insulted each other all our lives.” Leaning closer, her voice warm and husky, she said, “Doesn’t mean to say I want to see her get hurt.”
His eyes narrowed. Confusing didn’t quite cover it. She was full of contradictions, and he just didn’t seem to be able to get ahold of her—on any level. He opened his mouth to reply, but before he knew it, she was striding off back down the street toward the sheriff’s office, her right hand adjusting the position of her gun on her hip. His mouth watered.
“Thanks for lunch,” she called, flicking her hand in a dismissive wave. “See you around.”
Chapter 5
It was late when she arrived home, and the dogs were waiting for her to feed them, but she could tell he’d been at the house again that day. Her boys were relaxed as though someone had kept them entertained, burned off some of their energy. Energy she wished she had.
She dragged her feet as she walked into the kitchen. She could barely lift her arm to pour a can of soup into a pan and heat it up, but she did it anyhow.
It had been a long day, starting early with a shooting at the local store. One of the young cashiers, Billy Bob Lowell, had been shot in the thigh. He howled and screamed so loud he almost brought the whole town out to see. She had a passing thought of popping him on the end of his chin just to shut him up.
The shooter had jumped into an old, gray Camaro, screeched out on to the highway at nearly ninety miles an hour, according to witnesses. Bill seriously doubted the car had the capacity to go that fast, bearing in mind what the witnesses had told her about its ancient state.
They hadn’t managed to catch the perpetrator.
She’d spent most of her day at the hospital with the sniveling, whining kid from the store. It wasn’t as though the bullet hit anything important. In fact, it had only winged him. He wasn’t even able to claim they fished the bullet out of him as it had only scraped the top layer of skin off, and then lodged itself in the wooden boards of one of the display units behind him.
She and Ethan had drawn the short straw this time and had to follow through with a visit back to the store to take witness statements, and there were a lot of them. Too many people wanted to take the limelight. Too many people loved drama. Personally, she simply wanted the facts. Cold hard facts, so she could do her job, catch the perpetrator, and go home to bed.
Jack and the other deputies had scoured the area looking for the Camaro. They found it late in the afternoon, left it for fingerprinting, and Jack had told them all to go home. Tomorrow they would continue to search for the perp. They’d find him. Someone would know who it was as gun crime was fairly rare in the area.
Bill poured the soup into a mug so she could walk around the house with it in her hand while it cooled.
She could smell him. Gentle, subtle smell, but him all the same. His scent gave her a warm yearning she’d never known before. It had been like that for ten days now. Ten days of coming home late in the evening and catching his aroma.
She’d seen him a few times since the softball game and the quick lunch trip with Jack, but Michael was always with one of her brothers or her cousins.
They had to pass through her kitchen to reach the gym, so they often stopped to have a cup of coffee with her. Most the time, she’d been on her way out to work.
She thought about how much effort her male relations were going to in order to protect her from someone she really didn’t want to be protected from. It was strange for them, she supposed. She had never shown an interest in any of the boys she’d grown up with. She’d have sooner blacked their eye as have sex with them.
Michael, though, well Michael was different.
When he was in the same room as her, he watched her lazily, his deep green eyes calm as a millpond, but underneath, if she cared to look close, she thought she could see a storm brewing. She tried not to look too close. She’d never been frightened of anything, but there was something about him that gave her reason to fear. Not him. She wasn’t scared of him, but instead it was the reaction he seemed to invoke in her.
When he spoke, his voice rumbled deep in his chest. He had a beautiful cultured voice, not Queen’s English, but a rougher, darker version. When Cherry had said his accent made her melt, Bill had almost agreed out loud as her insides turned to molten-hot liquid. When she watched his firm lips move, she wanted to touch them, run the tips of her fingers over them, and see what it felt like to press her mouth against his.
She bit her lip and closed her eyes for a moment. They had come close to kissing a couple of times. It just made her want him all the more.
She ambled down the stairs into the gym and imagined his smell became stronger, muskier. Despite
the bright white light, she could feel his presence, absorb his scent, the warm, comforting fragrance of him filled her as she wrapped her arms around herself, hugged the mug close to her chest, and felt heat spread, warming her heart.
