by Becky McGraw
From her lack of concern on the phone when he called her in Texas, Brock thought Melanie’s plan was probably to get her mother home as fast as she could and leave again. Well, he was going to have something to say about that.
The next time he found Merry Fox strolling through town naked, he was going to charge her with indecent exposure and let her explain herself to the judge, who probably would have her committed. Judge Rollinson wasn’t going to buy her story of taking a moon bath for her health. He’d see, just as Brock had, that he was dealing with a crazy, probably perverted, old lady. There’s no damned telling how long she’d been doing that either. He and Rowdy probably had just never caught her. It was dangerous for her to be out in those woods at night—especially naked.
“I’ve got to go feed the animals,” Brock said, standing up to grab his Stetson from the shelf behind his desk. “Call me if you need me, but not if something happens at that house on Porter Street. You deal with it, because I’ve got chores to do.”
The horses and calves weren’t going to feed themselves, and neither was he if he didn’t stop by the diner to pick up a burger on his way home. He needed to go grocery shopping, but he was just too damned tired.
Last night he’d been at Lucy’s apartment until three in the morning with Brady, who seemed to be having a particularly bad episode, as Lucy called them. He should just break down and move them into the ranch house with him because he’d probably get a helluva lot more sleep, but then, maybe not. She’d want other things from him he definitely wasn’t going to give her again. Brock had learned his lesson there and had no desire to revisit that kind of relationship with the mother of his child.
“When you gonna slow down Old McDonald?” Rowdy asked with a laugh.
“As soon as I start making enough money to pay my child support, Brady’s medical bills and the mortgage at my ranch without this job. Once that happens I’m out of here, and you’ll be sitting in this hot seat dealing with crazy old ladies, loose cows and bar fights.”
Where you should be sitting instead of me.
The only reason he had the job instead of Rowdy, who’d been a deputy with old Sheriff Jones for eight years before he retired, was because Brock had a child with the mayor’s daughter and he needed this job to support them.
Brock should just sell the ranch he’d bought as soon as he got back home after he washed out during his first year of pro football with a torn ACL. He could move to Atlanta, where his parents had sense enough to move. Shortly after he returned to town seven years ago, his daddy shut down his logging company and they sought out greener pastures.
But that was just a dream.
He knew as sick as his son was, had been since he was three, it wasn’t a possibility. In all likelihood he was going to be stuck in this town for at least twelve more years. Like a man in prison, he’d be marking off the days on his calendar. And he’d also be reminding himself every day of the lessons he’d learned since coming back here.
Never trust a beautiful woman or fall back into old habits you know aren’t right. Trust your gut when it tells you to steer clear of a situation. Like it had when he made the biggest mistake of his life by falling back into the old habit of dating Lucy Morris, former prom queen and head cheerleader, when he got back to his hometown.
If he’d have listened to his gut, he wouldn’t have been blindsided by her. He would’ve realized the still amazingly beautiful woman remained single for a reason. She was about the neediest, clingiest and most devious woman he’d ever met. She had her sights set on him being her husband and had a game plan to make that happen.
We’ve been dating six months, Brock…I’m on birth control…you don’t need a condom. Then two months later, Brock I’m pregnant so we should probably get married.
According to his mother, a classic play from the woman’s playbook on how to trap a man, but Brock hadn’t learned those moves. The women he’d dated in college and on the road weren’t looking for permanency, so Brock wasn’t prepared for her. He was still amazed he’d been so stupid. Lucy learned real fast, though, just because he’d been stupid, he wasn’t going to compound that by tying himself for life to a woman he didn’t love.
One thing he would never consider a mistake was having his son. Brady was his life, the best thing that had ever happened to him, and Brock was determined to make sure he was taken care of and that he knew how much he loved him. If that meant putting up with Lucy, that’s what he’d do. Dodging her moves couldn’t be any more difficult than skirting linebackers when he was a running back. He’d been doing a pretty good job of that for six years now.
