In Full Force: Badges of Becker County

by Kathy Altman

  “It is when you realize what’s at stake.”

  “Which is?”

  “Your happiness. You deserve to be happy. Let Sheila’s death serve a purpose. Let her remind you life is short.”

  “He deserves better.”

  In a flash Dix was up and out of his chair. He strode across the porch, his footsteps a harsh staccato thud as he approached. He dropped to his haunches in front of her, took her tea and set it aside, and enfolded her hands in his. “Osâmahkamikisiw,” he growled. “That is enough.”

  She stared into the angry glint of his eyes, the rest of his features mere shadows in the dark. “Dix?”

  “You say that not because it is true, but because you’ve believed it for so long. Besides, I could not love someone who is undeserving.”

  Silence. There must have been sounds all around them—the wind through the trees maybe, or the call of a night bird—but all she could hear was the whump whump whump of her own astonished pulse.

  “Dixon,” she whispered. Her heart ached under the weight of her freshest regret. “I didn’t know.”

  “Better you didn’t. I don’t tell you to dishonor my wife. I tell you because you’re smarter than to punish yourself for something you didn’t do. Self-pity should be the exception, not the rule.”

  Charity huffed, but she couldn’t bring herself to break her physical connection with him. “I think you just called me a martyr. That’s what Grady accused me of.”

  “Maybe he deserves you after all.”

  The thought stunned her. That someone might consider they didn’t deserve her. She knew what it was to feel unworthy. The last thing she wanted was for Grady to feel that way. Had she perpetuated that sense of not being good enough all these years because it was familiar? Safe?

  Grady was right. She was scared. Still she knew, had always known, that if she took Grady up on his offer, he’d be there for her. She wouldn’t be going it alone. But she had so much that remained unsettled here, and he and Matt had established a life there.

  How would they get around that? Could they get around that?

  “I told him I couldn’t forgive him,” she whispered.

  “Can you?”

  “He lied to me.”

  “Ten years ago.”

  She gave one shoulder a bounce.

  Dix rose out of his crouch. “If you can forgive him, and you don’t tell him, that is also a lie. If you can’t forgive the boy he was for trying to protect his family, you must ask yourself why.”

  “You think I’m jealous.”

  “I think you’re scared.”

  “I think you’re psychic,” she muttered. She peered up at him. “You still planning to leave Becker County?”

  “You’re deflecting.”

  “You’re right.”

  With a sigh, he leaned back against the porch railing. “I have a job lined up. An apartment. There is nothing for me here.”

  It was Charity’s turn to spring out of her chair. “Are you kidding me? You have Pratt and Mo and Brenda June and the whole damned community. And me. Dix, you could be sheriff. You deserve to be sheriff.” At his snort, she tipped her head. “You’re not scared, are you?”

  For long moments he said nothing. Then he offered a flash of teeth. “Ka pakwâciyetohk. Do you know you are a pain in my ass?”

  * * *

  Charity stared into the bedroom closet she had absolutely no energy to organize. She reached out, and poked at the purple sleeve of a hip-length sweater she should have packed away—it and all of its cable-knit cronies, considering it was almost May—and idly watched the sleeve swing, back and forth. She sighed, backed up a step, and slumped onto her bed. She’d already scrubbed the bathtub, dusted all the blinds, and cleaned out the refrigerator, which involved eating two handfuls of olives for breakfast because she was not going to throw those puppies away. At least she was down to one jar now.

  The problem was, she had too much time on her hands. Too much time to think. She collapsed onto her back and stared up at the ceiling. A mistake, because her nose clogged right away. A side effect of this on-again, off-again crying jag she’d been battling for a week.

  And she had another three weeks of her suspension to go.

  Another three weeks of watching the light go out of Grady’s eyes as she prepared to walk out on him.

  She choked out a cough, rolled onto her left side, and stared at the box of tissues on the nightstand. The nightstand that seemed oh-so-far away. She reached out, but the box didn’t get any closer. Oh, dear Lord, she was such a loser.

