Blown Away

by Muriel Jensen

  As they walked across the parking lot and into the unpretentious little restaurant, she was ready to believe she’d been born with a gene that prevented her from recognizing men for what they were. She’d thought Danny was an exciting adventurer, but he’d turned out to be a con artist. Loren had seemed so good with kids, but after tonight, Kara wasn’t sure if he even liked them, let alone cared about their futures. And Cole, the hero who’d caught her in midair, was secretly afraid of her.

  Taylor was the only guy in her life she could count on, and even he’d grow up and leave her one day.

  Loren opened the door for her and she walked inside, wondering how she would explain to Loren that accepting his invitation had been a mistake. After all, she still had to work with him.

  The restaurant was a square room with booths along the wall and chairs in the middle. At this hour, all the young men with big appetites who frequented the place seemed to be gone, and the restaurant was populated with seniors. The pleasant aroma of a bourbon-based barbecue sauce filled the room. But as Kara reached an empty booth and prepared to slip in, she suddenly felt a palpable tension. Looking around, she realized no one was eating.

  Behind the counter, three waitresses stood in a tight little knot. It was impossible to see what was happening behind them in the kitchen, but she could hear shouting.

  Then she became aware of the noise. The jukebox was at deafening volume, and a bald man in camouflage was dancing to it with an older woman who appeared terrified.

  Another man with long curly hair was sitting at the end of the bar, staring at her.

  Kara felt a weird sense of disassociation from reality, as though she were watching herself in a film.

  The bald man spun the woman around and stopped abruptly when he saw Kara standing near the booth. Pushing the woman into the nearest chair, he strode across the coffee shop toward Kara.

  Her heart rose into her throat. She wondered if these men were robbing the restaurant. Then she realized that if they were, there wouldn’t be time for dancing.

  They weren’t robbing the place, she decided, just terrorizing the patrons. Neither of the men seemed to have a weapon, and a quick survey of the customers told her they were mostly older couples and teenagers. Not a good match for scary-looking men out to intimidate.

  As the bald man drew closer, she turned to Loren and asked under her breath, “Do you have a cell phone?”

  But rescue was clearly not going to come from him. He was white as chalk and apparently paralyzed.

  When the man reached Kara, he pointed his index finger at Loren. “Sit down!” he ordered.

  Loren did just that.

  “There, now.” The bald man smiled at Kara and closed a hand on her arm. “You’re going to dance with me.”

  She was frightened, but instinct told her that if he knew that, she’d be at more of a disadvantage than she already was.

  “Thank you,” she said, removing her arm from his grasp, “but I’ve just come from a dance, and my feet hurt.”

  Surprisingly he let her go, but when his friend at the end of the bar started to laugh, he grabbed Kara roughly around the waist and held her to him. He smelled of cologne and mouthwash, and though she knew she should feel terrified, she couldn’t help observing that good grooming did not seem to be synonymous with good citizenship.

  “I said you’re going to dance with me!” the bald man shouted in her face.

  Fury ignited his eyes, and Kara concluded that he must be high on something or not entirely sane. So, should she cooperate and take her chances that someone had already dialed 911, or refuse to behave like a victim because she was quite possibly on her own here and her wits were the only tool she had?

  “I said my feet hurt!” she shouted back at him. “And I’m not moving from this booth until I’ve had a cup of coffee!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  COLE AND BRAD headed home in Brad’s vehicle, a little quiet because the movie had been more accurate than not and there’d been little in it to complain about.

  “Maybe she did it to make you jealous?” Brad suggested as he pulled up at a stoplight. Cole had told Brad about Kara’s date with Loren when they left the theater.

  “No.” Cole scanned the streets out of habit, just as he did while on patrol. “Kara would never be that conniving. But there’s no hope for either of us. We’re obviously both failures when it comes to marriage.”

