Her Perfect Proposal

by Lynne Marshall

  A few minutes later he put his heart and soul into the second game with his latest victim, Jake Bager, a paramedic who was seriously low on bull’s-eyes. All three of Jake’s darts had made it into the inner circle, but were an inch or more away from the center.

  On his next turn, solely concentrating on the game, Gunnar stepped up and threw one, two and three darts dead into the center of the board, the last one so close it nearly knocked the second one out.

  Jake groaned. A person behind him clapped.

  “Bravo,” she said.

  Gunnar turned to find Lilly with the fashion-model hair smiling, applauding his efforts.

  “Well, if it isn’t little miss jaywalker.” Damn, she filled out those jeans in a slim-hipped petite kind of way he rarely saw. He knew that shouldn’t be the first thing he noticed, but as sure as Mother Nature made little green apples, he had. Her mostly bare arms showed the results of gym workouts, not overly done, just nice and tight, and her nearly makeup-less face was as pretty as an ink-wash painting. He knew because he happened to like that Japanese art technique and had several posters in his home to prove it.

  “Thanks,” he said, thanking her more for looking nice than for her paying him a compliment. “And what are you doing here?”

  She gave a coy smile, even though nothing about her personality that afternoon hinted at coy, lifted her shoulders and dug her hands into her back pockets. He had to admit the move put her perky chest on much better display. He knew he shouldn’t focus on that, either, and tried not to notice for too long, but he was a guy and those dang blingy things on the shirt caught the light just right. He lingered a beat longer than he’d meant to, which seemed to be a pattern where Lilly was concerned.

  If she’d noticed, she didn’t let on. Or seem to mind. That was more like the lady he’d met yesterday afternoon.

  “Since you went the touristy route when I asked for the bars where locals hang out,” she said, “I had to find out where the action really was from Cliff over at Lincoln’s Place.”

  He nodded. Solid fact-checking. She knew how to gather her information. He hoped she was a travel writer and not the new journalist, since that might complicate his resolution to quit playing the field. “You play?” He offered her the three darts he held.

  She left her hands in her back pockets. “Not much. I’m better at pool.”

  He nodded. “Okay, well, if you’ll excuse me, then,” he said, deciding to stay put and let Lilly explore the joint on her own, “I’ve got to teach my man here, Jake, another lesson on darts.”

  Ten minutes later, Lilly was back at the bar chatting up Kirby, the local pet controller and town grump. Her nonstop questions, and choice of conversation partners, both well past middle age, made it obvious she wasn’t here to get picked up. Which, surprisingly, relieved Gunnar.

  “And what makes you outsiders think you can just walk into our bar like you belong here?” hairy-eared Kirby said, his voice loud and territorial, carrying all the way to the dartboards.

  “The bar sign said Open, nothing about members only.” She didn’t sound the least bit fazed. Yeah, that was more like the lady he’d met yesterday than little miss coy snooping around a few minutes ago.

  Even though she seemed to have things under control, Gunnar knew Kirby’s sour attitude mixed with a few beers could sometimes take a turn for ugly and, never really off duty, he hightailed it over to them to keep the peace.

  “Kirby, my friend, have a bad day?”

  The man with iron-colored hair, in bad need of a barber, grumbled to his beer. “I liked it better when we only let locals in here.”

  Olaf noticed the scene and was quick to deliver a new beer to Lilly. “This one’s on the house, miss. I hope you’ll come here often.” He smiled at Lilly first, then passed a dark look toward Kirby, who didn’t even notice. Or, it seemed, care.

  Lilly nodded graciously. “Thank you.” She glanced at Gunnar, an appreciative glint in her eyes.

  Gunnar turned back to Kirby, patted his back. “Cheer up. Why don’t you try enjoying yourself for a change?”

  The codger went back to mumbling into his beer, “If you had to deal with what I do every day…”

  Gunnar was about to remind the old fart that he was a cop and had to deal with the tough stuff every day, too, but he cut him some slack. Being a cat lover, he understood it must be hard to deal with stray and homeless pets day in and day out, but that’s what Kirby got paid for. And just like Gunnar’s job, someone had to do it to keep order in their hometown.

