by Debbie Mason
“Ruby, hang up the damn phone,” he ground out as he stared down Dot, letting her know she wasn’t getting away with stirring the pot this time. He waited for the phone to disconnect but instead heard Ruby say, “Chief, I’m so glad you dropped by. We’ve got a big case, and I don’t think our boy is up for it.”
Chapter Three
At the chief’s muttered curse, Mallory’s gaze shot from the cars speeding along the highway to him. His display of anger surprised her. It seemed out of character. Granted, she didn’t know him all that well.
But last summer she’d gotten the distinct impression that Highland Falls’ new chief of police remained calm, cool, and collected in any situation. Now it appeared that a volcano of passionate intensity roiled beneath his calm and cool demeanor. A volcano of passionate intensity? Where had that even come from? And why on earth the evidence that Gabriel Buchanan’s emotions ran hot and passionate on occasion caused her stomach muscles to clench with desire, she had no idea.
She grimaced, remembering the last time her stomach muscles had clenched like that—about forty minutes ago when she’d been listening to her audiobook in the car. She supposed it made sense in an embarrassing sort of way. Ever since meeting Gabriel last summer, despite how their last encounter had ended, the hero in every book she read reminded her of him.
It didn’t matter if they had brown hair, red hair, or blond; brown eyes, green eyes, or blue; in her mind they all looked and sounded like Highland Falls’ dark-haired, gray-eyed, handsome chief of police.
Handsome? The man was beyond handsome—he was off-the-charts gorgeous. And still angry, she decided when the muscle in his chiseled jaw throbbed. Throbbed? Jaws clenched; they didn’t throb. No, no, no, she silently cried when images of clenching and throbbing body parts filled her mind.
Gabriel glanced at her with a disproportionate level of concern, and she wondered if she’d made the panicked sound out loud. Worse, were her lustful thoughts visible on her face?
Of course he couldn’t read anything on her face, she assured herself. It was his job to be concerned about people. Protective too, she thought, remembering how he’d stood up to Dot and stared down the seniors in the diner on her behalf.
He was strong and kind, a man you could depend on, a man whose reassuring presence and gentle squeeze of her shoulder had made her wish that she could turn back time, that none of what happened last summer had happened, that her stepsons weren’t missing, and she could, they could…
All right, enough was enough. This was getting completely out of hand. If simply looking at Gabriel Buchanan had her thinking of happily-ever-after, she needed to deal with her addiction to romance novels once and for all. A wave of panic swamped her at the idea of going cold turkey. She needed them. They alleviated her stress far better and far faster than anything else she’d tried.
That was it—stress. She didn’t have to stop reading her love stories after all. It was stress over the situation with Oliver and Brooks making her fantasize about Gabriel, envisioning him as her hero. She didn’t need to read or listen to less romance; she needed to read and listen to more!
But as soon as she had that sorted in her head, another equally disturbing thought popped into her brain. From what she’d overheard of his one-sided conversation with Ruby, Mallory had the distinct impression something was wrong. So maybe the concern she’d seen on his face seconds ago had nothing to do with her emitting a panicked squeak or him deducing the reason for her heated cheeks.
“Is everything all right, Chief Buchanan?” she asked, praying that whatever was wrong had nothing to do with her. She’d had enough go wrong today.
“It’s Gabe, and everything’s fine,” he said without looking at her. “Or it will be once I talk to your stepsons.” He lifted his chin at the silver truck barreling down the highway and started making his way across the parking lot.
She didn’t believe him. His earlier anger indicated that something was wrong. And if he wouldn’t look her in the eyes, she surmised that something had to do with her and the boys.
There’d been a time in her life when she would’ve given anything to have someone look out for her, to protect and shelter her. Apart from Harry’s Sean Connery good looks, his charm, and his kindness, those were the very reasons she’d married him—a man older than her own father.
She hadn’t known or admitted it to herself then, but she’d had lots of time to ruminate over her choices this past year. She wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She didn’t need someone to protect her or to make decisions they believed were in her best interest. She could take care of herself…and her stepsons. Although she was doing a lousy job of that to date. But, clinging to the hope that Christmas was the answer, she truly believed that was about to change.
As if to encourage her, the blow-up Santa waved. It was probably a gust of wind but it felt like a sign she was on the right track, and she really needed a positive sign right then.
She hurried after Gabe. He turned just before she reached him. His eyes hidden behind his aviators, he held up a hand. She might not be able to read his expression but she sensed his tension.
“What is it? What’s wrong? Other than Oliver and Brooks’s accusations against me, I mean,” she said as she tracked the silver truck now pulling into the lot. She went up on her toes to see if the boys were in the cab.
“I need to talk to your stepsons without you around, Mallory. It might take a few minutes. Why don’t you wait in your car?”
“I thought you believed me. You told Dot—”
He rested his big hand on her shoulder, giving it another gentle squeeze. “This has nothing to do with whether I believe you. It’s standard procedure. The boys made an accusation against you, and it’s my job to investigate their complaint. For them to speak freely when I question them, they have to feel safe.”
Her pulse raced. “Do I need a lawyer?” She blinked when he hesitated. Nerves had made her blurt out the question. She hadn’t actually thought a lawyer would be necessary.
