by Jill Behe
I didn’t, but did push at him. “You don’t think I feel that same fear and hurt when you go rushing off to some domestic disturbance, or a wreck on the road?”
“Honestly? I never actually thought about it. I’ve got three sides warring against each other, right now. One says, you’re the man, she’s the woman, society dictates that you need to protect her.” He raised a hand as I opened my mouth. “On the other hand, I’m a cop. I carry a gun on my hip, occasionally. There’s a Remington .223 that I carry with me on every call—courtesy of the borough—in the cab of the SUV I drive at work—also from the borough.” He took my hand. “Then there’s you. You are a strong independent woman who knows how to take care of herself. I have no doubt that you could defend the cop-shop alone, if it was ever necessary. But why should you have to do any of it by yourself when I’m here for you? Even Ricky would stand in front of you against any threat. Please don’t ask me to stand down, baby.”
He’d hit it smack on the money … the words I’d been needing to hear. “Honey.” My temper was … tempering. “I like how physically bigger and stronger you are. And it’s kind of sexy when you wear your gun belt. I feel safe, secure even. And your job is way more dangerous than mine, but I was aware, when applying for the dispatcher’s job, of the threat potential.”
He pulled me close again. “Sweetheart, you have to cut me some slack. Please. I’ve never been in this position before. I’ll probably need a lot of leeway to get through it, without making you mad again.”
“That’s your way of asking for help?”
He smiled. “If that’s the way you want to take it. I was just stating a fact.”
How could I not give in? “You’re so bad.”
“But you like me that way.”
I shook my head. “No. Not always. Sometimes I want to smack you upside the head, like I had to on occasion with my boys.”
“Well, it must have done them some good. They turned out pretty decent.”
Hmm. A diversion?
“Well, shucky-darns. Thanks, Chief.”
“I’m serious. They were at an impressionable age when they lost their dad, and he’d been sick, what? three, four years before that? Your boys have grown into outstanding young men, Maggie. I’m really impressed.”
His comments, along with thoughts of that heartbreaking time in my life, had tears brimming. “I never could have gotten through Bernie’s illness without them. They were my shield, my sanity.”
He was changing the subject, but I deliberately let him distract me.
Leaning down, he touched his mouth to mine.
Mmmm!
“Okay.” I kissed him back, and hugged hard. “I decided I don’t want to walk home. I’d rather get cozy with you on the couch.” I’ve heard it’s good to pick your battles. This one had been on the way to getting way out of hand (mostly my fault, but not all), and I needed to roll up my tongue before it got me into more trouble than it was worth. I’d re-think my priorities and assumptions, then address it again—and that wouldn’t be before tomorrow at the soonest. “Help me out of my coat, please?”
“Now there’s a request that makes some sense.”
“Isn’t there a hockey game on?”
“Ah. A woman after my own heart.” He gave me a squeeze. “There is. We’re missing a crucial game. Pittsburgh at Boston.”
“What are we waiting for? You know I love those Penguins. Betcha they go all the way to the Cup, this year. Come on, Chief Madison, let’s get comfy.”
We settled in, drinks at the ready, popcorn overflowing the bowl, lap robe in place.
Yeah, as I said, he’d managed to change the subject. Now, don’t be sputtering about how unfair it is. This dispute of ours wasn’t done, at least not for me, but I had allowed a truce. It doesn’t make me better than him, but I know the limits of my temper. So, yeah, we have a ceasefire.
One essential element in every successful relationship is give and take, there has to be. How both parties handle differences in opinion, or outright disagreements, separately and as a couple, defines how compatible they really are, and how long they’ll stay together.
I intend for us to be together a very long time.
When two people are tuned into one another, most—notice I didn’t say all—arguments can be settled without drawing blood. Tonight we’ll go to bed happy, or a reasonable facsimile thereof.
I’m sure the ugly head of macho posturing will rise again (y’all get your mind out of the gutter), especially if the threats escalate, or get physical.
