Wes leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen on his desk in visible irritation. “Walsh, this case is bigger than just a murder investigation or a case of intentional poisoning. There are people working this case from more angles than you could imagine. But because of the sensitive nature of the ongoing investigation, and because I don’t want to jeopardize the case, I can’t tell you anything more. I told you once and I’ll tell you again. Butt out.” Wes leaned forward, stabbing the air with his pen to punctuate his demand. “If you interfere with the investigation or compromise the case in any way, I’ll write you up for obstructing justice.”
“If so many people are on this case, why is it taking so long to close it? Three members of my family have been attacked in five months. I refuse to sit by while your officers chase their tails and let my family get hurt again. I want answers, Wes. I deserve answers. And my family deserves justice. If you can’t get it for us, then by God, I will.”
Wes narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “Don’t do anything rash, Peter. You’ll have your justice soon enough. We just need a little more time.”
Jamming his hands in his coat pockets, Peter met Wes’s stare. “You’ve had five months. Time is up.” With that, he turned and stalked from the sheriff’s office.
In the parking lot, he slammed his truck door and sat for a moment brooding.
…this case is bigger than just a murder investigation or a case of intentional poisoning. There are people working this case from more angles than you could imagine.
What did Wes mean by that? How big was the investigation? He gritted his teeth as he backed out of his parking space. He hated being kept in the dark. Wes knew something, and it irritated the hell out of Peter that Wes wouldn’t tell him. For that matter, Mary and Jake had been awfully cagey when he questioned them a couple weeks ago. They knew something they weren’t sharing as well. And his mom—what did she know about his dad that she was keeping secret?
He slammed his hand on the steering wheel in frustration. He loved his family, but they had more secrets than the CIA. They might think they were protecting him by keeping him in the dark, but information was power. How was he supposed to protect his family if he didn’t know what he was up against?
That Tuesday, Peter and Jolene met Patrick at his school for the class Thanksgiving feast. As he sat at the long lunchroom table eating his cafeteria-prepared turkey and stuffing, Peter watched Lisa greet the other parents and mill about the crowd, wishing students a happy holiday.
When she finally made it to their table, she slid into a seat and blew out a tired breath. “Whew! I’m ready for our holiday break. How about you, Patrick?”
He nodded. “I ain’t gonna do nothing all day tomorrow but watch TV and play video games.”
She arched an eyebrow and laugh-sighed. “Good to know my grammar lessons have made a difference for you, Patrick.”
Peter ruffled his son’s hair. “Sounds to me like you need to crack a school book instead of cranking up the games, sport.”
His son’s eyes rounded. “What? Not on vacation, Dad.”
Jolene nudged her son with her shoulder. “So what are your plans tomorrow? Will you need Grandma to ride herd on the little anti-grammarian?”
Peter caught Lisa’s gaze. “Are we still on for the sleigh ride and picnic at the ranch?”
“You really want to picnic in this weather?” She aimed her thumb toward the cafeteria window. Outside, a light snow fell and blanketed the ground.
He reached for her hand. “I promise to make a bonfire and have plenty of blankets and hot coffee.”
She turned her palm over and gave his fingers a squeeze before withdrawing her hand. “Then I accept.”
He smiled and cast a side glance to his mother. “Then I’ll need your services with the anti-grammarian.”
Patrick took in the adults with an encompassing glance and shook his head. “Parents are so lame.”
Peter chuckled and had a bite of turkey halfway to his mouth when Patrick said, “Ms. Navarre, when we’re not at school, is it okay if I call you Mom?”
The question kicked Peter in the gut, and he lowered his fork to his plate with a clatter.
Lisa choked on the fruit juice she sipped. Her panicked eyes darted to Peter’s, and she had to cough a few times before she could speak. “Uh, well, Patrick, isn’t that a little premature? Your dad and I aren’t married.”
“Yet. But you’re dating now, right? Isn’t it just a matter of time?”
“Patrick.” Peter sent Lisa an apologetic look. “It’s rather rude to put Ms. Navarre on the spot like this. If and when she’s ready to have you call her anything besides Ms. Navarre, she’ll tell you. Until then, it’s Ms. Navarre. Capisce?”