  Brad turned to look at him. “Cole, that is so much bull!” he slapped the steering wheel and focused on the road once more. “What’s happened to your brain? You’re not the first one to make a bad choice when it comes to marriage, but get over it, for God’s sake. This time you might just get it right. If you’re using the past as a way to avoid living again, then you really are in big trouble. You can’t just give up.”

  The light changed and Brad drove on. “I can’t believe I have to explain that to you when you’re the one who kept me going through high school and college and medical school. How many times would I have quit if you hadn’t reminded me that anything worth having requires hard work? And that goes for personal relationships, too.”

  Cole turned in mild surprise to study his brother’s profile. Brad had always had a serious turn of mind, been a good, conscientious student, a responsible man, but becoming a father seemed to have added another dimension to his character.

  “I have no idea what’s real or right anymore,” Cole said honestly. “But I’m glad to see you’ve got your head straight about what’s important in life.”

  “You do, too,” Brad said with a grin in his direction. “You’re just momentarily stymied by feelings that are bigger than you. You don’t like that. You can’t arrest it, put it in jail, testify against it. It just stays right there beside you, reminding you every day that you can’t take charge of everything—Want to stop for ribs?”

  Brad pulled into the parking lot of Midnight Coffee, the best place to get something to eat at this hour. And the only place in town with a “rib night” that lasted from five o’clock to midnight. It was a local favorite on Saturday nights.

  Cole was about to tell him that he didn’t want to stop, but Brad was already parking near the front. Then—unbelievably—Cole spotted Kara through the window of the coffee shop. She was wearing a red dress that clung to her small waist and left her shoulders bare.

  Profound jealousy swelled in him when he saw that Loren had a firm grip on her arm and was looking into her eyes. But then his brain recognized something wrong with the picture. The guy was bald and not the blow-dried sophisticate that Loren was. And he was a couple of inches taller as well.

  As Cole climbed out of the car, he saw Kara pull away from the man. And suddenly, even from outside the restaurant, he saw fear—in Kara, in Loren, whom he finally spotted slouched in the booth across from her, in the faces of the other customers. No one was eating. Everyone was watching the little drama playing out in Kara’s booth.

  Cole focused on the bald guy, thinking he looked familiar. Scanning the parking lot, Cole picked out his vehicle, a beat-up black Jeep with a tarantula hanging from the rearview mirror.

  Cole directed Brad back to the car as his brother locked it with his remote. “Something’s going on inside,” he said, hurrying toward the door. “Radio for backup!”

  As he opened the restaurant door, he heard Brad call, “I don’t have a radio.”

  True. He didn’t. Great time, Cole thought, to forget I’m not on duty.

  But he was already halfway inside, and Calvin Bishop, petty thief, part-time drug dealer and major crazy, was pulling Kara by the hair and screaming profanities into her face.

  “You will dance with me, you…!”

  Cole was starting toward him when he was waylaid by a curly-haired kid who leaped off the end of the counter and planted himself in Cole’s path.

  “Slow down, dude,” the kid said. In his hand was a kitchen knife with an impressive serrated blade. “Cal’s got something going on, and we don’t want
to get in his way.” He raised the knife toward Cole’s throat. “So just sit down, be quiet—”

  Cole caught the kid’s wrist and bent it backward, sending the knife to the floor, then laid him out with one punch. People were now standing in their booths, and Cole heard a collective gasp.

  Calvin Bishop held Kara in front of him, one arm around her waist. His expression sent a chill through Cole. Any sane man faced with confrontation would look alert, even a little afraid. Only a psychopath or someone strung out on drugs had no fear.

  Cole caught Kara’s eyes for just an instant and saw that she seemed relieved he was there. He had to look away and focus on Bishop or her faith in him wouldn’t be justified.

  “What’s the plan?” he asked Bishop.

  “Well, Winslow,” Bishop replied. “What’s it been? Three months?”

