The Lark and the Bull

by Carolyn Faulkner

  Lark slapped his hands away from her, shrugging off the coat. "Stop it, Bull." Then she looked at him, realizing that, for the first time, she didn't have to crane quite so far up. "Do you really not like this?" She eyed herself critically. "I had it in the back of my closet at home, so I had a friend go by and grab it to send to me. Everyone always tells me it looks nice on me."

  She sounded heartbroken, thinking that he didn't think she looked good. "Nope. Hate it. If you don't want to wear the coat, do you have a choir robe in the bedroom you can pop over it? A pair of hog washers and a plaid flannel shirt, maybe? You can leave it on—I want to know it's there, underneath seven or more layers of Carhartt and a leather apron."

  She was not amused, even though she had no idea what hog washers or Carhartt was.

  Bull sighed, pulling her to him and groaning. "Fuck, that velvet feels good!" he breathed, getting sidetracked. But he forced himself back in line. "I'm sorry. I meant what I said first. You're unbelievably hot and sexy, and I'm just worried about how many lawsuits I'm going to be facing tomorrow when every man in the place lines up to make a pass at you and I have to kill them all where they stand."

  As flattering as that sounded—sort of—she reached up and took his chin in her hand, like he'd done to her so many times already to get her to focus her attention solely on him. "You aren't going to murder anyone. You're going to escort me to this thing, we're going see all of your friends and I'm going to meet a lot more of the town folk than I already have. Even though my ability to read them will depend on your proximity to me, the majority of them won't know that, and they'll be scared out of their wits of me, and the other half will be pissed that I haven't yet been burned at the stake, so I doubt anyone's going to make a pass at me."

  She grinned up at him. "You know the type, since that was you until we slept together."

  Bull glared at her as she grabbed her cute little clutch purse, threw her keys, her phone and a tiny makeup bag with just the essentials into it and headed for the door.

  Usually, his manners—which were surprisingly good—dictated that he open doors for her, but he was still standing there behind her like a dolt, so she went through it, saying, "I don't know about you, but I'm going to the Policeman's Ball, with or without you."

  "Hah!" he said, following her out because he certainly didn't want her going by herself. "You can't go without me because I parked behind you."

  "Please! Do you really think that I wouldn't drive on the lawn to get there if I had to?"

  He opened the passenger's side door for her. "That would tear up the lawn something fierce, though."

  As she took her seat, Lark looked up at him with an evil smile that he was worried he kinda liked on her. "Not my lawn, not my problem."

  Grinning broadly as he closed the door, he said, "Touché, kitten."

  Having never been to this kind of a thing, Lark really wasn't sure what to expect, but the joint was jumping! They even had valet parking—of a kind. The Booster Club for the Coal Harbor Panthers—the high school team— was parking cars, and they were able to drive right up to the venue, which was in a very nicely decorated auditorium in the center of town.

  Bull offered her his arm as they headed in.

  "Forgive me for not saying so before, Detective, but you're looking mighty fine, yourself, tonight! That's a beautiful three-piece suit, very nicely tailored."

  He didn't like how incredulous she sounded at all. "I'll have you know that I know how to get to my nearest Joseph A. Banks, just like every working-class man in the country."

  She wasn't sure whether he was kidding or not, although she would have bet that that suit wasn't from there, but she didn't want to insult him by laughing.

  "I'm kidding, baby. When my parents died, I inherited a small amount of money, and one of the best pieces of advice—which I got from this man right here—was to spend more of it than I thought I ought to and get one really nice suit."

  Bull put his hand out to Dale. "Good to see you, Chief." He turned to Mrs. Milford. "And Mrs. Chief. As young and elegant as ever." He kissed her on the cheek, and Lark was surprised to feel a surge of jealousy flow through her.

  Then he turned to Lark, looping his arm around her waist. "You already know this old codger." He motioned towards Dale, who told her how gorgeous she looked, making her blush, before leaning down to kiss her cheek.

