by Lori Foster
Hogan shook his head. “Never mind. Who is she? Do you know?”
“New neighbor,” he murmured. “Real private.” Finally, Nathan got his gaze off her. “I saw her step outside this morning to jog. I waved, but she didn’t acknowledge me.”
“Does she know you’re the sheriff?”
“My car is parked in the driveway and it’s emblazoned on the side, so yeah, I assume so.”
“If being sheriff doesn’t impress her, maybe she needs to hear you sing.” Nathan cut a mean guitar and sang for the local garage band, the Drunken Monkeys. Where they’d gotten that name, Hogan had no idea. It all happened before he’d moved into the area.
“I wasn’t trying to impress her,” Nathan growled. “Just being neighborly.”
“She’s pretty.” Thick, straight, light brown hair, secured in a low ponytail, hung to the middle of her back. Snug yoga pants and a tank top showed a very nice figure. She still wore running shoes, looked a little sweaty, and gigantic sunglasses hid half her face. “She lives on the other side of you?”
“Moved in a few days ago.”
“Alone?”
“Far as I can tell.”
Just then the woman peered over her shoulder. Those ridiculous sunglasses kept them from knowing if she looked right at them or not, but it seemed likely.
Nathan said nothing, so Hogan did the honors and waved.
She turned back around.
“See what I mean?” Nathan frowned. “What are we supposed to think about that?”
“No idea.” Hogan swiped up a dish towel, wiped his hands, then headed toward her.
Startled, then quickly on board, Nathan followed.
Stopping at her table, Hogan smiled down at her. “Hi. Welcome to Screwy Louie’s.”
Very slowly she put her fork on her salad dish and looked up at him. “Thank you.”
“I’m Hogan Guthrie, the barbecue guru, and this is Nathan Hawley, your neighbor, the sheriff, and part of Drunken Monkeys, the local band.”
After all that, which he considered plenty to be a conversation starter, she only glanced up at Nathan and nodded.
Talk about a tough act... “New to the neighborhood, huh?”
Her mouth tightened—a very nice, very full mouth, Hogan noticed—and then she said, “Yes.” She hesitated, pulled off her sunglasses and tried a smile. “Thank you for the welcome. The salad was delicious. I need to get going now.” She stood, her “delicious” salad only half-eaten.
Nathan and Hogan stared.
She had beautiful eyes. Calling them light brown wouldn’t have done the unique color justice. They were brown, definitely, but golden flecks lightened the color. Fox eyes, maybe. Really startling.
Hogan got it together first. “Sorry we intruded. It’s a small neighborhood. No strangers, if you know what I mean.” He offered his hand. “Hope we’ll see you around again soon. Violet—she’s the owner here—would love to meet a new face, I’m sure.”
After replacing the sunglasses, she accepted a quick handshake, her hand small in his, her grip firm. Then she gathered up stuff.
To escape.
Before she left, she paused. “You’re here often?”
“Weekends only, usually.”
Nathan said, “I usually stop in for my lunch, then sometimes on weekends, too.”
Ho, so Nathan finally found his voice? Not that Hogan could blame him. He couldn’t wait to tell Violet about this little meet and greet. She loved to observe her customers.
As the woman left, Nathan fell into step beside her. “I’ll walk you out.”
She didn’t appear all that receptive, but still Hogan smiled at Nathan’s determination.
It occurred to him that she hadn’t given her name.
* * *
Throughout the day, Hogan got reports on Violet. The first time he called, she’d been napping and he’d disturbed her. After that, he asked her to call him and he kept his phone on him. She called twice, both times asking only about the restaurant.
She tried to dodge his questions, but he played tit for tat and wouldn’t answer her questions until she answered his.
No, she hadn’t eaten.
Yes, she had slept.
Yes, she’d taken her meds.
No, she didn’t need anything.
He sent Colt over to her house with some soup the cook made and a big glass of raspberry iced tea.
To Colt, she was apparently all sweetness, at least according to Colt. He’d stayed long enough to watch her eat and to pick up afterward.
By the time Hogan finished things that night it was nearly one in the morning. He packed up Violet’s accounting records and headed out.
She was still on the couch when he let himself in. A comb hadn’t touched her hair, and she was still in the same clothes.
The second he stepped in, she stirred awake, then forced herself to sit up. “Everything went okay?”
“Of course.” Keeping the files at his side, he strode into the kitchen and set them on top of the refrigerator. He’d rather give her his suggestions and his improvements when he finished. “How do you feel?”
“I managed to brush my teeth and wash my face. That’s as far as I got.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Would you like a bath? I’ll get it ready for you.”
She pulled the comforter to her chin. “Yeah, I just bet you would.”
“I’m not into molesting near-comatose women, I promise.”
“Huh, so you do have some standards?”
Hogan drew a breath. She was sick, making her usual wit more sarcastic and mean-spirited. “Yes,” he said evenly, “I have standards.”
Their gazes held for a moment, and then she slumped farther on the couch. “I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch and I know it. I don’t like being sick and I detest relying on—”
“Me?”
