But she couldn’t help but wonder…what would the good citizens of Fielding think about Misty Foster being in Sheriff Jared Monroe’s house? Even if only for a few minutes?
No one could ever know she’d been there.
Chapter Two
Catching up to him easily, she wound her arm around his waist to steady him although his large frame overwhelmed her. If he went down he was taking the two of them.
“I don’t need any help.” The sheriff’s voice was gruff but she didn’t pay his stubborn self any mind.
“Apparently you do.”
They managed to stagger up the porch steps despite the strong gusts. When they arrived at the front door she expected him to unlock it but he simply wrapped his hand around the knob and gave it a twist, the door falling open.
“You should lock your doors. There are a lot of crazy people in this world.”
They both entered the house and he shut the door behind them. “Crazy enough to break into the sheriff’s house? I don’t think so. We’ve never had any problems on the ranch. If someone is lurking around here they’re more interested in the cattle than my flatscreen.”
He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it on the back of a chair. “Thank you for the ride home. I may sound ungrateful but you don’t have to babysit me. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine,” she shot back. “You look like you need some strong coffee and a couple of aspirin.”
Instead of denying it he nodded in agreement. “I think you’re right but the only thing I’m good for is lying down and sleeping.”
How many times had Misty fixed a pot of coffee in the middle of the night? If she had a nickel for every one she would have had the money to move to Seattle a long time ago.
“Lie down while I make you some coffee.” She shed her coat and was already heading to the kitchen, not bothering to listen to any of his protests. It was obvious he lived alone and he didn’t have anyone to take care of him.
The house was comfortable but definitely that of a bachelor with its brown and blue color scheme and spare decorations. There were no knickknacks on the shelves or matching dishtowels in the kitchen. Instead one wall was taken up with a gigantic entertainment center with a large television and shelves of books.
The kitchen was spotless as if it wasn’t used very often. The coffee pot sat on the counter and thank goodness it was a basic drip model, nothing complicated. The sheriff was still standing at the door as she pulled open cabinets. Finally he shook his head and dropped down onto the couch with a groan.
“Where do you keep your aspirin?” she called out as the coffee brewed, the smell beginning to waft around her. She loved the aroma of coffee but couldn’t stand the taste. She’d never understood the allure no matter how much sugar and cream she added.
“Drawer next to the silverware.” His arm was thrown over his eyes as he laid back on the couch, his boots still on and dripping on the crocheted afghan.
“You should take your boots off. You’re getting your couch wet and dirty,” she said as she filled a glass with water and found the correct drawer, shaking out two tablets. “You need to take these and drink this entire glass of water so you won’t be dehydrated in the morning.”
She stood over his reclining form and he pulled his arm away from his eyes and grunted.
“Damn, you’re bossy. I’m the one who usually gives the orders around here.”
He didn’t sound too put out about it though, not that she would have backed down. He was worse for drink and she was an expert on how to care for that.
“By tomorrow you’ll be ordering around the washing machine and telling the oven who’s boss, but right now you need to swallow these pills and drink this entire glass of water.”
Chuckling, his face split into a grin. “You’re brave—I’ll give you that. Most people wouldn’t dare talk to me that way.”
“Most people wouldn’t have offered to drive you home. They would have let you sit there as the temperature dropped and you turned into an icicle. A dead one. It’s hard to give orders with frozen lips.”
She held her hand out flat with the two tablets nestled there and the glass of water in her other hand. He reached for the pills, his fingers brushing her palm and her pulse leaped in response. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched her bare skin. Months? No, probably years. College, when she’d had a steady boyfriend, except she’d never reacted so strongly when he’d touched her. Her skin still tingled where the sheriff had rubbed against it.
Balling up her hand into a fist she shoved it behind her back, determined to ignore the ricochet of pleasure a simple touch had evoked. The sheriff tossed back the tablets and gulped down the water until the glass was empty. He slapped it down on the coffee table.