  "Back off, buddy—your wife's standing right there!" Bull teased. "And this is Peggy Milford. Peggy, this is Lark Jeffries."

  "I'm very glad to meet you, Miss Jeffries," she intoned with a certain amount of curiosity, offering her hand. "I've heard a lot of good things about our resident psychic."

  "Empath," Bull surprised her by correcting.

  "Don't bother; it doesn't really matter," Lark whispered. More loudly, she said with a smile, "Please, call me Lark."

  "Peggy," she offered. "I thought you were a psychic?" She frowned, sounding somewhat disappointed to find out that Lark wouldn't be able to read her deepest, dirtiest thoughts.

  "You wanna take this?" she asked Bull.

  Apparently, he did. "As Lark so eloquently puts it, 'feelings, not thoughts'. She can't read your thoughts, but she can sense strong emotions."

  "Very nicely done, Detective!" She leaned towards Peggy. "Sometimes they surprise you and are actually trainable—am I right?"

  The older woman laughed, glancing at her husband somewhat disparagingly, then back at Lark. "Well, sometimes. Maybe if you get them this young, they are. By the time I got to him, it was the 'old dog, new tricks' problem."

  The women giggled hysterically at that. Their men didn't look anywhere near as amused, not that they seemed worried about that in the least, either.

  "Well, don't let us keep you. You'll probably want to circulate, Detective?" the chief hinted.

  Bull straightened immediately. "Yes, let's circulate towards the punch bowl. I'm thirsty."

  "Sounds wonderful. It was very nice to meet you, Mrs.—Peggy, and good to see you, Dale."

  He spent the evening essentially glued to her side, and he wasn't sure if he was just being overprotective or if he really was that jealous. He didn't need to be. The only people who approached them were members of the department. She didn't think she saw anyone else there that she recognized, even. The people of Coal Harbor hadn't been what one would call enthusiastically welcoming, although they hadn't marched through town with pitchforks and torches, either, so, there was that.

  "I have to take a leak. You stay right here," he cautioned sternly, walking backwards away from her to make his point, then sideways, still looking back at her, keeping his eye on her as long as he could.

  Lark turned away from him, took a sip of her punch, and that was all she wrote.

  The feelings were so suddenly violent and prevalent as they tore through her that she dropped to the floor like a stone from the force of them, trying to hold onto herself, trying not to let them wash her away. She had heard the crowd around her gasp loudly when she fell, but no one came to help her immediately, so she drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and pushed herself up to her knees, her head reeling dizzily.

  She had one leg up and was going to maneuver herself to a standing position if it killed her, but Peggy arrived at her shoulder then, saying, "Miss Jeffries—Lark—is there anything I can do to help?"

  The shakes were trying to set in, and there was no way she could answer Peggy, but she heard Dale's voice in passing.

  "Hold on, Lark. I'll find Bull."

  Holly's voice grew closer as she said, "I saw him heading for the john," and then she was suddenly at Lark's elbow.

  Lark reached out and grabbed the hand she offered, not willing to collapse again into the abyss of violent emotions. "Help—help—me—uhhp."

  "Do you think you should?" the young woman asked, but still, she was doing her best to try to get Lark to a standing position if that was what she wanted.

  Suddenly, it was easier, and she knew why.

  Bull
.

  In an exhaustive effort, she turned around—nearly unable to stop herself from actually turning all the way around—and yelled at him as he was coming barreling towards her. "Go away!"

  In reality, although she thought she was shouting, she was only whispering, but Dale heard her and threw his arm out to catch Bull, whom he hoped didn't snap clean off because he was so intent on getting to Lark it was like trying to stop a Greyhound bus.

  "Stay back, Bull."

  "But I can't—she's hurting!" he growled fiercely, as Holly, and then Randall, each took an arm and helped Lark begin to walk, sort of, away from him, while Dale continued to try to push him back, finally getting some help from the rest of the force, who all corralled the biggest among them away from the woman he most wanted to protect.

