Guardian Groom

by Shelley Cooper

  Would she allow her date to spend the night? The thought of another man in her bed made Steve want to resort to the violence he could feel simmering dangerously close to the surface.

  He was not jealous, he told himself firmly. Their marriage was over. He no longer had a claim on her.

  So much had happened in the short, tumultuous year they were married. Much of it had been good, but most of it had not. Maybe it was better they had parted. There were too many terrible associations with their time together the loss of their daughter; the threat to Kate’s life; the realization that Quincy was a rogue cop, and that Steve would have to turn his friend in.

  Then, too, there was Kate herself. Ironically, the quality he’d loved most about her—her independent spirit—had been the one thing that had driven them apart. She’d never let him do anything for her. All she’d seemed interested in was goading him into an argument, something he couldn‘t—wouldn’t—allow. After Molly died, she’d turned to her brothers for comfort, instead of him. The only time he’d felt needed was when they were in bed together. Even then, he’d never deluded himself that he was the only man who could give her the release she sought in his arms.

  He’d never told her he loved her. It wasn’t that he hadn’t felt the emotion. At the time, he’d loved her desperately. It just wasn’t in him to spout flowery words and phrases.

  He didn’t put much stock in words. Along with his fists, his father had used words as a weapon to cut and wound. How many times, in an alcohol-induced rage, had the man snarled his love for his wife and child while beating them senseless? How many times, temporarily sober, had he cried and begged their forgiveness, swearing he’d never hurt them again?

  Steve had learned from a young age to allow people’s actions to speak for them, and to ignore their words. As much as he’d been able, he’d tried to show Kate what she meant to him. When she left him, her actions had spoken volumes. He wasn’t about to let himself repeat his earlier mistake.

  Kate laughed again, and he felt a familiar burning sensation in his chest. She’d laughed like that for him, too, in the early days of their relationship, he thought sourly, reaching for the antacid bottle.

  He couldn’t protect her properly if he was constantly distracted. For her sake, and for his own, he had to nip this in the bud. Now. He could not allow his emotions to become involved.

  The birds chose that moment to raise a ruckus, and he stood and crossed to the cage.

  “Know what really gets me?” he said. “She let him pull out her chair. If I’d tried that, she would have slapped me down. Fast. At least she tucked the whistle and the pepper spray beneath her plate, the way I told her to.”

  Disgustedly he ran a hand through his hair. He really was losing it. Now he was talking to a pair of dumb birds. What would he be talking to next? The potted tree m the comer? The stop sign at the end of the street?

  A sudden thought occurred to him, and he picked up his cell phone. Jock Oldham, a friend from his police force days, answered on the third ring.

  “Hey, old buddy,” Jock said after Steve had identified himself. “Long tune, no see. How they hangin’?”

  “Fine, Jock. I’ve got a favor to ask.”

  “Name it.”

  “Would you check on these names for me? See if any of them are back out on the street yet?” The list consisted of the names of the men his testimony had put behind bars while he and Kate had been married. It was a long shot—especially now that they were divorced—but he had to make sure that Kate’s biggest fan wasn’t someone trying to get back at him through her.

  “Will do,” Jock said. “I’ll call you soon as I find out. Hey, did you hear O’Connor took early retirement? Seems he...”

  For several minutes, Steve chatted with his old friend about the changes that had taken place in the department since his departure. To his surprise, he felt no lingering regret about his decision. When he hung up the phone, he saw Kate standing in the doorway.

  “David’s ready to go,” she said.

  Unbidden, his gaze flew to her lips to see if they were swollen from the other man’s kisses. It gave him immense satisfaction to realize she didn’t have a hair out of place and that her lips bore a more than fair trace of the lipstick she’d applied earlier. Whatever they’d been doing in the other room, it hadn’t included a wild make-out session.

  “Lover Boy not spending the night?” Damn! Why had he gone and said that?

  The look she sent him told him she was well aware of the reason why. “Not tonight. He has surgery first thing in the morning.”

  It wasn’t the answer he’d been not-so-subtly fishing for. He had yet to discover whether her relationship with the oral surgeon had moved from the hand-holding stage to something far more intimate. Still he couldn’t help feeling relieved as he silently followed her out to the living room. Whatever the reason, they weren’t spending this night together.

  “Thanks for dinner,” David said when Kate reached his side.

  Hands balled into fists, Steve watched while the other man circled his arms around Kate before bending his head and brushing his lips across hers.

  “Good night,” she said when David released her. Steve could swear he heard a reluctance in her voice to let the man go.

  At the door, David turned to Steve. “Take care of her,” he said gruffly. “She’s a very special lady.”

  It took all of Steve’s self-restraint not to close the door in the other man’s face. “No one will harm her while I’m around.”

  He watched David drive off before closing and locking the door. After checking to make sure the security system was properly activated, he joined Kate in the living room. She seemed lost in thought.

  “I never thought you’d settle,” he said.

  Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Settle?”

  “That kiss.”

  “What about it?”

  “It was so...tepid.”

  A spark of anger flared in her eyes. “Tepid?”

