“Feeling better, I see.” Alex grinned her way and handed the flowers to Cress’s stepmother. “I was worried the other day. You were way too nice.”
“Really?” Stacey’s calm gaze said more than her words. “That’s wonderful.” She set a stack of dishes away and headed toward the back pantry. “I’ll get a vase for these, Alex.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
Gran sat, her look foreboding. “Half the time she puts things in the wrong place. You’d think after all these years she’d know where my stuff goes.”
“Well hurry and get well then you can take care of your own stuff,” Alex told her, refusing to indict Stacey. “She’s a good woman.”
“A ditz.”
Alex sent her a look that said he refused to have that particular conversation. She shrugged, folded her arms and glared, only softening when Stacey returned, flowers in hand. Stacey set them on the table with a nod of appreciation. “They’re beautiful, Alex.”
“From Mom’s garden. See?” He swung Gran’s way. “I spent nothing. But the colors were great and she has flowers everywhere, so I figured I’d nip a few for you. But I’ll take ‘em right back if you’re grouchy.”
“I’ve got cancer. I’m allowed.”
He conceded that with a smile. “I guess.” Glancing around, he thrust up a brow. “Where’s Cress hiding?”
“At Audra’s,” Stacey replied. Alex was pretty sure she didn’t notice Gran’s heightened interest in his question, the way her bird-like eyes sharpened in shrewd appraisal. “She’s helping Audra with a horse that’s got some leg issues.”
“Commiseration.”
Stacey lifted one shoulder, her expression a mix of resignation and resolve. “Her father is hoping the horse will coax her out of the city. Keep her closer. The idea of having his oldest daughter shot isn’t sitting well with him. Of course the two of them have little to say to one another, so it’s an interesting situation. I get bits and pieces from both and one of these days I’m going to knock their heads together and remind them to leave the past behind and move on. Pair of stubborn mules.”
Alex had no trouble believing that, and Stacey’s gaze said she wasn’t sure who to smack upside the head first, Ray or his bull-headed daughter. She’d married Ray Dietrich after meeting him in AA. In Alex’s opinion, she’d been the best thing that happened to the family since losing their mother, but Stacey followed her own path, and that irked Norma and Cress. Kiera had been too young to care much and Audra’s accepting nature just wanted to make the world a better place, Hallmark-movie friendly.
Cress and Gran? They were “show-me” women, looking for proof.
“It takes a rare kind of woman to carry a badge and a gun,” cut in Gran, her tone disparaging.
Stacey’s gaze agreed. “We’re in full agreement on that. So the idea of her helping with this horse makes me happy. Anything that ties her here makes me happy these days, because we want her safe. And while her father and I would love to see her happy, Ray thinks she’s afraid to go back and that bothers him. But of course, being obstinate by nature,” her look said she understood that Cress came by that attribute from both sides of the family, “She’s not about to waste her time with mental health therapy to help her through the aftermath.”
Cress, frightened? Not likely. “I can’t envision Cress afraid of anything.”
Saying the words, Alex realized he was wrong. Something in Stacey’s eyes confirmed his instinct, but she shrouded the look quickly.
Hadn’t Cress shrunk from him on two separate occasions? Once in his office, the other time upstairs, when he’d startled her. As if—
He gave an inward shake to his head and stood. No way, no how did anyone mess with a girl like Cress. She carried self-assurance like battle armor, a strong line of defense. Apt, able and opinionated. That was Cress Dietrich in a nutshell.
And yet—
“I’m heading home.” Alex directed his attention to Gran. “Behave yourself, okay?”
“No football practice tonight?” Gran shifted her gaze from him to the wall calendar, then back. “Oh, it’s Friday. I forgot.” She eyed him and straightened her shoulders. “Cress made out all right, then, watching them boys?”
Stacey’s light snort tempted Alex to reveal too much information about Cress and Mac’s boys, but he desisted, mostly because he really didn’t want the chewing out she’d give him for opening his mouth. “Just fine.”
“Hmph.”