Patrick’s shoulders drooped. “Yes, sir.”
Peter’s heart performed a slow roll in his chest. Was Patrick’s eagerness to call Lisa Mom an indication of his son’s longing for a mother or of his growing attachment to his teacher as a mother figure? Or both? When he’d asked Lisa to give their relationship a chance, Peter hadn’t fully thought out the ramifications where Patrick was concerned. And what kind of father did that make him? Why hadn’t he realized that his involvement with Lisa meant his son would be forming delicate bonds to her as well? Patrick stood to get hurt if things didn’t work out with Lisa.
An uneasy apprehension crawled through Peter. Tomorrow, he and Lisa needed to reach an understanding. He couldn’t let her fears regarding their budding relationship come back to haunt Patrick. The tragedies of the past months with his grandfather’s murder, the attack on his aunt, and Craig Warner’s poisoning had already shaken Patrick’s world. Losing a mother figure would be too much. Peter had to make sure that didn’t happen.
The day before Thanksgiving dawned sunny and cold. The fresh layer of snow made perfect conditions for the horse-drawn sleigh.
“The family bought the sleigh from an antiques dealer about ten years ago for days just like today,” Peter told her as he hitched the ranch’s strongest horse to the sleigh and helped Lisa climb onto the seat.
She pulled one of the lap blankets around her legs as she settled in. “Peter, this is pure Currier and Ives! I can’t think of a better way to start my Thanksgiving holiday.”
“Glad you think so,” he replied, his breath forming a white cloud between them when he spoke. “Patrick was chomping at the bit to come with us. I had to promise him he could ride our stallion, Lightning, on the property when we come for dinner tomorrow as consolation.”
“You should have let him come. He’d have had fun today.”
He sent her a side glance as he gathered the reigns. “Maybe so. But today is about us.”
His emphasis on the word us stirred a flutter in her chest. Peter had arranged a romantic setting, a sumptuous picnic and complete privacy. He’d carefully planned a perfect day. So why was she so apprehensive about where their picnic would lead?
Despite her promise to give her relationship with Peter a chance, she was scared of serious involvement, terrified of repeating the cycle of pain that had broken up her marriage. Even the thought of it left a pit in her stomach and a cold sweat on her lip. She couldn’t go to that dark place in her life again.
Regret settled in her chest, colder than the ice and snow crusted over the sprawling fields. She hated being of two minds regarding Peter—wanting him and his son in her life, yet fearing what seemed inevitable: more heartache and devastation.
With a flick of the reigns, Peter sent the horse clopping over the snow-covered fields of the Walsh family ranch. Tiny bells on the horse’s harness jingled, reminding Lisa of numerous Christmas carols. She snuggled closer to Peter as the sleigh whisked over the open land toward the woods on the far side of the property. She could already see a large stack of firewood he’d set up for their bonfire.
When they pulled to a stop, Peter jumped to the ground, then turned to lift Lisa down from the sleigh. Even through thick layers of clothing, the contact made her skin t
ingle. Or maybe it was the look of pure seduction in Peter’s gaze as he let her body slide along his as he lowered her feet to the ground. Before he released her, he caught her mouth for a body-warming kiss that promised much more to come. Lisa’s heart pattered with anticipation.
Peter lifted down a large basket and a tarpaulin from the back of the sled. “I had the Honey-B Café fix our lunch. I hope you’re hungry.”
Yes, but for you. Not food. Lisa squelched the thought and took one end of the tarp to help him spread the ground cover next to the pile of firewood.
“Cold weather always gives me a good appetite.”
Peter grinned. “Good. If you’ll get that blanket and lay it out on top of the tarp, I’ll light the fire.”
“You’ve already lit my fire.” Lisa shook out the quilt Peter indicated, and as she smoothed the wrinkles, she glanced up to find Peter looking at her with a devilish smile tugging his mouth. She hesitated a beat, then gasped. “Did I say that out loud?”
