Her Colton Lawman

by Carla Cassidy

  He backed out of the parking space and headed for home. His gaze remained divided between the road and her. She stared straight out the window, and he didn’t know whether to attempt to force a conversation or just keep his mouth shut.

  Her big day had been ruined, and he didn’t know how to fix the pain and utter disappointment he knew she had to be feeling at this moment. He had no words to take away the terrible ending of the perfect day she had planned for weeks.

  The odd thing was he felt no pain radiating from her. He felt nothing, and that scared him more than anything. It was as if she were a stiff, brainless doll seated next to him.

  Was she in some kind of shock? Should he be driving her to the clinic to be checked out by a doctor instead of taking her home? “Nina?” he finally ventured.

  She raised a hand as if to ward off any conversation and continued to stare out the window.

  Flint was grateful to finally pull into the garage at his house. They walked into the kitchen, and to his dismay she started to head directly for her bedroom.

  “Nina, please don’t,” he said.

  She turned and looked at him, her golden eyes holding none of the brilliant light that so defined her. “Don’t what?”

  “Please don’t close yourself off from me. We’ve come too far together for you to do that.” His need to break through her shock or whatever it was that had her so folded inward was beyond overwhelming.

  Somehow he had to help her through this. Somehow he had to dig deep and find the right words and the right actions to comfort her, to put her shattered pieces back together again.

  She stood for a long moment and then moved to the sofa and collapsed into the cushions. “I don’t want to sit around and talk this to death. As far as I’m concerned it was just another disappointing, completely screwed-up holiday. I shouldn’t have expected anything less.”

  There was no bitterness in her voice, just a deep weariness, a lack of spirit that broke his heart. He sat down on the opposite side of the sofa from her, afraid to intrude and yet unwilling not to be near her.

  “Your holidays were never good?” he asked tentatively.

  “My entire childhood was total hell, but it’s the holidays that I remember the clearest.” Her eyes darkened, and she stared off in the distance as if lost in memories.

  Flint reminded himself that in all the time they’d spent together, in all the conversations they had shared, she’d never told him anything about her childhood; she’d only spoken about the time after she’d left Casper behind when she’d been an adult.

  “Tell me, Nina. Tell me about your childhood and those holidays,” he urged her. He wanted all of her, both her good memories and her bad. He needed all of her because he was so in love with her.

  She ruffled a hand through her hair and released a deep sigh. “My childhood was like a lot of other childhoods, filled with dysfunction, denial and domestic abuse.”

  Flint leaned forward, a faint anger stirring inside him. “Your father abused you?”

  She shook her head. “No, he never touched me, but he used my mother as a punching bag on a fairly regular basis.” Finally, her eyes radiated with a depth of emotion...of pain.

  “When I was really young, I didn’t understand the whole cycle. I loved my father, but when he erupted into one of his fits of rage, I didn’t know what to think.” She paused and once again raced her hand through her hair, as if she could brush out the painful memories.

  Flint moved several inches closer to her, still not invading her personal space but wanting to take her in his arms and banish anything that had ever hurt her in the past. “You said holidays were the worst?”

  “My mother lived in some sort of fantasy world when it came to the holidays. It was always her goal to make it the best Easter or Halloween or Thanksgiving or Christmas possible. She wanted perfection. She planned the menus for days, made homemade centerpieces for the table. It didn’t matter that it was just the three of us. She put in enough energy that she could have been planning a dinner party for twelve.”

  It was as if a dam had broken inside her and the words began to tumble out of her without any prompting from him. “Every holiday started with such promise. Mom would be in the kitchen cooking and Dad would be stretched out in his recliner watching television, and for a while I believed the day would pass without something terrible happening.”

  “But something bad always did happen,” he said softly.

  “Always.” Her eyes were still dark but now held a hint of bitterness, as well. “By noon Dad was watching football and drinking beer and working up a good foul mood, and that mood always exploded at the dinner table. The ham was overcooked or undercooked. The glaze tasted bitter to him. Why didn’t she know how to cook a good ham, a juicy turkey or whatever we were having for the main dish? By the time dessert came, if we made it to dessert, invariably a plate was thrown to the wall or the floor. He’d be boozed up and out of control.”

  “And then he’d beat her?” Flint moved yet again closer to her, trying to imagine navigating such violence and chaos as a child.

  “It depends on what you consider a beating. Definitely he’d emotionally abuse her, telling her she was too stupid to live, a useless cow who nobody else would ever put up with. Sometimes it stopped at that, but other times he’d kick her and pull her hair, punch her down to the floor until his sick energy was finally spent. Then he’d go back to his recliner and brood for the rest of the day.”

  “And what would you do?”

  “Crawl out from beneath the table or out of the pantry where I usually hid. I’d console my mother and then help her clean up whatever mess had been made. Of course, the violence wasn’t just delegated to holidays. We never knew when he might explode.”

