Had they even had a date? Not really.
When she’d traveled north to Westen, she hadn’t been looking for romance, just adventure. Well, she’d found adventure, all right. Maybe being with Gage was another kind of adventure. She’d lived her whole life for others, taking the safe, conservative route. Why not take a chance and have a hot fling with a sexy man? No regrets, no commitments.
Suddenly, Gage stopped pacing, his whole being taut with concentration. He signaled her to get out of bed.
“Yeah, I can be there. How long can you keep her there? Half an hour?” he asked whoever was on the other end. His eyes on her, she realized he was also asking her if she could be ready that fast.
True to his words of last night, he was including her in whatever was going on. She nodded, quickly scrambling out of the bed and grabbing the sheet around her, she headed to the bathroom, tripping over her makeshift cover all the way down the hall.
Why was it men felt comfortable prancing around in their grand nakedness and women always felt the need to hide their imperfections?
No time to reflect on the differences between men and women now.
She jumped in the shower and gave herself a once over, wishing she had the time to let the hot water pound her muscles. Some of the places she ached she never knew existed. Heat filled her cheeks. How was she supposed to spend the day with the man after the things they’d done last night? Well, at least the day wasn’t starting with awkwardness. Whoever had called Gage wanted them somewhere pronto.
Who called and what had they said to set off Gage’s intensity meter once more? It was scary that she could already read this man so easily and he seemed to be in tune with her as well. Most of her adult life she’d flown under men’s radar.
Stepping out of the shower, she toweled off and finger-combed her hair. She paused and looked at herself in the mirror. Nope, same old Roberta Roberts, she hadn’t morphed into Cindy Crawford overnight.
A firm rap sounded on the door. She grabbed the towel and held it in front of her. Yeah, like he didn’t know what hid behind it. She cracked open the door.
“I put your suitcase in the bedroom. I’ll be downstairs. We have fifteen minutes to meet Clint.” He started to walk away, stopped and looked back, taking in her bare legs below the skimpy towel. “Leave the shades pulled in the bedroom until you’re dressed.”
“Why?”
“My neighbor is a bit of a voyeur.” He winked, and sauntered down the hall. “By the way, nice legs.”
She looked down and groaned. The man must be nuts. Her calves were trim from climbing the stairs in her townhome, but mid-thigh up, well, apparently he’d never looked at fashion and beauty magazines.
Once he was safely downstairs, she hurried to the bedroom to get dressed. Thinking about what lay ahead in their morning, she grabbed her other pair of jeans and a pink lightweight sweater from her suitcase that he’d tossed on the rumpled bed.
Who was Clint? Oh yeah, the town’s doctor. The cousin’s husband. What was so important they had to get out of bed so early? She glanced at the clock. Okay, seven in the morning might not be early, but she felt like she could’ve slept ten more hours.
As she dressed she tried to remember what little she’d heard of the conversation. All she could remember was something about a girl. So much for her skills at eavesdropping. Of course she’d been a little distracted by all that naked man.
Get a grip. You have a job to do.
Pushing Gage and last night’s activities out of her mind, she grabbed her big black bag, which he’d brought upstairs along with her suitcase and laptop, then hurried out of the room.
“Ready?” He stood at the door, dressed in the all-too-familiar jeans and blue button-up shirt—which apparently made up his idea of a uniform. This morning he also wore a jean jacket and his Indians baseball cap sat perched on his head. Not quite tapping his foot in agitation, but she could see he wasn’t used to waiting on anyone.
“All set.” She grabbed her own jacket and started by him, but he caught her by the arm and stopped her. “What?”
“Just this.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, leaned in and kissed her slow and soft, thrilling her to her bones and heating her from the inside out. His lips lingered a moment longer before breaking it off. “In case I don’t get a chance to do that the rest of the day.”
Still stunned, but glowing from his kiss, she let him gently push her out the door into the morning light and crisp spring air.
“Good morning, Sheriff,” a feathery voice called from the other side of the fence. A tiny bird of a woman, pink sponge rollers in her white hair, a pink chenille robe wrapped tight around her body, and a sly smile on her wrinkled face, stood on her back porch.