Peter threw back his head and laughed. “Funny how I was thinking the same thing.”
He tossed a match on the firewood, which instantly roared to life. Clearly he’d soaked the wood with lighter fluid earlier. Peter dropped onto the blanket beside her, pulling her into his arms. “Do you know what I’m most thankful for this Thanksgiving?”
The answer shone from his eyes, and Lisa’s chest filled with a happiness she hadn’t known in years. She wanted to bottle the feeling and save it for days to come when she knew the loneliness and disappointment would creep back into her life.
With a teasing grin, she smoothed her cold hands over his warm, bristly cheeks. “I’ll take a guess and say delivery pizza.”
He cocked his head as if considering her answer. “Hmm, good point. But no.” His dark eyes honed in on hers, his gaze hot and enticing. “You, Lisa. I’m so thankful that I met you.”
A bittersweet ache throbbed in her chest. She wanted to believe meeting Peter was meant to be, that maybe her luck had turned for the best. But doubt demons bit hard, spoiling the tender moment. It can’t last. You can only give him heartbreak and grief.
Ducking her chin, she battled the surge of melancholy. “Peter, I can’t—”
“Don’t.” His finger touched her lips, and her pulse scampered. His gaze drilled hers with a steely conviction. “You promised to give me a chance. No second-guessing, no regrets. Let me in, Lisa. Let me be the man who gives you back your hopes and dreams.”
In that moment, she knew she’d lost another little piece of her heart to Peter. His determination to be with her, despite the costs she’d laid out, burrowed into the cracks Ray had left in her soul.
She leaned in to him and brushed her lips on his. “I’m thankful for you, too, Peter.”
Peter deepened the kiss, locking her in a firm embrace and sandwiching her body between his hard chest and the unyielding ground. In his arms, Lisa savored a sense of security and protection she’d missed in recent years. Yet at the same time, she felt as if she were spinning along a race track, out of control, headed for a crash. The dichotomy wrestled uneasily inside her.
When Peter broke the kiss and sat up, she sucked in unsteady breaths, trying to regain her balance, yet cherishing the dizzying rush of sweet sensation he stirred in her.
He pulled a bottle of champagne and two flutes from the basket. The cork exited with the appropriate pop, and after pouring two glasses, Peter shoved the bottle down in the snow and handed her a flute. “To new beginnings and seeing where this path leads.”
He touched his glass to hers and drank deeply, his bedroom eyes holding hers. Even before she sipped the bubbly wine, warmth and longing flowed through her. The champagne tickled her tongue and, on her empty stomach, soon had her head feeling muzzy.
“I think we should crack open that basket of goodies, or I’m going to be tipsy in a minute.”
Peter wiggled his eyebrows. “Ah, my evil plan is working…”
Chuckling, she curled her fingers into his suede coat and snuggled closer. “Evil but genius. Kiss me again, you dastardly man.”
He did, and soon lunch was forgotten.
Beside the crackling fire, with a crisp blue winter sky above, Lisa lost herself in Peter’s kisses, the tenderness of his touch and the seductive rumble of pleasure that vibrated in his chest. When they finally did open the lunch basket, they lingered for hours, feeding each other cheese and crackers, grapes and sinfully rich cream puffs. They nibbled sandwiches and savored an artichoke dip and tortilla chips.
And through it all, they shared intimate chit-chat about their hopes and dreams, their hurts and heartaches, while restless hands roamed and tantalized. The exchanged slow, sultry kisses that intoxicated her more than the champagne ever could.
As their passion grew, Peter slid his hands under Lisa’s coat and sweater, his touch shockingly cold against her warm skin. She gasped at the contact, as a shiver chased through her, then moaned her delight when his hand cupped her breast and grazed her nipple. In turn, she unbuttoned the flannel shirt he wore and raked her fingers down his bared chest, memorizing the feel of his taut skin and muscle under her hands. When he shivered, she couldn’t be sure whether it was from the cold or her touch.
Nuzzling his ear, she whispered, “As lovely as this picnic is, I’m not sure this is the weather or the best location for what I think is on both our minds.”