  “And this went on your entire childhood?” He couldn’t imagine this being the background of the woman he knew, a woman who was always optimistic and a ray of sunshine in everyone’s life.

  “Until I was eighteen and left home. I got an apartment nearby, hoping it could be an escape place for my mother when things got too rough for her, but she never came. She just stayed with him and continued to endure his abuse.”

  “Why didn’t she leave him?” Flint asked, even though he knew what the answer would probably be, the same answer that so many women in domestic abuse situations gave when asked why they stayed.

  Nina gave him a wry look. “You’ve been in law enforcement long enough to know how many women stay with their abusers. She loved him. There were always those amazing honeymoon periods between the blowups when he’d bring home flowers and treat her so well. When things were good between them they were so good. She constantly told me he was a good man who just had a little anger problem.”

  She shook her head once again and released a bitter laugh. “By that time I didn’t know who I disrespected more, my abusive father or my mother who stayed despite the abuse.”

  “She never called the police? Never reported the abuse?”

  “She called a couple of times and the same two cops always showed up. They’d take my dad away for a couple of hours or the night but he’d be home the next day.” She looked him straight in the eye and there was censure in her voice. “You see, my dad was a cop, and his cop friends all covered for him.”

  Flint sucked in a gulp of air in surprise. Her father had been a police officer?

  “Let’s just say the whole experience left me with a bad taste for men in law uniforms,” she added.

  He thought of all the times he’d come into the diner and she’d been accommodating, but rather cool. It hadn’t been Flint the man she’d been responding to, but rather Flint in his uniform as the chief of police.

  “When I was twenty-five my father beat my mother to death.” She said the words starkly. A new wave of shock flew through Flint. “He went to prison. I discovered my
mother had named me beneficiary on a life insurance policy, and that was when I turned my back on Casper forever. For years I harbored such darkness and bitterness in my heart. I refused to celebrate any holidays. I never stayed too long in one place to build any kind of relationships. I was like a zombie, just going through the motions of life.”

  He could stand it no more. He moved so that he was right next to her, and he took her hand in his. Cold...icy, her fingers curled around his as if seeking his warmth. “And then you arrived here in Dead River,” he said.

  “With a new attitude,” she replied. “For some reason when I decided to settle here, I also decided I had a choice. I could either go through my life being angry and bitter, or I could decide to be a positive, optimistic force as the owner of the diner.”

  “And you have been,” he replied and squeezed her fingers a little tighter. “Nina, today wasn’t your failure. You did everything right to make it a wonderful holiday.”

  She withdrew her hand from his. “No, it was my failure. It was my stupid hope for one perfect holiday in a town that has quickly lost all hope. It was my failure because I misjudged how broken this town is right now. I thought food and fancy centerpieces could overcome everything, and that was my biggest mistake.”

  She rose suddenly. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ve told you more about my life than I’ve ever told anyone, and I’m exhausted. Although I’m planning on keeping the diner closed for a couple of days to get things cleaned up, I intend to be there in the morning. I’ll call Charley to meet me there so you don’t have to worry about me being there all alone.”

  He got up from the sofa. “I’d feel better if I knew there were more people there than Charley.”

  “Charley is perfectly capable of taking care of me. Not only does he punch like a prizefighter, he also keeps a gun in the kitchen.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” Flint asked helplessly.

  She stared at him for a long moment. “Get Bittard behind bars so that I can get my real life back.” She didn’t wait for him to reply, but turned on her heels and disappeared down the hallway.

  * * *

  She took a long hot shower, as if the near-scalding water would not only wash away the food particles that might cling to her hair and skin, but could also wash away all the old painful memories that the debacle at the diner had wrought.

  She hadn’t wanted to tell Flint about her sordid past, but the memories of that time had pressed too close to the surface, and he’d been the only person she’d ever trusted to allow them release.

  In fact, she was surprised by her depth of trust in Flint. She didn’t believe he had a bad bone in his body. She’d seen him angry, depressed and frustrated and never had he allowed those emotions to evolve into anything ugly.

  After her shower she got into bed and begged for sleep, but it remained elusive as the events of the day played through her mind. She had no idea how many days it would take to put the diner right again and have it ready for a reopening.

  She only knew she wanted it done as soon as possible. Without the diner and the few customers who had remained loyal, she had nothing. She’d made the call to Charley, who had agreed to meet her in the morning at eight. It was already late, and she just wanted to fall into the oblivion of a dreamless sleep.

  No matter how hard she tried to shut off her brain, it refused to turn off. Memories of her past continued to plague her, grief and anger at her mother and father battled inside her. She’d thought she’d put it all behind her years ago, but apparently those memories had festered inside her.

  Still, there was no question that talking to Flint had been a balm to her spirit, a lancing of a wound she hadn’t realized she’d carried for so long. She’d sensed Flint’s need to comfort her, his desire to pull her into his arms and hold her close.

  And she’d wanted that so badly it had scared her. She’d consciously kept herself from falling into his arms, taking comfort from his embrace.

