by JoAnn Ross
“Well. That’s a plus,” he said drily, the part of his brain still with caveman DNA wanted to go to LA, find any and all of the guys who’d ever laid a hand on her or forced any other sick show of power on her and twist their fucking heads off. A thought belatedly occurred to him. “Damn. You did know I was just kidding about that dick pic I promised not to send you while we were talking in the market, right?”
The concern that had remained in her eyes from her news was replaced by a warmth that he wouldn’t mind waking up to every morning for the rest of his life. “Of course I knew you’d never do that,” Jolene said. “Though,” she suggested, her gaze dropping to below his belt, “it would make a very impressive Snapchat photo.”
She walked the few feet toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’ll admit that being blacklisted is upsetting,” she admitted. “So, living up to that service part of your civic duty, how about taking me back to bed and making me feel better, Chief Mannion?”
Aiden did not have to be asked twice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
IT WAS MORE than obvious that the Mannion men—Aiden and Michael—were, as the Facebook page announced, in full courtship mode of both Wells women, providing amusement to seemingly all the residents of Honeymoon Harbor. Seth even informed Aiden that there was betting taking place at the pub as to which Mannion would propose first. Jarle had been put in charge of holding the money.
Two days after the tree lighting, Aiden and his uncle showed up on Lighthouse Lane with three Christmas trees, lights and extra ornaments, because, as Mike explained they figured Gloria wouldn’t have enough ornaments for both a tree in the salon and in her apartment, and any Jolene might have had would have been lost in the fire.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Jolene said as Aiden carried hers into the cottage.
“It’s not like my family doesn’t have an entire farm of them,” he said as he set the trunk in its metal stand.
“I never had a tree in California,” she said.
“Not even an artificial one?”
“Nope.”
“Any reason why not?” His brow furrowed after he finished tightening the long screws that would keep the tree upright. “Because I can take it back, if you don’t like it.”
“It’s beautiful.” And as perfect as any she’d ever seen. Any set director looking for a tree for one of those Christmas movies her mom and Shelby loved so much would’ve snatched it up on the spot.
Jolene could tell he was puzzled. She wasn’t used to sharing personal aspects of her life, which was why, not only was she a serial dater, she tended to stick to guys in the business because all of them—camera operators, gaffers, grips, stunt coordinators—loved to talk about themselves. What shows or films they’d worked on, what stars they’d met, occasionally, most often in the case of the stunt guys, what actresses they’d slept with.
But, she reminded herself, she’d always shared everything with Aiden. The same way he had with her. He knew about how much it hurt to have those false rumors about her mother, and herself, and the difficulties of both loving, but occasionally hating her father. She knew how frustrated he was at feeling that he was always expected to properly represent a respected pioneer family.
Now, they’d finally made love. And not just the night of the tree lighting, but it was as if she couldn’t get enough of him, and he’d assured her he felt the same way. They’d shared their lives and now they’d shared their bodies. It seemed wrong to hold anything back.
“It’s just that Christmas trees bring back memories of my family’s last Christmas together. Before my dad robbed the liquor store.” Complicating her feelings about that was his defense that he’d committed the crime to get the money to buy her mother a pair of sparkly CZ earrings for their anniversary. “He got drunk and fell into the tree, knocking it over and shattering all the ornaments.”
“As my old surfer partner would say, that’s a bummer,” Aiden said as he began stringing the lights onto the tree. “I guess the thing to do is to make some new happier memories.”
Which they did, as they’d decorated the tall, fat, fragrant fir together, while Bing Crosby crooned about a white Christmas, Elvis sang about a blue, blue one, Perry Como was coming home for the holidays, and John Mellencamp saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus.
Afterward they sat in front of the two-sided gas fireplace Seth had installed, eating decorated cookies Aiden had bought at Ovenly and drinking hot chocolate while Celtic Woman walked in a winter wonderland.
“You even remembered the miniature marshmallows!” Jolene had exclaimed after he’d pulled the package of tiny pastel pillows of sugar from the bag along with the box of cocoa mix.
“I’m a cop,” he’d said. “We have good memories and are, by nature, very detailed oriented.”
Later, as she’d laid on the soft rug, gazing up at the sparkling lights in the dark, after Aiden had demonstrated exactly how detailed he could be, making every part of her body hum with pleasure, Jolene decided that this was, hands down, the best night of her life.
* * *
OVER THE NEXT WEEK, after Aiden would leave the cottage for work, Jolene worked on her skin care line, creating a fluffy coconut almond shea butter body moisturizer with rosemary and lavender oil that felt wonderful going on and made her skin soft and glowing. Gloria tried it out in the spa and all the women with skin dried out from winter heaters had proclaimed it a winner and asked when they could buy it. Another favorite proved to be a hydrating face mask made with yogurt, honey, coconut oil and cocoa. The only problem was it left clients hungry for chocolate, so, along with the cupcakes, Gloria started stocking dark chocolate sables, an intensely flavored delicate cookie from Ovenly that took shortbread to a whole new level.
