by Donna Fasano
Mat wasn’t the only one who was tired. Julie was exhausted. The two days she’d spent with Grace had been frustrating.
“You’re not the only one who failed,” she said after hearing him tell of the fiasco of a weekend he’d had with Brian.
“I’d planned a proper tea party,” Julie continued, “and somehow we ended up eating franks and beans. I was excited about teaching her how to braid her hair, and before I knew it, she’d talked me into learning the rules of soccer, instead. I got all the materials together to show her how to sew a simple bean-bag.” Julie shook her head in wonder “But Grace convinced me to watch stock-car racing on TV. And I bought the ingredients to make cookies, and we ended up outside making mud pies.” The laughter that bubbled up from her throat couldn’t be suppressed. “Pies made of wet, oozing mud, can you believe it?”
She lifted her gaze to Mat’s, the fondness she felt for his daughter gleaming in her eyes. “All my well-laid plans may have fallen flat, but I have learned one thing.”
Mat’s brows rose in silent inquiry.
“That daughter of yours sure is full of energy.” Julie’s grin widened. “And when she turns on the charm, she’s irresistible.”
He wanted to agree, Julie could tell, but dejection had him sighing heavily, instead.
“So was all this a waste of time for us?” he asked softly.
Wanting desperately to offer him something positive after all he’d done for her and Brian, Julie said, “I know it probably isn’t much consolation, but Grace did talk a little about missing her mother.” She grinned, hoping to lift Mat’s pensive mood. “Amid all the mudslinging we did while playing her game of pretend chef.”
“She talked about Karen?” Surprise lit his gaze. “She hasn’t mentioned her mother to me in all the weeks she’s been with me.”
Julie paused a moment, then offered, “It seems she doesn’t want to upset you. She has this notion that you and she might not be together if she upsets you. She said—”
“Daddies don’t stay.”
His rusty whisper sent spider-like tingles creeping across the back of her neck. “That’s exactly what she said,” Julie told him.
Mat just nodded solemnly.
“This idea she has about you leaving her,” she said, “is also, I think, why she got so upset when you raised your voice in the teachers’ lounge. She didn’t seem too disturbed about being in trouble until then, you know? If you remember, that’s when she looked like she was about to cry. She said today that when daddies get mad, they leave.”
Mat nodded again, his mind evidently churning. Finally he said, “I’ll control my tone. I don’t want Grace feeling insecure. I want her to trust that I’ll be here for her. Always.”
He smiled, gratitude evident in every plane and angle of his handsome face. Julie’s heart pattered a quick beat.
“I guess you didn’t completely fail with Grace,” he whispered. “Thanks.”
She wanted to speak, but overwhelming emotion stole away her words. Joy rushed through her at the thought that she might have helped him in some small way.
“Brian talked a little, too,” he told her.
Julie’s chin tipped up, her gaze latching on to his.
“He didn’t disclose a whole lot,” Mat admitted. “But he did wonder what he might have done to deserve the bad things that have happened to him in his life.”
The happiness that had surged through her just a moment before was muffled by the thoughts of her brother’s anguish. Her shoulders rounded.
“I told him that we’re often subjected to things that we have no control over, things we don’t deserve.” Mat looked away, then found her gaze again. “It was a short conversation. And I did what I could to explain that he wasn’t to blame. But his bitterness was… well, it was damned huge.”
Julie sighed. “I’ve taken Brian to see two different counselors. Neither of them was able to get him to open up about what happened to him.”
“Now, I don’t know that Brian was talking about the abuse he suffered—”
“Of course he was. What other ‘bad things’ could he have been referring to?”
Mat nodded in agreement.
“This is wonderful,” she said, sliding her hand over his forearm.
“It wasn’t much—”
“It was something.” Hope sprouted wings inside her and soared.
He turned to her then, his sexy half grin making her feel wobbly-kneed weak.
“I guess it was something,” he said, emotion coating his voice with warmth. “Maybe this weekend wasn’t as much of a loss as we thought.”