  “Yes,” he repeated. “Tepid.”

  She settled her hands on her hips. The action pulled the fabric of her dress tightly across her breasts, and he had to forcibly focus his gaze on her face.

  “Did it ever occur to you,” she said in a cold voice, “that the reason David didn’t sweep me into a torrid embrace was because you were standing there? That maybe we don’t prefer to express our feelings in front of others?”

  Steve’s smile was deliberately provocative. He knew he was betraying his inner turmoil, but he didn’t care. Something inside him had snapped at the sight of her in the arms of another man.

  “Your pal Denton has about as much passion as a neutered sheep.”

  Her swiftly indrawn breath told him his barb had hit its mark. “I’ll have you know, David is an extremely passionate man.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Really? All I know is, whenever we kissed, there was enough combustion to start a fire. I didn’t hear any smoke alarms going off when he kissed you.”

  “That’s because David’s kiss was gentle and reassuring. It was exactly what I needed after everything that happened today.”

  “If you say so. Whatever, I resent being replaced by that pale imitation of me.”

  She drew herself up to her full height and glared at him. “David is not a pale imitation of you.”

  “Isn’t he?” he challenged. “Same height, same blond hair, same blue eyes. Except for that weak chin of his, I thought I was looking in a mirror.”

  Her eyes grew stormy with emotion. “I’m not dating David because I think he’s like you. Far from it.”

  Something had taken hold of him, a primitive force that refused to let go until this situation had played itself out fully. “Prove it,” he challenged.

  “How?” was her immediate response, as he’d known it would be.

  “Show me that the fire between us has burned out.” His voice lowered, became soft, seductive. “Kiss me, Kate.”

  Her eyes went round
with shock, and she took a step back. “What?”

  “Kiss me. Show me you prefer my clone’s meek little kisses to mine.”

  For countless seconds, she stared at him. Then the shock left her eyes, and she shook her head. “No.”

  “No?” he said disbelievingly. “The Kate I remember never backed down from a dare.”

  “Well, this Kate does.”

  “Scared?” he taunted.

  Instead of taking the bait, she merely turned away. “I don’t have to prove anything to you, Steve,” she said with quiet dignity. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Good night.”

  Long after her last footfall had stopped echoing on the stairs, long after her bedroom door had softly closed behind her, Steve remained in the middle of the living room floor. Absolutely still, he stared at the spot she’d vacated and wondered what exactly had happened.

  Because she was feeling paranoid after everything that had happened that day, once she’d donned her nightgown, Kate placed the whistle Steve had given her around her neck. She sighed when the cool metal settled reassuringly between her breasts. A feeling of not-quite security, but a first cousin to that sought-after state, settled over her.

  After turning out the light, she climbed into bed, pulled the sheets up to her neck and proceeded to toss and turn for what seemed hours. Though her body had passed beyond exhaustion, her mind refused to quiet. Her brain had too much information to process to allow her to slip peacefully into oblivion.

  It was all Steve’s fault, she decided. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what had gotten into him after David had gone. Why had he challenged her to prove that it was all over between them by kissing him? Was it jealousy? Or was it simply that he was a sore loser and couldn’t bear to see someone else taking his place? One thing was certain. She’d never seen him act that way before.

  Be careful what you wish for. The old adage echoed in her brain. She’d finally gotten a rise out of Steve, and it had been nothing like she’d anticipated. It surely hadn’t solved anything. On the contrary, it had served only to make things more uncomfortable between them.

  And what about the discomfiting assertion that she was dating David because he reminded her of Steve? Physically, she acknowledged, there was a definite resemblance; she couldn’t deny it. But there, any similarity ended. Never had any two men been more unalike.

  Down in the living room, the grandfather clock chimed the hour. The echo of the gong made its way faintly through her closed bedroom door. Two o’clock. With a sigh, she climbed out of bed. If she wasn’t going to sleep, she might as well get some work done.

  Grabbing the canister of pepper spray from her bedside table, Kate padded barefoot into the hallway. In the bathroom, she flipped the light switch and blinked at the sudden brightness. The sight greeting her when her pupils adjusted forced a groan of dismay from her throat.

  Steve’s belongings were all over the place. His robe swayed from the hook on the back of the door. The towel he had used cuddled next to hers on the wooden towel bar. His toiletries laid claim to the marble surface of the double sink.

  One of the disadvantages of owning this old house was that it was shy on bathrooms. No master suites with attached baths here. Unless she wanted to walk all the way to the bathroom on the first floor, she would have to share.

  Her stomach rumbled. The sound echoed loudly in the small room, and she remembered she’d barely eaten anything at dinner. After splashing cold water on her face, Kate wandered silently downstairs and into the kitchen. She’d make a snack, and then get a head start on the next day’s column.

  When nothing inside the refrigerator appealed, she moved to the freezer, only to find it stuffed with carton after carton of Steve’s favorite ice cream: rocky road. With a wry smile, she acknowledged that the two words could have been the motto for their marriage. And, probably, the days to come.

