He headed out the door and jogged down the hall after her. She’d already made her way through the building exit to falling darkness and streetlamps illuminating the sidewalk. By the time he got outside, Maggie had just stepped off the curb.
“Maggie, hold up.”
She paused under the glare of the streetlamp and slowly eased her shoulders back. Confrontation ready. He must have seriously pissed her off. Good work, Ace. He’d fix that. She turned just as he reached her car door.
“Hey,” he said, “can we talk?”
When she didn’t respond, he took that as a green light. Of course he did. One thing about Marlene Tucker, she’d taught him how to capitalize on situations. Besides, by now Maggie could have hopped into the cruiser and taken off. Which she didn’t.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “My crazy life put you in danger. You have no idea how much I hate that. And, let’s be honest, I like you. You’re funny and smart and, well, you carry a big gun. I’d rather you not be mad at me.”
She shook her head, but the smile tugging at her lips couldn’t be denied. Score one for the jock. He pointed to the corner of her mouth. “I think you’re smiling.”
Pushing his luck—what the hell?—he inched his hand closer. Close enough that the tip of his finger brushed the insanely soft skin at the corner of her mouth and he wanted…Jesus, he wanted his lips there. Right at that spot.
She wrapped her hand around his finger and—wow—if she’d wanted to get his mind out of the gutter that wasn’t the way to do it.
“That woman,” she said, still holding his finger, “is stone-cold nuts. None of this is your fault.”
“Then why are you mad at me?”
Finally, she let go of him. “I’m not.”
“Yeah, you are.”
“You don’t even know me. How would you know if I’m mad or not?”
He’d spent half his life surrounded by amped-up football players. More than anything, he recognized when people were pissed. “I’ve spent a career working in a team environment. Learning people’s signals and moods. You’re right, I don’t know you, but I know when someone is angry. At least talk to me. Not that you owe it to me after today, but—” Damn. He shook his head. How to say this without sounding like a douche?
“But what?”
“Nothing.”
Which, of course, was total bullshit. It was definitely something. Something that began with him looking at Maggie and liking it more and more. He met her gaze and inched close enough to hook his finger into her belt loop, pull her forward and …
He dipped his head, studied the slope of her top lip and the air stopped moving. Everything froze. Including his lungs.
“I…” She peered down at her feet, dug the toe of her boot into the ground, then rocked back.
He took a hard inhale, held it until his chest slammed, and blew it out. Lord, he felt like a middle-schooler trying to steal his first kiss. “You what?”
She lifted her chin and the street lamp shined in her lush brown eyes and he was gone. Totally smitten with this beautiful, strong woman so unlike the soft-spoken females he went for. The ones who let him call the shots.
Maggie, Maggie, Maggie, what are you doing to me?
“I got distracted,” she said. “During the press conference.”
“There was a lot going on.”
“That doesn’t matter. I had a job to do.”
“Maggie—”
She squeezed her eyes closed, jabbed her open palms at him. “Shut up.”
Whoa. Shut up? “I’m trying to—”
“My lack of attention could have gotten you hurt.” She pressed the fingers of both hands into her forehead. “I’ve been shredding myself over this, thinking about all the things I did wrong, every second I could have done something differently and yet,” she dropped her hands “I stand here, looking at you and thinking, ‘Gee, I’d bet he looks mighty tasty fresh out of a shower.’ How stupid can I be? That’s what I’m pissed about. It has to stop.”
Not one to let a grade A opportunity pass him by, Jay tipped his head closer. “If you’re thinking those thoughts, I don’t want it to stop. In fact, I’d throw myself off the top of this building to make it not stop.”
She gawked at him. Literally stood there, mouth agape, and instinct kicked in. “Honey,” he whispered, “if you want me, I’m all yours.”
Something in the air changed and a charge big enough to light the town whipped between them. She gripped his shirt, squeezing the fabric and yanking him the last inch toward her, slamming her lips against his. Well, all right.
He slid his hand to her hip, the one without the gun—he was no dummy—and pulled her close, forcing himself not to drive his tongue into her mouth. This was her doing, he’d let her control it, but damn, she’d surprised him. In a stupendous, little man hardening, and totally ready for a body slam kind of way.
One thing was for sure, Maggie Kingston knew how to kiss a man.
* * *
What the hell was she doing?
Kissing the hot football star. That’s what.
In the middle of Main Street.
Holy crap.
Stressful day. That’s all. Stress and her need to connect, to be touched by safe hands rather than one holding a weapon.
And, well, how often does one Jayson Tucker come to town and want her kissing him?
But in the middle of Main Street? Really, Maggie? Really? She broke away, nearly leaped back and did a quick scan of the street to see exactly who saw her amazing display of mauling. Across the street, a couple wandered toward the Triple B. One thing about small towns, the sidewalks shut down early. Lucky for her.
The B, though.
The place might be loaded with town criers ready to spread the news about Sheriff Kingston and the football star. Total humiliation.
She couldn’t worry about it now. She had to figure out what to say that might salvage even a speck of professionalism. She’d already failed once by allowing an unstable woman with a weapon near him.
Buck up, Mags. “That kiss,” she said, “amazeballs.”