Their gazes locked. Julie studied his intense cocoa-dark eyes, and a fire sparked in her, tiny flames licking at her from somewhere deep within, some needful place.
Then she saw it. The same powerful desire walloping her seemed to reverberate in waves from his entire being. Time slowed, and Julie felt breathless.
At the same instant, they leaned toward each other. The kiss they shared was short, chaste, and utterly sweet. It was a demonstration of the colossal gratefulness they each felt toward the other. She read the appreciation shining in his gaze when he pulled back and she knew instinctively that her expression mirrored the same emotion.
But something else gurgled and simmered inside her. The same something else reflected in Mat’s expression. And that something was a yearning so deep that it refused to be ignored.
The need building in them grew until it crowded out all other emotion. Once again, a powerful energy tugged at them, and this time when they kissed, Julie knew there would be nothing soft and sweet about the meeting of their mouths.
Scorching heat. Luscious. Succulent. His kiss was ravaging, and just what she craved. His hands wandered up her arms and over the curve of her shoulders, and she reveled in the sparks his touch set off in her body.
The sound of ragged breathing filled her ears, and Julie couldn’t tell if it was his or her own. She didn’t really care. All she wanted was his mouth on her, his hands on her. A soft groan shimmied up from deep in her throat and she did nothing to quell it.
She wanted this. Desperately.
Combing her fingers through his dark hair, she opened her mouth to him, inviting him to deepen the intimacy between them. And it was an invitation he didn’t hesitate to accept.
Had this kiss lasted seconds? Minutes? Hours? Julie was so caught up in the passion slogging through her veins that she lost track of time.
Finally he eased away from her. Not enough to break contact with her, only enough to whisper raggedly against her lips, “Should we be doing this?”
“Probably not.” The words were spoken before she’d even had time to think. “But I don’t care.”
His breathy chuckle was hot against her cheek, his lips so close to hers that she actually felt a tickle.
“Me, neither,” he murmured.
He covered her mouth with his once more, and the two of them seemed to draw closer, if that was possible.
At that moment, an errant thought sighed through her mind: We could be one.
One. Oh, how she’d love to be one with this man! One mind. One body. One soul.
The mere idea had her heart racing even faster. If she followed whim and desire, she’d rip off her clothes right here and now. She’d tug and pull at his shirt until he came free of it. But somewhere from the back of her brain came a warning that there were children in the house. Grace. And Brian.
Getting naked in her living room was totally out of the question. No matter how much the idea might appeal to her. Julie forced herself to splay her palm against Mat’s broad chest. Even with this new determination to subdue the desire raging inside her, she was fully aware of his sinewy pectoral muscles. But she pushed at him, backed away several inches before the ravenous miasma could discombobulate her further.
“We have to stop.” As she spoke, she slipped off the couch and moved around to stand behind him. Disappointment fairly pulsed from him. “Here,” she off
ered in consolation, “let me do something nice for you, instead.”
She moved around behind him and began kneading his shoulders and the stiff muscles of his neck. The heat of him penetrated his cotton shirt. The bare skin of his neck seared her fingertips, and her blood heated until she wondered if giving him a massage was such a good idea, after all. With longing thrumming through her, she continued to knead. But rather than relax him, her ministrations only seemed to make him tenser.
Finally he reached up and clasped both her wrists, quelling the movement of her hands. He tilted his head back, his dark, dark eyes finding hers. The emotion roiling in his gaze was so intense that it stole her breath away. She felt encapsulated in a sweltering void.
Mat drew her down until their mouths were a mere breath apart.
If he didn’t kiss her, if she didn’t feel his lips on hers, Julie was certain she’d lose her sanity.
He continued to tug, and she knew suddenly that he didn’t mean to stop until he’d pulled her over the back of the sofa and into his lap. She let herself slip over top the cushioned couch back, and she couldn’t help but chuckle sensuously at this risqué behavior in which the two of them were engaged.