One of Jolene’s goals was to create products that would have a long shelf life without resorting to commercial preservatives that would defeat the organic properties of her line. When using it in the spa, she could make a small batch each morning. But she knew that Gabriel Mannion, who’d called and talked with her for over an hour, after which he’d asked her to send him a projected profit and loss sheet, a business plan and some samples, would want a more commercial product capable of being produced in larger quantities.
She was trying out an avocado mask that would stay safe and fresh for two years, when Aiden returned from work.
“Hey beautiful green-faced alien lady, what have you done with my woman?”
No man had ever called her his before, and although even two weeks ago she would have probably told him that he didn’t own her, Jolene secretly admitted she liked being his woman. As he was her man. And now she was paraphrasing one of the most sung karaoke songs out there.
“I was trying out a new face mask. And didn’t expect you home so soon.” Home was a slip, but if he noticed, he didn’t comment on it.
“I took off early to take you to dinner.” He crossed the room, leaned forward, kissed her on her lips and sniffed appreciatively. “I was thinking Italian at Luca’s, but now you have me craving Mexican takeout from Taco the Town.”
“It’s the avocado oil and lime,” she said. “It probably reminds you of guacamole.”
“That’s probably it. It smells great, but I think so far, my all-time favorite is the chocolate.”
“That’s because it was edible,” she said.
He waggled his dark brows in an exaggeratedly rakish way. “That’s definitely the reason. And I plan on trying that again the next time you make a batch, but in the meantime, how would you like to go on an errand with me?”
“Where are we going?”
“To pick up my dog.”
“Oh, yay. Let me go wash my face. How exciting! Are we bringing her back here?”
“Only if you want to. And if your mom wouldn’t mind her being in the cottage.”
“I love dogs. And Mom has a pet-frie
ndly rental policy.” She gave him a huge kiss, rubbing some of the avocado mask onto his face. “I’m sorry. Let me get a wet cloth and I’ll wipe it off.”
“Or we could both wash off together in the shower,” he suggested.
She was so, so tempted. “What about the dog?”
“I told Cam I’d be there within the next hour. Are you up for a quickie?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t had one yet.”
“Well, damn.” He scooped her up into his arms and carried her into the bathroom. “We’re going to have to take care of that lapse.”
Her apartment had burned up, she was being blacklisted and she may or may, at this very moment have reporters from TMZ and other media outlets looking for her. But as Aiden pulled her under the rain shower head, Jolene no longer cared about any of that.
* * *
THE DOG WAS, Cam Montgomery told them, a tri-black Aussie, who was black with white markings on her face, chest, legs and underparts with copper points on her face and legs. Her tail had been bobbed, which had her looking a little funny as she wagged her furry butt in a wild welcome at Aiden, who, Jolene learned, had been visiting here at least daily. Fortunately, her leg hadn’t been broken, but merely sprained.
“Is that lack of a tail natural?”
“There are some who’ve been bred to be born without a tail, but most are bobbed by breeders while they’re puppies for cosmetic reasons. The AVMA is against bobbing because it’s unnecessarily painful and takes away an important way dogs communicate with other dogs. But, as you can see, she manages just fine, anyway.”
“She’s beautiful.” Jolene knelt down and ran her hand through the thick silky fur. “I always wanted a dog, but my lifestyle’s never really allowed for one.”
“You can share mine,” Aiden offered. Avoiding answering, she scratched behind the Aussie’s ears, earning more butt wagging and a big swipe of a tongue on her cheek.
“What are you going to name her?” she asked.
“I haven’t come up with one yet,” he admitted. “It’s a big responsibility.”
“I vote for Angel.” Jolene hugged her tightly, which the sixtysomething-pound dog seemed to like just fine. “Because it’s Christmas, and she’s such an angel.”
“It’s not a very manly name,” Aiden said.
“She is a female,” Cam pointed out.
Aiden laughed. “It’s two against one. Though I was planning to have her trained as a police dog and it’s not the most fearsome name out there.’
“She’s not a fearsome dog,” the vet said. “She’s easygoing, but she is a working dog with a lot of energy, so you’re right to give her a job.”
“You could do walking patrols with her downtown,” Jolene suggested. “Maybe take her to schools. Like those Officer Friendly visits I remember.” Though the former chief had brought along a more typical German shepherd.
“You do realize that school visitations are something officers are assigned for punishment?”
“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Jolene argued. “Chief Swenson came to Roosevelt School when I was a student there. She’d be great with kids, wouldn’t you, Angel?”
The dog, hearing the friendly, encouraging tone in Jolene’s voice, wagged her furry black butt in full agreement.
“She could also easily be trained as a comfort dog,” Cam said. “That could be useful in your line of work.”
“I sure could’ve used Angel to hug the night my apartment burned down,” Jolene echoed that idea.
“There you go with the name again,” Aiden grumbled, but he didn’t sound truly annoyed.
“It’s a perfect name,” Jolene pressed. “You’re not planning to teach her to tear her teeth into jaywalkers, or kids egging cars on Halloween, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then, not only is it a perfect comfort dog name, it’ll also make you seem more accessible. Also, all those negative people who still are waiting for your former bad boy to show up, would cave when they saw you walking or driving around with this beautiful ball of fluff named Angel. You’d be like Officer Friendly, which admittedly might not work as well in the city, but is perfect for Honeymoon Harbor.”
