Christmas in the Cop Car (Sweet Home Alabama Book 4)

by Laura Trentham

  She practiced deep breathing exercises to keep from bursting into tears and embarrassing them both.

  A throat clearing cut them apart as if they were teenagers. Her mother leaned against the doorjamb. Kayla could smell the lotion she was rubbing on her hands. “We have early church tomorrow. Would you like to come with us, Jeremy?”

  Kayla smiled with what she hoped was encouragement. “Please come.”

  “That sounds real nice. Thank you, Mrs. Redmond.”

  “Call me Stacy.”

  Kayla mouthed “thank you” toward her mom and led him out onto the porch. The lights in the den and kitchen turned off, leaving them in darkness only broken by the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree in the window.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Jeremy pointed at the shadowed clump hanging over the porch stairs.

  “It’s mistletoe. It grows on a tree out back, and Mom hangs some every year. Free kissing opportunity with the UPS man, she says.”

  “Sawyer told me to find some mistletoe and kiss you.”

  “Did he?”

  “Yep. Gotta do what the boss says, right?”

  The kiss they shared started out sweet and gentle, full of the unspoken promises they’d made. Jeremy had dealt with more than she could imagine and come out a better man for it, but a wildness still lived in him. A wildness that spoke to something inside of her.

  That wildness took control. He turned her and pressed her against the pillar, his chest hard against her breasts. Their breathing quickened in tandem. She slipped her hands under his jacket and raked her fingernails over his shirt wishing she could rip it off.

  He broke their kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. “You think we can find some alone time tomorrow at my place? There’s something else I really want to give you.”

  The tease in his voice heightened her arousal and made her laugh at the same time. “Merry Christmas.”

  His voice veered serious. “Yeah. For the first time ever, I’d have to agree. Because of you.”

  Epilogue

  Six months later

  “So, that’s it?” Jeremy couldn’t quite squash the irony from his voice. The stack of papers he’d signed to buy the house had seemed endless and might have included references to his first born and soul.

  “Congratulations, Mr. Whitehurst, you’re officially living the American dream.” The realtor probably said the same in her too-perky voice to every new home buyer. But the words scrolled through his brain on repeat.

  The fucking American dream. For him. Five years ago he would have given odds that his future included following his mother to jail. Now he was a manager for Fournette Designs with an amazing girlfriend and a house.

  Granted, the unexpected inheritance from Henry Wilson had sped up his American dream. Henry had left him everything—his money, his store, his modest house. He and Kayla had taken a week off work and hit the road. Not for a vacation, but to soothe his demons. Their first stop was at the Women’s Penitentiary in southern Alabama to visit his mother.

  He’d had to grab hold of Kayla’s hand seeing the old woman walk toward them. Only her blue eyes, so like his, were familiar. In his memories, he’d clung to the memory of the still-hopeful woman in the picture he kept on his mantle.

  Yet, after they’d talked, he could see a flare of hope that still existed inside of her. She would get out soon, and Jeremy vowed to help her as best he could when the time came. For now, he promised to email her regularly. At their parting, she’d taken his hand and whispered how proud she was of him. The words had meant more than he could have imagined.

  From there, they’d driven into Falcon and found a welcoming party on their arrival at Logan and Jessica’s farmhouse. He’d almost cried. Jesus, Logan would’ve never let him live that kind of wussy shit down. But, over the next days, he settled his score with Falcon with Kayla by his side.

  He’d sold Henry’s antique store with everything in it to a pretty, enthusiastic redheaded woman who planned to refurbish old furniture and resell it at a premium. He wished her luck, but the tornado of energy that surrounded her seemed to signal her success. Not knowing when, if ever, he’d return, leaving Falcon in the rearview mirror had been bittersweet.

  But Cottonbloom was his home now. The Fournettes and Kayla and her mom were his family. He’d used part of the money from the sale for the down payment on the house he’d been renting. The rest he was saving for his future. One that he hoped included a wife and kids—eventually. He was living a dream he’d never had the courage to dream.