“When you’re dead then?” Rowdy asked with a laugh.
His estimate probably wasn’t too far from correct, Brock thought, as he put his hat on his head. “Hold down the fort, and don’t be late tomorrow. I have a meeting with the mayor and the county commissioner in the morning about that stoplight I requested.” Rowdy nodded and Brock turned toward the door.
Their one-horse town needed that stoplight and a few speed bumps to slow down the high school kids who sped through town. The speeding had been going on since he was in Sunny Glen High, and it wasn’t going to stop with only he and Rowdy to watch out for them.
The kids took the twenty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit sign as a suggestion, and if it didn’t change, a pedestrian was going to get killed crossing Main Street. Especially on the two weekends a month they now had swap meets on the main drag, or the alternate weekends when they had classic car shows that would draw a crowd down by the Burger Barn Drive-In. Those two events were the contribution of the newly formed Sunny Glen Town Revival Committee, and just something more Brock was responsible for worrying about. Those busybody octogenarians and their yuppie leader evidently didn’t realize it would take a lot more than that to revive this town.
Brock waited at the curb in front of the station for a sleek black Mercedes to pass because it was so out of place in this town, and he estimated it was doing ten over the posted limit at the edge of town. He squinted to see the plates.
Texas. That meant the prodigal daughter had returned. Welcome home, Dr. Fox. I hope you brought bottled water or you could be staying for a while.
Because Brock’s curiosity got the better of him, along with his frustration that she’d not only arrived back in town in an expensive car, but speeding like the law didn’t mean a thing to her, he decided Melanie Fox needed a more up close and personal welcome to town.
Sprinting across the street, he hopped inside his Cherokee and cranked it, flipped on his lights then took off after her. She turned right on Second Street and disappeared behind the red brick bank building. He followed and turned just in time to see her whip the car into the diner.
How convenient was that?
She pulled the car into a spot beside the front door, the car door opened and a pair of shapely calves appeared. Because he could, Brock hit his siren in two quick, shrill whoops and smiled when the heads of the people sitting near the front window whipped toward him then snapped to her.
Zooming into the lot, he pulled to a stop behind her car to block her. He grabbed for the door handle but stopped to stare in amazement when those shapely calves suddenly held up a petite, but deliciously curvy brunette in a tight black skirt and red silk tank.
She glared at him with her arms crossed under her amazing rack. Finally remembering to breathe, Brock’s hand shook as he grabbed his ticket book off the passenger seat and jerked a pen out of the console.
“What exactly did I do, Sheriff?” she demanded when he walked over to her.
His eyes met her sweet bourbon-colored gaze, and Brock felt gut-punched as he let them continue on a tour to her toes before gliding back up to her full, rose-tinted mouth.
“Hooooty?” he asked in amazement. What she’d done was totally blown his damned mind, but unfortunately he couldn’t give her a ticket for that.
CHAPTER THREE
Heat rushed up to Melanie’s face and it baked, but not
from embarrassment. Those days were long gone, as were the days of letting this man’s words make her feel like Quasimodo.
So Maddie says you have a secret crush on me, Hooty. That’s really sweet, kiddo, but I think you need to find someone who is, um, more your speed.
The laughter in his tone and eyes when he said those words had crushed her sixteen-year-old soul. That he’d spread it to his jock friends at school did more than that. Those vultures who were his friends had picked her bones clean with their teasing. But Melanie had survived—because she finally recognized she did not need their approval.
These people lived in a very small, contaminated pond and Brock Cooper was one of the big fish who swam in the very stagnant water. Or, he used to be. His daddy owned the logging company where her father worked for twenty years. The same company where he’d died working overtime while he was injured when she was seventeen.
It looked like the wheels of fortune had definitely turned and not in this man’s favor. The network of tiny lines at the corners of his eyes now, and the absence of smile lines around his mouth said life hadn’t been easy for him.