But for now, we’re okay.
Wyatt kissed my temple. “Just so you know, I will be calling Filbert in the morning.”
See?
I rolled my eyes.
CHAPTER 20
WEDNESDAY MORNING
ON THE WAY to the office, after we’d shoveled six inches of fresh, wet, heavy snow from the driveway, Wyatt made his call.
“Yeah, I know. I’m really sorry we won’t get out there today. Something came up that we need to deal with.” A few more yeahs and uh huhs and he flipped the phone shut. “All set. No hardship. Says he’s got plenty of volunteers.”
“So everyone I told, that you and Ricky wouldn’t be back until Thursday, will think I lied.”
“Nah. They know you better than that.”
On a sigh, unwilling to rehash the argument, I stared out the window as we made our way through the quiet unplowed streets.
“This stuff would make an excellent snowman, don’t you think?”
“Don’t forget to stop for donuts.”
There was a moment of silence.
“You’re not still mad, are you?”
Why would I not be? We hadn’t resolved anything. “Not really. Not exactly mad. Just … peevish.”
“About?”
Come on, Wyatt. “You know what about. The hornets are in the nest and resting quietly, so just leave it be. And, please, do not patronize me.”
“I’ll try, Maggie, but can’t promise perfection.”
Oh, for Heaven’s sake. “Not that I would expect that, but I’ll try to factor it into the equation.”
He was quiet for all of 30-seconds. “How about this? What if, for instance, Rick and I were going out to be out at the lake today? What would you be doing?”
“Same as always. Open the office, type up any reports that came in, update the nightly county report, deal with the mail, field phone calls, attend to anyone venturing in with a problem. Only difference, you aren’t at the lake, so I won’t have to close up before I go talk to Miss Magnolia at the realty office.”
“Then what?”
“On the way back, I’d go by Hidden Treasures and see Miss Lavender.”
“Aha!”
“What?”
“Nothing. Keep going. What else?”
“No. You can’t do that aha-thing, and not explain it.”
He looked over, probably to gauge my mood. “Both of those activities might increase the threat level. The store, though, will cause the most trouble.”
It wouldn’t increase the threat level because the threat didn’t have anything to do with that girl’s alleged disappearance. It was an excuse to deny the fact that there was a madman (small shudder) threatening me. “I’m only going to talk to her.”
“Maggie, I’ve seen you in antique stores, hers in particular. You buy half the stock. Can’t help yourself.”
“I do not.”
“Close enough.”
“Trying to start another argument?”
He frowned. “No. Just stating a fact.”
I glanced sideways. He was not alleviating the dark of my mood. Not one little bit. “You’ve never complained before. You even managed to pick up a few pieces yourself.”
“Self-defense.”
“Give me a break.”
“All right, look. How about we compromise?”
I squinted and waited. Why was the compromiser always me?
“Rick and I will stick around the office this
morning. If it’s all quiet, we’ll take off for the lake. How does that sound?”
“One sided. Drop the other boot.”
The Jeep scrunched into the designated parking spot. “Rick’s perfectly capable of handling the office by himself while you and I make the stops you mentioned.”
“Forget it.” I unbuckled my seatbelt, hopped out, and tromped up the unshoveled sidewalk.
This wasn’t me being stubborn for stubbornness sake. I needed him to trust my judgment, that I knew what I was doing. Was that so hard?
“Maggie.”
I heard his door thunk shut, but kept moving. Maintaining forward momentum was hard with the snow halfway up my leg.
Tiring, too. And to make matters worse, the steps to the front door were buried under a two foot drift.
Releasing my frustration on it, I began to scoop the compacted white stuff away from the door.
“Damn, but you can be stubborn.” Wyatt moved to help. “I know you think I’m trying to horn in and play the he-man role.”
“I’m not the only one being mule-headed. The what role?”
By the time the door was clear, I was winded from the exertion. My daily exercise quotient was already about depleted after having helped clean off his Cherokee, and shovel out the driveway.
