by Helen Brenna
“I have to use the bathroom,” she said. “I don’t want you getting into Chief Taylor’s way, Zach, so stay right here, okay?” Her footsteps sounded down the hall and then all was quiet.
Garrett had told Lynn he’d back off, but he’d never promised not to fish around, and kids were notorious for giving things away. He glanced behind him to find Zach standing right next to the ladder. What luck? “Hey, there,” he said softly.
“Hi.” Intently, he studied Garrett’s progress, the video game in his hand forgotten.
“You like watching this stuff, huh?”
Zach nodded.
“Do you ever get to help your dad around the house with repairs?”
“No.” He shook his head. “My dad’s a cop, too, but he doesn’t fix things.”
A cop? No shit. That Garrett hadn’t expected. “You want to be a cop when you grow up?”
Zach stared silently at him for a moment, and then resolutely shook his head. “No.”
Interesting. Every young son of a cop Garrett knew wanted to follow in his dad’s footsteps. They were usually so proud of their fathers. Now if he could only ask who’d given the kid the bruises, he’d have a few key pieces of the puzzle put together, but digging into that would only scare off the boy.
The bathroom door opened and Erica came down the hall. “Zach! I asked you to stay back.”
“He’s okay where he is,” Garrett said. “I won’t drop anything on him.”
While glaring up at Garrett, she steered Zach gently back toward the island counter in the kitchen. If he had to put money on it, she wasn’t the one behind that boy’s bruise.
“Come on, kiddo,” she said. “Dinner’s ready anyway, so let’s eat.” He heard her scooping food onto plates. After several minutes, she asked, “Are you hungry, Chief Taylor?”
She was trying to be polite, but the reluctance in her voice was damned near comical. For such a tough cookie, the woman was an open book. “Call me Garrett. And no, I’m all right. I need to finish tearing this out before I can stop.”
While they sat at the table and ate, Garrett finished pulling away all the damaged parts of the ceiling and drywall. Then he set about cleaning up the mess he’d made, dumping chunks of Sheetrock in a wheelbarrow, rolling it over to the metal landing outside and tipping everything into a Dumpster in the alley below.
“Can I watch TV now?” the boy asked after he’d finished eating and was setting his plate on the counter next to the sink.
Erica paused in cleaning up the kitchen and glanced over at Garrett. “Will he get in your way?”
“No, not at all.” He smiled at Zach. “This’ll be my last load anyway.”
Zach turned on the TV and sat on the couch. He looked like a kid with a lot on his mind, someone who could use some friendly contact. Moving had to be tough.
“So what’s your favorite show?” Garrett asked while he was cleaning up the last of the mess.
“I dunno.”
“Did you and your mom check out the school today?”
Zach glanced at him. “Yeah.”
“What did you think?”
He frowned. “It’s okay.”
“You look like you’ll be in…second grade?”
As Erica wiped down the stove and counter she glanced toward them, clearly monitoring their conversation.
“First.”
“Oh, so you’ll have Miss Johnson.” Garrett nodded solemnly.
“What?” Zach asked, sitting forward. “What’s she like?”
He glanced toward the kitchen. The expression on Erica’s face said the tigress was ready to pounce at any second if he said anything remotely inappropriate. “I know a boy named Brian in her class,” Garrett explained.
“I met him today.”
“You did? Well, he claims she’s the best. Nicest teacher in the school. Heck, she’s the nicest teacher I’ve ever met. Gives her kids lollipops on Fridays.”
“No way.”
“Yep. And she’s pretty, isn’t she?”
“Sorta.”
A half smile formed on Erica’s face as she finished the dishes in the sink.
“Give it a chance,” Garrett said, putting the last of the debris in the wheelbarrow. “You might like it here.”
Erica had her head down and was washing dishes as he took the last wheelbarrow load outside. By the time he was finished he was covered in Sheetrock dust. He stored the wheelbarrow out of the way at the end of the balcony, then took off his shirt and shook it off over the railing. He ran his hands through his hair and brushed off as much of the drywall dust and chunks as possible.
When he turned around, Erica was watching him through the doorway. Most women would’ve discreetly looked away, but Erica was most assuredly unlike any woman he’d ever known. She met his gaze without even a hint of a smile, and Garrett thanked his lucky stars that Zach was in the apartment, or there was no telling what might’ve happened next.
He yanked himself back. No fast women. Period. Once he finally made the decision to settle down, he was going for a sweet, uncomplicated homebody, someone who could bring out the best in him, if there was such a thing. Just because Erica Jackson looked like she could cook did not make her Susie Homemaker.
He tugged his shirt on and went back into the apartment to the glorious smells of fresh basil, garlic, Italian sausage, tomatoes, onions, peppers. “Mind if I wash my hands?”
“Go ahead.” She reached into a bag on the counter and set a pump container next to the sink. “Here’s some soap.”
As he was standing at the sink, scrubbing away, Garrett glanced at the big pot of rich, thick sauce on the stove and his stomach gurgled loudly. “Sorry.” He wiped his hands off on a towel lying on the counter.
“Oh, all right, fine.” She grabbed a plate out of the cupboard. “Take some. In fact, take a lot.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it. My stomach can wait until I get home.”