Why she felt perverse pleasure in that realization she didn’t know. Yes, she did—like her sister, this man deserved to have the karma train run over him a few times too, to teach him a lesson about bullying.
“You must be mistaken, Sheriff,” Melanie replied, forcing calm into her tone. “The only bird I see around here is a vulture who is still just like the flock he used to hang around with. It’s been twelve years, so I would’ve thought you’d have matured a little, but I guess that would be too much to hope for.” Melanie let her eyes tick over his worn black t-shirt with a yellow star on the left side of the chest, down his long legs, which were encased in faded jeans, to the toes of his scuffed, dusty boots before looking at him again. “The only thing I want to discuss with you is the ticket you’re evidently planning to write for me. I assure you I can afford to pay it, unlike you.”
His face grew redder making his blue eyes stand out starkly in his face, and was that hurt she saw there? He looked down too quickly for her to tell and the brim of his black cowboy hat shaded his eyes.
“Well, Eleanor Roosevelt…” Brock grated, licking his thumb to lift the top sheet on the pad and fold it over. “I was going to write you a warning for speeding, but since the town needs the revenue and you obviously need a lesson, I am going to write you that ticket.” He clicked his pen and notched his chin up an inch as he looked back at her. “I’ll need your driver’s license, insurance and registration.”
Melanie unfolded her arms, and turned to lean inside the car to reach over on the passenger-side floorboard and jerk her purse onto the seat. She rifled through it until she found her wallet and stood. Snapping the clasp open, she unfolded it and shoved the wallet toward him.
“Take it out,” he commanded flatly.
With a huffed breath, she struggled with the small, tight enclosure until she wiggled her license out and snapped her arm out to hand it to him. He took it and studied it a minute.
“This must’ve been before you had the work done, huh?” he said with a snort, glancing back at her.
“That license is good until August,” she replied, ignoring his insinuation.
Yes, she’d gotten that license five years ago right before she had the laser surgery on her eyes, the breast reduction and the makeover. Exactly four months before she’d moved to Texas to take her new job at the hospital.
“One hundred seventy pounds,” he mumbled, scribbling on the ticket.
Blood rushed up her throat to her face. That was something they’d just carried over from her previous license without asking. When she got that license, Melanie was at her ideal weight. She’d been in a hurry that day, though, so she hadn’t made them change it. You don’t care what this asshole thinks, she reminded herself.
He glanced at the license again, frowned then looked back at her. “What do you know—you do have brown eyes. Never knew that.”
“Just write the damned ticket, Barney Fife,” she growled, folding her arms over her chest.
He tsked, pursed his mouth, then handed the license back to her. His eyes slid to her license plate and he smiled. “Looks like you’re going to be getting a stack of tickets today, Miss Fox, so this could take a while.”
Melanie unfolded her arms, and took a step closer to him. “What do you mean a stack of tickets?” she demanded.
“Failure to transfer your California license to Texas within ninety days, failure to renew the tags on your vehicle.” When she gasped, he grinned. “What? Didn’t you notice they expired last month?” He laughed and lifted an eyebrow. “Fifteen miles over the posted limit at the edge of town…” He pointed with his pen to the blue sign she hadn’t noticed posted on the window of the diner directly in front of her car. “Parking in a handicap zone—you’re not very observant are you, Miss Fox?” His sing-song tone disappeared and his eyes narrowed. “Or do you just think because you’re such a big badass doctor now that the rules no longer apply to you?”
“I think no such thing,” Melanie said, her stomach tightening. “But I do believe you think you’re such a big badass cop now that you are using what little power they give you to harass me!”
He tsked again, and grinned. “With this many violations, ma’am, I’m going to need to search your vehicle.” He leaned in closer to her face. “Do you consent for me to search your vehicle, Miss Fox?”
“Dr. Fox,” she grated through her clenched teeth. “And no, you most certainly do not have permission to search my vehicle.” He sniffed a couple of times, then flipped the cover back over his ticket book as he moved away.
