The Man Behind the Badge

by Sharon Archer

  Her hands were suddenly clammy against the stainless steel of the mug. She tried to think of something to change the subject.

  ‘Someone you went out with?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said reluctantly.

  ‘Close?’

  She tightened her fingers around the mug. ‘We were engaged.’

  ‘Past tense.’ After a moment he added, ‘But perhaps not very past tense.’

  ‘No, not very.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly, and tears prickled at the backs of her eyes. She’d thought she was all cried out over Keith. She was all cried out—it was Tom’s sympathy that was undoing her.

  ‘Don’t be.’ Her voice was husky with the choky feeling in her throat. ‘It was for the best.’

  ‘How long before you came up here?’

  ‘A couple of months.’

  ‘Rough?’

  ‘Yes, it was at the time.’

  ‘Tell me his name. I have connections. I’ll have him busted to constable.’

  She laughed despite herself, grateful to him for lightening the moment so her incipient tears could recede. ‘Tempting, but not a good idea. Besides…I think his connections are better.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Mmm.’ She pursed her mouth then told him the rest. ‘He was marrying his boss’s daughter.’

  ‘His boss’s daughter?’ He sounded thoughtful. ‘Using my superior powers of deduction, I’ll take a stab and say your father’s in the police force.’

  ‘Impressive, Sherlock.’

  ‘I think I can do better. Morgan? That wouldn’t be Assistant Commissioner Christopher Morgan, would it?’

  ‘It would.’

  She held her breath, waiting for his reaction. Would he be overawed by her father’s rank, the way Keith had? Would he see her as a way to fast-track his career?

  Tom was silent for a long moment and then he laughed—a genuine sound. ‘Yeah, I guess his connections are better. Still, he must have blotted his copybook with your father when you broke it off.’

  ‘Not really.’ The support from such an unlikely source pierced straight to her heart. The truth was, far from Tom’s assumption, her father thought she was a feather-brained female by breaking it off with his rising star. Now Tom, a man she hardly knew, was standing in her corner. No questions asked.

  She’d been a convenience for Keith—one that had become inconvenient when she’d confided in him about her brother-in-law’s pass. Even in private, he hadn’t been able to be a rock in her time of need.

  ‘Your dad took his side?’

  ‘My father didn’t know the whole story behind the breakup.’

  ‘And you think that’s okay?’

  ‘Not okay.’ She shrugged. ‘But unless he knew all the facts, how could he make a decision about whose side to take?’

  ‘You’re his daughter, his family. His allegiance should be automatic.’

  Should it? It hadn’t ever worked that way in her family. She was silent for a long moment. ‘You are a nice man, Tom Jamieson.’

  He made a hissing sound of disgust through his teeth. ‘Nice?’ His mouth curved and his eyes glinted with humour. ‘Well, it’s a long way from charming but it’s a start.’

  A small snort of laughter escaped. She bit her lip to smother the unfamiliar sound.

  Looking pleased with himself, Tom stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankles. She swallowed, all desire to laugh instantly subsiding.

  ‘What were your other two objections to me? Large and dominant?’ Tom asked. ‘I can’t do anything about large except to say I would never hurt you physically, Kayla. Never.’

  There was nothing but truth in his warm brown eyes. She ducked her head. ‘I believe you.’

  ‘Then that just leaves dominant. Is that such a problem? You’re pretty bossy yourself. You didn’t have any trouble telling me what to do at Andy’s accident. Or ignoring what I wanted you to do.’

  He was whittling away her objections, gently, thoroughly, leaving her naked, without protection.

  ‘You wouldn’t want a marshmallow man.’ He sat forward again, his voice pitched low and intimate. ‘You’d walk all over him.’

  She stood and walked to the kitchen set up to relight the billy. She had to do something with her hands and making a second cup of tea seemed as good as anything. ‘Did you want another cup of tea?’

  ‘No, but I would like you to stop avoiding me, Kayla.’

