“That sounds great, but I need to get running home. I’m just up from Missoula for the night.”
“Really? Is everything okay?” From the look on her face, it seemed like Gemma meant the question to come from a place of concern, but her voice made it clear that she was more curious than empathetic. As if she looked forward to some thread of gossip that she could share at the next bunco party.
“I’m sure everything’s okay. Right, Jeremy?” Blake hinted, hoping that he would take this as his chance to get out before he and his family became the central focus of the Butte Red Hatters Bunco Club for the next six months.
He looked at her, his eyes shimmering with something she could have sworn resembled lust, but she shrugged it off. There was no way he would be interested in her. He was married.
She glanced down at his ring finger—his ring was missing. That’s right... He’d gotten a divorce. When her mother had told her about it a few months past, she had pushed the news aside as irrelevant. Yet, with him standing in front of her, it seemed more relevant than ever. The knot in her gut tightened as she forced herself to look away from his naked hand.
Even if he wasn’t married, he wouldn’t want her. No man would want to take on a single mom who lived with her mother and was struggling to make it in a small-town sheriff’s department—unless he was a glutton for punishment.
“Things are a little rough. You know...family drama.”
Her mother perked up. “What’s going on?”
“It’s just my brother. He’s going through a hard time.”
“Is that right,” her mother chimed. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Thanks, Mrs. W, but it’ll be all right.” Jeremy sent her a grateful but guarded smile. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to pass on the chicken—but it smells great,” he added, as her mother’s face fell.
“Oh, okay,” she said, her voice specked with disappointment, the kind that always moved Blake into doing whatever it was Gemma truly wanted.
Jeremy’s body tensed, his biceps pressing hard against his cotton T-shirt. Apparently, Gemma West’s shaming worked on someone besides her. Why did her mother have to put everyone under her spell?
Megan thumped down in the chair by the dining table. “Mom, I’m hungry.”
“Thank you, Jeremy, for helping us out,” Blake said, motioning toward her daughter.
He glanced at her and smiled again. The way he looked at her made her temperature rise. No one had looked at her like that, like she really existed as something more than a mother or a sheriff’s deputy, in a long time.
She turned away as she scolded herself. He was just looking at her. It didn’t mean anything. She was lonely. She needed to get a handle on her emotions. Crushes were for those who had a chance—which she didn’t.
He needed to go. She simply could not be around a man like him.
“I need to get back to work. After you?” She walked to the door and opened it, motioning for him to leave.
He turned to walk out.
“I hope everything goes well with your brother. By the way, which brother is it?” her mother called behind him, throwing a speed bump into Blake’s plans.
Jeremy looked back over his shoulder. “Robert.”
“Where’s Casper these days?” her mother continued.
Blake’s sweaty hand slipped on the open door.
“He’s working up north with Border Patrol.”
“That’s wonderful,” her mom said, turning to her with a raise of the eyebrow. She flashed a glance back at Jeremy, like she was trying to coach Blake on how to get him to stay. “Isn’t that nice, Blake?”
“Yes, that’s great, Mother.”
Jeremy chuckled. “If you need me again, Mrs. W, I’ll be in town for a couple of days.” He brushed against Blake as he made his way out the door. His touch magnified the need she was trying her best to ignore. “Hey, if you need a break, maybe we could meet up sometime,” he whispered so low that only she could hear.
In a flash, she was back in high school, and they were planning to sneak out of the house. The thrill of being caught and the excitement that came with breaking the rules filled her. Just as quickly as the feelings rose, she stomped them out. She wasn’t sixteen. She was a mother. And her daughter came first—no matter how badly she wanted to take Jeremy up on his offer.
“Thanks, but maybe next time you’re in town.”
He nodded, but there was a faint look of hurt deep in his eyes as he turned away. She couldn’t help taking one last look as he walked away. His jeans were the kind with the fancy stitching on the back pockets, the kind that always drew a person’s eye to them and, in this case, to his perfectly round behind.
Clearly the man worked out.
Dang it.
She forced herself to look away. What was wrong with her today?
She could feel her mother’s eyes boring into her back. She needed to leave, to get to work, but she let the door close as she turned back to her family.
“That right there is why you don’t have a man in your life,” her mother said with a tsk as she flurried around the kitchen, getting the potato salad out of the fridge.
“Maybe I don’t have a man in my life because I don’t want one,” Blake retorted. Instantly she wished she hadn’t, because it would only allow her mother to continue on her soapbox.
“That Jeremy, he’s got a good head on his shoulders. You need a man like him. You would get one, if you weren’t so hard to please.”
That was the pot calling the kettle black.
“Here you go, sweetie.” Her mother set a plate of fried chicken and potato salad in front of Megan and went back to the can of beans.
“Thanks, Grandma.”
Blake glanced down at her watch. “I need to go.” She gave Megan a kiss on the top of the head while her daughter chomped away. “Please don’t get into any more of my things.”
“Wait,” her mother said. “Why don’t you eat first?”