Stacey saw him to the back door. “The flowers are lovely. Thank you and your mother.”
Alex shared a grin with her, hoping she’d understand his silent sympathy. Her look told him she got it. He stuck out a hand, grasping hers. “I’ll be sure to tell her.” Raising his eyes he hailed Gran from across the room. “I’ll come by again soon.”
“See that you do,” she ordered, no nonsense. “I’m teaching that girl how to bake while she’s here and we need willing subjects.”
“Would you consider moving the rat poison?”
Stacey and Gran exchanged puzzled looks. Stacey broke the silence. “Because?”
Alex leaned forward, his voice a stage whisper. “I hear it’s got proximity to the sugar bin. We don’t want to put too much temptation in her way, now do we?”
Stacey laughed outright and Gran cracked a smile, right up until she realized she and Stacey might actually be in agreement on something, and then she clamped those lips shut tighter than a small town loan officer’s bankroll.
*
“What are you doing here?” Cress eyed Alex as he approached the paddock, hands thrust into his pockets, his shirt undone at the top. A glimpse of plain white cotton peeked from within the folds of a dress shirt that should have looked mussed this late in the day and didn’t. That meant he was sporting a big bucks button-down that probably could’ve fed a small orphanage for a week. Maybe a Third World country. Reason enough right there to hate him. So why didn’t she?
He’d loosened the shirt cuffs and rolled the sleeves high, above the elbows. Tanned arms hung from the turned folds. How many shirts could maintain a classy image while rolled up?
This one.
He returned her scowl with one of his own. “You stood me up. I had an interesting time explaining to Nick why you didn’t show for ice cream like you said.”
She shrugged off his words and moved away from the shy horse, unwilling to have Alex spook him. “I had to get back to Gran.”
“Not good enough.”
“Maybe not for you, Counselor, but she’s pretty important to me.”
The look on his face told her he wasn’t buying it. “Gran was covered. And you know Stacey will jump in and help if there’s a time crunch, even if Gran gives her a hard time. I know this because I just came from Gran’s.”
Cress slid the subject away from the night previous. “And they sent you here? Why? Is everything all right? Gran’s okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” He moved closer, keeping his voice light and low. “Your grandmother’s feisty and your stepmother is dodging shots. Situation: Normal.”
“Stacey’s tough enough to handle Gran. Now.”
That tweaked his grin. “I noticed that.” He held an easy hand down at his side, then patted his thigh twice, two quick pats in succession.
Cress shook her head. “He won’t come, he’s –”
The gelding moved Alex’s way, his steps sure and deliberate, head nodding. As Alex proffered his hand, the horse blew out a breath, hesitated, waited and watched. Alex stood still, hand out, his eyes on Cress. She held her position as well, glad the horse was making his own moves and thoroughly ticked off that he came to Alex right off the bat. What was it with this guy? Old ladies, horses and little kids loved him. Oh, and the traitor dog she fed every night. Ol’ Shep was like the president of the “Bark-if-you-love-Alex-Westmore” fan club.
Life was not fair.
The horse reached out, nostrils wide, sniffing. Alex uncurled his hand, his gaze still directe
d to Cress. Snorting slimy, equine saliva onto Alex’s hand, the horse accepted the sugar cube, savoring the sweetness palpably. Once he swallowed the treat, he nudged Alex’s hand for more. When none was forthcoming, he gave a light whinny and poked his nose up and under Alex’s arm.
Traitor dog. Traitor horse.
Why did Cress even bother trying?
Alex maintained his posture, his gaze on her, while the hand that had held the sugar lightly smoothed one side of the horse’s face and neck. “So. You say he’s jumpy?”
Cress would have loved to stomp off but refused to do anything that might startle the horse. “He was.”
The slow, lazy signature grin stole over Alex’s features. “He likes me.”
Oh, bother. She huffed a breath and nodded, reluctant. “So it would seem.”
“How about you?”
Cress shrugged. “He’s beginning to trust me.” No way in this world was she about to tell Alex the horse wouldn’t let her within three feet of him as yet.