“Happy?” he asked, an eyebrow quirked in question.
“I’m not unhappy. You’re the one that would be suffering tomorrow if you didn’t do it. I’ll go get your coffee.”
She turned but he caught her arm and gently tugged until she was sitting next to him on the couch. He’d propped himself up on a few pillows so they were almost eye to eye. A smile played around his mouth as if he found her amusing.
“Relax for a minute. You’re strung awful tight, woman. Are you always this prickly?”
Her hip was pressed close to his own and the warmth easily penetrated the heavy denim of her jeans. He hadn’t let go of her hand and she was having a hard time catching her breath as his thumb brushed back and forth over a sensitive spot on her wrist.
“I need to get your coffee,” she said, a note of desperation in her voice that she didn’t like hearing. Was she such a pushover with a handsome man that his mere nearness was affecting her this way?
“It can wait.” His eyes narrowed as his gaze swept to her feet and back up again, a flush covering her body at his bold inspection. He didn’t bother to hide that he was looking at her. Assessing her. “You’d be a pretty thing if it weren’t for those clothes. They’ve got to be at least two sizes too big.”
Misty knew she wasn’t beautiful. She had a mirror in the bathroom and looked at herself every day while she was combing her hair or brushing her teeth. At most she was cute. Maybe. Her features were tiny to go along with her stature and she carried too much on top and on her hips to be fashionable. Misty had always thought her best feature was her pale blonde hair which she wore long, almost to her waist.
But none of that added up to pretty.
She tried her best to give him a cold look. “I don’t think my appearance is any of your business. Will you let me go now?”
His fingers were still wrapped around her wrist but he wasn’t hurting her, unless you counted how the heat simmered under his palm and sent bolts of electricity to her extremities.
“You’re right—it’s not.” He nodded, but instead of letting her go he curled his arm around her waist and pulled her even closer, his face inches away. “You have the prettiest pink lips. So full and sensuous. I can’t help but wonder what they taste like. I bet they taste like sugar.”
“They don’t taste like anything.” She shook her head but something in his hot gaze kept her rooted to the spot. Knowing she should move away and doing it were two very different things. She’d never had a man look at her…that way.
“I bet they do. I bet they taste sweet, Misty Foster. Let me thank you for saving me from freezing to death.”
He gave her plenty of time to pull away but she didn’t. She simply sat there as he moved closer, his lips tenderly brushing her own and sending shivers up her spine before claiming her mouth as if he owned it. She’d been kissed before of course, although probably less than most other women her age. Nothing had prepared her for this. His hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers twining into her hair while his mouth plundered and his tongue played. He tasted like whiskey and she should have found it disgusting, but the warm mellow flavor was instead intoxicating. By the time he lifted his head, she was a quivering mass of confus
ed arousal.
She couldn’t let this happen. Hadn’t she learned anything by now? He was no different than all the others here in Fielding.
Jumping up from the sofa, her face on fire, she smoothed down her thick sweater with shaky hands. “I think that’s enough, Sheriff.”
She tried to sound stern but she only sounded squeaky and unsure. She took a few breaths as her tumbling stomach settled in her abdomen, nauseated by her own behavior. She was better than this.
She wasn’t her mother.
“I’m not sure I’d ever get enough, Misty. Are you sure you don’t want to come back here and continue?”
Jared Monroe had that cock-of-the-walk grin on his face and for good reason. Misty doubted he’d been turned down by women very often. If ever. Of course he would be arrogant enough to think that kissing her would be some sort of payment for a job well done.
So this was going to be a shock. Good.
“I think when you’re completely sober you’ll be second guessing your behavior here tonight. I need to go. There’s coffee in the kitchen.”
Lifting her chin, she marched toward the door hoping he didn’t follow her. She tugged on her coat and fumbled in her pocket for her keys, peeking behind her. He was still half lying on the couch and for some reason she was disappointed that he hadn’t tried to stop her from going. Clearly she needed to get some rest. She was becoming delirious.