  What she needed to do was get out. Get some sun. Go to the range, maybe, and blast this ridiculous self-pity right out of her brain.

  But that would mean getting dressed. Which demanded energy she didn’t have.

  She rolled onto her back again, and started breathing through her mouth.

  When someone knocked on the kitchen door, she whimpered, and closed her eyes. Drew. He’d come to nag her again about calling Grady. She knew from experience that ignoring him didn’t work. He’d only knock louder.

  The good news was, she didn’t have any cereal left, which meant he wouldn’t stay long.

  With a groan, she rolled out of bed, pushed her feet into her flip-flops, and shuffled out to the kitchen. But it wasn’t Drew staring at her through the glass.

  It was his mother.

  Charity smoothed both hands over her hair and opened the door. “Justine.”

  “Charity.” Justine strode into the kitchen, high heels clacking across the linoleum, and set two bulging grocery bags on the table. She turned back to Charity, hand on hip, and gave her the onceover. “You look like hell.”

  “Anyone would, next to you,” Charity muttered. Seriously, in her leaf-green blouse, black skirt and heels, and with her curly hair gathered neatly at her neck, the woman looked like she was ready for her walk-on part in The Good Wife. “Where’s Drew?”

  “Grounded, for failing his mission. And here I figured if anyone could talk you into changing your mind about dumping Grady, it would be Drew.” She gestured at the grocery bags. “I hope you don’t mind, but I threw a couple of boxes of raisin bran in along with the boxes of sugar-coated, circus-colored bits and pieces Drew says you’ve been feeding him.”

  “That wasn’t necessary,” Charity said stiffly, “but I appreciate it.” She glanced at the bags and bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t suppose you brought milk.”

  “I know what’s going on here.” Justine crossed her arms and leaned back against the counter, her coordinated elegance out of place in Charity’s mismatched kitchen.

  “Breakfast, as soon as you leave me to it.” Charity shuffled over to the cupboard where she kept the bowls. Justine got there first, and slapped a palm against the cabinet door to keep it closed. The gesture reminded Charity of Grady, trapping her in his parents’ study, and it pissed her off.

  “Back. Off,” she growled.

  “It’s one in the afternoon,” Justine said calmly.

  “Which explains why I’m hungry.”

  “You’re not hungry, you’re mourning, and since there’s absolutely no reason for it, you need to snap the hell out of it.”

  Charity jerked her spine straight and stared down her crooked nose at Justine. “This is between Grady and me.”

  “Exactly. So why aren’t you in Seattle?” Justine shut Charity up with a palm in the air. “I know what it’s like to think you’ll never measure up. To believe you’ll make five mistakes for every one thing you get right. You don’t think Grady ever felt that way? You don’t think he’s feeling that way now, after you told him he wasn’t worth rearranging your life for?”

  Charity jerked her head left and then right. “That’s not what I told him. I told him we don’t belong together.”

  “But what you meant was, you’re too scared to try.” Justine snorted in disgust. “And this from the woman he called badass.”

  Charity swallowed, lurched backward, and dropped i
nto a chair. Her elbow hit one of the grocery bags and a box of cereal hit the floor with a rustling slap. She stared at Justine as nerves started to party in her belly. “It rains nine months of the year in Seattle,” she said breathlessly.

  “Well, then. You’d better invest in some umbrellas so your family doesn’t get wet.”

  Justine blew her a kiss and disappeared through the back door. Came back in long enough to rustle through one of the bags, pull out a gallon of milk and stash it in the fridge. When she banged out of the door again, Charity stared at the space where she’d stood. One word echoed in the tiny kitchen.

  Family.

  She and Grady and Matt. A family?

  Grady had suggested the same thing. He had believed in her, and she’d refused to return the favor. Had refused to forgive him.

  Her gaze traveled to the cereal box on the floor. The same cereal she’d shared with Drew when he’d come to her for advice about forgiving his father. She was the last person he should have asked about that. Or maybe that had been his point?

  With a grimace she recalled telling him he should consider how much he could lose by holding onto his grudge. And here she was, about to sacrifice the best thing that had ever happened to her because it was easier to hold a grudge than to face her own failings.