“I have trouble with small portions.” She held out the clean plate. “And, uh, Zach didn’t eat much.”
He looked at the pot again. “Actually, I am a little hungry. You sure?”
“Do you want some or not?”
He took the plate and dished himself up some pasta, ladled on some meaty sauce and dug in, standing right there in the kitchen. Savory flavors exploded in his mouth. Fresh, spiced perfectly, not too sweet. Hands down, this was the best sauce he’d ever tasted and that included his mother’s. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?”
“I don’t know. I just do,” she said gruffly, and went back to washing dishes. “My mom was gone a lot while we were growing up, so I cooked for my sister and myself. I guess I got bored with the same old stuff and experimented.”
“Do me a favor and talk Lynn into putting this on the menu.”
“You’re from Chicago, aren’t you?” she asked, out of the blue.
“Mmm-hmm,” he said, still chewing. “How’d you know?”
“You got the sound.”
“Funny, so do you.” He studied her reaction. Nothing. But then he hadn’t really expected one.
“So why’d you come to Mirabelle?” she asked.
How did he go about telling someone that he’d gotten too good at solving crimes because he’d started to think too much like the murders, rapists and robbers. “Get away from the rat race.”
She didn’t believe him. It was written all over those pretty brown eyes.
“Why did you come here?” he asked.
“Once when I was a little girl I came here with my mom and my sister.” She stopped drying the pan in her hands and focused on Zach sitting in the living room watching TV. “It was the best three days of my life.”
Whoa.
The admission had no sooner left her mouth than she glanced up at him, appearing no less surprised to have spoken those words than he’d been to hear them. He cleared his throat. “Do you know if there’s a broom and dustpan in here somewhere?” he asked, hoping to cover the sudden awkwardn
ess that had sprung between them.
“I saw one in the closet.”
After washing his dish in the sink and setting it in the rack to dry, he followed her down the narrow hall and stood behind her. This close, he realized that without the boots she’d been wearing the other day she was more petite than he’d thought. The top of her head barely came to his shoulders. She was so tiny he could probably fling her up on his shoulders and carry her around for a few hours before he’d notice she was there.
She spun around with the broom and held it toward him. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He grabbed the handle, but didn’t move. No wedding ring. Suddenly, the he-man in him didn’t want to move. Susie Homemaker or not, she was damned sexy. “So where’s Zach’s dad?”
“Chicago.”
That he could believe. “Married? Divorced?”
“Neither. Never been married. Never plan to be.” She took a step toward him, the challenge clear in the way she held out her chin. “But if you think anything is going to happen between us, guess again. You are so not my type it isn’t even funny.”
Dang. The sound of the TV reminded him the boy was behind them, but they may as well have been alone in the apartment for the charge in the air. If Zach hadn’t been in the living room, he might’ve picked her up and carried her back onto one of those beds.
“So what is your type?” Flirting with her was dangerous. He knew it, and still he couldn’t rein himself in.
“Not a cop, that’s for sure.”
“What do you got against cops?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
She glared at him. “Don’t think so.” She went to step around him, but he didn’t move.
Touch me. Put your hand on my arm, better yet my chest, and move me. Touch me once and I’ll bet you don’t let go. Like a curse, she’d settled over him. All he wanted in that moment was her under him, her arms around him.
“Typical cop,” she whispered. “Thinking you’re all that.”
“Zach’s dad is a cop, isn’t he?” Garrett whispered. The smell of her, basil and a haunting citrus smell that seemed to come off her hair, made his mouth water.
She narrowed those big brown eyes at him, her wheels turning. Would she lie, or tell the truth? “Yeah, Zach’s dad is a cop. And he’s an asshole. First class.”
The truth again. She was full of surprises, but then something in the way she’d owned up seemed too confident, too up-front that told him her cut went deeper. “That’s not the whole story, though, is it?”
She only stared at him.
“Zach’s dad isn’t the whole problem. What happened, Erica?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She studied him, took in his arms, his chest, but the appreciation in her eyes was laced with something he couldn’t put a finger on, something that looked an awful lot like fear.
She was afraid of him? Him?
Garrett became acutely aware of the difference in their respective sizes, the way he had her backed into a hallway. He never, ever would’ve hurt her, but the fact that he could bench-press about twice her weight suddenly seemed like a terrible defect.
“I’m sorry.” He stepped back. “For…all the dust.”
“You gotta do what you gotta do.” She broke eye contact and carefully skirted by him, making sure they didn’t come into contact.
Someone had badly hurt her and the boy, and all Garrett wanted to do was get his hands on the asshole.
CHAPTER SIX
THE BIG, BURLY MAN, a man with muscles on top of muscles, doing construction work while the little woman cooked dinner in the kitchen. Was there anything more sickeningly domestic in the world? Just the thought of it made Erica want to toss her pasta right back up.
Then again, the look on Garrett’s face when he’d tasted her sauce may have been worth it. He’d actually closed his eyes for a second and, he probably didn’t even realize it, but a small sound of pleasure had escaped his throat. If she was honest with herself, just watching him work dressed in faded jeans and a gray T-shirt may have been enough to make cooking for him worthwhile. When he took off said shirt, exposing a back rippling with strength, she would’ve gladly whipped up some tiramisu for him if she’d had the ingredients.