“Well, good night,” she said awkwardly as she opened the front door.
The sheriff swung his legs onto the floor and winced a little, his hand rubbing his head which was probably starting to throb. Hopefully the aspirin would kick in soon.
“Good night, Misty.” He had a big smile on his face. “Thank you for the ride home. And the kiss.”
“Don’t talk about that kiss,” she replied crossly. He really was the most arrogant, smug man.
“It was just a kiss. No big deal,” he said, folding his arms behind his head. “Drive careful, Misty.”
She didn’t bother to respond again since he wouldn’t understand. Turning swiftly on her booted heel, she fled from the house and down the front porch stairs, almost sliding on the ice but catching herself at the last minute.
From now until she left Fielding she’d make sure to stay far away from Sheriff Jared Monroe.
Chapter Three
Jared groaned and twisted on the couch. He ought to get up and climb into bed but he was mentally and physically wrung out. After Misty had left he’d laid here and dozed on and off, listening to the wind outside and worrying about everything from how he was going to tell his family about his dad to whether Misty had made it home okay. It didn’t make for peaceful rest.
Levering up from the cushions, he pulled off his boots and padded in stocking feet to the kitchen. One touch of his finger on the coffee pot told him it was ice cold. He poured out the liquid and made another pot, pressing the start button before heading back into the living room to check the thermostat. Misty had said something about the falling temperature and it appeared she’d been correct.
He hiked the thermostat up a few degrees and pushed the entryway rug against the bottom of the front door to seal out the chilly air. The glass of the window was cold under his palm and he took a moment to be grateful that Misty had been out driving tonight. Had the cab ever shown up? In his inebriated state he could have frozen to death out there. The whole drinking to get drunk thing had simply been a stupid as hell idea.
At least he was sobering up now. He didn’t enjoy the feeling of being out of control when he was drinking but he’d wanted to stop thinking about everything.
It had been what could only be described as a spectacular failure.
In addition he’d managed to honk off Misty Foster while he was at it. He didn’t think she’d liked the kiss near as much as he had, which was something he wasn’t used to. Most females were eager to kiss him. And more. Misty on the other hand had looked at him as if he were something…less than desirable. She’d been like an angry spitting kitten being given a bath instead of some affection. What would make her purr?
Shaking his head, he made a mental note to apologize next time he saw her in town. It might have been a harmless kiss, but she hadn’t asked for it and he wasn’t a man that condoned harassment of women in any form. He’d be humble and apologetic no matter how soft her lips had been under his.
And they had been silky soft.
He was enjoying that first cup of coffee and trying to not think about Misty Foster when he heard a banging on the door. Swearing under his breath, he knew it could only be one of his brothers at this ungodly hour. His bet was on Royce, who had been noticeably absent at the hospital all damn day.
“Come in, Royce. It’s open.”
“How’d you know it was me?” Jared’s older brother Royce ambled into the kitchen and didn’t bother taking off his coat before rummaging in the refrigerator. He smelled like cigarettes, booze, and sour sweat. Jared didn’t even want to think about what Royce had been doing for the last twenty-four hours.
“Because we’ve been looking for you all damn day. Where the hell have you been?” Jared pointed to the coffeemaker. “There’s not a lot of food but the coffee is fresh.”
Somehow Royce found a couple of store bought cookies and then poured himself a cup of coffee. Months of the good life had left its mark on Jared’s older brother. He looked tired and drawn, dark circles under his eyes – the same blue as Jared’s own. Normally fit and trim, Royce was sporting extra weight around his middle courtesy of too many beers and not enough hard work on the ranch. Ty, Jared’s younger brother and ranch foreman, said that Royce only showed up one or two days a week and then barely did anything at all. Mostly he drank black coffee and nursed a hangover.
“How did you know I was awake?” Jared asked, eyeing his brother suspiciously. Royce only showed up around here when he wanted something from Jared. “I could have been asleep or on patrol.”