“The macho, I’m-Tarzan-you-Jane thing. But that’s not it. Well, in a way it is, but not really. I am the chief of police. This is my thing. This is what I’m paid to do. Personally, I’d like to hear their views on what’s going on. And not because I don’t trust your judgment.But I’d like to pursue this opportunity, with you, for a face-to-face. Is that agreeable?”
He was being earnest. He was, in fact, making sure to include me, but that wasn’t the point. There was something arrogantly macho about it that grated—not enough to really aggravate, just one of those things that makes you wanna … fidget.
Wyatt didn’t wait for me to comment, just reached around to unlock the door. “Come on, before we freeze.”
Knocking the snow off my boots, I went in ahead of him, then flipped the light switch and turned up the heat before peeling out of my cumbersome outside clothes. Going to my desk, I hit enter to activate the computer.
My lovable handsome manly man stood in front of my desk, hands in pockets, coat open, waiting for me to assuage his ego.
Loathe as I was to agree, it would be pointless to argue. Later, when someone’s life didn’t hypothetically hang in limbo, I could belabor my independence. “All right. We need to find Sybil, soon. In my opinion, and I could be wrong, this Abel-guy has her at that rental property. Although, if he does, it’d be pretty stupid of him.”
“I think so, too. And I’m going to say something, another something, that may raise your hackles, but please think about it before you answer.”
I sat. Waited. Hackles?
He commandeered the closest corner of my work space. “Although I’d like to confront this guy right now, I want to talk to those women first. Ideally, Forsythia and Gladiola, too, but they’re only peripherally involved, as far as we know at this point.”
I nodded.
“However, I think Rick and I should go talk to Mr. Blackwell.”
“That might be a very good idea.”
He blinked. “Um, really? You didn’t even hesitate.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had two run-ins with the man already. The first time wasn’t bad, but the second almost busted my ribs. If I had to face him again today, I’d probably knock his block off. So you and Rick go deal with him, and I’ll be surprised if you don’t haul him in here in handcuffs, just for being a smartass.”
Wyatt grinned. “Maybe I should take you along.” He stood. “So we’re cool about the first two visits?”
Not really, but…. (Sigh). “We’re cool.”
“Great.”
“Wyatt?”
“Yeah?”
“You forgot to stop for donuts.”
CHAPTER 21
COMPROMISE CAN BE TENSE
“HUH. So I did.” He pulled out his phone. “Rick, need you to stop at Spirelli’s.” He winked at me. “Roger that, pal. See you in 10.”
I went over to our little break area and prepped the coffee maker. “What time do you want to go to Rizzo’s?”
“When do they open?”
I shrugged, pushing the button to start the drip. “Probably nine, at the earliest. Can’t see them having customers before then, especially today. Real estate people have bankers hours, I think.”
“Let’s leave here about 9:15. If we’re lucky, most of the streets should be plowed by then.”
Back at my desk, I nodded and logged into my computer. “Should I call first?”
“Nah. We’ll just pop in.”
“Okay.”
He stood in the middle of the room, arms crossed, staring.
“What?”
“There’s still something not quite right with you.”
I waited, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
“Something’s still got you out of sorts. Sorry if it’s me, or something I said.”
“Wyatt, I told you in the car, just leave it be. It’ll take a while, having been on my own for 10 years or more, to get used to the idea that I’m not allowed to make my own decisions.”
“Whoa!” He dropped his arms and took a couple steps in my direction. “Wait a minute. What?”
“Isn’t that the gist?” I rolled my shoulders, fingers poised over the keyboard. “I’m female so I can’t take care of myself? I have to have a man nearby, in case something bad happens?”
“No. No, of course not.” Hands went to hips, then slid into pockets. “Not exactly. You’re taking this all wrong, hon.”
I stopped typing and looked at him. “How, exactly?”
“Look, you said we were good.”