“Thanks for dinner,” he said, coming back out into the kitchen.
It was those eyes. “You’re welcome.” They were the palest gray she’d ever seen. The look of those hands, so big and strong, almost made her swoon.
“I’ll finish sweeping up the mess I made on the floor over there and then get out of your hair.”
Not to mention his voice, soft and deliberate. He didn’t need to speak loudly to get attention. She’d bet all he had to do was walk into a room to get every head to turn.
“That’s okay, I can sweep.” She needed him gone. The worst thing that could happen right now was a collision under the sheets with, of all the possible men out there, a police chief. “I’ll take care of it in the morning.”
“It won’t take me more than a few minutes.”
“Zach and I are ready to wind down. It’s been a long day.”
“All right.” He pulled a key ring out of his pocket and held it out, his biceps bulging. “Here’s your key.”
Erica should’ve been afraid of a man the size of Garrett Taylor. She wasn’t, not in the slightest. In fact, her skin burned with a strange awareness. One touch from him and she felt as if she might actually explode. She held her hand out and waited.
He glanced at her open palm and then into her eyes and dropped the key, clearly misreading her actions. “Thanks.” No way was she setting him straight.
“I’ll be back tomorrow to finish the repairs.”
She’d try her best to be gone. “Thanks for the warning.”
“See you later, Zach!” he called.
“Bye,” Jason said without turning from the TV.
It had already grown dark outside by the time Garrett left the apartment. She listened to the sound of his feet pounding down the steps, then locked and chained the front door and rechecked every window. Then she sat down on the old couch next to Jason to watch TV.
“He’s nice,” Jason said after a few quiet moments.
“You think?”
“Yeah.”
The man certainly seemed comfortable carrying on a conversation with Jason.
“Do you think he’ll tell my dad where we are?”
Erica looked down at her nephew, her heart breaking for him. She’d never once explained that they were running from Billy, but he understood all the same. “I don’t know.”
“My dad always says,” Jason whispered, still looking at the TV, “that cops stick together.”
That’s what worried her, almost as much as her obvious attraction to Garrett Taylor.
He was a man, she reminded herself, and she’d never had much respect for the opposite sex. How could she when her entire childhood had included a revolving door of the unreliable, untrustworthy louts?
She’d never known her father. He’d left before she’d been born. There’d been Marie’s dad, from all accounts a bigger asshole than Erica’s. Then a whole stream of other jerks had followed, including a couple of creepy cops, one extremely abusive, until Teddy, the only nice guy in the bunch.
Teddy had been a record, hanging around for almost an entire school year, and just when Erica was settling in to the idea that she might actually be able to count on the guy, she’d woken up one morning to find him gone. When Erica had asked what had happened, her mother had shrugged and moved on. To another bottle. Another man. Another job. Another apartment, dragging her and Marie behind in the muck.
Not surprising, Erica’s own life had turned into a succession of broken relationships, but she’d be damned if she was going to give any man the upper hand. “I don’t know about you, kiddo, but I’m exhausted,” Erica said. “Let’s get ready for bed.”
After shutting off the TV, they trudged
down the hall together. She finished putting his clothes in the dresser about the time he was done brushing his teeth. He wandered out of the bathroom, and she turned to find him in the middle of a big yawn. “You must be tired,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”
He only nodded and shuffled into the room. “Do I have pajamas?” he mumbled.
“That’s your dresser over there. I put all your clothes inside.” What little they had anyway. She was going to have to rectify that as soon as she got her first paycheck.
He opened the top drawer, took out his pajamas and pulled his T-shirt up and over his head. When he turned around, Erica sucked in a breath. “Oh, my God, Jason!” A large, ugly bruise covered his left upper arm and shoulder. “What happened to you?”
He glanced down at his arm as if he’d forgotten and quickly pulled his pajama top over his head, covering himself. “I don’t know.” His eyes shifted away from hers. “I must’ve fallen or something.”
No one got a bruise like that without remembering how it happened. Billy. Erica would’ve bet anything that this had been the final straw for Marie. “Did something happen at home?” she said, testing. “Or school?”
He shrugged. “I got in some kid’s way during recess and he pushed me down. I guess I hit my shoulder.”
She might not know him as well she’d like, but it was clear from the way he wouldn’t hold her gaze that he wasn’t telling her the truth. Still, she didn’t feel comfortable pushing him, at least not yet.
Frustration burned a wide and deep hole inside her, bringing back all kinds of bad memories, memories of being small and helpless. She’d sworn long, long ago she would never turn away from a conflict, never run away. Never again. What had she been forced to do? Run.
But this was about Jason, not her, and she vowed to do everything in her power to protect him.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Not anymore.” He climbed onto the bed and sat on top of the bedspread. “Am I going to school tomorrow?”
Smart kid, changing the subject and using empathy to get his way. “There’s only about a month of school left before summer break, and I think it’ll be a good way to meet other kids your age.”