  He gazed at Lilly, ready to change the subject. “You said you were better at pool than darts. Feel like playing a game?” Mostly he wanted to get her away from Kirby’s constantly foul mood because he had the sneaking suspicion she’d tell him where to stick it if Kirby made one more negative remark. And who knew where that might lead, and like he’d maintained all night, he’d come here to let off steam, not be the twenty-four-hour town guardian.

  Her expressive eyes lit up. “Sure.”

  “What do you say I put my name in for the next table, and in the meantime, I’ll show you around the bar?”

  She got off the bar stool, lifted the toe of her left boot, grinding the spiky heel while she thought. “Sure, why not?”

  The circular tour lasted all of three minutes since there wasn’t much to show. He used the time to get a feel for Lilly, pretty sure why she’d showed up here tonight. As he spoke, she studied him and seemed to be doing her own fair share of circling him. At this rate, in a few more minutes they might be dancing. He smiled at her, she smiled back. Seeing a shyer, tongue-tied version of Lilly was surprising, and didn’t ring true with how he’d sized her up yesterday. Maybe she was putting on an act.

  Gunnar waved down Olaf’s wife, who worked as a waitress. “We’ll have a couple of beers,” he said to Ingé, then turned back to Lilly. “I’ll get this one, okay?”

  She gave an appreciative look and after perusing the blackboard ordered pale ale named after some dog Olaf used to own. She made a dainty gesture of thanks and accompanied it with a sweet smile. Beneath her tough-girl surface, maybe she was a delicate work of art, and he kind of hoped it was true.

  There was something about those small but full lips, and her straight, tiny-nostriled nose that spoke of classic Asian beauty, and Gunnar was suddenly a connoisseur. Yeah, Asian beauty, like a living work of art, or just like those ink-washed prints back at his house. He liked it.

  He pulled out a chair for her to sit near the pool tables while they waited, then one for him, throwing his leg over and sitting on it backward.

  “You said you were from San Francisco, right? What’s it like living there?” he asked, arms stacked and resting along the back rim of the chair.

  She crossed her legs and sat like she was in school instead of at a bar. “You remembered.”

  “Part of the job.”

  “Well, for starters, it was a lot busier than I’m assuming living around here is.” Under different circumstances—not giving her a citation—she was friendly and fairly easy to talk to.

  “We’re small all right, but there’s lots going on. I wouldn’t jump to judgment on life being any easier or less interesting here.”

  “Okay.” And she seemed reasonable, too.

  Their drinks arrived. He took a long draw on his, enjoying the full malt flavor. She sipped the nearly white clear ale. Things went quiet between them as he searched his brain for another question. She took another drink from her mug, and he could tell her mind was working like a computer. Before she could steer the conversation back to business, he jumped in.

  “You have any brothers or sisters?”

  “I’m an only child.”

  “So you’re saying you’re spoiled?”

  She gave a glib laugh. “Hardly. There’s a lot of pressure being the only child. When it’s just you and two adults, well, let’s just say sometimes they forget you’re a kid.”

  “I guess I can see your point.”


  “If my dad had it his way, first I’d have been a boy and then I’d be a thoracic surgeon.”

  “I see. So what was your major in college?”

  “Liberal arts.”

  Gunnar barked a quick laugh. “I bet Daddy liked that.”

  She went quiet, stared at her boots, took a sip or two more from her beer. “To this day I hate hospitals. Can’t stand the sight of blood. Probably has to do with a Christmas gift I got when I was eight.” She pressed her lips together and chanced a look in his direction, then quickly away, but not before she noticed Gunnar’s full attention. That must have been enough to encourage her to go on. “I got this package, all beautifully wrapped. I’d asked for a doll and it looked about the right size, so I tore it open and found the ugliest, scariest, clear plastic anatomical ‘Human’ toy with all the vessels showing underneath.” He smiled and shook his head, feeling a little sorry for her, but she’d chosen the entertaining route, not self-pity. It made her tale all the more bittersweet. “If you removed that layer there was another with muscles and tendons, and under that another with the organs.” She glanced up and held Gunnar’s gaze. He sensed honest-to-goodness remorse for an instant, but she kept on like a real trouper. “It had this scary skeleton face with ugly eye sockets.”