No sense in denying it. The way he’d jumped right into the fray indicated he didn’t exactly hate it.
He hit her with a flashing smile that had probably incinerated any number of women’s panties. “Can we try again? I mean, you kinda shocked me there. I know I can do better.”
Oh, this one was dangerous. Too good. He’d simultaneously relieved her of any weirdness and asked for a replay. Brilliant. “You seem to be forgetting I’m the sheriff and swapping spit with a superstar in public won’t make my residents very happy.”
“But will it make you happy?”
As if that mattered. “I’m an elected official. Nobody cares about my feelings. My job is to make everyone else happy.”
“Then your job is impossible. I’ve had my performance reviewed by every media outlet in the tristate area. Not that I’m comparing sports to law enforcement, but I get it. People constantly judging you, not giving a shit if you’re functioning with a 103-degree fever or a banged-up back. Nobody cares when you have a responsibility to the public.”
She waved her arm. “This town, the people in it, are my responsibility. I blew it today.”
“By disarming a psycho with a knife? Honey, if that’s your idea of blowing it, your standards are unreasonably high.”
Gah. Jayson Tucker might be working her last nerve. And wasn’t this interesting? The athlete who held the record for most passing yards in a season, enlightening her on standards. Some would consider it ironic. Maggie wasn’t sure what she considered it. “Everyone in that room was in danger and I didn’t know it.”
“How could you?”
“Jayson! That’s the problem. I should have known. I should have had two deputies—not just one—helping me do bag checks and had people remove everything from their pockets. I didn’t do that. All I did was check credentials. I knew something was off when she walked in wearing that coat, but I
was slow to act. As a result, I put everyone, including you, in danger.”
“When did you have time to set all that up? You didn’t and still handled the situation. You got the knife out of her hands and removed her. As far as I’m concerned, you did what you were supposed to.”
She locked her jaw to keep her frustration from spilling out and stared up at the darkening sky. He didn’t get it and maybe never would. Clearly, she’d done a crappy job of explaining it. She inhaled through her nose and counted to three. One more try.
“And what about tomorrow? What if the knife-wielding psycho gets released on bond? Or what about the other crackpots out there who want to make a name for themselves? Going forward, when it comes to your safety, and the safety of the people in this town, we need to make changes. I’m not pissed”—God, how could she even admit this?—“because of the psycho with the knife. That’s on her. This is not New York, where you can lock yourself away in your secure building. This is Steele Ridge and these folks depend on me. I let them down today.”
There, she’d said it. Laid it right out for him. Go-to Maggie had failed. Epically.
He continued to stare at her like she’d grown a second head. “Wow. I thought I was tough on myself. You’re downright brutal.”
Whatever. When it came to people’s safety, including his, brutality was necessary. “Maybe so, but I need you to not disregard any threat and pass every one of them along. After today, staring at the knife in her hand, I’m not risking another situation like that. I don’t care how run-of-the-mill you think it is. For me, for us, in Steele Ridge, none of this is normal. We’re way outside our comfort zone.”
In short, she didn’t know what the hell she was doing—personally or professionally—when it came to Jayson Tucker.
He held up his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I guess I’m used to the kooks. I figured being down here, I could lie low and I got lazy about having security with me. How about I set up a call with my people. I’ll have them walk through everything with you. Even the ones they think aren’t real threats.”
Whether he finally understood or was simply humoring her, he’d said exactly what she’d wanted. “Yes. That would help. I can’t protect you if I don’t know what might be coming our way.”
“Understood.”
“Good. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He hit her with another devastating smile. “Can we make out more?”
Maggie laughed. Men. “Not on the street.”
“Interesting. You’re not saying no. Just not on the street.”
True that. She pulled the cruiser door open. “Who said jocks weren’t smart?”
* * *
An hour later and still in her uniform, Maggie hopped out of her Explorer and ran to the front door of her childhood home.
After the chat and amazeballs kiss with Jayson, she’d barely gotten here on time. If she knew her father, dinner would be ready to roll at seven sharp. They’d been told to be there at six so they could do their normal family updates and, well, Jayson. Her entire afternoon had revolved around him. After making a spectacle of herself on Main Street, she’d gone back to the office to clean up some e-mail and before she knew it, she was late for family night.
She swung through the front door and the sound of her brothers’ voices from the kitchen drew her down the hallway where Mom and Dad’s border collie, Nicksie, met her. Maggie’s parents—bless their hearts—had a thing about naming their children, including the dog, after their favorite singers. Thus, Stevie Nicks was a regular part of life in the Kingston household. Nicksie cocked her head and waited. She knew this game. If she did it right, there’d be a treat in it for her.
“Ooh, you’re a good girl.” Maggie squatted. “Go!”
Nicksie charged, stopping just short of Maggie before lifting her paw for a high five.
“You’re late,” Shep said.
Lacking a filter, her youngest brother never hesitated to point out the obvious.
“The hot football player must be distracting her.” This from her sister, Riley, who was also no slouch in pointing out the obvious.
Riley may have been a smart-ass, but she nailed it.