“Let’s just take this one step at a time. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just relax, okay?” He glanced over his shoulder when the barrel-chested man Mallory had almost bumped into earlier opened the truck’s door and climbed out.
“Five minutes ago, I thought it would be fine too. But ever since you took that call, you’ve been acting different. Toward me. What happened between then and now?”
He rubbed a palm over his jaw, the dark stubble making a scratchy sound. “You don’t miss much, do you?”
“Apparently I do, or I would’ve seen the boys climbing out of the bathroom window, crossing the parking lot, and sneaking into your officer’s truck.”
“Trust me, I’m trained to be observant, and you wouldn’t believe what my boys have gotten away with.”
“You—” Her voice cracked, and she cleared her throat. “You have sons?” The smile she offered him was strained; any romantic fantasies she might’ve entertained featuring her and Highland Falls’ chief of police in the leading roles went out the window. She could barely manage having two boys in her life. There was no way she’d get involved with a man who had two of his own. She might consider it if he had a daughter, a newborn, or even a toddler.
“I do.” He smiled. “I have three sons. The twins, Cody and Dylan, are ten, and Teddy is almost six.”
“Oh, how lovely,” she said, and any desire she might’ve felt for Gabriel Buchanan went out the same window as her fantasies.
“Yeah? Then how come you look like you’re going to throw up?” He laughed, and it was such a warm, sexy sound that she almost questioned her newly formed rule of never dating a man with children, especially male children.
“Chief.” His officer waved him over, so Mallory didn’t get a chance to answer. Which she decided was a good thing, because what was she supposed to say?
She definitely had something to say to her best friend, Abby Everhart, who’d failed to mention in their twice-weekly conversations tha
t Gabriel Buchanan had three sons. Despite sharing that he was a widower in nearly every one of those phone calls, something Abby had decided made them perfect for each other, no matter how often Mallory told her she wasn’t interested.
Gabe lowered his shades. “Mallory?”
“Yes?”
“You were going to wait in your car?”
“Oh right, I’ll—” She glanced to where his officer helped the boys jump down from the truck. “I really think I should be there when you talk to them. They don’t realize how serious this is.”
“I’m sorry, but you can’t be, Mallory. I’ll make sure Oliver and Brooks understand exactly what the consequences of bringing the charges against you are, and that there are serious repercussions if I discover they’re lying.”
“They’re not bad boys. They’re really not. They’ve been through a lot.” She glanced at Oliver, who appeared to be comforting his brother, and her heart squeezed. “I should’ve tried harder to convince Marsha to keep them or even to get Harry’s brother to take them. At least they’d be living a life they’re accustomed to.”
“Why didn’t you fight harder to get them to take the boys?”
“Because they didn’t want them, and no child should ever feel unwanted. Sorry,” she apologized for the forceful way she’d spoken. “I’ll wait in my car. Tell the boys I’m sorry for taking them from their friends and uprooting them again. I just…I didn’t have any other options available to me.” She turned away before the tears welling in her eyes could fall. She didn’t want Gabe or the boys to see her cry.
At the continuous tinkle of bells, she glanced at the diner. There seemed to be a mass exodus underway. She doubted it was a coincidence. Bowing her head, she fast-walked to her car, blocking out the looks being cast her way and the whispered speculation.
She was something of an expert at hiding her feelings. It was how she’d survived all those years in foster care. No one knew how scared and lonely she’d been. No one knew the hurt she’d carried inside. But today wasn’t just about her. It was about Oliver and Brooks too.
She glanced over her shoulder, relieved to see that Gabe was shielding her stepsons from the curious onlookers. Though it meant she couldn’t see them to gauge if they were telling the truth or continuing to lie.
From the way Gabe nodded every so often, she knew the boys were at least talking. Gabe appeared to be entering some of their comments into his phone. Oliver’s comments, she imagined, knowing from experience that he spoke for the two of them. Even if he wanted to, Brooks wouldn’t go against his big brother. She’d seen the power dynamics play out before.
Although it made her life difficult, she envied their closeness. In foster care, she’d learned the hard way that to grow close to someone only ended in heartache so she’d rarely let anyone in. She would’ve done well to remember that in college. Except if she hadn’t gotten close to Harry’s niece, Blair, Mallory never would’ve met him.
And you wouldn’t have gone through years of heartache and pain. She gasped at the disloyal thought. It was nerves and exhaustion. She loved Harry. She did. He’d been good to her. No one had ever treated her as well or given her so much. Far more than she’d deserved.
She slowed as she approached her car, digging in her purse for her keys. She found them and beeped the lock, anxious to hide away in her car. But just as she was about to open the driver’s-side door, Oliver’s voice stopped her cold.
“You’re lying! Marsha does so want us. Tell him. Tell him the truth,” Oliver yelled as he ran across the parking lot, dodging a car pulling out, to confront her.
Mallory’s jaw dropped as she looked from Oliver—his cheeks flushed, his eyes angry and tear-filled—to Gabe, who was following close behind with Brooks. “How could you? I told you that in confidence.”