She whispered his name with sexy censure, but the rusty quality of her voice only seemed to incite him further. He growled her name, and she thought she’d die from the need to feel his hands on her.
The sound of voices and footfalls on the kitchen floor had both Mat and Julie blinking their way out of the hungry fog clutching at them. The sound of the kids’ laughter filtered into the room, and the adults pulled apart, frustration splashing over them like a dash of frigid water, a nearly tangible thing.
Their passion would have to wait, and Julie forced herself to slide off his lap in order to cement that idea into her reluctant mind. She straightened her clothes, smoothed her fingers over her hair, astonished at how quickly her feelings for this man had grown into something deep. A connection that sprang from the very essence of her.
He was a good man. She’d learned that. He was a trustworthy man. And there seemed to be so few of those in the world. She decided, there and then, that Mat was a treasure. A treasure she wanted for her own.
Chapter Six
All was quiet at Misty Glen. All, that is, except for the one bar that was located on a side street just off the main road cutting straight through the rez. Mat heard the muffled music blaring as he drove by the drinking establishment. He glanced at his watch. The business would close in about thirty minutes, and then the rest of his late-night shift would prove uneventful, he was sure.
One of the problems in the police department recently was the fact that there was only one officer on duty during the night shift. Mat didn’t think that was safe, no matter how peaceful the rez seemed. So he’d come up with the swing schedule that necessitated each one of his officers taking an evening shift one night every two weeks to supplement the regular third-shift officers. The men and women working for him didn’t seem to like the idea much, but when he presented the schedule and they saw that he was willing to take his turn in the rotation, they more readily accepted the change.
On Mat’s night shifts, he asked his grandfather to come to his house to stay with Grace. He wanted her to sleep in her own bed so that her routine wouldn’t be broken and she’d be well rested for school.
He was just reaching to call in to the dispatcher his intention of taking a quick break for a cup of coffee when his radio crackled.
“Mat, you there?”
A quick flash of exasperation had him issuing a sigh. He’d been attempting to get all three of his dispatchers to learn the formal police system of numbered codes used to make communicating by radio clear, concise, and more efficient. However, something in the man’s tone told Mat not to argue the point at the moment.
“I’m here,” he said.
“George from the Rusty Nail just called in.”
Stress. That was what he heard in the dispatcher’s voice. Mat knew that George was the owner of the bar.
“Trouble?” Mat asked.
“Yeah. A fight. Sounds like a bad one, too. Want me to make some calls? Get some extra help in here?”
“Let me check it out first. I’m on my way.” Then he pressed the button on the mike once more. “Walt” he called to the other officer on patrol for the night, “if you can hear me, get yourself over to the Rusty Nail.”
The surge of adrenaline pumping through Mat’s veins heightened his awareness, quickened his responses. He made a precise three-point turn, the thought of a coffee break forgotten as he flipped on his lights and siren and headed back toward the bar.
When Mat pushed his way into the dim and smoky confines of the building, the tension in the air was so crisp and the patrons so quiet, it would have been impossible not to realize that something ominous was going down. Heads swiveled in his direction when the door swung shut behind him.
He assessed the situation in an instant. Two groups of young men were facing off. He knew most of the men in the larger group, and every single one of them looked not only ready but anxious for a brawl. The smaller group was made up of males who were strangers to him. One of them wielded a knife, the long blade reflecting the red and blue neon lights of the various liquor signs gracing the walls. The craggy-faced owner of the establishment, George, stood at one end of the bar gripping a wooden baseball bat.
“Put that thing down,” was Mat’s first order. Rather than obey, George just narrowed his eyes. There was ice in Mat’s tone when he said, “Did you hear me?”
George tucked the bat behind the bar, but it was clear he didn’t like having to do it.