Nicksie in tow, Maggie entered the kitchen where her siblings gathered around the table. Puck, Shep’s always observant golden retriever, hopped to his feet, already anticipating a treat being thrown his way. These dogs. So darned smart. Maggie moved to the cabinet near the sink and grabbed a couple of treats, tossing them to the already sitting dogs.
“Ry,” Maggie said, “you’re not blind. What woman wouldn’t be distracted?”
“I know I am.” Mom’s voice carried from the mudroom and everyone laughed. A second later, Mom appeared in the doorway. She wore loose khakis and a cashmere sweater with a pair of black flats and Maggie marveled at her mother’s ability to make casual clothes so elegant.
Recently retired, Mom’s transition from the corporate world to housewife hadn’t been as smooth as everyone hoped. As an environmental engineer, Mom had climbed the ladder at a major oil company. As a result, she’d become used to managing thousands of people and expecting her word to be gospel. As a retiree dealing with her husband and grown children, she’d had to adjust to life as a peon like the rest of them.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Outside,” Mom said. “He has ribs in the smoker. He’s feeling confident about tonight.”
Maggie glanced at Riley. “Thank you for your help before.”
“Sure.”
After her day had gone to hell and knowing she didn’t have time to stop home, Maggie had called Riley and asked her to stop by her house and pick up her contribution to dinner.
Contender was more like it.
Food in this house was a pure and potent thing. Her father, from a young age, loved to cook. Dissatisfied with the vegetables he’d find at the market, he’d started his own organic farm right on their property. As kids, they’d sit around and moan when he’d ramble on about taking chicken from a basic meal to a feast.
So much so that every person in the house learned to cook. And be competitive about it. Except Mom. Lord, she was god-awful in the kitchen. In secret, Cash swore she might be trying to kill them all. Still, they loved how hard she tried and encouraged her by choking down whatever disaster she came up with.
“He’s not beating my bread tonight,” Shep said. “I’m locked in.”
Confidence. Good for him. “We’ll see,” Maggie said. “My sweet potatoes will be tough to beat. There’s enough brown sugar that it could qualify as a dessert.”
“Yay,” Riley said.
The back door came open and Dad pushed through wearing his Kiss the Cook apron. His normally combed dark hair, more salt than pepper these days, hung over his forehead in a messy windblown look.
He walked straight to her and pecked her cheek. “Hello, favorite older daughter.”
Riley rolled her eyes. When they were kids and Dad played Mr. Mom—before it was cool—he’d refer to Riley as his favorite younger daughter. He’d figured out how to not play favorites while making each of his daughters feel special.
Something she’d always love him for. “Hi, Dad.”
He perused the various food items on the counter. “Looks good. Who was brave with Brussels sprouts?”
Cash pounded a fist against his chest. “That’s me. I’m not afraid of this bunch. I threw bacon in there.”
Bacon. Great. And she thought she’d been slick with the sugar overload. “That’s so wrong, Cash. You know we love bacon.”
“Look who’s complaining? You brought potatoes that double as dessert.”
Dad laughed and moved to the sink to wash his hands. “How was work today?”
As usual, the question was directed to the room at large. Considering Maggie had faced down a knife-wielding crackpot, she’d let her siblings carry this conversation.
Cash met her eye and she shook her head. He’d left the fire station before the incident, but he’d
called to check on her and informed her that half of Steele Ridge was already in the know.
Dad looked at each of them and when no one volunteered, he went straight to Maggie. “How was your day?”
Of course, he’d singled her out. “Typical day,” she said, hoping to sound casual.
Shep, still sitting at the kitchen table, tipped his head up at Maggie. “I heard someone tried to kill Jayson Tucker at some press conference.”
Mom whirled from the cabinet where she dug out a platter for the ribs. “What?”
Still drying his hands, Dad focused on her. “Mags?”
Ooh, she hated when he gave her the stern-dad look. Even as an adult she couldn’t stand the pressure. Sensing the thickness in the air, or maybe it was Maggie’s growing anxiety, Cash cleared his throat. Maggie gave him the wide-eyed, help-me stare.
“Dad,” he said, “how are those ribs doing?”
Dad ignored him, keeping his gaze firmly on Maggie. “What happened?”
“Relax. Shep is misinformed. No one tried to kill Jayson.”
“No,” Shep said, “I stopped in town on my way over here and I heard some maniac walked in there with a knife.”
In general, they all tried to cut Shep some slack when it came to his bluntness, but this was pushing the boundaries of sibling devotion.
“A knife,” Mom said. “My God. Is everyone all right?”
Finally, Maggie gritted her teeth at Shep. Maybe that would get him to shut the hell up. “Everyone is fine.”
“So,” Riley said, “was there a knife or not?”
Maggie sighed. The way the news pipeline ran in this town, they’d all hear it soon enough. Small-town living could be a major pain in the ass. She waved one hand. “This is a police matter so I can’t give details. I can tell you what’s public knowledge. “
Mom folded her arms. The pissed-off executive stance. “Which is?”
“There was a woman with a knife. I removed her from the press conference and arrested her. She was nowhere near the football hunk.”
“You removed her? With the knife?”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
Mom threw her hands up. “Which means that knife was near you.”
Craving Heat Page 6