  “Not nearly long enough,” Cole replied, taking inventory of his surroundings. A table of older ladies behind Bishop. A teenage couple on one side. Not a field of advantage. “It was your last DUI. I pulled you over and you rabbited.”

  “You chased me for half a mile and took me down in dog crap.”

  “Seemed appropriate.”

  Bishop’s expression sharpened and turned to anger. He tightened his grip on Kara. When she winced, Cole had to force himself to remain still.

  “This lady mean something to you?” Bishop asked.

  “No.” Cole was careful not to look at her. “Just don’t like to see you manhandling anybody.” Over Bishop’s shoulder, he saw the side door of the restaurant open slowly.

  Cole saw Bishop’s eyes flick up at the same moment that someone shouted, “Look out!”

  His fist already drawn back, Cole turned and punched a fair-haired young man in the stomach. He must have come from the kitchen. A heavy man, he dropped like a stone, a roasting fork clattering to the floor beside Cole.

  Cole swung around again to see Bishop retreating. He was holding Kara so tightly that her feet were almost off the floor, and behind him, Brad advanced soundlessly into the room.

  Kara was beginning to look panicked. One of her hands reached unconsciously toward Cole.

  “She is yours!” Bishop accused Cole. “I knew it. I could tell when you walked in. If you don’t want me to break her neck—” he put his free hand against Kara’s throat “—you’ll stay right where you are.”

  Cole stayed where he was, but Brad continued to advance. He was now within arm’s reach of Bishop.

  Determination flashed in Kara’s eyes. He tried to warn her with a look that help was imminent, but she began to struggle, unaware that her movement pulled Bishop farther from Brad.

  But she apparently didn’t need Brad. Or him, for that matter, Cole quickly realized. As Bishop attempted to secure his hold on her, Kara brought a high-heeled shoe down hard on his right foot.

  With a howl, Bishop doubled over, and she jabbed her elbow into his face. Brad finished the job with the garbage can lid he’d carried in with him. The sound of skull meeting metal reverberated like the sound of a gong.

  All Cole had to do was catch Kara as she flew into his arms.

  Applause and shouts of approval filled the restaurant. Customers converged on the other two men who were down and held them, along with Bishop, while Cole’s backup streamed into the restaurant.

  Brad grinned at Cole. “How’s Xena?” he asked, touching Kara’s shoulder.

  To Cole’s complete surprise, she was sobbing. Not just crying, but sobbing. For a woman who’d remained calm through a frightening ordeal, Kara seemed to have completely lost it.

  He walked her to the door while Brad stayed behind to talk to the police, who were already dealing with a dozen witnesses, all trying to explain what had happened. Loren came over to make sure Kara was unharmed, but when he offered to drive her home, she shook her head. Cole actually felt sorry for him. Loren looked shell-shocked, and Cole spoke to the officer standing just outside the door, asking him to make sure Loren was checked out by the arriving paramedics before he got behind the wheel of his car.

  Once he’d directed Kara outside, Cole found a shadowy spot near a tall camellia bush and wrapped both arms around her.

  “It’s all right,” he said quietly, rubbing her back. “It’s over. Nobody’s hurt. You were a real heroine.”

  She pushed him away, yet her eyes were sad and tear-filled. He spread both arms out to his sides, confused.

  “I wasn’t a heroine,” she said, still sobbing. “You stormed in there like…like Clint Eastwood and made me believe everything was going to be all right. That gave me the courage to help make it happen.”

  He was trying hard to see the problem here. “Okay. And now everything is all right. So why…?”

  “It’s all right in there!” She jabbed an index finger in the direction of the restaurant. “But it’s never going to be all right in here!” She punched herself in the heart so hard he half expected her to fall down.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  At his question, she came unglued.

  SHE WAS GOING to have to punch him, Kara thought. Nothing else would relieve the urge she felt to touch him, coupled with the desperate desire to do him bodily harm.