“I think I may smell alcohol on your breath too. Is that why you don’t want me to search your vehicle, ma’am?” He tucked his ticket book into his back pocket. “I’m afraid I’ll need to do a field sobriety test on you. Do you consent to doing that, Dr. Fox?”
Anger shot through her to singe her scalp and Melanie dropped her hands to her sides to clench her fists. “No—and I’m not taking a minute more of this harassment from you.”
Melanie spun on her heel and saw there was now a row of five curious spectators standing in front of the diner. A strong hand closed around her upper arm and she was spun around. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way, Dr. Fox. You decide,” Brock grated.
“You just want to embarrass me,” she hissed, her eyes burning now. She was mortified when her lower lip trembled as her eyes met his. “I have to get back to the house and take care of my mother and aunt.”
“Like you were embarrassing me?” he countered, holding her eyes with his angry gaze.
She had called him an immature vulture, and poor…and a mockery of a cop. She had no idea how long they’d had an audience either. The only way to end this was to take the high road.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and his fingers loosened their grip on her arm.
“Apology accepted. But just a suggestion? The next time you meet a law enforcement officer, Dr. Fox, you should try to be a little nicer and things will go better for you.”
He jerked his ticket book out of his back pocket, and flipped it open, but a gold mini-van pulled up beside his SUV and Melanie couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard him groan. The door opened, a woman got out and it was Melanie’s turn to groan as she recognized Lucy Morris, the leader of the Mean Girls Club and one of her tormentors.
As Lucy stopped beside Brock to slide her arm through his, Melanie fought the urge to fade back behind the door of her car. Lucy’s eyes quickly assessed Melanie, but it was obvious she didn’t recognize her, thank God.
“Brock, honey, I wanted to tell you that I took Brady to the doctor in Mountain Ridge today and as usual he said nothing was wrong with him, but he’s sick again. He’s asking for you, so can you come by tonight? I’ll fix supper and you can just stay over.”
Of course these two would have hooked up, Melanie thought. They deserved each other, that was
for sure. From the misery in his eyes, though, Brock didn’t seem too pleased with the prospect of spending an evening with the blonde bimbo.
“I have to go home first to feed the animals, but I’ll stop by later,” he replied, and the desolation in his eyes edged his voice too. Or was that tiredness? Brock Cooper looked bone weary and she wondered why.
“It’s almost dark,” Lucy whined, and her voice grated on Melanie’s nerves. “Can’t you just park at the station and ride home with us?”
Ride home with us? Brady…she wondered who that was. She didn’t have to wonder long, because the back panel of the van slid open and a pair of spindly jean-covered legs slid out, before a skinny, pale, dark-haired kid with dark circles under his eyes appeared then ambled over to them.
Sleep deprivation? Apnea? The kid looked like it took every ounce of energy he had to walk over to stand beside Brock. Pneumonia? He didn’t appear to be congested, and his breathing wasn’t labored. Mel counted his respirations and they were within normal. Iron deficiency?
“Daddy, please come over,” he begged and Melanie’s heart stopped beating. Desperation filled the kid’s blue eyes. “Please, Daddy—my stomach hurts so bad. My head hurts too.” Beads of sweat collected near the kid’s hairline and a white line formed around his mouth. This boy was in agony, and Melanie couldn’t just stand here and watch it.
Constipation? Bowel Obstruction? Appendicitis? Without bloodwork and a physical exam there was no way to know for sure. His cheeks were flushed, but she didn’t know if it was from fever or his pain.
“Did they do blood work?” she asked and both Brock and Lucy’s gaze snapped to her.
“Who are you?” Lucy asked, her eyes narrowing before they slid down Melanie’s body to her toes.
Someone who’s done a lot more with her life than giving birth to the football captain’s child.
No, she couldn’t get involved in this situation considering the way she felt about the boy’s mother. Melanie’s eyes bounced from the boy to Brock…or his father, she added, because there was no denying this child was his.
