Harlequin Superromance September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: This Good ManPromises Under the Peach TreeHusband by Choice

by Janice Kay Johnson

  The back of Reid’s neck prickled. Fun was a misleading word to start with. Fire suggested rage. Would the next blaze be bigger, causing more damage? Or would whoever set it try something completely different?

  * * *

  PUSHING HER CART down the aisle at Safeway, Anna caught a troubling whiff of smoke. Not tobacco—burning wood. Although there might be a hint of something else. Frowning, she came to a stop in front of the displays of boxed pastas and turned to look around her.

  A man, also pushing a half-full cart, was directly behind her. Captain Reid Sawyer, no less, who had been featured on the front page of this morning’s Angel Butte Reporter. In well-worn jeans, boots, a heavy flannel shirt and down vest, he was dressed a whole lot more casually than he had been the last time she saw him.

  He gave her a slightly crooked smile. “I thought I recognized that hair.”

  “Hair?” Her hand rose to touch her head. Yes, it was still there. Feeling foolish, she snatched her hand back and wrapped it safely around the handle of the cart. “It’s brown,” she said repressively. “How could you recognize my hair?”

  “It’s not brown.” He sounded amused. “It’s dozens of colors. I’ll bet you were a towhead when you were a kid, weren’t you?”

  She and her sister both had been. She shied away from a memory that was borrowed from a snapshot rather than real, of two girls standing stiffly, side by side, staring at the camera. She thought it was one of the times when they’d been delivered to a new home.

  “Once upon a time.” The smell was stronger, if anything. “Do you smell smoke?”

  Strangely, he bent his head to sniff at himself. “Ah, that would be me. I’m sorry. I should have gone home to shower. I didn’t realize I’d soaked it up.”

  She finally identified that illusory other component of the smell. “Gasoline.”

  His eyes sharp on her face, he said, “Yeah. You’ve got a good nose.”

  “What were you doing, cheating when you lit the briquettes?”

  His chuckle was the first she’d seen echoed in his eyes. “That sounds suicidal.”

  “I had a—” She stopped, said more stiffly, “I knew someone once who used so much lighter fluid that there’d be a huge burst of flame when he tossed on a match.”

  “Also suicidal.” His gaze was thoughtful now, as though he wondered what she hadn’t wanted to say. “In my case, I was checking on a fire a friend had to put out on his property. He wanted to know what I thought.”

  “You mean, whether it had been set on purpose?”

  He dipped his head.

  “And it was.”

  “Thus the gasoline,” he agreed.

  “Did you call the fire department?”

  “No, it wasn’t that significant. More of an annoyance. But since I had to go right by the store on my way home, I decided to stock up for the week.”

  “Oh. Me, too.” Duh. “Well, um, I’d better—”

  “I hear Yancey was found alive and well.”

  “Yes.” Anna was impressed that he’d remembered the name. The help he’d offered her had to have been a trivial part of his week. “He hadn’t gotten as far as the highway yet.”

  “So Sergeant Shroutt told me. You return him to his foster home?”

  “I found him a new one,” she corrected. “For the time being, he’ll be the only child in the home, which I think he needs. If I have to put anyone else in it, I’ll send, I don’t know, a ten-year-old girl.”

  “A child who might look up to him.” He sounded approving.

  “Yes.” Anna didn’t like feeling as if she had to defend herself, but she hadn’t liked his expression Wednesday when she’d told him she had been trying to find Yancey a better placement. Or, more accurate, she hadn’t liked her own sense of having failed one of the children for whom she was responsible. “This particular foster parent is one of my best. The brother and sister she had were returned to their parents, and she’d asked for a break. I was hoping Yancey could hold out until she was ready for another child. My mistake was not telling him what I planned.”

  Something had changed on his face. “Returned to their parents,” he repeated in an unreadable tone. “That must be hard on a foster parent.”