  Failings Grady already knew about. Failings that didn’t keep him from loving her.

  A sad, crazy, wonderful, miserable, terrifying realization took root. She drew in a breath, and held it ’til her lungs burned. Slowly she exhaled, and plucked at the flannel of her Hello Kitty pajama pants.

  What would a badass wear to the airport?

  * * *

  Six hours later, Charity stood in front of the door to Grady’s condo, fist raised to knock, heartbeat so insane it was a wonder she didn’t pass out. She dropped her hand and concentrated on breathing while wondering what the hell Grady had been thinking, calling her formidable. When a door opened down the hall to her left, she whirled so fast, she almost fell headfirst into the wall.

  And wouldn’t that make for a graceful reunion.

  A plump, sixtysomething woman wearing a black and pink flowered apron and carrying a casserole dish in her hands bustled toward Charity. The closer she got, the wider she smiled.

  “You here to see our Grady?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ll save me some trouble.” She pushed the red enamel dish into Charity’s hands and tut-tutted at the closed door. She pulled a key from her pocket, unlocked the door and shooed Charity inside. “Better you than me. Man’s been sour as month-old milk since the day he got back. You’ll find him in his office. That’s where he spends all his time when his son’s away. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The skin beneath her chin trembled as she nodded once, then shut the door in Charity’s face.

  Charity stared at the closed door, wondering if she’d just met Matt’s least favorite babysitter, the infamous Mrs. K. The woman had seemed nice enough, and she hadn’t smelled a bit like salami. More like—Charity lifted the casserole and took a whiff—tuna. Oh, Lord. Her already unstable stomach curled up and whimpered.

  Slowly she turned and faced the interior of Grady’s condo. No sign of the owner. Her shoulders relaxed, and she loosened her death grip on the casserole. But considering the sweat coating her palms, and the state of her stomach, she’d better put the dish down, pronto.

  She crossed to the edge of the polished oak platform she stood on, descended two steps, and hesitated at the border of Grady’s living room, which was about the size of her entire house. The palette was a fun but relaxing mix of browns, blues, and lime green, the furniture cushy, the clutter minimal. To her left a spacious kitchen extended behind a curved island fronted by four stools, all covered in lime green fabric, and backed by a weathered brick wall. The far left corner was reserved for the dining room, a space dominated by a heavy rectangular table under a chrome chandelier. Charity looked straight ahead again and swallowed. The entire wall she faced was made up of windows overlooking Lake Washington, with a hazy, cloud-draped view of Mt. Baker.

  “Wow,” she muttered, and seriously considered backtracking. She knew Grady had done well for himself, but this…this was downright intimidating.

  All at once this seemed like the worst idea in the world. She shouldn’t be here, in his home, without his knowledge. She should go. Not home, necessarily. She could get a hotel room. Give him a call in the morning. Get a feel for how he’d react if he knew she was in town…

  Her reflection in the window gave way to Justine’s disapproving scowl and Charity flinched. She straightened her shoulders, and suddenly registered they’d started to ache. She carried the casserole over to the kitchen and with a huff of relief set it on the counter. As she pressed against the edge of the island, she felt a wet spot, and looked down to see the casserole had leaked onto her cardigan. Great. Perfect. Of course it couldn’t have leaked a little lower, onto the black skirt that would have hidden the stain.

  With a glance over her shoulder, toward the hallway on the other side of the living room—a hallway she assumed led to the infamous office—she hurried to the sink, scooped up a dishrag, and started scrubbing. After all the soul searching she’d done, and all the miles she’d traveled, she’d be damned if she’d face him without looking her best.

  A scrabbling sound had her whipping around. A big black dog headed her way, tongue lolling out of the left side of his mouth, a thick piece of knotted rope hanging from the right. He trotted right up to her, nudged her knee with his nose and backed up, clearly inviting her to play.