  "Yes, you can, and that's an order. She knows what she's about. If she felt something here, then that's a real breakthrough. Let her see if she can suss something out. She's with Holly and Randall. They'll take care of her."

  But not like he would.

  It was one of the few times in his life that he truly wasn't sure what he should do. He wanted the killer found. He didn't want to see any other innocent people die. But he also knew that Lark needed him, and to him, that trumped practically anything. He knew that what he could do for her was really a blessing, in most ways, but it was going to drive him crazy that, because of whatever mojo he had, he would always have to stand by and watch her—let her—be gutted like this.

  It came to him then, like an epiphany, that he had found the right woman. He'd already been trying to figure out ways to keep her with him. He just wasn't sure how he was going to work it yet, but he was going to do everything in his power to make it so that he never had to let her go.

  Chapter 9

  She was in the car with him, and he was taking her home—to his home, what he fervently hoped would become their home, at some point, although he wasn't going to say that to her now, or even soon, probably.

  "Went away. Went 'way so quick…"

  He knew she was trying to fight off the reactions she'd had while she was here, and she had done a wonderful job of it, too. Randall and Holly had practically carried her around inside the building, then outside it, too, until she was too far gone to do them any good, although it still wasn't as bad as they had all—by now—seen it be for her.

  Most of the guests had cleared out by then, and they sat her down on one of the folding chairs, Holly taking word to Bull to come get her.

  Everyone in the building heard his frustrated scream as he practically took down the male contingent of the department because they didn't let go of him fast enough before he put his head down and began to run through them to her.

  When he got to where she was sitting, he scooped her up in one quick but achingly gentle armful and brought her to his car, cursing the fact that, this time, because this episode was entirely unexpected, Wabbit was at his place rather than in the car where he could help her.

  She was shaking and curled in on herself on her seat, as much as the belt would allow. She had moments of lucidity that hadn't been present before, probably because, although it had been intense, it had been more short and sharp rather than being bathed in the feelings, plus, he had been there, dampening them some, which was both a good and a bad thing.

  "Gone, gone, gone," she sing-songed, beginning to weep. "I trieda get up. I couldn't."

  Bull had ahold of her hand, ignoring how limp it was within the confines of his own. "I know you did, babygirl. You were brave, like you always are."

  "Goddaway. She goddaway."

  "Well, we'll get her, together, you and I, and Holly and Randall and Dale'll help us. But you just relax now, honey. There's nothing you need to do."

  When she was standing in his bathroom, he had to smile at the dichotomous picture of her in fuck me heels—and a dress that screamed for him to do that, too—while she was clutching Wabbit to her as if he was a lifeline.

  "Hey, baby, let me take Wabbit while I get you undressed, hmmm?"

  Tugging on Wabbit's ears while gently trying to repossess him proved to not be a good idea. She became incredibly agitated and began to moan in that deep, mournful, forlorn way she had, and he just couldn't take it.

  He stopped, and so did she, almost immediately. So, her disrobing took place with her transferring Wabbit when she needed to, like a good girl, so that he could get her clothes off—and then her shoes, for which he made her sit down on the toilet. When she was nude—and terribly distracting, he hated to admit, even in this state—he brought her into the shower stall—Wabbit and all—under the hot, steamy spray, where he proceeded to wash her gently, treating her as the child he knew she was at this moment.

  He even washed her hair and got all of her makeup off, which made her look just that much more like some poor, neglected little girl with a bedraggled stuffed rabbit, so much so that he couldn't bear it and had to take her out. Bull had intended to spend some time with her, just standing under the hot spray, hoping it would relax her, but she was crumpling now more than she had been, and he got her onto a bath mat where he turned on the overhead heat lamps and dried her meticulously.