  A feeling akin to desperation filled her as she stared at the offending cartons that had no doubt been delivered by Liza Cook. Steve had taken over her office, her bathroom, and now her freezer. If she wasn’t careful, before she knew it, he’d once more have unrestricted ownership of her heart, as well. That, she simply couldn’t allow.

  Faintly at first, then growing stronger, she heard the strains of a flute from the direction of her office. Kate’s heart gave a jolt of fear before thudding rapidly in her chest. Was her biggest fan lurking in there, trying to lure her into his trap by playing the radio?

  “Get hold of yourself, Kate,” she murmured out loud. “The president himself couldn’t sneak in here without setting off an alarm. You know what a workaholic Steve is. He’s probably still doing paperwork.”

  Cautiously she tiptoed to the doorway, making sure her fingers were at the ready to depress both the pepper spray and the whistle. Just in case.

  Chapter 6

  When she peered into her office, Kate gaped at the scene that greeted her, pepper spray and whistle forgotten. As she’d imagined, Steve sat in front of the bank of television monitors. But what she’d never figured, even in her wildest imagination, was that he would be sitting there, clad only in pajama bottoms, eyes closed and his mouth pursed against the mouthpiece of a flute. The melody of “Danny Boy” filled the air.

  Fascinated, Kate watched his long, beautiful fingers depress the round keys. The notes that issued from the instrument were pure, haunting and full of emotion. The sound was so beautiful it made her want to cry.

  As if sensing her presence, Steve abruptly stopped playing. Opening his eyes, he lowered the flute to his lap.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her gaze drinking in his naked torso. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, the pale hair matting his chest thick and curly. When they’d been married, she’d seen and touched that part of his body thousands of times. So why did the sight fascinate her so? “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

  “You didn’t disturb me.”

  Unfortunately, she couldn’t say the same about him. Because he definitely disturbed her. More than she cared to admit. “That was beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  She moved into the room and perched on the edge of the leather sofa. Nodding at the television monitors, she asked, “You’re not staying up to keep an eye on them, are you?”

  He shook his head. “No. George has his own set of monitors outside in the van. He’ll keep watch until morning.”

  “Out of curiosity, just how many people do you have working on this case?”

  “Four. Seven, actually, if you count shift changes. I’m inside with you. George is outside in the van. One man patrols the neighborhood, and another takes care of the park.”

  She hadn’t realized her protection would be so involved. “Are all these people necessary?”

  “I think so. Why?”

  Why? Because it tended to make a person feel just the tiniest bit claustrophobic to know that her every movement was being monitored by one person, let alone four.

  “If you’re not watching the monitors, why are you down here?” she asked.

  “Same reason as you, I expect. I was too wound up to sleep. Playing the flute relaxes me.”

  She gazed at the instrument curiously. He’d never played it when they were married. “When did you take it up?”

  “When I was a kid,” he surprised her by saying. “I started taking lessons when I was eight”

  “How long did you take them?” To play as well as he did, she imagined he’d have to have studied for years.

  “Till I was ten, when—” He broke off.

  “When what?”

  He looked away. “It’s not important.”

  One of his three standard responses, when he didn’t want to open up, was “It’s not important.” The other two were “I don’t want to talk about it” and “I’ll be back when you calm down.” Kate stared at him in frustration. Why did everything have to be such a big secret with him? Would it hurt him to, just once, share something with h
er, without her bullying him into it?

  “What is it,” she joked, “a state secret? Classified information, and I don’t have the proper clearance?”

  That made him smile. “Hardly.”

  “Then why won’t you tell me what happened when you were ten?”

  “It really is no big deal, Kate.” He spoke lightly, his gaze on the flute.

  “You’re the one making it into a big deal, Steve, by behaving this way.”

  He lifted one shoulder in an indifferent shrug. “If you must know, I quit because my father wanted me to.”

  Surely the man had to have been aware of his son’s talent. So why would he make him quit? Kate knew that money had always been a problem for the elder Gallagher. The rare times the man had held down a job for longer than a week or two, he’d drunk most of the money away.

  “Were the lessons too expensive?” she asked. “Was that why he didn’t want you taking them?”

  “No. I took lessons at school. Except for a small instrument rental, they were free.”

  “Then why did he make you quit?”

  After a brief hesitation, during which Kate felt sure he’d decided not to answer, he said, “My father didn’t consider flute playing a proper pursuit for young boys. A real man, if he had to play an instrument at all, chose the drums, the saxophone or the trumpet. He did not play the flute.”

  A real man didn’t batter his wife and child, Kate thought. “If he felt that way, I’m surprised he allowed you to take lessons in the first place.”

  Steve turned the instrument over in his hands. “He didn’t. I took them in secret. My mother arranged everything.”

  Kate felt the prickling sensation of déjà vu as an awful suspicion began forming in her brain. “But he found out,” she guessed.

  Steve nodded. “He came home unexpectedly one day and caught me practicing. I...didn’t take any more lessons after that.”

  With Steve, a person had to learn to read between the lines. She was eighteen months’ rusty, but, given his history with his father, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had happened.