Beneath her hands, a shudder rippled through Peter. “Let me douse the fire, and we’ll head back to the ranch. Since my mom is with Patrick, we’ll have the place to ourselves.”
Anticipation ramped through Lisa, leaving her body jangling and flushed. “Perfect.”
When Peter returned from settling the horse in its stable, Lisa was waiting beside the fire she’d lit in the living-room grate.
“Can I get you anything from the kitchen?” he offered, still playing the perfect host.
She twisted her mouth in a come-hither smile and tugged her sweater off over her head. “What I want isn’t in the kitchen.”
Peter cocked an eyebrow and returned a simmering grin. “Do tell.”
Instead she showed him.
His gaze heated as she lowered the zipper on her jeans and stepped out of them. Crossing to him, she slid her hands over his broad chest, then looped her arms around his neck. “Where were we?”
His palms skimmed down her back and cupped her bottom. Sinking his fingers into her, he pulled her flush with his body. “This seems like a good place to start.”
Angling his head, he sealed his mouth over hers and swept his tongue in to duel with hers. With greedy hands, she untucked his shirt and pulled it, still buttoned, over his head. Tossing the shirt aside, she canted back to fumble with the zipper at his fly. In seconds, he’d helped her strip off his jeans, and they stood flesh to flesh, warming the chill from their bones with deep lingering kisses and the eager exploration of their hands.
Dragging a quilt from the couch, Peter made them a hasty makeshift bed on the floor in front of the fireplace. She knelt beside him on the quilt and sank into his open arms, shutting out the nagging doubts about their future. Right now, all she wanted was Peter. She wanted to be a sensual, sexual woman and not the barren vessel she’d felt like at the end of her relationship with Ray. She wanted carnal, satisfying sex, not the mechanical, result-oriented process that had dominated most of her marriage. She wanted to feel desirable. Alive.
And in return, she held nothing back. Lisa tuned out her inhibitions and let herself indulge in the passion Peter awoke in her.
Their legs tangled, their mouths fused, their hands explored.
While Peter nibbled the curve of her throat, she curled her fingers into his back and writhed sensuously against him. A pounding heat built in her core, crackling in her blood like the fire in the grate. She savored the sensation of his skin against hers, the way his chest hair teased her nipples. Peter moved his kisses down her collarbone and into the valley between her breasts, while his hands traced the curve of
her hip and trailed lightly along her thigh, his fingers stirring tendrils of desire in their wake. When he levered himself up to gaze tenderly into her eyes, her heart performed a forward roll. Without her protective shields in place, she could fall hard and fast for this loving man.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his expression echoing his words.
And you’re the answer to a prayer. She closed her eyes, when the sting of unwanted tears gathered in her sinuses. Don’t think. Just feel. Savor.
Dipping his head, he drew her peaked breast into his mouth and she arched her back, offering herself to him. Ribbons of tingling heat shot through her as his tongue lashed and aroused. She sighed her pleasure and worked her hands between them to stroke the hard shaft that he pressed against her thigh.
He drew a sharp breath as her fingers skimmed the heat and length of him. “Lisa…”
“Now,” she whispered, opening herself to him.
With a throaty groan, he sank into her, filling her—fulfilling her.
Their bodies swayed and rocked in the rhythm as old as time, and as the coil of need tightened in her core, Lisa felt a connection to Peter that went beyond the joining of bodies. Something elemental, spiritual, intimate.
And frightening.
She was falling in love with Peter Walsh.
Peter shuddered as he climaxed, the release so powerful it shook him to his marrow. His whole body throbbed and every nerve ending sparked. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, but he couldn’t blame his recent celibacy for the surge of emotions that battered him in the wake of the hottest, sweetest lovemaking he’d known in years.
Peter wrapped his arms around Lisa, holding her close to the heavy thud of his heart. Pure joy and a sense of completeness swelled in his chest until he thought he might burst with it. He remembered feeling like this when he’d married Katie. He’d known then, as he did now, that he’d found someone he would love the rest of his life.
P.I. Daddy's Personal Mission Page 16