This was the voyeur?
“Aw, shit,” Gage murmured under his breath, ushering Bobby to the truck’s passenger side. “Good morning, Mrs. Munroe. How’s Princess today?”
Bobby slipped into the cab, but held the door open to hear the conversation between him and the elderly little lady.
“Oh, Princess was restless last night, but I think she’s doing better today. It makes me nervous when she’s restless. You know she can hear things I can’t.”
“I’m sure Princess will take good care protecting you, ma’am.” Gage hurried around the truck and climbed in.
Bobby would swear his cheeks were redder. The elderly neighbor’s dog hearing them last night had embarrassed him? “You don’t think little Princess heard us last night, do you?”
“Trust me, Princess isn’t anything I want to mess with.”
“You aren’t afraid of Mrs. Munroe’s dog, are you?” she teased.
“Take a look at her porch,” he said, slowly pulling back out the drive.
Bobby turned to see Mrs. Munroe smiling and waving at them. Beside her sat the biggest black-and-brown pit bull she’d ever seen. Its teeth snarled at them as if smiling. “That’s Princess?”
“Yep. When Mr. Munroe died a few years ago, Mrs. Munroe said she wanted to get a dog for protection. Dad helped her find one he was sure would protect her.”
“And she named a pit bull Princess?” She laughed at the absurdity.
“Could you imagine would-be burglars learning that Princess isn’t a cute little yappy dog, but one capable of ripping out their throats?” He winked at her and returned to driving.
They wound their way through the streets of Westen for a few minutes. The place looked like all those commercials for small-town living floating on television now. Well-maintained homes with neat, trimmed lawns, and flowerbeds springing with daffodils and tulips. A nice little peaceful town—where two nights before there’d been a murder.
“Where are we going?” she asked, rubbing her arms against the sudden chill that ran over her.
“We’re meeting Clint over at the clinic.”
When no further explanation followed, she rolled her eyes. Okay, I guess I’ll bite. “And why are we meeting him there at this early hour? Most doctors I know don’t open their doors before nine.”
“Because a tweaker beat the crap out of his girlfriend, also a tweaker, and left her on the clinic’s doorstep.” He flexed his fingers one at a time on the gearshift. The other hand gripped the steering wheel as if his hand was the only thing keeping the vehicle from defying gravity. Was it the tweaker part that bothered him, or the beating and abandonment of the girlfriend?
Getting information out of him was worse than convincing Brent Adler to tell why he hadn’t done his homework for six consecutive weeks. Of course, Brent hadn’t wanted to tell her his father lost their job and they were all living in one room out of his grandmother’s house.
Deep, patient breath. “And a tweaker is?”
He heaved a sigh and slumped his shoulders slightly. “A tweaker is a meth addict. Meth labs have been creeping into midwestern rural towns over the past decade. Most of the activity has been in the southeastern part of our county, but occasionally we have a tweaker or two travel through
Westen.”
“And this guy just beat up his girlfriend and dumped her?” Sometimes the stupid decisions people made amazed her.
“When a meth addict is in their tweaking stage, they don’t sleep, sometimes as long as a couple of weeks. They’re paranoid, irritable, prone to sudden violence.” He pulled the truck into the drive of another three-story, mid-nineteenth-century home. He parked and came around the truck to help her climb out. “This is the Westen Clinic.”
She followed him up the porch stairs. Before he could rap on the door, it was swung open by a gray-haired, middle-aged woman dressed in maroon scrubs. “’Bout time you got here, Sheriff. Doc’s in back with the woman.”
“Good morning to you, too, Harriett,” he said, ushering Bobby inside in front of him. “This is Bobby Roberts, she’s…”
“…helping out at the Sheriff’s office while Ruby’s laid up. Heard all about it yesterday.” Harriett didn’t even look over her shoulder at them as she led them to the rear of the clinic.
Bobby looked at Gage, who simply shrugged as if to say, small-town news travels fast. What did she expect? An apology? At least the nurse hadn’t said she also knew they were sleeping together.