“I meant me.”
Cress frowned.
“You like me.”
“Yeah. Right.” She rolled her eyes and tapped her foot, impatient.
“Come on, Cress. Admit it.”
“Come on, Alex. Stuff it.”
Keeping a light circular motion going against the horse’s skin, Alex sent her a look that pooled inside her, warm and good. “Now what do we do about it?”
“You’re crazy, Counselor.”
He nodded, his face easy, as if letting her off the hook. “I’ve been called worse. So. Why didn’t you show last night?”
“I already answered that.”
He wasn’t buying it, but then he was a lawyer and they had that sneaky way of bringing things back around to the original question when you weren’t looking.
But so did cops, and she was a good cop. Well. Had been a good cop. “Alex, my first concern is my grandmother. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her happy, keep her comfortable, keep her alive because I love her. And for some totally obscure reason, despite the fact that you took her for a ride and sold her farm out from under her, she seems to have a soft spot for you. But that’s her, not me, so don’t—”
She’d drawn closer as she spoke, her face agitated, her voice pitching up. When she got just close enough, Alex silenced her with a kiss, his lips soft, his mouth firm, his skin smelling of slightly worn high-dollar after shave, breath mints and horse.
A heady combination because Cress happened to love all three.
He snaked his free arm around her, his mouth tasting, testing.
Hers did the same, wondering why she should feel so good while kissing Alex Westmore. His mouth wandered her face, pressing soft, half-kisses here and there while she leaned into him, hoping he’d never stop. When he finally released her she had to work not to whimper, looking for more, sounding strangely like her dog.
“Well.”
“Well.”
He nodded as if he’d confirmed something he knew all along, then took a step back. “Now that we’ve got that out of the way, maybe we can talk sensibly.”
Talk sensibly with the scent of him still on her face, her hair? Not even remotely possible. “Exactly what did you want to be sensible about, Counselor? And let me just add that if this is the way you handle girls after kissing them senseless, it’s no small wonder you’re single.”
“Senseless?” He grinned, disarming. “I like the sound of that.”
“I thought you would. So. Okay.” With deliberate motion Cress wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve. “What exactly did you want to talk about?”
He shook his head at her childish gesture which made her feel that much more childish.
She really should cling to hating him, because disliking Alex was far less confusing.
“You went to the sheriff’s office this morning.”
She hummed a few bars of Miranda Lambert’s “Everybody Dies Famous in a Small Town”.
Alex acknowledged her intimation with a nod. “Word gets around, but only because one of the deputies thought we were friends.”
“We’re not.”
Alex gave her a “get-over-yourself” look that shamed her. She shrugged. “All right. Why’d they run to you?”
He shook his head easy, mindful of the horse. “He went to Cruz and Cruz came to me.”
“And you came looking for me.”
“I came to remind you that you’re not exactly in prime shape to be chasing down sketchy people on your own.”
“I seem to be holding my own with you, Counselor.”
He blew out a breath, exasperated. Startled, the horse pushed up, banging Alex’s face with its head. Blood gushed forth, splattering Cress and the front of Alex’s really nice shirt. “Son of a –”
He bit back what he wanted to say, strode off a dozen paces, holding his face, chin down, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose in a vain attempt to stave the bleeding.
“Here.” Cress whipped off her t-shirt and thrust it at him. “Put this against your face and apply pressure. And sit down, for heaven’s sake.”
He moved to a wood-slatted barrel off to one side of the paddock and did as she instructed. Long seconds ticked by as he pressed the fabric to his face, head down, fingers clenched against the bridge of his nose.
When the throbbing and bleeding eased, he opened his eyes.
Cress squatted before him, a pale cami covering polka-dot bra straps that screamed summer fun in bright, random circles of color. Awareness washed over him and he sat back, withdrew the fabric from his face, staring, amazed. “You gave me your shirt.”
“Yes.” She must have read the look in his eyes because she waved her gesture off as nothing special. “As you can see, I had another one on underneath.”