“You’re evading the issue. We were … good, but you, as you’re prone to do, turned up the heat and stirred the pot. I don’t like the way you try to manipulate me into compliance. The way it sounds to me is, I can’t walk across the street unless you’re there to hold my hand.”
“No. No, not at all. I just want you out of this idiot’s line of sight.”
“That’s great. I get that. And, honestly, with all my heart, I wish it were possible. But what, pray tell, could you do to protect me if there was a sniper’s scope trained on me right this second? Stand in front of my desk all day?”
“Well, no, but…. For God’s sake, woman. What do you want me to do? I can’t not care about you.”
The woman made my teeth hurt, but I ignored it. “I didn’t ask you to stop caring.” I got up and went to stand in front of him, my hands on his chest. “But, Wyatt, I’ve got a lot more … chutzpah, than you’re giving me credit for.”
“Maggie. Maggie. Maggie.” He blew out a breath, then clasped my hands—tight and desperate. “You’re driving me crazy.”
I gave a laugh, but it wasn’t funny. “You need to lighten up. Even Superman can’t protect Lois Lane 24/7.”
“Donuts are in the house,” Ricky announced, coming through the door. “Place was like, dead. I was their only customer.”
Wyatt and I broke apart.
“Everybody else was smart enough to stay home.”
Setting the donuts on the table, he looked at Wyatt. “I take it you called Filbert?”
“Yeah, on our way in this morning. But I told Maggie if there’s nothing going on here, we’ll head out after lunch.”
Rick nodded. “Sounds good.” He filled his mug with coffee, adding five sugar packets and a dribble of milk. Made my gills hurt to watch. Then he grabbed two donuts, from what looked like a full dozen, and went to his desk.
Oh, yeah. Ricky drinks coffee now.
About a month after the temperature went below 30-degrees Fahrenheit and stayed there, he decided that something warm to drink was worth an attempt to like the dark-brewed beverage. And since tea—in his opinion—was too feminine (don’t get me started), and hot chocolate was t
oo sweet and something mostly little kids drank, he started experimenting. Although, given his excuse for dismissing the chocolate, I find it ironic that he needs so many sweeteners to make his coffee palatable.
The week before he discovered sugar, he gagged every time he took a sip, but Mac Richardson was in one day and suggested Rick try it sweet. Still, it took several more days before the kid could get a whole nine ounces down. Now he’s an avid fan, though still on the really sweet side.
Hour and a half later, Wyatt and I pulled into the almost empty parking lot of Rizzo’s Realty. Two of the cars had obviously not moved all night.
We went in, activating a tiny bell above the door. Though smoking inside a building was no longer allowed—per state law—the residual odor lingered like a stubborn nose-wrinkling stain.
Magnolia Pennington emerged from the dark recesses of a narrow carpeted hallway. Near-panicked steel gray eyes pinned us where we stood. Salt and pepper hair—to her chin straight—was slightly mussed. “Oh God, what’s happened? Is Jed all right? My sisters? Tell me quick and straight. I can’t bear the suspense.”
Wyatt took a step forward to intercept. “Nothing like that, Miz P. We just need to ask some questions about a tenant.”
Her attitude altered in an instant, and with hands on hips, “What’s he done this time? Must be bad with cops sniffing around? If he damaged that beautiful house—”
Wyatt was all business. “He, who?”
She ahem-ed. “Come on back to my office, why don’t you? This might take a while.” She waved for us to follow. “It’s not all that much of a secret, but it’ll be less toxic, and you’ll be more comfortable.”
We settled in.
Wyatt didn’t hesitate. “So who is this man, and what’s he done to get you so agitated?”
I got out my steno book and pen.
“Well, I suppose I blew it out of proportion, somewhat. But he wasn’t even in the house a whole day before little Evelyn Forbes called me. She knew Dillard took fastidious care of his home, and so, was appalled to hear the sounds of construction coming from inside.
“Was she any more specific than that?”
“How do you mean? Saws buzzing? Hammering? Yes, she did mention both of those.”