  “It depends. Sometimes we all have doubts about whether the family can be stable, but in this case, Carol had developed a close relationship with the mother in particular. She thought it was time. I know she plans to stay in touch. And of course the kids’ caseworker will keep an eye on the situation.”

  He nodded. “Does this Carol keep kids long-term?”

  “Usually not.” She hesitated. “Yancey has been freed by the court for adoption, but given his age it’s unlikely there’ll be any takers. I hate to have her tied up for that many years, but...” She sighed. “I think she’ll love Yancey, and he’ll love her. So...I hope she’s able to keep him.”

  Something clanged into her cart and she turned quickly.

  “I’m so sorry!” The woman had clearly been trying to squeeze her own, heavily laden cart past. “I’m a lousy driver.”

  Anna smiled. “And I’m blocking the road.” She pushed hers out of the way, then glanced back at Reid Sawyer. “I’d better get on with my shopping now that I know the store isn’t going to burn down.”

  “I should, too, before I scare anyone else.” His gaze rested on her face with a weight she’d never felt before. “Any chance you’d like to have a cup of coffee when you’re done?”

  A curl of warmth low in her abdomen battled with the bump of alarm in her chest. She didn’t like the way he seemed to hear more than she meant to say, but... Oh, lord, if he was attracted to her, too...

  Could he be? He was law enforcement calendar-cover-model material, while she knew perfectly well she was ordinary personified.

  One eyebrow rose. “I’ll accept a polite no. You don’t have to agonize.”

  “No.” Oh, for heaven’s sake—now her cheeks were heating. “I mean, yes. I was, um, just juggling my schedule in my head. Coffee would be nice. If you don’t mind waiting until I finish,” she added hastily.

  His eyes had warmed. “I have a ways to go myself. In fact, I was going to grab some rotini as soon as you moved.”

  The rotini she was blocking. No wonder he’d lingered to make conversation.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted and pushed her cart forward. Then remembering she needed pasta, too, she turned back to grab lasagna noodles at the same time he was reaching past her. They bumped. He dropped the box he’d been taking from the shelf, and she apologized several more times and felt like a klutz and a social disaster by the time she wheeled around the end of the aisle and out of sight of the single sexiest man she’d ever met.

  * * *

  ANNA WAS JUST getting into line when Reid accepted his receipt and decided to put his groceries in the back of his Expedition so he’d be free to help her stow hers.

  The store was a busy place today, and he intercepted several interested glances in the parking lot. He managed civil nods in response. Much as he hated the idea, he’d had to cooperate when the newspaper decided they wanted to run a piece on him. He wasn’t just a cop anymore; he was a public official, symbolizing this small city’s police department. Unfortunately, there’d been more interest in him than there likely would have been if his predecessor had accepted a job somewhere else and faded away. No such luck for Reid. Colin McAllister had run a very public, highly scrutinized campaign right here in this county and unseated an incumbent sheriff that the Hales, at least, had described as lazy and self-satisfied. The reforms McAllister was instigating in the sheriff’s department were drawing a lot of press, too. It wasn’t surprising that people were curious about the man who had replaced him in his old job.

  Reid hoped he’d hid how very uncomfortable he was about that kind of s
crutiny. He’d done his damnedest to deflect personal questions and talk instead about what he saw as his professional role. One thing he couldn’t do was admit he’d ever lived in Angel Butte. Instead he’d implied he had vacationed here in the past, liked the area, jumped when he saw the job opening. No, he wasn’t a fisherman or hunter and he’d never alpine skiied, but he did cross-country ski, hike and kayak. Yes, he was looking forward to the recreational opportunities.

  “Clean air is good, too,” he’d said, and the quote appeared in the paper. As had a photo of him that he’d scrutinized for several minutes this morning, the newspaper spread open on his table. Even though he saw that face in the mirror every morning when he shaved, he hardly recognized himself in print. It was a peculiar experience.