There was a rumble in her stomach, but she had to escape the mess that was her personal life. Work was so much easier. “I’m good, Mom.”
“Fine then.” Her mother’s disdain was palpable. “At least take the rest of this food over to Jeremy and his family as a thank-you. You know, he didn’t have to come over here to help us. It was just lucky he was even around. We could have been all day if we had to wait for you.”
The sharp edge of her mother’s words deepened her wounds. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be closer to her family, but she had to work. She had to support the people she loved most, even if they sometimes forgot how much pressure she was under.
Her mother covered the plate of chicken with plastic wrap, then shoved it into Blake’s hands. “Now run along. And don’t get lost with my chicken.” Her mother pushed her out the door. “And make sure you let his mother know that I’d like my plate back.”
It was like she was eight years old again, her mother moving her along in her pursuit toward her own means. She would never be exactly what Gemma wanted her to be, would always be a disappointment, constantly seeking her mother’s approval and trying to make her proud. No matter how badly she wanted them to, some things would never change.
Chapter Three
Splitting the blanket. Trimming away the deadweight. Losing one’s other half. Detective Jeremy Lawrence had heard them all, but they all meant one thing: he was divorced.
He thumbed the empty place on his ring finger where his wedding band used to be.
Genevieve had made such a big deal about the ring when they were first together. She hadn’t wanted him to wear yellow gold, claiming it would clash with her engagement ring—a ring she’d also picked out—and he couldn’t get silver as it would tarnish. He’d felt like an idiot standing there in the jewelry store getting told that tungs
ten was really the best option for him, but at twenty-two he’d been young and dumb and willing to put up with anything if it meant he got to marry her. Heck, he’d thought himself lucky. She’d been the cheerleader, the girl who could light up a room with a smile and, better yet, make him burn with want with the mere trailing of her fingertips.
Everything, all the way down to her name, had to be classy.
The marriage had been over the minute she had figured out he was just a regular guy, not the idealized version she must have had in her mind.
He reached in his pocket, pulled out the ring and let it drop on his dresser, the dresser he’d had since he was a child. It was funny how a piece of unloved furniture could last longer than a marriage. If nothing else, it proved that a dead oak was stronger than a life built on feelings. Maybe there really was something to being cold, lifeless...at least you could weather the storms.
None of it mattered. He’d gotten a daughter out of their screwed-up marriage. He could be thankful for that, even if Penny didn’t live with him. At least he had something to hold on to.
His father’s footsteps echoed down the hall toward his room; there was a knock on the door. “Jeremy, you in there?”
“Yeah, Dad. What do you need?”
“Your mother’s wondering when you’re going to run out to Robert’s. It would be good if you could get out there before dark,” his father said, as if he hadn’t heard them fighting over Robert for the last ten minutes.
It was funny; he’d been home just a few hours, but when he had set foot in the door it was like he had stepped back in time—parents fighting, brother missing and him searching for a way to escape. Just like when he’d been a kid, he’d found refuge at the neighbors’, but instead of being the one who needed to be saved, this time he’d paid them back for all the times Mrs. W was there for him. Finally things were coming full circle.
And just like the past, Blake had rushed him to the door while she made a point of being out-of-bounds.
He took one last look at the ring, now at home tucked safely away in his past. “I was just about to head out,” he told his father.
“Good,” his father said, turning to leave. “Oh, and Blake is here. Brought over some supper as a thank-you.”
He figured Mrs. W must have forced her to come over. It really was like all those years ago. He loved his family, but he needed to get the hell out of Butte and away from the ghosts that haunted this place—regardless of how beautiful one particular ghost was.
Blake stood in the living room, her hand on the doorknob. She was talking to his mother, who was sitting in her recliner. Blake’s uniform top was stretched tight over her bulletproof vest. The buttons gaped slightly, revealing a T-shirt underneath. As she moved, he caught a quick glimpse of her black bra strap, and he felt his body shift in response. There was just something so right about a woman who wore a uniform and sexy lingerie underneath.
He wanted to rip open her shirt and her vest, kiss the lines of her lacy bra, slip what he figured would be matching black panties down her legs.
Jeremy forced himself to look away, focusing on the painting of a meadow that had hung on the living room wall so long that there was a faint brown smoke line around it.
“Blake was just telling me that she has seen Robert lately,” his mother started. “Isn’t that right, Blake?”
Blake nodded.
“Apparently she was out to his place a few weeks ago.” His mother tapped her fingers on the armrests of her chair.
“It wasn’t anything that major,” Blake offered. “There was just a minor dispute. It was in the Montana Standard. I thought you must have heard.”
He hadn’t read the local newspaper in years, but Blake was right. It was surprising his mother hadn’t gotten a call from the phone tree. Her friends lived for nothing more than to read the obituaries and scan through the weekly police blotter.
“What happened?” Jeremy asked.
Blake chewed on her lower lip, and her gaze flickered to his mother, as if there was something that she didn’t want to say in front of her. “You know, just the normal thing.”