“Anyone.” She rubbed her temples. “So far Colt is the only person I’ve managed not to offend. He’s just too damned sweet to be mean to.” She glanced over at him. “You’re sure he’s yours?”
Hogan laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure. Colt looks enough like Jason, who looks like our dad, to ensure the parentage.”
Hogan knew the moment she harked back on his earlier comment about cheating women.
Despite the fever, her face paled. “Oh God, I wasn’t suggesting—”
Gently, he said, “I know.” Coming to sit by her, he brushed back her hair. “You meant it as an insult to me. Comparisons, right?” He winked to let her know he hadn’t taken offense or thought she was serious.
“Yes, a joking insult, I swear.”
Luckily, Violet knew nothing about Colt’s mother. Otherwise she might have had some real questions.
But even if Colt hadn’t been his—after all, his wife had proved herself more than deceitful—it wouldn’t have mattered. Not to his heart. Colt was his, now and forever.
“About that bath?” He tugged at the sleeve of her very rumpled T-shirt. “I can run the bath, set out towels, then even help tie up your hair, if you want. You’ll probably feel better afterward.”
“You’re right about that. I wanted a bath, but it seemed like so much work...”
“It won’t be, not for me. Give me just a few minutes to set it up. And afterward, I’ll tell you about the new lady in town who almost made Nathan trip over his own feet.”
3
VIOLET RESTED BACK in the steamy tub, her body so lax she knew she could nod off. But she wouldn’t. No, she wanted to talk to Hogan.
He’d insisted she get the bath taken care of first.
Smart thinking, given her present limited supply of energy.
She’d already scrubbed head to toe, getting that out of the way before s
he tired. Now she just enjoyed breathing in the dampness in the air and feeling the warmth of the water sink into her bones.
“You okay in there?”
“Go away.” She smiled, then glanced over to the closed toilet lid. Hogan had put a fresh T-shirt and another pair of panties there.
The man was making himself at home all right.
But the bath felt so good she didn’t care.
He’d also put a thick towel on the side of the tub and her fluffy housecoat on the door hook.
Why did getting clean make her feel more human?
“If you stay in there much longer,” came his deep, seductive voice, “am I going to have to carry you out?”
“You wish,” she muttered low enough that he couldn’t hear.
But he replied, his tone laced with amusement, “As a matter of fact, it’s a current fantasy. You all warm, naked and—” he paused for effect “—wet.”
Violet caught her breath, promptly coughed and grouchily wheezed, “I’ll be out in five more minutes.”
“Okay, calm down.” She could almost picture his negligent pose against the door. “Hungry?”
Violet bit her lip. She was hungry. It was hours earlier that she’d eaten the soup Colt had brought her. But Hogan had already done so much—
“I’ll take that heavy pause as a yes.”
“Hogan, no, wait.”
No answer. She heard him walking away.
Blasted perfectly flawed man. She closed her eyes, felt herself fading and decided she had to get out. His fantasy, nice as it would be, could not become her reality.
She liked him. She loved his barbecued ribs. And she enjoyed him as an employee and a friend.
Intimacy would only screw up the dynamics.
She dragged out of the bathroom, mostly dry and bundled in her clothes and housecoat, to the scent of pancakes.
How does he know all my weaknesses?
She followed her nose into the kitchen just as he dropped a pat of butter onto a stack of three fluffy pancakes.
He glanced at her, looked back to his skillet, then returned for a longer look. “It would help,” he said low, “if you looked worse.”
She almost laughed. “Ratty hair, bloodshot eyes and chapped lips appeal to you?”
“On you, yeah.” He gave his attention back to the prep of the food. “I started to ask you what you’d like, but figured you’d just give me another smart-ass answer, so I decided on pancakes.”
She pulled out a chair and slumped into it. “My comfort food. Thank you.”
Smiling now, he set the first plate of pancakes and the bottle of syrup in front of her. “Juice, milk?”
“Juice, thank you.”
Hogan gave her a piercing look. “Keep thanking me and I’ll assume you’re delirious. You might find yourself back at the hospital.”
She grinned, filled her mouth with a big bite of syrup-drenched, fluffy pancake and moaned. “So good.”
Hogan said nothing.
She looked up and found him staring at her intently. When she raised a brow, he shook his head and joined her at the table with his own plate of pancakes.
In short order, without her having to ask, he told her about the day and how busy they’d been and how smoothly everything had run.
Without her.
Feeling glum, she asked, “What about your bike?”
“Jason got it home for me.” He eyed her. “I’m taking your car again tomorrow.”
The independent woman in her rebelled. “You just assume I’ll miss work again?”
Reaching out, he fingered one long, damp curl at her temple. “Ratty-haired women with bloodshot eyes and chapped lips should give themselves time to recoup.”
Instead of debating that, Violet asked, hopefully with enough indifference, “Are you staying over again?”
Sounding supremely confident, he said, “Yes.”
It was crazy. Beyond crazy. Bordering on dangerous. But Violet was thrilled. “Okay.” Hoping to coast past that, in case she’d given herself away and shown how much she wanted him to stay, she poked his shoulder. “Now tell me about Nathan and this other woman.”