  He had very few pictures of himself. When he had run away from home, it hadn’t occurred to him to take anything like baby pictures along. He’d brought a couple pictures of his mother, that was all—ones he’d secreted away from his father. As for the rest of the family photos, he had no idea whether his father would have kept them in a box in the closet or burned them. Maybe he’d ask Caleb sometime. Reid knew the Hales had taken pictures, but not a lot. He’d never had reason to go to a professional photographer. The few times he’d appeared in the newspaper, he’d been caught as part of a scene, or, a couple of times, when he was giving a statement or was arriving at or leaving court. The focus hadn’t been so intensely on him.

  Now he put the last grocery bag in the rear cargo area and slammed the door. He was glad to see Anna leaving the store just then and strode to meet her.

  “Oh!” She looked shy. “I wondered how to find you.”

  “I got done first.”

  She stopped in front of a bright blue Toyota RAV4, one he thought was several years old but still in good condition, and unlocked the rear hatch. His hands were large enough to grab the handles of several bags at once, and he made short work of unloading.

  “Why don’t you come with me?” he suggested. “I can bring you back to your car later.”

  “There’s a Starbucks inside the store.”

  He’d noticed it. The tiny tables in the middle of traffic weren’t what he had in mind.

  “There has to be someplace we won’t be on display.”

  She eyed him curiously. “I saw you in the paper this morning.”

  “You and every other person shopping today.” He knew he sounded grumpy. He had an odd moment of wondering whether her interest in that article had been more than casual and whether her eyes had lingered on the photo.

  With a smirk, she inclined her head to draw his attention to two women passing, both of whom were staring.

  He was getting good at those polite nods.

  “Like I said, I’d enjoy a cup of coffee a lot more if people weren’t gaping at me.”

  She opened her mouth, then closed it. Intrigued, he said, “What?”

  “I just...” Her cheeks were a little pink. She made a face. “I was going to say, what’s to stop me gaping at you?”

  He grinned. “Gape to your heart’s content.”

  Yeah, he liked this lighthearted exchange. No ghosts here. He wasn’t sure if she was flirting with him or not, but she had said yes to coffee, and that meant something. He was getting more interested by the minute in finding out what she wore beneath today’s close-fitting jeans, knee-high boots and thigh-length sweater over a turtleneck. Slightly more revealing than her utilitarian work getup—he could at least tell she had fabulous legs—but not much. Of course, given the temperature outside, everyone was dressed in bulky layers.

  Seeing her looking more stylish today, though, he was close to ruling out the serviceable white undergarments. The field was now open. Her personality had enough contradictions, he had no idea. Fortunately, he liked mysteries.

  Besides, he could strip off panties of any color or material just as quickly.

  “Why don’t I drive?” she suggested. “I gather you haven’t been in town very long. Do you know where to go?”

  “I’d stop at the first place that said coffee,” he admitted, not telling her he’d spent his first day in town doing nothing but driving around. He was like a cat, needing to know his territory and where the outermost edges of it were.

  Angel Butte had changed one hell of a lot since he had left after turning eighteen, and nearly as much since his last visit when he was twenty-four or -five. Then, it had still been a small town. The mall, Walmart, Staples and the rest weren’t here. An annexation had extended the city limits to take in a whole lot of new development, as well as empty country he had no doubt would be developed in the next ten years. Many of the new homes weren’t for full-time residents, which made Angel Butte different from anyplace else he’d ever lived. He imagined it as something of a ghost town during the in-between seasons: after the ski lifts shut down, but before hiking trails were open and fishing licenses issued, and then again in the fall when the reverse happened.

  Reid suspected Anna was challenging him by offering to drive. Cops were notorious control freaks who didn’t like being driven by someone else. The generalization applied to him, all right. Still, he figured he was safe with her behind the wheel given what a short distance they had to travel.

  “Sure,” he said, hiding his smile at her surprise.

  Turned out she wasn’t a bad driver at all. He only compressed the floorboards with his right foot a couple of times and grabbed for the armrest once. She laughed at him that time.

  They ended up at a place called The Butte, only a couple blocks from the public safety building that housed the police station, but on a side street. He’d seen it, but not yet been in. From the length of the line inside, business was bustling.