“Half-of-one.”
“It’s a cami,” she retorted. “No different than a summer tank top. Give me a break, Counselor.”
Oh, it was way different from a summer tank top. The ivory lace trimming the upper edge with tiny, hot pink satin bows marking thin ivory straps didn’t resemble any summer tank tops he’d been privy to lately.
Alex wasn’t exactly clueless about women’s underwear. And cami or not, the thing was a mix of sex and subtlety, sweetness and scamp.
The fact that the raspberry bows matched some of the polka dots made him wonder if she liked everything matching.
He smacked himself internally. He wasn’t the kind of guy who ogled women, but something about Cress kneeling before him, her eyes clouded with concern, concern for him, no less, like that was an expected circumstance, made him want to take care of her. Cover her up.
But her t-shirt was blood-soaked, so he couldn’t. Except…
Wiping his hands on her already ruined shirt, he pulled off his Armani with ease and settled it over her head before she could protest.
“Alex, I—”
“It’s chilling off.”
“But all you’ve got is a t-shirt on.”
“More than what you had, Crescent.”
“Oh, please.” She sent him a look that dawned with understanding. “It’s not like I was indecent or anything. Give me a break.”
No, not indecent. Not at all. But definitely inspirational. Alex didn’t have a hard time jumping from polka dots peeking beneath the lace edging to polka dots elsewhere, and if he took that leap he’d be darned if some other guy would get the chance. Uh, uh.
He watched her hug the shirt close, and then she did something totally out of character, totally un-Cress-like.
“Thank you.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, her skin soft, her breath light. She stepped back and Alex noted a new awareness in her eyes, her expression. He nodded and stood, holding her ruined shirt off to the side to avoid further destruction. “You’re welcome.”
*
What was she thinking? Doing? Kissing Alex like that.
Oh, yeah, he’d initiated the maneuver, and well done to boot, but she’d responded in kind, the f
eel of him, the scent of him so nice. So perfect.
Except he was Alex Westmore and had duped her beloved grandmother out of the family farm Cress had loved. What on earth came over her?
And what did the stupid horse and dog know that she didn’t? So much for animal instinct. They sucked up to the big guy like he was Santa Claus minus the red suit.
“Cress? You up?”
Of course she was. She’d figured out the Sunday routine the week previous, but this time she’d outsmarted Alex and left him a message that she’d be taking Gran to church, relieving him of his duty until notified otherwise. That at least would prevent a slip like they’d had the week before.
That thought brought to mind the feel of his hands along her arms, the look in his eye, the way his left eye crinkled a hint more, the deep brown softening in appreciation as he held her.
Caught her, she corrected herself, then spewed a half-cry when she grabbed for the dress pants she’d draped on the back of the desk chair.
Stop. Bite your tongue. Count to ten.
The hum of the washing machine said it all. In Gran’s rush to keep all things bright and beautiful, she’d nabbed Cress’s dress pants, the skirt and her good jeans. The only thing still hanging in the closet was a summer dress she’d brought just in case.
Tugging on undergarments that worked beneath the trim shirt-waist, Cress slipped into sling-back pumps and turned quickly to head downstairs, ruing an old woman’s bent toward cleanliness akin to godliness.
Her image in the mirrored closet door paused her. She slid a hand to her throat, contemplating.
She looked pretty. Young. Sweet.
Swallowing the instant gag reflex, she studied the image a long moment, hunting differences.
She’d worn this dress before. Not often. Cress’s life in the Twin Cities hadn’t lent itself to dressing up, going out, heading to church on a warm, sunny Sunday morning.
The dress looked different. No. She looked different. Calmer. Prettier.
Happier.
A flush climbed her neck as realization grew.
The dress hadn’t changed in the short weeks she’d been home.
She had. Bit by bit the toughened, in-your-face detective was realigning with the small-town Midwestern woman within. A Midwestern girl that looked real good in floral crepe with a nipped in waist, a soft belt and cute shoes.
Safely Home Page 11