He couldn’t have been gone long. A small towel had been dropped on the bench press, absently forgotten, so she put her soup down, picked it up, and started to fold it. It didn’t belong to one of her brothers. Biting her lip, she contemplated the towel for a moment, held it in her hands before she pressed it to her face and breathed him in.
She closed her eyes and pictured him half-naked in her gym, the warmth in her chest spread farther, reached beyond her fluttering stomach. Her breath quickened as she brought the towel down to hug against her body. Heat moved on still farther as she imagined him working out on the equipment, sweating as he moved above her, inside her.
Her eyes popped open, and she dropped the towel like it scorched her. She grabbed her soup and ran back up the stairs as though he were pursuing her. Heart pumping, lungs heaving, she threw herself into one of the kitchen chairs.
She’d never felt more tired or more lonely in her entire life. She’d never wanted anything as much as she wanted him, and she didn’t know why. She didn’t understand this feeling. It stirred her, excited her, and frightened the goddamn life out of her.
The jangling ring of the telephone jarred her thoughts back.
“Bill. It’s Jack…I’ve just gotten a phone call from Mrs. Forrest from over in Willow Field. She said her son came back home this evening on foot. Left his cousin’s car somewhere, and his clothes were splattered with blood.” He paused and in the silence Bill could hear her own breathing. “Bill? Are you okay? Are you panting?” The silence was shorter this time.
“Yeah, I just went for a run.” She closed her eyes as she lied to her best friend and cousin.
“Oh. Okay. I suggested she tell us where he would be right now, but she says he’s a good for nothin’ layabout who changed his clothes and took off with her earnings. He’ll probably drink till dawn. She reckons if we get to her house early tomorrow morning, he’ll be sleeping like a baby and won’t give us any trouble. She’ll pack up the clothes he left for her to wash and lock away his dead daddy’s shotgun for us.”
“A very obliging lady, if you ask me”
“Sounds to me like she’s frightened of her boy. She probably just wants rid of him. I think the shotgun scared her. If he’s used it once, he’ll use it again. Next time it could be worse.” He paused. “I’ll pick you up at six at your house. I’ve got two other cars meeting us there. We’ll do a check before we go in, just to make sure Mama’s being straight with us about that gun.”
“I’ll be ready and waiting,” she replied wearily.
There was a short silence. “Are you okay, Bill?” His voice was quiet and gentle. She wasn’t used to being spoken to like that—most of her boys slapped her on the back, ruffled her hair, and ignored her. She didn’t need sympathy for something she didn’t understand herself.
“Sure, I’m fine. Just a little tired. It’s been a long stretch, and I’m ready for my days off.”
“I know you were supposed to be off tomorrow, but I need you on this one, Bill. I trust you. The boy has a gun, and I need my best people. You’re my best.”
She smiled at the thought that he needed her.
“Thanks, Jack. I know that. I’ll be ready.”
“Bill, get a good night’s sleep. You’ll be fine in the morning.” His voice was little gruff, his verbal scrub on her head. He hung up, and she was alone again.
* * * *
She slept heavily and woke up out of sorts, her mind still foggy as she stepped into the shower.
She dressed in her uniform and headed for the kitchen, smelling fresh coffee and Michael. She’d started to like the light scent of his aftershave.
The kitchen was empty, but she could see him in her front yard throwing a ball for Ralph and Bruno. She wondered how it was they’d been faithful to her for five years, and suddenly they were rolling over and playing dead for some stranger, letting him rub their bellies?
He seemed to have a similar effect on her too. Although she had no desire to play dead, she wouldn’t mind him rubbing her…
Disgusted with herself, she turned away grabbed eggs out of the fridge and started to make French toast.
*
Michael walked in with Ralph and Bruno padding quietly behind him. He watched her quick, deft movements as she prepared breakfast, and his heart thudded loud and regular against his rib cage. His thoughts centered on the woman in front of him. Once again he felt a slow buildup of desire stir. He didn’t try to force it down this time, didn’t want to quash it, he wanted to see where it might take him—and her.
He’d wanted to get her on her own ever since he’d met her, but it had proved impossible. It seemed her brothers and cousins conspired to protect her for some stupid reason. He suspected she didn’t need protecting.
Every time she caught him watching her, a pretty blush would appear on her high cheekbones, and she would look away in confusion, as though she didn’t quite know what to say to him. Her reaction confused him too. One minute she was loud and confident, the next she looked as though she wanted to run and hide.
