Mr. Serious

by Danica Winters

  Christina smiled. She could learn a few things from Eloise.

  “Okay.” From the way Waylon stood there looking at his mother for a moment, it was easy to see he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press them further. He shook his head and turned away from them toward the hall. “If you are all ready, I’m proud to present Princess Leonia of Leo Land and her cat, Mr. Puffy Face.” He gave an over-the-top whirl of the hand and a deep, exaggerated bow.

  He stood up and started to hum the theme song for the Miss America pageant. Christina couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her. It was surreal to be watching the oh-so-handsome MP doing tongue trills for the entrance of a two-year-old.

  Winnie marched into the kitchen. Her walk was more like the cowgirl she was instead of the princess she was pretending to be. She had on the pink Sleeping Beauty gown, her bandaged arm was wrapped with tinfoil to make it look like a clunky sword and she wore a foil crown. The crumpled and uneven crown had two large spikes Christina was sure were supposed to be purely decorative but looked conspicuously like devil horns.

  Winnie had on bright pink lipstick that was smeared over her teeth as she smiled, and it was heavy on the left side of her mouth, like Waylon had pressed too hard while applying. Winnie smiled brightly, the motion filling her eyes with joy.

  Oh, what it would have been to be a child once again, to find true, unadulterated joy in things most stodgy adults thought ridiculous. It would have been so nice to go back to those moments in life, where a thing like playing dress-up was all it took to forget one’s troubles. There were no concerns of what was to come, bills that needed to be paid or the things that were required to make another person happy. There was just one pink dress and one ill-fitting tinfoil crown.

  Wyatt leaned in close so only Christina could hear him. “He isn’t perfect, neither is his life, but maybe he wouldn’t be such a bad dad after all.”

  He hadn’t needed to tell her what she was already thinking. Some things—like the look of pride that Waylon was giving Winnie—spoke volumes about what it meant to truly love. And love was the only thing that really mattered.

  Chapter Six

  Waylon had never been one for sleep much, but last night had been long and filled with dark shadows. It was almost as if Dunrovin had started to move in around him, threatening to trap him with its candy canes and pink princesses. He had managed to escape once before, but it had been when things had been ending with Alli. Now that he was back at the ranch, it was hard to remember any of the other reasons he’d left besides his disastrous marriage.

  Rolling out of bed and making his way to the kitchen, he was surprised to find Christina already standing in front of the coffeepot as it percolated and bubbled with life. The scent of hot coffee filled the kitchen, but beneath it was the heady aroma of the woman standing with her back to him. The strange mixture made him suck in a long breath, pulling the scent of her deep into his lungs. She smelled like shampoo, hay and something earthy. It reminded him of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  Christina swayed her hips as though she were dancing to a song only she could hear, but as she moved, she hummed a few bars. A piece of hair fell from the butterfly clip that held up her blond locks. She was so dang beautiful. If he wasn’t here about her sister, if he was just living his everyday and somewhat mundane life back at Fort Bragg, he would have made his move. As it was, he simply stood there, taking her in.

  Last night there had been a moment when he’d been dancing with Winnie in her princess dress and he had caught Christina smiling. That look had almost made it seem possible she liked him, but he wasn’t sure he was qualified to get a good read on that woman. She was so confusing. Mad one minute, and the next she was giving him a look that in most circles meant they would be exchanging more than phone numbers.

  He chuckled.

  Christina turned around with a jump. “How long have you been standing there?” She pulled at her Van Halen nightshirt. There was a hole over her left hip, and her hand found the spot like she hated the thought of him seeing any part of her naked flesh.

  He smiled as he stared at her fingers and thought about the word naked. Just the thought made his body quiver to life. Yes, he could handle seeing her lying on his bed, waiting, wanting.

  “Waylon, how long have you been there?” She gave him a look as though she was wondering if he had lost his mind.

  “Huh? Not long.” He forced himself to look at the clock on the stove while he tried to get his body back under control, but mornings and him...well, it was just another battle that he rarely seemed to win. He shifted his weight to hide anything that might have slipped into view. “Actually, I was just going to grab a cup of joe before heading up to where they found Alli’s car.”

  “I thought you might have something in mind. I’m glad I caught you. I want to go.”

  “Haven’t you already gone up there?” A minute ticked by on the clock.

  She turned back to the cupboard and took out two travel mugs. “Yep, but after I saw you work the investigation on the car yesterday...well, I would love to think that you might be able to pull something from the scene, just like you pulled that note out of the headliner.”

  That was pure dumb luck, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to admit it to her. He liked the thought of her thinking he had some special gift when it came to an investigation. He would take being her hero any day.

  “I doubt there’s anything left up there for us to find. They went over that scene pretty good, according to Wyatt’s notes. And it’s been nearly a full week. By now, between the weather and normal wear and tear—well, we’d be lucky to even find the exact spot.”

  “I’ve been up there. I can show you where they found the car.” Christina sloshed the coffee into the cups. Her hands were shaking slightly.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, motioning toward her unsteady hands.