“Was it something to do with his wife?” His mother turned to him. “Tiffany has been threatening to leave him for months now. I told you that Robert needed your help. I wish you could’ve been here earlier, Jeremy.”
“Well, Mom, you know how it is. Work’s been busy,” he said, but he was focused on Blake and how she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
His mother said something under her breath that he was only too glad he couldn’t hear.
He made his way to Blake and opened the door. “You busy this afternoon?”
Blake glanced down at her watch. “Why?”
He waited for her to step outside and let the door close behind him. “I’d appreciate it if you can fill me in on what’s going on with my brother,” he told Blake.
She waved goodbye to his mother through the glass storm door. “Look, I appreciate what you did with Megan, but I don’t want to get involved with you or whatever it is you have going on.”
“Whoa.” He breathed out, unsure why she had been so abrupt. “I just thought—”
She raised her hand. “No, stop. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I’m not upset with you. It’s just my mother.” She motioned toward her house.
She had every right to be upset after what she had walked into. It would have taken more than a little fried chicken to talk him down if he’d walked into a scene with someone holding a hacksaw over his daughter’s head. Unlike her, he didn’t know if he could have held back from shooting.
His gaze drifted to the utility belt at her waist. “Lots of calls coming in?” he asked as they walked across the lawn toward her house.
She slipped out her cell phone and glanced down at it. “To be honest, no. But I should be on patrol.”
“What time do you get off?”
“Not for a few more hours.”
“Well, if you aren’t busy, I would really appreciate you running to Robert’s with me.”
She looked up at him, her blue eyes reflecting the color of the sky.
“I would hate to be walking into a mess up there.” He silently hoped she would say yes, and it wasn’t just because he wanted her to tell him about Robert. It had to do with the desire that seemed to rise in him every time he caught a glimpse of her.
“You heading up there now?” she asked him.
He nodded.
She nibbled her lip again, making him wonder if he made her as uncomfortable as she made him. “I did want to talk to Robert, make sure everything had smoothed out. You could ride with me, but you know—”
“I’ll follow you up there.” He motioned toward his truck. “I’d hate to get you in trouble. We have to follow protocol.”
There was a hint of a smile as she looked at him. “You say that, but we both know you’ve always been the kind who likes to make his own rules.”
* * *
ROBERT’S HOUSE SAT off a dirt road, shrouded by trees and brush. On the neighboring property, old cars and trailers in varying stages of rust were parked in a haphazard pattern. Between the rusting carcasses were piles of downed trees and garbage. A few of the detritus hills were covered with tarps whose prime of life had passed years ago and now were nothing more than weathered strings broken up by little squares of blue.
He’d always hated this place, the world his brother called home. The drive that led to Robert’s house was a steady climb, and Blake was taking it at a crawl in her patrol unit, twisting and turning as she attempted to miss the washed-out ruts in the dirt. This wasn’t the kind of place in which one wanted to find oneself stranded. Everything about the deep woods spoke of danger, from the road all the way down to the twisted faces that peered out from the windows of the derelict homes they pass
ed.
Rising from the brush was a building, still covered in Tyvek plastic wrap, as if any day the construction company would come back and finish siding the house they had built—only it had been years since they’d been there. The roof sagged in the middle from too many heavy snows and too little care.
His brother had always cared more about what was in the earth than what was on top of it, and it had even been that way with his wife, Tiffany. The poor woman had more than her fair share to deal with when it came to Robert. Then again, Jeremy wasn’t in a spot to judge anyone else’s relationship. For years, everyone had told him how great his marriage was, yet behind closed doors it was a different story—late-night fights about his schedule, the stress that came with being in law enforcement and the money. In the end, there was never enough money, time or even love.
Blake pulled to a stop and got out, waiting for him.
He parked next to her and met her at her car. “So, fill me in. What kind of trouble has my brother been getting himself into now?”
Robert had always fallen in and out of the bottle and usually directly into the hands of the law, leaving Jeremy to clean up his mess. The last time he’d talked to Robert they’d had one hell of a beer-fueled fight, ending with Robert on the ground and him promising to never lift another finger to save his brother’s lousy carcass. Yet here he was again.
“I was called here a few weeks ago, but it wasn’t for Tiffany, as your mother assumed.” Blake leaned against her patrol car, the round curve of her hips on full display. “This time, Robert was having an altercation with his neighbor, Todd O’Brien.” She pointed in the direction of the property that was full of rusted-out shells of cars.
“This happen before?”
She nodded and gave a slight shrug. “You know how it is—most people out here live with a militia-like mentality. It’s all about the guns, the freedom of speech and action. Out here the law is more of a recommendation than a reality. When something needs to be handled, vigilante justice reigns.”
It was funny. No matter where you were in Montana—whether in the city of Missoula or the hillsides on the outskirts of Silver Bow County—some of the same problems arose. Usually they centered on two things: guns and liquor. Sometimes he couldn’t help feeling like he lived in the Wild West.
Dust Up with the Detective Page 2