  She turned back to face him. ‘I’m not sure where you’re going with this. I’ve agreed that you’re nicer than I expected. I’ll even admit to the possibility that a warm, sparkling personality might lurk behind your rugged, law-enforcement-officer exterior. What more can I do?’

  ‘Come to my family’s barbecue tonight. We always get together on the Saturday night of the camp draft weekend.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t gatecrash a family tradition, and besides, I’m here with Liz and Jack.’

  ‘They’ll be there. All comers are welcome. There’s nothing exclusive about a Jamieson get-together. You’d have ended up coming across with them anyway.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He walked across and put his empty mug into the wash bucket. ‘This just means you’ll be there with me.’

  ‘Then I suppose it would be okay. Where is it?’

  His mouth twitched. ‘Over the other side of the arena.’

  ‘Okay.’ She lifted the lid on the teabag container and got one out. ‘Liz and Jack will know.’

  ‘They do.’ He looked down at her and said softly, ‘But make no mistake here, Kayla. I’m asking you to come with me, so I’ll come and pick you up.’

  ‘But it’d be just as easy for me to walk over with them, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘A gentleman always picks up his date from her front door,’ he said lightly.

  She scowled. ‘It’s a tent.’

  ‘From her tent flap, then.’ He grinned. ‘I want you to walk over with me, Kayla.’

  ‘Oh, very well.’ With fumbling fingers, she fitted the lid onto the canister. Picking the container up, she clutched it to her chest like a shield and turned to face him. ‘But since you’re so insistent on that, I have some demands of my own.’

  His eyelids drooped slightly, giving him a deceptive, sleepy look that was belied by the slow, sexy smile that touched his lips. ‘Tell me your demands and I’ll do my best to satisfy them.’

  Her heart kicked hard and scalding heat crawled up her neck, cell by cell, into her face. God, what did he think she’d meant? She longed to bring her hands up, press them to her cheeks, hide them from his gaze. Her fingers tightened on the canister, the plastic lip digging into her palm.

  ‘Ground rules,’ she blurted. ‘I mean I want to set ground rules.’

  His smile faded. ‘Ground rules?’

  ‘No…funny business. Strictly friends.’ Marvellous. She sounded as gauche as a teen going on her first date.

  ‘Of course.’ He nodded gravely, his eyes guileless as they held hers. ‘Best behaviour. Nothing you don’t approve of.’

  ‘Just as long as we’re clear.’ She tried hard to concentrate on his words, feeling there was a trap there but not able to concentrate her mind to identify it.

  ‘Crystal clear. Don’t look so worried. It’ll all work out, you’ll see.’ He grinned, a natural friendly expression not loaded with innuendo this time. She wondered if she’d misjudged him earlier. ‘I’d better get back to the arena to help out.’ He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  ‘Okay. Yes. Good. See you.’ The skin on her cheek tingled from his tiny caress.

  She watched him walk away, her eyes straying over the broad shoulders and straight back, the long legs. Her physical and emotional reactions mocked her. Clammy hands, racing pulse, abdominal gymnastics. How could she ever think she could desensitise herself against someone like him?

  He was a sexy man with a brand of masculinity her feminine weakness yearned t
owards.

  Blast him.

  She had to shore up her defences, try to contain her vulnerability. She was only here for another four months. Too short to explore anything even if she wanted to. Not that he’d asked her to… She had to remember, she had plans. Places to go, things to do. A rebellion and a search for herself as much as anything.

  Nothing that involved Tom Jamieson.

  Nothing that involved any man.

  Tom wanted to gentle her as he would one of his young foals, imprint her with the idea that he was someone she could trust, that he was someone she could let close, someone who wouldn’t betray her. Or ask more than she could give.

  But maybe he was lying to himself…wasn’t he already asking more than she wanted to give? She wanted to deny the chemistry between them and her defences were well honed.

  He’d made steps this morning, dispelled much of the chill between them but none of the sexual tension. Her astringent sense of humour had him on his toes to keep up with her. She was an interesting combination of good humour and vulnerability when she relaxed her guard.