  She set the coffeepot back in the maker and balled her fists, like she was mad at them for giving her weakness away. “I’m fine. Just fine.” As she looked up at him, there was a faint redness to her cheeks.

  He didn’t push it. It would make all their lives easier if they could get along for the few days he was here, and he had a feeling that if he questioned her, things had the chance of slipping back into a place where she barely seemed to tolerate him.

  “Here.” She handed him one of the travel mugs. “You take it black, right? Every cop I know always takes their coffee black. I always thought it was some statement about being so tough that you all don’t need cream and sugar, but when I asked Wyatt about it, he said it was that you all were just too lazy to put extra work into something that was good just plain.” She was rambling, and as she spoke, the redness in her cheeks grew more pronounced and she was forced to put her hands around her own cup to keep them from shaking.

  “Yep, I’m one who takes it black. But I got a buddy back at Bragg who loves so much cream that I always say it’s just cream with a splash of coffee,” he joked, trying to make her feel better. He took a sip of the steaming liquid.

  The woman knew how to make a good cup of joe, and it made him wonder what else she was good at.

  “Are you sure you’re not going along just so you can spend more time with me?”

  She gave him a cute smirk and a raise of her eyebrow. “It’s about my sister. Not you and me.”

  “You and me?” he teased. “Don’t you think you could just call that us?”

  She took a long drink of her coffee. It was so long, in fact, he couldn’t help but wonder how she wasn’t burning her tongue.

  “It’s really all just semantics,” he continued. “I’m not saying there is an us. Just that...”

  She lowered her coffee, and there was a smile on her lips. “You can stop. We both know where each other stands—and it certainly isn’t something that needs to be discusse
d.” She refilled her cup. “By the way, when are you thinking you’re going to head back to your base?”

  “I have a week’s leave. The only reason I got it at all is that my CO owed me a couple of favors. They don’t like giving leave when a person only has a few months left before reenlisting.”

  She frowned at him. “So you’re going to go for another four years?”

  He shrugged. “I only have about six months left this round. I love my job and my buddies in my unit. We are like family.”

  “Like family,” she said, repeating his words as though she was trying them on for size. “Is your job pretty dangerous?” She looked up at him, and there was something in her eyes that made him glance away out of fear that she would be able to see into his memories.

  There was always danger in his job. Each day was something different. The last major incident had been when he had stepped in the way of a sniper’s bullet in Fallujah for his CO. Luckily, the bullet had mostly impacted Waylon’s Kevlar, but a small fragment had managed to break loose and hit him in the elbow. From time to time, his left arm still pinged, reminding him of how close he could have been to losing his life for the greater good. Yet, from the look on Christina’s face, the last thing he needed to do was admit that he was always toeing a thin line between life and death.

  “Let’s go,” he said. “And no more questions.”

  Her frown deepened. “Look, if you don’t want me to go...”

  “You’d stay here?” he asked with a playful smile. “We both know you aren’t the type who is going to sit by and idly twiddle her thumbs. No matter what you think of me, you won’t miss this chance.”

  “Let me go get dressed,” she said, setting down her coffee. “Don’t go anywhere.” She gave him a threatening look.

  Waylon raised his hands in surrender. “Cross my heart.”

  She rushed out of the room and he could hear her run down the hallway. A couple of minutes later she returned, cowgirled out—complete with a pair of ostrich-skin boots, a tight-fitting pair of jeans, and a purple plaid shirt. She had her coat draped over her arm.

  “You ready to go?”

  “Always.”

  He walked to the car, holding the door as she followed.

  Each time she drew close to him, he couldn’t help his need to pull her scent deep into his lungs. Dang, she smelled so good.

  They drove in silence, passing through the gates of the mountains that led to the Montana/Alberta border. He hadn’t made this drive in a long time, and as they passed by the crystal-blue lakes and clear rivers, he just took it all in. This place was so beautiful. It really was the Last Best Place, just as its slogan said. There was something about Montana that beckoned to days gone by, of the untamed nature of life and the ones who dared live it.

  “I’m sorry about yesterday. When you flew in. It was just...with Winnie and all...I guess... Just know that I don’t hate you or anything. Sometimes I can just be a little prickly,” Christina said, breaking the silence between them.

  She sounded sincere enough, but he wasn’t sure he entirely bought what she was trying to sell. “Honestly, I get it—I mean, if you hate me or whatever. Divorce leads to division among friends and even more among families. You have your sister’s back, and I admire that kind of loyalty—even if it’s to my disadvantage.”

  She stared at him for a moment, like she was surprised by his candor, but she didn’t say anything.

  “My family had their fair share of dislike when it came to your sister. It would only be right that you would have the same feelings toward me. But I want you to know that, regardless of what Alli told you, there was a lot more to the situation. I doubt she told you everything that led up to our divorce.” He gripped his hands tight on the steering wheel of her truck. “I mean, I wasn’t without guilt. I certainly made my fair share of mistakes, but I wasn’t the only one who made some bad choices.”