“Gage and his lady friend are here, Doc,” Harriett announced at the doorway before heading back down the hall.
Okay, so much for discretion.
The room she’d led them to looked like a bed and breakfast re-do circa 1940’s. Soft pastel floral print wallpaper covered the walls and framed Norman Rockwell prints gave the room a calm, peaceful feel. Two wrought iron twin beds, each covered with matching pastel log cabin quilts, flanked the wall opposite the door. Beside each bed sat a wingback chair.
Currently, one of the beds held a body curled beneath the quilt and away from the door. A tall man unfolded himself from the wingback chair, a clipboard in his hand. Bobby blinked twice. The man looked like that actor in the Navy lawyer show.
“Gage,” he said in a low voice, offering his other hand. “Sorry to wake you so early.”
“Don’t worry about it, Clint.” Gage shook his hand, turning slightly. “This is Bobby Roberts, my newest deputy. Bobby, Dr. Clint Preston, Emma’s husband.”
“Ah, the lady helping out in Ruby’s stead. Emma told me she’d met you yesterday. She didn’t say anything about you being a deputy.” His lips tipped in a gentle smile as he shook her hand.
At least he didn’t comment on why they were together so early in the morning. Bobby liked him instantly. He made a perfect match to the redhead she’d met the day before.
“So how is she?” Gage asked, craning his head around to try and see the woman in the bed.
“Asleep.” Clint turned and looked at his patient. “I gave her something to bring her down and she crashed hard.”
“She going to be okay?”
“As far as I can tell, her boyfriend didn’t hit any vital organs and nothing is broken. Which is a miracle, considering tweakers usually don’t have any impulse control left when they start hitting.”
“Damn, I would’ve liked to interview her. Find out the boyfriend’s name and where he’s staying.” Gage shoved one hand down in his jacket pocket, the other rubbing the back of his neck.
“Don’t know that it would’ve done much good. Most of what she said didn’t make sense.” Clint went to the bedside table, lifted a small recorder and handed it to Gage. “Uncle Ray used this to make tapes of things so he or Harriett could transcribe them later. I recorded everything she said while I was stitching her up. Thought you might use it.”
“Doubt it’s admissible in court, but it might help me find the son-of-a-bitch who did this.” Gage stuck the recorder in his jacket pocket.
“I took some pictures, too. I’ll have Harriett…”
“…print them up.” As if conjured by magic, the nurse appeared in the doorway with a manila file in hand. She handed them to Gage and moved to sit in the chair by the woman’s bed. “Emma has breakfast ready, Doc. She said bring Gage and his lady friend with you. I’ll keep an eye on our patient.”
“We don’t have time for breakfast,” Gage started to refuse the invitation out in the hallway.
“Sure you do,” Clint gave him a gentle shove on his shoulder in the direction of the front entrance. “You and I both know our victim isn’t going to wake for hours, maybe days. Might as well have some of Emma’s cooking to start the day. Besides, she’ll give me hell if you don’t come see her and the boys. Yesterday she pointed out you hadn’t been over for a month.”
Frustration and resignation crossed Gage’s features in a flash, replaced with a smile just as quick. “Last thing I want to do is upset a pregnant woman.”
“Smart man.” Clint laughed.
When they stepped off the porch, Bobby headed for the truck, only to have Gage grip her arm and turn her toward the street. “This way, sweetheart. Emma and the doc live close enough to walk.”
Clint lifted an eyebrow when Gage called her sweetheart, and Bobby flushed with embarrassment. What he must think that meant. Get a grip. It’s not like you’ll be seeing these people after this case is done.
The two men led her across the street to a three-story Victorian apparently in the midst of a remodel. Lumber and tools lay in neat piles on the wide veranda. Next to them sat large pails of paint and putty.
“How’s the upstairs coming?” Gage asked as Clint opened the front door.
“The boys’ room looks like a cowboy bunkhouse now. Which has them yee-hawing and galloping all over the place,” Clint grumbled, but the smile on his face told how little he minded it. “I’m just hoping they outgrow it before they earn their knot-tying badges in Scouts.”