  Kayla was waiting. His house and his girl. He drove fast, but not too fast. He’d outgrown most of his recklessness. He pulled his motorcycle beside her car and took the front steps two at a time.

  She opened the door and threw herself in his arms. “Welcome home.”

  He twirled her around, laughing before walking her backward and closing the door with the heel of his boot. He hadn’t outgrown all of his recklessness. “It’s not a home until we christen it.”

  “As a matter of fact, I brought over a bottle of champagne to do just that.” She took a step toward the kitchen, but he grabbed her waist and turned her, pressing her against the door and smiling at her squeal.

  “That’s not how I christen houses.”

  “It’s not?” Still smiling, she cocked her eyebrows, probably guessing he was making shit up to get in her pants.

  “Nope. We have to do it in every room.” He took her wrists and pressed her hands against the door next to her shoulders and nipped her neck. The scent of her an instant turn-on.

  “We do?” Her head rolled to the side affording him a path to her delicate ear.

  “Yep. Twice. Pretty sure it was in the fine print of the stack of papers I signed.”

  “In that case… She wrapped a leg around his hip, and they proceeded to christen the house in love.

  Also by Laura Trentham

  Historical Romance

  Spies and Lovers

  An Indecent Invitation Book 1

  A Brazen Bargain, Book 2

  A Reckless Redemption, Book 3

  A Sinful Surrender, Book 4

  A Wicked Wedding, Book 5

  A Daring Deception, Book 6

  Contemporary Romance

  Sweet Home Alabama Novels

  Slow and Steady Rush, Book 1

  Caught Up in the Touch, Book 2

  Melting Into You, Book 3

  Christmas in the Cop Car, Novella 3.5

  Highland, Georgia Novels

  A Highlander Walks Into a Bar, Book 1

  A Highlander in a Pickup, Book 2

  A Highlander is Coming to Town, Book 3

  Heart of a Hero Novels

  The Military Wife

  An Everyday Hero

  Cottonbloom Novels

  Kiss Me That Way, Book 1

  Then He Kissed Me, Book 2

  Till I Kissed You, Book 3

  Christmas in the Cop Car, Novella 3.5

  Light Up the Night, Novella 3.75

  Leave the Night On, Book 4

  When the Stars Come Out, Book 5

  Set the Night on Fire, Book 6

  Fieldstones Adventure Novellas by Leah Trent

  An Impetuous Interlude, Fieldstones Adventure Book 1

  A Naughty Notion, Fieldstones Adventure Book 2

  A Mysterious Masquerade, Fieldstones Adventure Book 3

  A Dangerous Desire, Fieldstones Adventure Book 4

  I love to hear from readers! Come find me:

  Laura@LauraTrentham.com

  www.LauraTrentham.com

  Sign up for Laura’s Newsletter

  Join Laura’s Facebook Squad

  Are you interested in receiving a FREE book?!

  Join my newsletter! There will be links in your Welcome Email for TWO free books!

  Sign up for Laura’s Newsletter

  Interested in learning more about Falcon, Alabama?

  Read on for an excerpt of SLOW AND STEADY RUSH, Sweet Home Alabam
a, Book1…

  Darcy Wilde has tried not to live up to her last name. Living under the shadow of her mother’s reputation was tough on the bookish, shy Darcy, and she has built a life away from her football obsessed hometown. But when her beloved Grandmother needs help, Darcy takes a leave of absence and heads home, torn between love, duty, and resentment. She doesn’t count on the new football coach getting behind her defenses and teaching her how much fun it is to get a little wild.

  Robbie Dalton knows a thing or two about painful pasts. After bouncing around for years, he’s ready to settle down in Falcon, Alabama, as the high school football head coach. The pressure to turn the once prestigious team around after a drug scandal means Dalt can’t afford to make a mistake if he wants to survive the season. Sparring with the sexy, sharp-tongued librarian is a distraction he doesn’t need, but can’t resist.

  As soon as her grandmother is on her feet, Darcy plans to leave the Falcon city limits sign in her rearview mirror. But sharing her days—and nights—with the smoking hot football coach has left her confused. As the end of the season approaches, Darcy finds herself falling for the gruff, protective Robbie, but also the complex tapestry of people who weave Falcon together. Could this be where she belongs—and who she belongs with?