  She glanced down at her hands. “I know I only got one side of the story. I’ve come to realize that, thanks to you being here. I can see the way you are with your family and how you’re trying with Winnie. You don’t need to worry about my opinion. Besides, I heard something the other day that kind of put things into perspective for me, and I know it’s as true for me as it probably is for you.”

  “What did you hear?”

  She looked up at him and sent him a soft smile that made his stomach flip.

  “They said that everyone’s life is a book, and in each book there is one chapter no one is willing to read aloud.”

  He chuckled. “Just one chapter?”

  Her smile widened. “Hey, it’s just what they said.” She shrugged.

  For a moment, he considered reaching over and taking her hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. They had finally started to move together. He would hate to screw it up by taking things in a direction that she had no intention of going. For now, he would have to be happy with just seeing her smile and ignore the way his body seemed to want to pull him closer to her.

  “The spot was right up there,” Christina said, pointing to a nondescript little pullout on the side of the nearly deserted highway.

  There were tall dead grasses on the side of the road, and down the embankment was a pond and a meadow that brushed against the toes of the mountains that stood like sentinels around the valley. Snow had started to accumulate on the peaks of the range, a visible reminder that icy storms lurked just over the horizon.

  He parked the truck, and they got out as a big rig barreled down the road past them. It made the air shudder as the driver changed speeds, the sound almost deafening.

  “Where do you think he’s coming from?” Waylon asked, motioning toward the truck as it rumbled north.

  “Truckers use this highway when the weather is good. It’s a bit longer in mileage than the main highway, but they make up for it in speed. It can cut up to an hour off their transit to the border. The people who live along here hate it. Two years ago, a big rig carrying crude oil overturned. Ruined their groundwater. The EPA had to come in and do all kinds of studies. They finally cleared the area for general use again, but if you ask anyone who actually lives around here, there is still oil that seeps through the ground and into their water.”

  He would have asked how the oil company had gotten away with dodging responsibility, but he knew all too well how the feds liked to work. He’d been living in their world for too long to be oblivious to the fact that they often were willing to accept a little bit of collateral damage when millions of dollars were at stake.

  “There are a few locals who like the truckers, though,” Christina continued.

  “Who’s that?”

  She motioned down the road. “There is a small town about fifteen miles from here that pretty much only exists thanks to the long-haul trade. It’s the last stop for gas and grub before the truckers head over the border.”

  His mind went to the receipt Wyatt said he’d found in Alli’s car. He’d said it was of no use, but maybe it was from the town Christina was talking about. It could have been more of a clue than his brother had realized, but what did it really matter if Alli had stopped for gas in the little town before heading over the border, or had she come back sometime later in the day? It would be a normal thing to do. Wyatt had said he’d looked into the lead. If it had been anything, his brother would have figured it out. He was a good cop and an even better brother.

  Waylon walked to the edge of the pullout. No matter how badly he wanted to find something definitive that could point them in Alli’s direction, there was nothing besides gravel on the side of the road. He stood there for a moment, taking in the mountains and the aroma of winter. The cold air bit at his nose, sharp and clean—a far cry from the dry and dusty air of Iraq.

  “You okay?” Christina asked, stepping beside him. “You’re being quiet.”

&
nbsp; “Just thinking,” he said, looking over at her. His gaze moved down to her hands. Her fingers looked so inviting. He could almost feel them slipping between his, and the sensation made his hand twitch.

  “About?” she pressed.

  He couldn’t tell her that he was really thinking about how badly he wanted to touch her, and how she reminded him of how lonely his life had been ever since he’d left Montana and Alli. Maybe that was all his desire to touch her was—a need to stave off the loneliness. No, that probably wasn’t it. He’d had plenty of chances to be with other women, and none of them had made him give even a passing thought to anything resembling a relationship. Yet something about Christina and the way she pushed him made him wonder if he’d made a mistake in leaving Mystery. But if he’d stayed, there was no way they would have ended up together, either.

  Oh, Alli. When they found her, she would never let him and Christina be together. She would do and say everything she could to stop her sister from being with him.

  Everything about him and Christina and the attraction he felt wasn’t going to work—a relationship with her wasn’t just unlikely, it was almost forbidden.

  As much as he wished the thought would push him away from her, it only made him want her that much more.

  If he was going to have a chance with Christina, he had to make things happen before Alli came back into their lives and had the chance to screw everything up.

  He reached over and took Christina’s hand. Alli had already messed up enough in his life—he wouldn’t let her stand in the way of him following his heart. Christina jerked as their skin touched, but she didn’t pull away. Rather, she moved her fingers between his and drew him closer.

  His heart leaped into his throat. Maybe he wasn’t alone in his desire.

  There was the rumble of another big rig, but this time the roar seemed deeper and the rig slowed down, pulling to a stop behind their truck. He frowned in the trucker’s direction. He’d finally made his move with Christina and the dude was ruining it.