He’d gotten her on her own now, though. She couldn’t hide this time.
“Hey.”
“Hi.”
“I thought it was your day off. I was going to see if you wanted to go for that run we spoke about, but I see you have your uniform on.”
“Yeah, something came up late last night.”
“The guy with the shotgun. Jack mentioned him, but I didn’t know you would be going in.”
“That’s my job.” She nodded in the direction of the coffeemaker. “Help yourself to more coffee.”
He wandered over, poured them both a mug, dumped milk in his, and sugar in hers and then sat at the kitchen table expectantly.
She slid a plate in front of him.
“French toast.”
“Cheers.”
She placed brown sugar, maple syrup, sprinkles, and cinnamon on the table. He felt his heart start to race at the thought of the sugar rush she was trying to invoke that might just kill him.
“If you’ve got tomato sauce—that would be good.”
She slapped it on the table in front of him and sat down to her own French toast, delicately sprinkling on brown sugar and cinnamon.
“Too much sugar. You’re going to send yourself into a coma.” He nodded at her plate. She ignored him and ate.
He hadn’t realized he was hungry and made short work of cleaning his own plate as they ate in silence. He put his knife and fork neatly alongside each other, offsetting them slightly to the right. She gave him an uncertain smile as he stared at her. His heart rate wasn’t as slow and steady as it should have been—perhaps the sugar rush wasn’t needed.
“You know I had the idea that I was going to get you naked after we’d had a run. We would have been all hot and sweaty, and I could have helped you strip.”
The smile froze on her face. She stopped chewing the French toast as she gaped back at him. Taking a slug of coffee she swallowed hard.
“Jesus, Michael, you shouldn’t say things like that to me.”
Frowning at her, he pulled at his lip with his teeth. She puzzled the life out of him with her reactions. They never seemed quite right, as though she considered his advances wrong. She wanted him. He could tell. But every time he made a move, she backed off, like she was scared or confused.
“Why not?”
She leaned across and slid two more slices of French toast covered with brown sugar and cinnamon off her plate onto his.
“Well, for a start, we’re having breakfast.”
Her weak smile made him circle round. Maybe she didn’t like the direct approach. Maybe he needed to be a little more subtle. After all he’d made it perfectly clear he wanted to sleep with her. He kept getting told she wasn’t what she se
emed.
“Second, I’m in uniform and almost on duty. It’s just not right to make those kind of suggestions to a uniformed officer.” He noticed the cautious glances she kept flicking toward the kitchen window and then back up at him. Frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair, stood up, and scraped his chair back from the table.
“Thank you.” He heard the snappishness in his own voice as he stacked the plates and impatiently dumped them in the sink as he started to fill it with water. Perhaps he should leave. She was going to drive him crazy.
“Not too much sugar?” He smiled tightly as it occurred to him that she couldn’t resist a little dig. She topped off his coffee, and then stood looking out the window while she sipped from her own cup.
He stepped up behind her, and she turned round to face him, eyes wide.
“Go on then, I’ll let you.” He stood stock-still in front of her.
“I beg your pardon? You’ll let me what?” Her Southern drawl became stronger the closer he stood. His mouth quirked. He’d noticed her accent. He also noticed the slight huskiness to her voice, the way she swallowed more than normal, the nearer he stood, the way she sometimes gave a small, embarrassed cough before she replied.
He moved closer, almost treading on her toes. She didn’t back off, Instead she automatically adjusted her feet so they fit in between his. As he leaned in, he rested his hands on the kitchen counter either side of her hips.
“You can kiss me if you want.” Her eyes widened further, and she blinked rapidly. He almost laughed at her reaction. It was as though she were genuinely surprised.
“Now why would I want to do that?” He took the coffee cup from her limp hand and placed it on the counter behind her. He leaned in, closer, and his mouth hovered over hers.
She raised that same hand up to his chest, rested it there. He felt the heat of it emanate through her palm, spread through his body like wildfire. She didn’t try to push him away, she didn’t look like she was capable of moving.
“Because you wanted to from the very first moment you saw me, because you watch me all the time, and you can’t disguise the lust in your eyes, because we’re going to be good together,” he murmured, his voice low and gruff vocalizing his own desire.