Mat knew from previous experience that the first order of business was to gain control over the situation. The crowd was angry, most of them inebriated. If Mat failed to prove to them—quickly—that he was the one in charge, then things could go very wrong very quickly.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Mat said to everyone in the room, “and I don’t care. All I do know is that you’re going to break this up. Now. And you’re all going to leave peacefully.”
He directed his gaze to the man holding the weapon. “Put the knife on the bar and back away from it.”
The authority in his tone already had several of the men inching back from the core of the disruption. But the man who was the focus of Mat’s attention evidently had no intention of doing what he was told. His chin jutted forward obstinately.
“And give these guys a chance to jump me?” he asked. “No way, man. No way I’m giving up my knife.”
“We can do this easy—” as he spoke, Mat crept stealthily forward “—or we can do this hard.” The perpetrator had sealed his fate by refusing to comply with Mat’s command. He was bound for jail. One way or another. His arrest was going to happen.
The man suddenly turned the knife on Mat. He wobbled, the excessive alcohol in his system dimming his reflexes and his common sense.
“Come on,” the man taunted. “Come at me, if you’re feeling lucky.”
Mat locked eyes with the belligerent and dangerous drunk. Waiting for the opportunity and then acting swiftly were the two most important tasks at hand.
Out of the blue, Mat was swallowed up by thoughts of his daughter. What would Grace do if he was killed by this drunken idiot? She had no one. She’d be left utterly alone.
Then the image of Julie’s gorgeous green eyes floated through his mind. If he died tonight, would she mourn him?
Unbidden visions of his fallen comrades’ widows, their faces red, their eyes puffy from weeping, swam into his brain. With a silent but vicious expletive, he thrust the worrisome pictures from his mind. All of them. Disarming the perp should be his sole focus.
An opportunity to attack came when Walt, his fellow officer, entered the bar. The guy’s attention was averted for a split second, and that was all Mat needed. He sprang forward.
Luck, apparently, wasn’t completely on his side. The man shifted, and Mat felt a burnin
g pain when the knife connected with his forearm. Mat wrenched the man’s wrist. Hearing the clatter of the knife hitting the floor, they wrestled only briefly before Mat overpowered him.
Walt was at his side, handcuffs at the ready. The drunk was cursing as he lay on the filthy floorboards of the bar, Mat’s knee firmly on the small of his back.
“This is over,” Mat called out to the onlookers as he fastened the man’s wrists together with the cuffs. “The bar’s closed for the night. Go home. All of you.” He looked over at Walt. “Thanks. You showed up just in time.”
“Wish I’d arrived a few minutes sooner,” the officer said.
Mat shook his head. “You came in the door and grabbed his attention. Gave me the perfect chance to rush him.”
Walt noticed the crimson stain on his boss’s sleeve. “You’re hurt. Let me take him in and start the paperwork. You go get that looked at. Want me to call an ambulance to take you?”
Certain that his arm would need stitches without even having looked at the wound, Mat said, “Thanks, but don’t need an ambulance. I’ll get myself taken care of. I’ll catch up with you later.”
The cut was small, but deep. Mat used a bar towel supplied by George to staunch the flow of blood. And the bar owner was nice enough to offer to drive Mat to his brother’s house. Mat rang the bell and waited.
At last a bleary-eyed Dakota opened the door.
“Ah, good.” Mat grinned. “The doctor’s in.”
His brother yawned. “You know what time it is? Some reason you think you don’t have to make an appointment like everyone else?”
Like Mat, Dakota had only recently returned to Misty Glen, after a stint of college and medical school, and a couple of years spent practicing medicine with his wife. But the marriage had soured, and Dakota had returned to the rez a divorced man. The breakup had affected his brother mightily. Mat sensed it, even though Dakota had thus far refused to talk about what he’d gone through.
Dakota’s gaze darted to the bloodstain on Mat’s shirtsleeve, concern puckering his brow. “Why didn’t you say you were hurt?” Dakota stepped back, ushering Mat inside. “I’ll grab my keys and we’ll head over to the office. What happened?”