  When he was done, and he had dried her hair with a towel enough that it was just damp, making her hold Wabbit—who really needed a stint in the dryer, but he didn't think she'd be much of a fan of that idea—while he turned the blow dryer on high at him, he brought her into his bedroom where he took out something he was very glad he hadn't followed his own advice on and put her into a pair of pajamas that had cost him an arm and a leg but were made specifically for adult children, along with a pair of panties he'd found at Walmart, of all places, that were pink and princessy.

  The pajamas were also pink but they had kittens on them, which he thought was very appropriate, considering what he called her as a nickname. They even had feet.

  She was shivering again, and as much as he really wanted to ritualize the process, he wanted to get her warm and comfortable even more so. Seconds later, she was bundled under the covers and into his arms, watching The Lion King on cable, and soon after that, she was asleep on his chest.

  His Daddying instincts were on high alert, and Bull felt her get up in the night. When she came out of the bathroom, he was standing right there.

  "You okay?" he asked, wide awake.

  "Yes."

  Regardless, he lifted her off her feet and delivered her into bed.

  Lark laughed. "I said I was fine."

  "I know, but I'm still in Daddy-mode after last night. Indulge me a little, huh?"

  Considering how well he always took care of her, she could hardly be churlish enough to refuse him, although—as much as she really wanted him to—she was still a little wary about letting him do that to her when she wasn't traumatized.

  They both lay awake for a little while as Bull lazily ran his fingertips up and down her back, occasionally leaning down to kiss the top of her head.

  "You know you're in trouble, don't you, little one?" he asked casually, bringing the back of her hand to his lips to press another kiss there.

  She looked up at him, in indignation. "What could I possibly have done at the ball last night that would result in me getting spanked?"

  "Not at the ball, baby. When I arrived at your place and knocked, you told me that the door was open—and it was. There's a serial killer roaming around town who seems to have a preference for blondes, and yet your door was wide open to anyone who might have cared to come in." He gave her a distinctly stern look.

  Lark shrugged. "I don't know what came over me. I'm usually the type to double and triple lock things. Maybe it's the small-town atmosphere here."

  Bull grunted. "Less small town now, unfortunately."

  Then Lark sat up suddenly and looked down at him. "Can I ask you something?"

  "Of course, kitten. Anything at all," he agreed, fussing with her hair a bit, just because he could and thoroughly enjoying the feel of her lying against him.

>   "Something you said when you were driving us home last night stuck in my head."

  He looked intrigued, not remembering that he'd said anything of any great importance then. His entire focus had simply been on trying to keep her calm and console her until he could get her home and do the same thing even more intensely and completely.

  "I was talking about how she got away—and she did. Then you tried to comfort me, saying that 'we'd get her together'." Lark looked Bull straight in the eye as she asked, "You used the pronoun 'her'. Was that a mistake, were you just parroting my own words back to me, or do you believe I'm right that it's a woman?"

  She knew as soon as he sat up and began to sputter that he didn't.

  "But, I was just trying to—" he began, stopping when he saw her sad expression and noticing that she was no longer looking at him.

  Her fingers trailing over the rumpled sheets that lay in front of her, Lark asked in a small, although not little, voice, "I see. Which then begs the question, after all of the time we've spent together and how many times you've done such a wonderful job of putting me back together, do you believe that I can do what I say I can do? Or am I still full of horseshit and a waste of the department's money?"

  Bull opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed it, then tried again with the same result. "Well, I—"

  She wasn't reading him. Except for their first meal together, Lark had never read him. His feelings were incredibly easy to ignore, and she'd been in the habit of doing so ever since. In this instance, she had no need to invade his privacy. His feelings on the matter were obvious—anyone could have interpreted them.

  So, as her heart clenched painfully in her chest, she was no longer listening to him, either. In fact, she was no longer in the bed with him, but had exited to the bathroom.

  When she came out, she was in that drop dead gorgeous dress again and the heels, brushing by him where he was standing at the door, as he had been earlier, saying, "Would you please take me home?"

  He was surprised there wasn't a "Detective" at the end of her request.