“She’s got a point,” Cam pointed out. “She could be your police ambassador. The same as the dalmatian Flynn Flannery adopted six months ago for the fire station. Sparky has ceremonial duties like riding in parades and greeting station visitors. They also taught him to stop, drop and roll on command. Flynn won over the city council by telling them that kids today like interactive learning and they’ll remember Sparky doing that a lot more than reading it in some brochure they hand out. The dog even has his own business card with a paw print signature.”
“And I’ll bet you wouldn’t have thought Sparky was a manly name at first,” Jolene continued to press her case. “But it’s perfect for a fire station. If you’re planning on using her as a comfort dog, Angel is a great fit. Also, as I said, it’s a perfect name for a dog who’s rescued at Christmas.”
Aiden threw up his hands, tossing in the proverbial towel. “I surrender. Angel it is.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
FIVE DAYS LATER, after some slow morning lovemaking, as she dressed in a long-sleeved purple T-shirt with black leggings and red-and-purple-striped socks, Jolene looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Wow. If people discovered that the secret to glowing skin was simply a lot of excellent sex, she’d never get her business off the ground.
Aiden, who had to be at the station before she started her work, nevertheless brought her a mug of hot coffee before he took the first shower. Some mornings, when he didn’t shower alone, the coffee cooled before she could drink it. This morning, a delicious aroma drew her like a cartoon character out of bed. She slowed only long enough to put a pair of pajamas on (an advantage of working at home), and found him at the stove. Angel was sitting up, watching him with the patient intensity she might watch a herd of sheep she was protecting from coyotes.
“What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast.”
“But you always stop at Cops and Coffee.”
“I probably still will. But we had some sauce left over from that takeout chicken cacciatore last night, so thought I’d make you an omelet.”
“Why?”
“Weren’t you listening to the conversation at Thanksgiving? A guy cooking for a woman is supposed to be sexy.”
“You don’t need to cook to be sexy,” she said. “In fact, with your body, if they try another reboot of Baywatch, you could win the David Hasselhoff role.”
“Now there’s a career goal,” he said drily as he grated cheese onto the egg in the pan. “If I’d have thought of it, I might’ve stayed in LA.”
She laughed. “I’m glad you didn’t,” she said, still unsure if she’d be going back, then put that concern out of her mind to watch with fascination as he folded the omelet into thirds and slid it onto a plate he took from the oven’s warming drawer. “But that’s a pretty impressive move.”
“I’ve been told by a certain gorgeous redhead that I have excellent hand moves,” he said, as he took a plastic container out of the microwave and topped the omelet with Luca’s spicy Italian sauce.
“Sit. Eat,” he said. “From what I’ve seen, you’ve haven’t eaten anything but dinner since the tree lighting.”
“I’ve been busy.” On the outside chance Gabriel Mannion would make it home for Christmas, she wanted to have a good selection of products to show him. “Besides, I’m living on love.”
She cut off a piece of the omelet and bit into it. “Okay, if you made me this every day, I might reconsider.” She looked up at the clock. “You still have time. Sit down and share. We’ve only ever had breakfast together on your day off.”
“Because we spend so much time in bed before I have to leave,” he said, never
theless pulling up a stool to the bar and sitting beside her. “Being a cop, especially a chief, isn’t a nine-to-five job.”
“So I’ve discovered.” She took another bite of the omelet that Julia Child might have envied. “This is really delicious.”
“Luca did the hard part with the sauce,” he said. “I just made the eggs.”
“I can scramble an egg,” she said. “Some days.” Other days, it ended up as sort of a dry egg pancake. “If you’d become a fireman, instead of a cop, they’d definitely make you the firehouse cook.”
“Running into burning buildings never really appealed to me,” he said.
“You’d rather run into bullets? Like Superman?”
“That doesn’t happen that often.” He took a drink of coffee. “So,” he said with forced casualness, “do you think you could ever marry a cop?”
She froze for a moment and had to tighten her fingers around the fork to keep it from clattering to the plate. Or floor, which was probably what Angel, who’d switched her unwavering gaze to Jolene, brown canine eyes following the fork from plate to mouth was hoping for.
“I’ve honestly never thought of marriage at all,” she said, her own casualness as forced as his. Except that one summer of teen girlish fantasies, which she knew enough not to bring up.
“I never did much either,” he said. He polished off his half of the omelet, then took his plate over and put it in the dishwasher. “When I was a Marine, I didn’t want to risk leaving a widow at home. Then the jobs I was doing in LA definitely didn’t lend themselves to a happy home life. But lately, it’s crossed my mind from time to time.”
“Fifty percent of marriages don’t work.”
“Cops deal in facts, and you’d have to prove to me that’s an actual statistic and not some number floating around for years,” he argued. “But even if it is true, that’s a glass half-empty way of looking at it. Maybe because you work in an industry that admittedly doesn’t have the best success rate. Conversely, again, even if it is true, that I personally doubt, 50 percent of marriages do make it. Just think of the couples around the Thanksgiving table. Harriet and Jerome, John and Sarah, Ben and Caroline—”