  Liz had been right when she’d warned him that Kayla had been hurt. Tom clenched his jaw, feeling his teeth grind under the pressure. The men in her life obviously hadn’t appreciated her special blend of strength and sensitivity and honour.

  Assistant Commissioner Morgan was her father. Hard to imagine him being a parent. Must have been tough, being his kid. The man was a straight arrow, incorruptible, uncompromising and well-known throughout the force for his rigid, by-the-book approach to everything. For his job that approach was commendable.

  For raising a daughter…perhaps not quite so good. How did a child respond to that sort of environment? Perfectionism? Self-reliance? There was a key to understanding Kayla.

  And he really, really wanted to understand her.

  He remembered her flushed face when she’d been laying down the law about tonight. Clutching those teabags in front of her like some sort of talisman to ward off invaders. He had no problems with her ground rules.

  Not that it would stop him from prodding at the boundaries. But he’d always respect her. She had nothing to worry about.

  For now.

  He’d worked with horses all his life and had a horseman’s appreciation for the finer details of the chase. Of when to apply pressure to a wary creature and when to back off to get a filly to come to him willingly.

  But once she did, she was going to be his.

  CHAPTER SIX

  BACK at the arena, Kayla sat on one of the folding chairs in front of the first-aid tent and listened to the commentator announce the scores.

  The latest young competitor had had a disappointing run and now his beast trotted in brief, glorious freedom around the edge of the arena. Mounted attendants converged on the animal to usher it efficiently towards the race at the other end of the enclosure.

  Kayla swept her gaze over the riders absentmindedly and then continued to scan the area. A fizz of dismay and resignation rippled through her stomach as she realised she was searching for a particular tall, lean figure.

  Tom Jamieson.

  God, what was wrong with her? Tom wasn’t around—she should be glad, not trying to find him. Sure, they’d talked, settled some of her wariness. But that didn’t make them best buddies. And it was certainly no reason to be visually stalking him like a…camp draft groupie—if there was such a thing. The cup of tea they’d had together had been pleasant…fun, even…but it still didn’t mean she was going to seek him out.

  Tom had said he enjoyed crossing swords with her. She was honest enough to admit there was a perverse enjoyment in their tension-riddled contact. As though she was flying too close to the sun, flirting with something perilous yet irresistible.

  Though, to be fair, he hadn’t put a foot wrong. It was the way he made her feel inside. He didn’t have to do anything—just be himself. That aura of reckless danger radiated from him.

  In her heart, she knew she was no match for him. The courage it would take to keep up with a man like Tom Jamieson was beyond her grasp.

  She stood and moved restlessly around the tent, running a distracted eye over the supplies.

  A burst of static from the loudspeaker system cut into her. ‘The last rider into camp before we break for lunch is Ryan Collins on Misty Lady.’

  A collective gasp from the people on the small spectator stand nearby drew her attention back to the arena. She crossed to the fence as the stewards opened the double gates. A brown and white steer burst out of the camp, closely pursued by a slender rider on a grey horse. The fearless boy seemed younger than the thirteen she knew he must be to compete in the camp draft. Lanky, with an uncoordinated look, the way his arms were pumping to urge his horse to go faster.

  Unimpressed, the steer began to duck and weave, looking for a way to escape. Kayla’s heart leapt to her throat as the horse plunged to the side. The sudden move caught the rider by surprise and she could see his frantic grab for the saddle. For a moment she thought he might recover but in the next second he was tumbling, all long legs and arms, to land, hands first on the sandy surface. Kayla darted back to the tent to grab the medical kit.

  Her eyes fixed on the still, sprawled figure in the centre of the arena, she dashed towards the nearest gate. One of the spectators had it open for her.

  ‘Thanks.’ She threw the word over her shoulder as she ran. A man vaulted the fence further around the perimeter and in a dozen strides was beside the now-struggling child.

  Tom.

  Tossing his hat carelessly to the ground, he sank to his knees and reached out to help.

  By the time she took her last few steps, the boy was sitting up and cradled against Tom’s bigger, stronger body.

  ‘M-my arm hurts.’ The boy struggled to suppress his sobs but the tear tracks streaked through the dust on his pale cheeks. He clutched his arm to his body, his face screwed up with pain.