  “Why not?” she screamed at him, thinking her anger would be far more effective if she could just stop crying. But she kept remembering her panic, then the wave of relief she’d felt when she saw him marching toward her and Bishop like some fearless superhero.

  At that moment she had known what she had to do. It was as though they were plugged into the same circuit, shared the same source of power.

  But it was obvious he couldn’t see it, and that left her so totally frustrated she could barely stand it.

  “I want a life again, and you don’t!” she shouted at him.

  He was watching her as though he had no idea what she was talking about. She closed her eyes and dragged in a breath, still sane enough to appreciate that she wasn’t making much sense.

  “I thought you wanted to be with Ford,” he said.

  “You know as well as I do that I had no intention of getting involved with Loren. I was just…oh, damn it all. But after tonight, I don’t know if I can even be civil to the guy. You were right. He’s only interested in Loren Ford.”

  At least she felt calmer now. Kara sighed. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. Then he shocked her by asking, “You want to come home with me?”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Do you want to come home with me?” he repeated. “Taylor’s at a sleepover tonight, isn’t he?”

  Her heart fluttered, even though her brain was telling her to go slowly. “Yes, he is,” she replied. “But you can’t believe sex is going to fix what’s wrong between us.”

  With a growl of exasperation, Cole caught her arm and walked her over to a strange car. He opened the door and gave her a slight push inside. “Don’t move from there!” he ordered, then loped back into the restaurant.

  Through the window she could see him talking to one of the uniformed officers. Then he spoke to Brad, who nodded and handed him something.

  When Cole came back, he climbed in and shoved the keys into the ignition.

  “Is this Brad’s car?” she asked. “We’re going to leave him stuck there?”

  “Yes, it’s his car. No, he isn’t stuck there. A friend of mine is going to take him home.” He pulled out of the parking lot and into the traffic. It was shortly after eleven, but the city was apparently just coming to life for many people.

  Kara regretted shouting at Cole. He had come to her rescue, after all. That thought raised a question.

  “How did you know where I was?” she asked.

  “I didn’t,” he replied. “Brad and I had been to a movie and were stopping for coffee on the way home. I saw you and Bishop through the window.”

  “I gather you’ve dealt with him before.”

  “Four or five times.”

  She shuddered as she recalled the terro
r she’d felt when Bishop had first put his hands on her, then the relief and disbelief when she’d seen Cole’s face.

  “You were off duty,” she said, not sure what that had to do with anything.

  He glanced at her, apparently not sure what she meant, either. Then he shook his head as though something was suddenly clear to him.

  “Where you’re concerned, I’m never off duty.”

  “You should have waited for help to arrive,” she said self-righteously. “That’s what you told me.”

  “Citizens have to wait for help,” he said. “Cops jump in and do what has to be done.”

  “You didn’t even have a butter knife,” she teased.

  He cast her another glance, this one possessive and smoky and full of promise…or warning—she wasn’t sure which.

  “It was a restaurant. It was full of them.”

  “Cole…”

  He caught her hand and squeezed it. “You know what? Let’s just not talk for a while. Every time we try to talk things through, we misunderstand each other. Let’s just go sit in front of my tree and see if we can borrow some of its magic.”

  “Magic?” she asked, hardly believing she’d heard him.

  “You told me it would fill my house and make magic,” he said. “I doubted you, but it worked.”

  “How?”

  “Shh. Wait till we get there.”

  The minute they walked into his house, the fragrance of pine enfolded them. Mel came to greet them, and Cole fussed over him for a minute, then went to the dining room to flip the switch for the Christmas tree.

  Kara patted Mel and leaned down to kiss his nose. Then she walked around the tree, admiring how beautiful it looked. Gently she put a fingertip to a bubble light.

  “I love these,” she said, watching the tiny bubbles rise in the clear cylinder. “But aren’t they dangerous?”

  “Used to be in the old days, but the new ones are safety approved.”

  She looked up to see what he’d chosen for the top of the tree and noticed with a frown that it was bare.