Royce jerked his thumb toward the front of the house. “Well, for one thing, your lights are on. That was a pretty good indication that you were home. As for knowing that you were awake? One of my buddies said he saw you at the B&B tonight tying one on. Since when do you get drunk?”
One couldn’t underestimate the speed of gossip in Fielding. “I wouldn’t describe myself as drunk but yes, I had a few too many. So now that we know where I’ve been, where the hell have you been? Your absence was noticed, bro. Dad asked about you.”
After a fashion. Jared’s dad had asked if Royce was in school as if they were all still teenagers or something. The drugs they were pumping into him was a large part of it, but unfortunately there was more to it than that.
A pained expression flitted across Royce’s face but was quickly replaced with a mask of bland indifference. He’d always had a complicated relationship with their father. Royce had been Gerald Monroe’s favorite so he had been pushed and spoiled in equal measures.
“What did the old man want? I called the doctor this morning and Dad’s doing fine.”
Jared had to rein in his impatience with his brother. He’d always been like this, acting like he didn’t give a shit about anything. Grades. Girls. Sports. Gerald Monroe had pushed his sons to achieve – especially his oldest son – and Royce had spent the better part of forty years giving the old man the virtual finger.
“He is but he wanted you there.”
Royce threw back his head and laughed. “Bullshit. He had you, didn’t he? Daddy’s golden boy. The smartest kid. The best athlete. The greatest sheriff. Mister Fucking Perfect.” He leaned forward, a grin on his face. “Dad has never needed me, Jared. He only needed someone to carry on in his image. Congratulations, bro. You were stupid enough to do it. Me? I’m living my own life and having a great time doing it. I highly recommend it, by the way. Try it. Do something Dad doesn’t approve of. Just once.”
Royce had been singing this same song since they were kids. He thought doing the right thing was the same as knuckling under
to their dad while Jared thought doing the right thing…was…hell…the right thing to do. For its own sake. He’d never felt the need to rebel like Royce did and had often wondered why. Of course Gerald Monroe had been filled with plans for his oldest son, so perhaps he had felt the pressure more keenly than Jared.
“I’m not going around with you again about this, big brother. Stop blaming Dad for everything and look at the choices you’ve made. And he did ask about you today and you weren’t there.”
Royce leaned against the kitchen counter, a coffee cup in one hand and a smirk on his face. “I was busy.”
Jared slammed his mug onto the table. “Busy? Doing what?”
“The better question is who, little bro. The cutest little redhead in the county. Didn’t catch her name but we emptied a bottle of tequila between us before getting down to…business.”
Jared was exhausted and pissed off and his brother’s little speech hadn’t improved matters at all. Acid-like bile rose in his throat and something snapped inside. Before he could think it through he was up out of the chair. Grabbing Royce by his shirt, Jared pushed him against the wall so they were face to face. There was no way his brother was going to miss a word of what Jared had to say.
“Listen and listen good. The party is fucking over, do you hear me? I’m sick of your shit. All the whining and bitching about Dad and how he ruined your life. Tough. Dad is sick, Mom is gone, and Ty and I are not going to deal with this all by ourselves. So you better fucking sober up, keep your dick in your pants, and grow the hell up. Do you hear me?”
Royce’s face had gone white, his lips pressed together in anger. “I hear you.” He shoved at Jared but was too out of shape to budge him. “The doctor said Dad’s injuries were mild.”
Loosening his grip on Royce’s shirt, Jared stepped back and swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat simply thinking about his conversation with the doctors this afternoon.
“They were mild. That’s not the problem.” There was only one way to say it. Straight out. “Dad has Alzheimer’s, bro. It’s already started. You’ve seen how he is…always angry. Getting confused. Forgetting things and blaming it on others. It’s started. There are medications that can help but he needs to start taking them now not later.”
Imperfect Justice Page 2