  Under other circumstances, this might be funny, but Gunnar knew Lilly, under the guise of funny stories, was bearing her soul on this one, and he had the good sense to shut up and listen.

  “Anyway—” she looked resigned and took another sip of beer “—all I wanted was a doll with a pretty face and real hair I could comb.” She shrugged it off and pinned him with her beautiful stare. “What about you? You have brothers or sisters?”

  “One kid sister named Elke.”

  “You close?”

  He nodded. “It’s just the two of us now.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Well, that’s how it goes sometimes, right?”

  Lilly tipped her head in agreement. “So what made you become a cop?”

  He couldn’t blame her for taking her turn at asking questions. But since he was on the hot seat, he went short and to the point—Just the facts, ma’am.

  “My dad.”

  “Family tradition? Was he a cop, too?”

  Gunnar opened his mouth but stalled out. How should he put this? “No.” She’d been flat-out honest with him so he figured he owed her the same. “I guess you could say he was a bad example. Did some time for making really poor choices. Took our good family name and stomped it into the ground.”

  She inhaled, widening her eyes in the process. “I see. But look at you—you’re an honest, upright citizen.”

  “That I am.”

  An old Jon Bon Jovi track blasted in the background, and to change the subject, he thought about asking her to dance, nearly missing when they called out his name for pool. “Oh, hey, our table’s up,” he said, relieved to change the subject. “You ready?”

  She passed a smile that seemed to say she was as ready as he was to drop the subject of messed-up families. There was something else in that smile, too, like she might just surprise him tonight, and to be honest, he hoped she would. After that story about her father, he’d decided to go easy on the new girl in town, since it sounded like her childhood had been as rocky as his.

  Chapter Three

  Lilly followed the hunk with the sympathetic green eyes to the pool table against the back bar wall, the one closest to the bathrooms. What had gotten into her, opening up like that, telling a near stranger about her messed-up family? She could blame it on the beer and his Dudley Do-Right demeanor, but knew it was more than that. It was part of that scary feeling that had started taking hold of her in the past year, that twenty-eight-to-thirty-year-old-lady life-change phenomenon—and the desire to connect with someone in a meaningful way. The thought made her shudder, so she took another sip of beer before glancing up.

  Holy Adonis, that man filled out those jeans to perfection. Out of his neatly ironed uniform, he still cut an imposing figure. Extrabroad shoulders, deltoids and biceps deeply defined, enough to make him an ideal anatomy lesson with every muscle clearly on display. Far, far better than that old plastic doll. With those thighs, and upper body strength, he could probably single-handedly push an entire football blocking sled all the way down the field. Or flip a car in an emergency. The guy was scary sturdy.

  He’d stepped in when things had gotten sticky with Kirby at the bar, like it was second nature. Gunnar’s family had been through the wringer with his father going to prison. Apparently that had influenced his career choice.

  She continued to watch him. There was something sweet and kind about his verdant eyes with crinkles at the edges. He hadn’t let the tough times or stressful job turn him hard. And his friendly smile. Wow, she liked his smile with the etched parentheses around it. That folksy partial grin gave him small-town charm, and the self-deprecating, beneath-the-brow glance he occasionally gave added to that persona, though nothing else about him gave the remote impression of being “small.”

  She finished her ale, had really liked the crisp, almost apple taste, and chalked her cue while he racked up the balls in the triangle. She’d played her share of pool in college dorms, enough not to humiliate herself, anyway.

  “Eight-ball okay with you?”

  She nodded. It was the only game she knew.

  “Stripes or solids?” he asked.