He did, in exaggerated detail.
Once he’d finished, she said, “That doesn’t sound like Nathan.” Love struck? Nathan was so alpha, so very take-charge. Sure, he performed with Drunken Monkeys, but even then he remained, in every way, the sheriff—just a more lighthearted version. “He got that macho scar while part of a SWAT team, you know.”
Hogan’s brow quirked at her “macho” comment, but it was true. Explaining to him, she said, “Nathan is as much a man as a man could be.”
Now he frowned.
“It’s a little overbearing,” she added and watched his frown fade.
As if pledging the truth, Hogan lifted a hand. “Macho or not, his tongue was on the ground, I swear. And his eyes were glazed. He’s after her all right. But she didn’t even crack a smile for him.”
“Or for you?”
Hogan grinned. “I finagled a very perfunctory handshake from her, and a clear dismissal.”
“Huh. I like her.”
“I thought you might.” He waited while she yawned, then stood to get the dishes. “You ready to turn in?”
Her heart started thumping hard enough to lay her low again. She slid from her chair, didn’t look at him and said, “After I brush my teeth. Be right back.”
She wasn’t occupied for more than five minutes, and during that time she thought mostly about Hogan, him being so darned nice, so blasted domestic and caring.
Sure enough, when she returned to the kitchen it was cleaned, everything put away. She didn’t see Hogan—then the front door opened and he stepped in with an overnight bag.
While she watched, he stepped out of his shoes and put them by the door.
“Not boots?” she asked, noticing that he wore athletic shoes tonight.
“Only when I ride my bike.” Carrying the small bag, he headed down the hall. “I’m going to grab a shower and brush my teeth, too.” He disappeared into her bathroom.
So he’d assumed she’d want him to stay again? She should just go to bed, go into her own bedroom and close the door. Maybe even lock it.
She didn’t.
She was on the couch, her feet curled up under her, when Hogan emerged. His hair was damp and he wore only shorts, nothing else, and he looked so damned good she breathed deeper and ended up coughing.
“Have you taken your meds?”
Shooting for defensive snippiness, she said, “Yes, Dad.”
Pausing, Hogan grinned. “You know, if I didn’t have a seventeen-year-old son, I might find that game kinky, especially with you being such a brat who could probably use some discipline.” He shook his head. “But with Colt around, it’d just be too weird.”
Heat rushed into her face. “I didn’t mean—”
“I take it you want to visit for a while?” He checked that the front door was locked, then joined her on the couch. “I can manage to stay awake another hour if you can.”
Violet stared at him, at his tanned chest with the inviting warmth, the crisp curling hair, and she fought herself.
Either he read her expression, or he was just that good at knowing women, because he asked softly, “Would you rather just cuddle a bit?”
She took a slow, shallow breath and admitted, “Maybe.” She felt like hell. Cuddling sounded even better than the bath and the pancakes.
He didn’t tease her. In a voice pitched low and soft, he asked, “You want to stay here on the couch, or would you rather get in the bed? I promise to behave either way.”
But could she behave? Even sitting a few feet away, a sizzle of awareness played over her skin. She looked at the couch
cushions. The blasted couch was so short...
Without waiting for an answer, Hogan stood. “Tell you what—why don’t I decide?” He scooped an arm under her legs and easily lifted her. “That way, you don’t have to debate yourself so long.”
Giving in, she rested her head against his shoulder. “I might blame you for this later.”
“I’m a big boy,” he said on his way down the hall. “I can take it.”
Oh, she imagined he could take all kinds of things. More and more, she was the weak link, the one unable to stay strong.
In the bedroom, he shoved the door shut with his heel and carried her toward the bed. At first, he just held her. Violet knew he was looking down at her, but she was too cowardly to meet his gaze.
Not this close. Not with his mouth right there and a bed behind her.
It was tempting enough, this easy display of his strength, the warmth of his body and how good he smelled, like soap and sunshine and man.
Letting her ease down the length of his body, he put her on her feet. Casually, as if he’d done so a dozen times already, Hogan untied the belt to her housecoat and, without haste, pulled it off her shoulders.
Keeping her gaze on his bare chest, Violet stood there in another T-shirt, this one oversize so it covered her better, but she knew he could still see her black panties.
Panties that he’d picked out for her.
Putting a finger under her chin, he lifted her face. “You’re okay?”
Breathing became more difficult, and not just because of her illness. “You must think I’m a terrible tease.”
A slow rascal’s smile only made him more appealing. “Definitely a tease. But I understand not wanting to be alone when you feel bad.” He kissed her forehead. “And I’m glad I’m here.”
It didn’t feel like a come-on, like an effort to soften her up so she’d finally give in.
She knew that Hogan had been hurting for a long time. He’d lost his wife, his job, and uprooted his life. For a while there, he’d been about as miserable as any human could be while still functioning and pretending nothing was wrong.
She admired his strength, the way he’d pushed forward instead of giving in to grief. Had he loved his wife a lot? It seemed likely, given they’d been together so long.