Gabe blew out a breath and rubbed the back of his neck. “I know. I’m sorry. But you don’t understand what’s at stake, Mallory. The boys needed to know how serious this was for—”
Oliver scrubbed viciously at his eyes while shaking his head. “It’s not true, it’s not. She’s lying.”
“I’m not. I wish I was for your and Brooks’s sake, Oliver. I truly do. But Marsha…” She trailed off, at a loss as to what to say without hurting them further. “You’re right about one thing: I did lie about fighting for custody of you. I would’ve though. If you take nothing else away from this, know that I wanted you guys. I still do. But Marsha, she’s…she hasn’t been well, and she’s getting old…er. You’d recently lost your father. She didn’t want you to face another loss so soon.” For goodness’ sakes, she was basically killing off the woman. “Not that she’s going to die in the near future. But you know Marsha. She’s a hypochondriac.” That at least was true.
As Brooks moved to his brother’s side, Gabe looked around the parking lot. “We should probably head to the station. We can get everything sorted—”
Mallory’s hand went to her throat. “Police station? I don’t understand. Why would we have to go to the police station?”
“Because you’ve been starving these poor children to death, that’s why.” The diner’s owner, wearing an oversized winter jacket, pushed past Gabe to hold out takeaway bags for each of the boys. At the smell of burgers and fries emitting from the bags, Mallory’s stomach gurgled loudly enough for everyone to hear. Self-consciously, she placed a hand on her stomach.
“Thank you,” Oliver and Brooks said as they accepted the bags. Then they shared one of their silent conversations. After which Oliver gave his brother a nod, and Brooks, looking from Gabe to Dot, said, “Mallory doesn’t starve us, and she doesn’t lock us in our rooms.” He cast a sheepish glance at Mallory and lifted a shoulder. “We didn’t want to leave our mates. We thought we could live with Marsha. We didn’t know she didn’t want us. You should’ve told us.”
“You’re right. I should have. I’m—”
“Now, now, don’t let her intimidate you, boys. I’m sure the lady from social services will find a nice home and family for you to live with.”
Mallory stared at Gabe. “Social services? You called social services on me?”
“I didn’t call them, but there is a caseworker at the station. Don’t worry, we’ll get this straightened out right away.”
“I’m supposed to believe that? I should’ve known better than to trust you.” After having been arrested by him last summer, she certainly should have. But she’d let herself get taken in by a pretty face, by his kindness and protective concern. She was such an idiot, falling into the same pattern. Hoping that the big, strong, handsome man would rescue her. She’d learned the hard way she needed to be her own hero, and she’d be the boys’ too. Whether they wanted her to be or not.
But judging from the panicked expression on Oliver’s face as he wrapped an arm around his brother’s shoulders, they’d be okay with her stepping in on their behalf.
As Oliver’s plea a second later proved. “You can’t let them take us, Mallory. They’ll separate me and Brooks.”
She put a hand on his shoulder and one on Brooks. “No one is taking you away from me. You got that? No one.” She opened the car door. “Get in, boys.”
“What are you doing? Stop her! She’s going to drive off with those boys,” Dot said to Gabe.
“I’m not driving off with them. I’m going to the station.” She opened the driver’s-side door and slid behind the wheel before Gabe could stop her.
“Mallory, wait.” He held the door open. “For your sake, you shouldn’t—”
“You can talk to my lawyer.” She went to close the car door with one hand while pressing the ignition button with the other. At the same time the engine started up, so did her audiobook.
At the sounds of lovemaking filling the car, she released a horrified squeak and tried clicking off the audiobook while simultaneously pressing the radio button on the steering wheel to lower the volume. Instead, she raised it. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized how much the narrator
sounded like her.
Chapter Four
Gabe held open the door to the station for Mallory and her stepsons. Her head was bowed, the boys trailing behind her. “It wasn’t me on the tape. It was an audiobook,” she said.
“I didn’t think it was you.” Half the crowd gathered outside the diner had, but not him. Did he maybe fantasize that it was on his drive back to the station? Probably not a good idea to let your mind go there right now, he told himself. Especially with Mallory looking up at him with her windblown hair and flushed face.
He wondered if she had any idea how incredibly beautiful she was. He didn’t get the impression that she did. She was unassuming and soft-spoken. Unless you threatened her stepsons, he thought with an inward smile.
Even if he hadn’t appreciated her taking off with the boys in her sweet-looking black Jag, he’d admired the fire in her eyes when she’d gone all protective mama bear on him. Except she’d put him in a difficult situation. And the difficult part of the situation was sauntering toward them with a bowlegged gait.
“There you are, son. Wondered when you’d finally show your face,” former chief of police Owen Campbell said, looking like a villain in an old Western. All he needed to do to make the image complete was twirl the end of his silver handlebar mustache.
If someone were to have told Gabe that the former chief of police came with the job, he would’ve refused to take it. He’d liked the older man well enough when they first met, but that was before he became his shadow at work.
“Now, I’m not a man to tell someone how to do their job”—he told him every single day—“but just so you know for next time, it’s kinda frowned upon to let the suspect drive her and her victims to the station. Don’t worry though; I covered your behind with the gal from social services.”