  July Falcon, Alabama

  “Abandon all hope ye who enter here,” Darcy Wilde intoned when the city limits sign came into sight. Tenacious kudzu vines wove up the metal poles and partly obscured the lettering. She gave it the finger. Childish? Yes, but infinitely satisfying.

  Blue and white lights whirled from the shadow of the trees lining the two-lane road. She dropped her head to the seat back and eased to a stop on the shoulder. The leather seat squeaked against her legs, and an asphalt-seared breeze ruffled her hair. A car door slammed, prodding her heart and bottoming out her stomach. She stole a peek in her mirror. The cop sauntered up with the gait of a former athlete, a football-sized paunch protruding over the strap of his gun belt.

  “Hot little ride, ma’am. Do you know why I pulled you over?” His drawl was self-satisfied and over-confident.

  “Not a clue.” She pasted on an innocent smile.

  “Going a little fast, and did I see you shoot me the bird, ma’am?”

  Her sigh wiped the smile away. Of course this was how her blazing reentry into Falcon would go. “Not you. The sign. How’ve you been, Rick?”

  The man settled one hand on the door, one on the front window joint, and loomed over the open convertible roof. His shadow offered a smidgen of relief from the early afternoon sun. Mirrored sunglasses disguised the roam of his gaze, but by the tilt of his head, he was checking out her legs, exposed by well-worn cutoffs.

  “Dar-cee Wilde. Well, I’ll be. Where you been hiding?”

  “Atlanta.” She hoped her frosty tone didn’t invite more questions.

  His neck craned to inspect the small backseat. Bags that wouldn’t fit in the convertible’s toaster-sized trunk crammed every nook. “Planning to stay awhile, are you?”

  She answered the obvious with a one-shouldered shrug. Rick had graduated a few years ahead of her, and had been the starting quarterback his senior year. He hadn’t been recruited to play college ball and stayed in Falcon, his once good looks marred by hard living and dissatisfaction.

  Rick didn’t attempt gentlemanly eye contact, his gaze fixed somewhere south of Darcy’s face. Lips pursed in a no-woman-can-resist-this smirk, he asked, “How about we meet up for a drink tonight?”

  Sweat trickled down her neck to her chest. Nothing, save being cuffed, could stop her hand from tugging the scooped-necked T-shirt north of her collarbone. “Are you going to write me a ticket or not?”

  “I’ll let you slide with a warning. Just this once. You in for that drink?”

  “Thank you kindly, but no.”

  “Really?” Honest surprise drawled the word. “Another time, then. I’ll be seeing you around, girl.” He rapped her door with a fist before pointing his finger in either promise or threat and disappearing into a black-and-tan police car.

  The cruiser slid onto the pot-holed road, spitting gravel and fishtailing like a peacock flashing its feathers. In contrast, she pulled out slow and sedate, and even used her signal. The buzzards lazily circling overhead were the only ones to appreciate her conscientious effort.

  One thing was certain. Word of her arrival would be around town by supper. A mile from the first traffic light, she turned onto a nearly invisible gravel road between a thick growth of trees. The car crawled through washed-out holes, jostling her side to side, until her grandmother’s house came into sight around a tight bend. The closer she drew, the more her anxiety rose.

  She had been raised in the house, for the most part. Occasionally her mother, cleaned up and ready to try again, would sweep into town and whisk her off to an apartment somewhere. Darcy was never there long enough to determine where she had landed. The tall buildings, endless sidewalks, and foreign smells made her imagine she’d rocketed to a different planet. Her only friends had resided in the books her grandmother pressed into her arms whenever she left.

  Soon enough, her mother would dump her back in Falcon with Ada, full of apologies and excuses. Ada would give her hugs, some cookies and milk, and her life would resume as if the jaunts had been weird little vacations.

  Darcy parked on the backside of an old metal shed in a small rectangle of shadow. She got out slowly and stretched, not quite ready to face the reality waiting for her inside. The grass had been mowed recently, the clippings green and the wild onions pungent. Bugs, frogs, and the caw of a pair of crows having a conversation broke the silence, but nothing rustled the trees. Everything was static, waiting.