  “Best coffee in town,” she told him as they waited. He listened to conversations around them and decided most of the people were locals rather than tourists.

  She looked at him askance when he ordered an Americano and then narrowed her eyes and said, “Not a word,” before asking for a gingerbread latte.

  “A froufrou drink,” he murmured in her ear.

  She accepted it from the teenager behind the counter and breathed in happily. “Dessert and caffeine all in one. I love gingerbread.”

  “I’m not sure I’ve ever had any,” he remarked as they wended between tables to an open booth on the side.

  “Never eaten gingerbread? Not even a gingerbread man?”

  Her outrage made him smile. “I don’t think so.”

  Even though he would have remained more anonymous if he had sat with his back to the door, he maneuvered her so he could sit facing the room. He liked knowing what was behind him.

  At first they chatted about Angel Butte, edging gradually to the kind of questions people asked when they wanted to know each other: What do you enjoy doing in your spare time? Where did you grow up? How’d you end up here?

  They both admitted to being readers, enjoying some movies. Both were runners, although she was taking a step-aerobics class right now instead. He worked out at a gym, too, and played basketball and racquetball.

  “I’ve already played in a few pickup games at the Y,” he said, smiling slyly. “Beat the mayor himself at racquetball.”

  “Noah Chandler?” She looked intrigued before grinning at him. “Well, you ought to be able to. He’s got to be too muscle-bound to be fast.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. It was a hard-fought game.”

  He admitted to having grown up in Spokane, then repeated the lies he’d told the reporter about having vacationed in central Oregon.

  “I’ve lived all over Oregon,” she said, her lashes veiling her eyes and making him wonder what she didn’t want him to see. “I finally graduated from high school in Bend.”

  Reid nodded; Bend was the largest city in central Oregon and only about a forty-five-minute drive
from Angel Butte.

  “Parents still in the area?” he asked casually.

  He’d have sworn the gray of her eyes darkened, as if a cloud had passed over the sun. Oh, damn, he thought—he’d been right about the ghosts.

  “I grew up in foster homes,” she said after a minute, so casually he realized she must say this often. Which made sense. Telling her story would be a good way to connect with the kids on the job. “My parents split up when I was three or four, I think. I never saw my father again, and I barely remember my mother. She couldn’t cope on her own.”

  “Was she abusive?” A familiar ball of anger and something else formed in his chest. He was disturbed at how clearly he could see that little girl, skin and bones, pale hair and the eyes that were still huge and haunting.

  But she shook her head. “No, nothing like that. Just...negligent.”

  He curled his hand around his coffee to keep from reaching for her. “Did you miss her?”

  Tiny crinkles formed on her forehead as she seemed to ponder. “I suppose I might have. I don’t remember.”

  “You’ve never looked for her? Or your father?”

  “No.” That lusciously sexy voice had gone hard. “I have no interest in them.”

  “I suppose this answers the question of how you chose your profession,” he said thoughtfully.

  “I consider it a vocation.”

  No nine-to-five for her. Apparently the two of them had something in common. Unlike most cops, he’d hungered for the domestic-abuse calls. He’d never dreamed about working Homicide; he wanted to bring down the assholes like his father.

  Of course, he’d found himself arresting not only men but women, too. Not quite as many, but plenty of them. Mostly for child abuse, but occasionally they were the aggressors against the men in their lives, too.

  “I’ve...always felt the same about my own job,” he said slowly, zinged by the sense of shock and, yeah, panic that came when he let himself wonder what in hell he had thought he was doing here in Angel Butte. The Family Violence Unit had been his goal from the minute he joined the Orange County P.D. in Southern California. It had been the next thing to a religious vocation for him, although he’d never used that word before. Now he was an administrator who would rarely deal directly with people in crisis. Supervising major investigations, sure, but also juggling the demands of different departments for paper clips, printer ink cartridges, air filters for the police cars and more clerical help.