  What she had wanted to do was pull him into her bedroom and make love with him, banishing all thoughts of anything but pleasure and passion. But she knew it would just be a mindless escape for her and would definitely give him the wrong impression.

  While she believed she had healed from much of her childhood, she was still sure she could never fully trust any man except Flint, and she feared becoming her mother. She simply wasn’t willing to entertain any thoughts of any lasting relationship with any man. She feared eventually it would be just another screwed-up holiday.

  It was after two when she realized sleep just wasn’t happening. She got out of bed and hoped she wouldn’t awaken Flint if she sneaked into the kitchen and made herself a quick cup of tea.

  She tiptoed down the hallway and into the kitchen, where she tried to be as quiet as a mouse as she pulled a cup of hot water out of the microwave before it dinged and then grabbed a tea bag and sat at the table.

  The blinds were open and the moon was near full outside, streaming through the window and giving the kitchen a ghostly light. She sat in a chair farthest from the window, confident that she couldn’t be seen by anyone outside in the darkness of the kitchen.

  She sipped her tea and suddenly remembered Grace and Billy standing next to her behind the counter as the worst of the fight had been ongoing.

  She looked up in dismay as Flint came into the kitchen. “I was hoping I wouldn’t wake you up,” she said.

  “It’s my job to wake up if I hear an unusual sound in the house. Can’t sleep?” He walked over to the blinds and pulled them all closed and then stood next to the cabinets.

  “My head just keeps spinning and spinning, and I can’t seem to shut it off,” she replied. “I was just thinking about Billy and how traumatized he must have been by what he saw.”

  Flint leaned against the refrigerator. “Grace is a good mother. She’ll be able to explain it to Billy so that he’ll be all right and will understand that what happened at the diner today was an unusual incident of a lot of grown men behaving badly.”

  “I hope so. I can’t stand the thought of my little man being scared.” She took a sip of her tea and then set the cup back on the table. “I’m sorry I dumped on you earlier.”

  “I’m not. If it’s true that I’m the first person you told about your early life, then you’ve carried it around by yourself for far too long. To be honest, I’ve been waiting for you to completely open up to me.”

  He pushed off the refrigerator and took a step toward her. “The one thing I don’t want to happen is for what happened today to steal away the smiling, positive woman you’ve become. You have the incredible ability to make people feel good, and I don’t want you to lose that.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t let that happen. I won’t go backward. What I also can’t let happen is keeping awake the man who needs to keep peace in a town where people are obviously more on edge than we realized and who has to investigate an attack on his sister and get two fugitives behind bars.” Besides, she needed to escape the sexy scent of him that lingered in the air and the intimacy of the middle-of-the-night contact.

  She finished her tea and carried the cup to the sink. “I think I can sleep now, and you should do the same.”

  Together they left the kitchen. “Thanks, Flint, for always being here for me.”

  “I’ve told you before, anytime...day or night. I’ll always be here for you.” He stepped toward her and delivered a kiss on her forehead that was both gentle and sweet and yet held a touch of fire. “Now sleep well.”

  “Good night Flint,” she said, but instead of hurrying to her bedroom before she did something stupid like fall into his arms, she fell into his arms.

  He instantly enfolded her and claimed her mouth with his as his hands cupped her buttocks and pulled her tight against him.

  Desire crackled in the air as he
slowly moved them from the hallway to the sofa, where he pulled her down on top of him.

  Hot kisses, silken caresses, it would have been so easy to fall into making love with him again, and her desire to do so was so intense it scared her.

  As his hand slid beneath her nightgown, she broke their kiss and stood up.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I just don’t think this would be a good idea.” She gave him no chance to reply but turned and hurried into her bedroom.

  Heat still fired through her as she got into bed, a heat she thought would keep her awake for hours.

  But she must have fallen asleep immediately, for the next thing she knew she awakened to the scent of fresh coffee in the air and her alarm clock reading just before seven.

  She jumped out of bed, grabbed a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt and hurried into the bathroom to get ready for the day. For the first time since she’d bought the diner, she dreaded walking in its front door this morning, knowing the utter chaos that would greet her. It would be a day of scrubbing and cleaning and trying to put things right after everything had gone so wrong.

  Aware that she had told Charley to meet her at the diner at eight and that Flint needed to get to work, she didn’t linger getting dressed.

  “Good morning,” Flint greeted her as she walked into the kitchen. “Coffee is ready, and I even made toast.”

  “Hmm, I’m impressed.” She poured herself a cup of coffee, sat at the table and grabbed one of the slightly burned around the edges pieces of toast.

  “Anytime you want a gourmet breakfast, just call my name,” he replied teasingly.

  It was exactly the mood she needed...light and easy after such an emotional, draining night and facing what she suspected would be an equally emotionally draining day.

  “Your name isn’t exactly the one that jumps onto the tip of my tongue when I think of gourmet cooking,” she replied.