  Leaving her bags, she rapped softly on the front door. No answer. Where was her cousin Logan? She let herself inside—the door never stayed locked—and called out softly, “Ada?”

  No answer. She called out again, her voice rising, “Ada.”

  Her heart tapped a quickened rhythm, and she rushed down the hall, checking each room. She found her grandmother asleep on a portable hospital bed in the den. Darcy sighed with a relief that was short-lived.

  A white sheet was tucked under Ada’s arms, and her hands were crossed as if positioned by an undertaker. Veins and tendons stood in stark relief under thin, age-spotted skin. Ada looked . . . old.

  That spring, they had gone to a Braves game and had cleared the vegetable garden for planting. Work had gotten busy, and Darcy hadn’t made it back to Falcon in a couple of months, but Ada had sounded like her strong and sassy self on the phone.

  Her grandmother stirred. She brushed a hand through her fluffy, white hair and heaved a yawn. Her eyes fluttered open. Seeing Darcy, she startled into the pillows before her lips curled into a welcoming smile.

  “Darlin’, you’re here. Thank God. I’ve got to take a piss, and I refused to ask Logan to help me. He’s off getting my pills filled.” Ada’s familiar sleep-dampened drawl made Darcy huff.

  “What’s your poison, bedpan or toilet?” Darcy forced a bright, unworried tone. Her grandmother’s usually rosy cheeks lacked color and were drawn tight.

  “As much as it pains me… bedpan.”

  As Darcy helped Ada, they both ignored the stark reality of the situation.

  “What did the muckity-mucks at Emory have to say?” Ada asked.

  “They’ll hold my job until the end of November. After that, it’s fair game.” At least two women were eyeing her job as head research librarian, and the thought of them jockeying for her position while she was on leave added to her already heightened anxiety.

  “I know how much you love Atlanta and your job. I’m sorry about this.” Ada waved a hand that seemed too heavy for her delicate wrist.

  A lump of emotion turned in Darcy’s stomach until she felt nauseous. She turned away to fold a fraying multicolored afghan blanket that had been around since her memories began. Sun and age had faded its once vibrant yarn.

  “I kept my apartment, and
we can see how things stand at Thanksgiving. I’m glad to be away from the bustle for a while,” she finally replied. The little lie added to the lump in her stomach.

  “I’ll be up and chopping wood by the holidays.”

  “Last I checked you have central heat and air. Why on earth were you out chopping wood in July?”

  “It keeps me in shape—”

  “You broke both hips. You are eighty-five. Next time take a Jazzercise class. Don’t go swinging an ax nearly as big as you are.” Darcy rubbed two fingers over the throb in her temple.

  Ada settled her arms across her chest. “I refuse to prance around at the Senior Center with a bunch of old ladies. Anyway, I save a fortune during the winter with my stockpile.”

  Darcy shook her head and saved her breath.

  Ada continued, “I have nursing help, and Logan got me a fancy new phone. I’ll not expect you at my bedside all the time, you know. I plan to catch up on my reading.”

  “Wouldn’t it be easier to move—just for a week or two—into the rehab center? I would be there every day.” Darcy held her hands up to deflect Ada’s glare.

  “Easier for whom?”

  “You wouldn’t be stuck waiting for someone to help you go to the bathroom. Logan’s busy doing whatever it is he does all day, and I’m not sure how best to help you. I’m a librarian not a nurse,” Darcy said.

  “Speaking of, I hoped you might pop around to the library and see how they’re managing without me. Those women will argue with an ear of corn.”

  Darcy wanted to steer them back on the topic of rehabilitation, but a logical argument wouldn’t help. Her grandmother had dug her heels in, and there would be no changing her mind.

  “I’ll swing by the library, but you know as well as I do no one can tell those ladies what to do.”

  Ada harrumphed and settled into her cocoon of pillows.

  “Did Logan mow?” Darcy flicked the drapes open to the vegetable garden and the woods beyond.