  “Stripes.”

  “Want me to break?”

  “Sure. Thanks.”

  Once Gunnar set everything up, he waved the waitress over and ordered some chips and salsa with extra cheese. She’d eaten a salad for dinner, and the beer was already going to her head, so she wouldn’t sweat the extra calories.

  When Ingé brought the food, he joked with her and gave an extra nice tip. Lilly liked friendly and generous guys—guys who maybe wanted to make up for their pasts. A couple of cops, probably subordinates since they referred to Gunnar as “Sergeant,” lined up nearby to watch the game, looking amused. “Go easy on her,” one of them said.

  “Don’t worry, miss,” said one of the other men sitting at the bar, who looked big like a construction worker. “He’s a gentleman. Right Gun-man?”

  From the way people talked to Gunnar, always smiling when they did, some calling him Gun-man, others Gun, and the way everyone responded to his casual style, she could tell he was liked and respected by his peers. She’d also noticed that Kirby had taken Gunnar’s firm hint, and kept quiet. Adding up all of that, plus the company of the charming police officer, helped her relax and let her usual guard down. This Gunnar was a nice guy. Gee, maybe she’d actually have a good time tonight. Come to think of it, she already was!

  “Did I mention he tried to give me a ticket for jaywalking?” She joined in the fun and chided his buddies.

  Gunnar laughed. “A warning.”

  “Yeah, he’s a stickler sometimes,” said the dart player named Jake.

  Could she blame a guy overcompensating for his father’s wrongdoings?

  Lilly suddenly wanted to be treated like one of the guys, so she glanced around at the half dozen men taking special interest in her playing pool with Gun-man, and decided to put on a show.

  “The next round is on me,” she said as Gunnar stepped back to let her take her shot. The call for more drinks went over well with the small audience, according to the assorted comments.

  “Great!”

  “Thanks!”

  “Now, that’s what I’m talking about.”

  Gunnar had, once again, set her up with some good and easy shots, if she didn’t blow it from being a bit rusty and all, and she’d gotten the distinct feeling he’d done it on purpose. She leaned forward, and since he had an audience, she waited for him to step in and pull the oldest come-on in the book—to show her how to hold the cue stick and make the shot, meanwhile his hands running over her body for a quick and sneaky feel-up.

  But he didn’t. He stayed right where he was a
nd explained the technique from there. He really was Dudley Do-Right.

  “Try keeping your shoulder back and your elbow like this.” He demonstrated. “See how my fingers are? Try that. You’ll have more control.”

  He never got closer than two feet away.

  She knew how to play well enough, but she’d let him school her, make him think he was helping her compete. Clicking back into her reason for being here tonight, she decided to play along for now, forget about her news quest. She did exactly as he’d said and made her shot. In the pocket. Yes!

  She smiled at him and he winked. Uh-oh, that wink flew through her like a warm winged butterfly searching for a place to light. Good thing her fresh beer was within reach to give her an out to quickly recoup.

  She smiled and made a quick curtsy, then got back to business.

  She’d come here with the plan to find Gunnar, pepper him with drinks and get the information she wanted for her first breakout story. But after their surprising conversation, where they’d both shown a bit of their true colors, all she wanted to do was fit in. This was fun. To hell with the story. She could follow up on that later.

  The pool game was the center of her attention, well, that and Gunnar and his every sexy move, and she had a nagging desire to impress him. Just like a kid. Eesh. If she could keep her head straight and concentrate on the game, not him, she’d do just fine.

  As the game went on, he used his cue as a pointer to suggest where she should stand for which shot and she followed his every lead. As a result she had the best, most competitive game of pool in her life. Who knew how fun it was to play pool in a stinky men’s bar?

  Between the beer and chips breaks, and their undeniably steamy looks passing back and forth over the scraped-up, green felt-covered table, the game kept getting extended. Occasionally while changing places they’d brush shoulders, and the simple interaction made her edgy. Man, he knew how to rattle a woman with his laser-sharp gaze, too.