  ‘I know, Ryan,’ Tom said, his voice gravelly with sympathy. ‘Here’s the doc to patch you up.’

  The boy’s moisture-drenched dark brown eyes blinked at her warily.

  ‘Hey, Ryan. I’m Kayla,’ she said as she knelt beside the pair, noting Tom’s tender, supporting embrace. His eyes, when she met them briefly, mirrored Ryan’s anguish.

  Turning her attention back to her patient, she said ‘Let’s have a look at what you’ve done to yourself, shall we?’

  ‘It hurts t-too much.’ He hunched away, curling his face into Tom’s shoulder, protective of the injured limb and wanting to prevent her from touching it. ‘Uncle Tom?’ The plea stark with fear.

  Uncle Tom? Suddenly the family resemblance between the two was obvious—those thickly lashed, deep brown eyes, the wavy, nearly black hair. Ryan was the spitting image of how a young Tom must have looked.

  ‘Ry, you need—’ Tom began in a tortured voice.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Kayla interrupted gently, touching Tom on the hand as she addressed Ryan. ‘We can have a look at the rest of you for a minute, can’t we, Ryan? Is your arm the only bit that hurts?’

  He nodded, still huddling into Tom. ‘I th-think so.’

  ‘What about your head? Did you hit it when you landed?’

  ‘N-no.’

  ‘That’s good.’ She smiled at him. ‘Will you let me undo your helmet for you?’

  He uncurled a little and tilted his head so she could reach the chin buckle. She gently removed the protective cap.

  ‘I’m just going to touch your neck and back. I want you to tell me if anything hurts. Can you do that?’

  ‘Y-yes.’ Some of the tension eased across Ryan’s shoulders now that he realised she wasn’t going to insist on handling his arm immediately.

  Kayla pressed gently down his slender neck. ‘How’s that feel?’

  ‘O-okay.’

  ‘And here? Any pain?’ she asked. She worked around his shoulders and upper arms, acutely aware of the way Tom shifted his grip on his nephew, anticipating her moves, making
it easier for her to continue her examination.

  ‘No. It feels okay,’ said Ryan.

  ‘Good.’ She sat back on her heels and kept a hand on his shoulder as she did a visual assessment of his cradled arm. There was swelling, which meant the delicate bones at his wrist were obscured compared to his uninjured arm. But no blood, no obvious bone displacement, good colour in his fingertips. All positive signs. ‘Tell me about the pain in your arm. If I said ten was really, really bad and one was hardly hurting at all, how does yours feel?’

  ‘M-maybe an eight. Or—or a nine. B-but I don’t want an injection.’

  ‘No injections.’ She met Tom’s eyes briefly in silent communication before looking back at Ryan. ‘Do you have any medical problems, Ryan? Asthma? Anything else? Do you take any medicine regularly?’

  The boy shook his head.

  ‘He’s as fit as a fiddle,’ Tom said, reading her message and adding his confirmation to Ryan’s silent answer. ‘But you’re a bit accident-prone, aren’t you, matey?’

  ‘Yeah.’ A faint sheepish grin creased Ryan’s drawn face. ‘That’s what Mum says, too.’

  ‘Great. I have something that will help with the pain before we take a look at your arm.’ She dug out an inhaler and quickly charged it with liquid analgesic. ‘You need to pop the end in your mouth and suck air through it.’

  She read the child’s reluctance to let go of his injured limb. ‘How about we get your uncle to hold that for you? You just use it whenever you need to.’

  Tom adjusted his support of his nephew so he could take the assembled unit. The murmur of the crowd filtered into her consciousness while she waited for the boy to take a couple of good, deep breaths.

  ‘Ryan, I’m just going to take your pulse on your sore arm and then touch your fingers, is that okay? We won’t move it yet. I promise.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ryan sucked hard on the inhaler and his eyes followed her movements as she curled her fingers carefully around his wrist to feel for the radial pulse. As she expected, the beat was strong and steady, if a little rapid.