  “Hello, boy,” she said softly. “You’re a cutie, aren’t you? I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

  He nudged her again. Oh, what the hell. She tossed the dishrag in the sink and grabbed the free end of the rope. Instantly the dog backed up, with a strength that caught Charity by surprise. He pulled her off balance and she stumbled forward. She tripped over the edge of the living room rug and fell to her knees behind the couch.

  Ouch. And crap. And ouch.

  Thinking it was all part of the game, the dog bounced around in front of her, wagging the rope, then disappearing around the end of the couch. He barked, daring her to chase him. Charity pushed up onto all fours, wincing at the rug burns on her palms.

  Footsteps thumped down the hall and into the living room and she froze.

  “Zeus? What the hell are you up to in here?”

  Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God. She hadn’t seen Grady in a week and it seemed like a year. As many hours as she’d spent psyching herself up for this encounter, she still felt far from ready. Of course, that could have a little something to do with the fact that she’d been spritzed with tuna juice and smeared with dog hair.

  Slowly she rose to her knees and peered over the top of the sofa. Grady was on the other side of the living room, in front of the fireplace, crouching down as he rubbed his dog’s head. He was barefoot, and wore a faded pair of jeans and a white tee under an unbuttoned, long-sleeved shirt the color of moss. His face was relaxed, his hands gentle as he tussled with Zeus. She could watch him forever.

  But she had to come out from behind the couch sooner or later.

  Suck it up, Deputy. She pushed to her feet, her breathing patchy, her fingers digging into leather. She cleared her throat, and Grady’s head snapped up.

  “What the—” Navy eyes wide, he jerked to his feet. “Charity.” His gaze bounced around the room. “How did you get in here?”

  “Your neighbor let me in.”

  He swallowed, and his eyes narrowed. He took a step toward her. “Why didn’t you come find me?”

  “I was—” she jerked a thumb over her shoulder, gestured helplessly at her sweater, then huffed out a chuckle and shrugged. “Busy,” she finished lamely.

  He crossed the room, bare feet soundless on the carpet, and stopped on the other side of the couch, jaw clenching and unclenching. “Why are you here?”

  He smelled so good. Like ocean and air. His hair was rumpled,
his jaw shadowed, his open shirt an invitation to wrap her arms around his waist and snuggle close. If there weren’t a couch between them, anyway.

  A couch, a long overdue apology, and a distinct lack of welcome in his eyes.

  “Why are you here?” he repeated.

  “I missed the housewarming?”

  She saw it, then. The slightest twitch of his lips, the merest hint of warmth in his gaze. She relaxed her hands. Her fingertips tingled as circulation returned.

  “Did you bring me a present?” he asked.

  “I brought you an apology.”

  He didn’t look impressed. He backed up and sank into a chair, gesturing at the couch she stood behind. “Let’s hear it, then.”

  As Zeus settled at Grady’s feet, Charity rounded the end of the couch. Grady’s gaze dropped to her legs, taking in the heels she rarely wore, but his expression remained unmoved. She bit back a sigh and sat.

  Zeus panted into the silence.

  “I’m sorry I let you down,” Charity finally said, and twined her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry I let myself down. You were right. We were given a second chance, and I-I was too scared to take it.”

  “Was?” he asked, and though he was slouched in his chair, his pose seemingly casual, his left leg had started to bounce. Like Drew’s had in interrogation, Charity realized.

  Grady was as nervous as she was.

  Lord, he was adorable. For the first time since she’d walked in the door, she thought she might actually have a chance.

  She stood, and smoothed her palms down the front of her skirt. “I’m not prepared to leave Becker County,” she said. His knee stopped bouncing. She kept going. “At least, not until I can train a replacement. I’m not prepared to ask you to leave Seattle, either, but I don’t want to be without you anymore.”

  By now he was leaning forward, gaze riveted on her face, fingers digging into his thighs. “Go on,” he said hoarsely.

  “I don’t know how we’ll work this out, but I know we can, if we want it badly enough. And Grady, I want it badly. So badly. Please give me another chance.” She licked lips she suddenly couldn’t keep steady. “I love you so much,” she whispered.