A moment later two redheaded boys, Bobby would guess about seven years old, barreled down the stairs, shouting, “Gage!”
Emma came around the corner. “I’m so glad you could join us,” she said to Bobby as she waved them all into the kitchen connected to the great room—a newly remodeled portion of the house.
Moments later, seated at the oak country table that was the center of the kitchen, Bobby listened to the boys try to tell Gage about everything that had happened in the past month, each finishing the other’s sentence between bites of pancakes in their haste.
“Brian, Ben, slow down,” Clint ordered, but with a smile. “You’re going to end up choking on your food. Gage isn’t leaving before his breakfast is finished.”
“But the bus…” Brian said, shoving half a piece of bacon into his mouth.
“…will be here soon, Dad,” Ben finished.
As if on cue, the sound of a school bus horn blasted from the street. Chaos ensued. The doctor went to hold the bus, while the boys grabbed their backpacks and their mother did a quick once-over to be sure their faces and clothes were clean for school. As the boys ran out the front door, their mother following behind them, Gage chuckled beside Bobby. “They’re like two spring tornadoes.”
“I’ll bet they’re a handful.”
“They used to be worse. Before Emma married Clint. She never knew what they’d get into. But now they mind both Em and the doc without question.” He sipped his coffee, nodding his head as if he approved of his cousin’s family.
“How long have they been married?”
“A little over a year.”
Before she could ask any further questions, a movement from the hallway caught her attention. A white-haired, frail-looking lady stood in the doorway, a confused look on her face as she rubbed her hands one over the other in nervous agitation.
“Aunt Isabelle?” Gage carefully set his coffee mug on the table and eased his chair back. He approached the elderly woman with slow, gentle movements. “Is something wrong?”
She looked up at him, no recognition on her face. “Do you know where my little girl is, sir?”
“Emma is out on the porch with your grandsons.” Gage smiled and took her by the shoulders, leading her into the kitchen. “Why don’t you sit with Bobby while I get you some breakfast?”<
br />
His gentleness with his aunt amazed Bobby. It was a new side to him. She’d seen his anger, most of which was directed at her, his patience with Cleetus, and his disdain—that’s the emotion he used with the mayor and his entourage. But gentle kindness? Out of the big tough sheriff?
Who’da thought it?
Isabelle blinked and her eyes seem to focus on her nephew. “Gage, it’s so nice to see you. I’d love a cup of coffee, please.” She glanced at Bobby, smiled and leaned closer. “It’s about time he brought you to visit us, my dear. I thought your name was Mary, or Maureen, or…what is your wife’s name, Gage?”
“Her name was Moira, Aunt Isabelle,” he said as he set a plate of pancakes in front of her and a cup of coffee. “Remember, we’ve been divorced more than a year.”
“Oh, dear. I’m sure your father is very disappointed.” Isabelle sipped her coffee.
A brief flash of pain crossed his features, from the mention of his father or the divorce, Bobby wasn’t sure, but Gage quickly replaced it with a smile and a pat to his aunt’s hand. “Don’t worry about Dad. By the end, he was as glad the marriage ended as I was.”
For a moment, an uncomfortable silence filled the kitchen then the front door closed.
“Well, they’re off,” Emma said as she and Clint joined them once more. She leaned over and kissed her mother on the forehead. “Good morning, Mama.”
“Good morning, Emma. We need to plant the spring vegetables today, dear.”
Emma heaved a heavy sigh as she retrieved a bottle of medicine from the cabinet. “Not today, Mama. I have nursing classes. You’ll be going to the day center. Remember?”
“Oh yes, with that lovely girl, Libby.”
“Yes, Mama, Libby Wilson.” Emma glanced at Bobby. “Libby is a social worker and a friend.”
“She always has the most interesting things for me to help those poor elderly people do,” Isabelle said, almost to herself.
Emma doled her mother’s medicine into her wrinkled and frail hand. The unshed tears in the other woman’s eyes made an ache around Bobby’s heart and she wanted to hug Gage’s cousin.
Close To The Edge (Westen #2) Page 16