by Coleen Kwan
He had to admit she’d thrown him when she suggested they go to the dance together. Maybe taking her out for a drink last week had been a mistake. He hadn’t realized they were edging this close to being “a couple”. That had given him a few ulcers just thinking about it.
“If you run into him again, please promise me you won’t try to stop him,” he said in earnest. As frightening as it was to imagine going to a dance with Abigail, even more terrifying was her attempting to tackle a mean dog like Michael O’Brien.
“I won’t. I’m not stupid.” She frowned at him.
The doorbell jingled, and Katherine crept into the store, looking pale but composed. She hesitated when she saw Brody.
“Mrs. O’Brien, is anything the matter?” Abigail leaped forward and placed a hand on the woman’s arm.
“No, I…” Her gaze darted to Brody and back to Abigail. “I just wanted to thank you properly. I wasn’t calm enough earlier.”
Brody stepped up, studying Katherine intently. Why was she lying to cover Michael? Why couldn’t she see that her son was a dangerous thug who needed to be locked up?
“Abigail told me what happened,” he said. “We should tell the cops on the beat so they can be on the lookout for this jerk.”
Katherine’s eyes were two black pools in a sagging face. “No, I don’t want any trouble. He was j-just a vagrant, not worth anyone’s time.”
Brody’s shoulders bunched up with impatience. Michael wanted something from his mother. What was it? Money? Was he coming back soon? Did Katherine know where he was hiding out?
He was about to say something when the doorbell chimed, letting in a group of women bundled up in coats and scarves. He smothered a groan. Damn knitters. Why did they have to show up now?
“Brody?” A woman spoke from behind him. “Is that you?”
The voice was as familiar to him as the back of his hand. Shock ran down his spine and zapped him in the butt.
With a sense of impending doom, he turned around. “Hi, Mom.”
She blinked back at him. In the couple of milliseconds, he summed up the situation. His mom had somehow found the yarn store, she didn’t know about his stakeout, and Katherine and Abigail were standing just a few feet away. This could get tricky.
“What are you doing in a yarn store?” his mom asked, looking like he’d sprouted wings or something.
He could ask her the same thing. Moira had never been the knitting-baking-sewing kind of mother. The last place he’d ever expect to find her was in a yarn store. But, then again, she had taken to cooking with a fierce vengeance, so maybe she’d decided to tackle knitting next.
“I’m helping Abigail out.” He shot a speaking look at Abigail, trying to convey to her that he needed help here.
“Abigail?” His mom appeared even more bewildered.
“His girlfriend,” Katherine piped up. She gave Moira a sympathetic nod. “I suppose you didn’t know about her.” She clicked her tongue after Moira shook her head. “Mothers are always the last to find out.”
Brody cleared his throat. He had to take charge of the situation before all his hard work unraveled. “Mom, this is Abigail Brightwater, the owner of this store. Abigail, this is my mom, Moira.”
The two women shook hands, both clearly bursting with questions they were too polite to voice.
“I’m helping Abigail out while I take a rest from acting,” he said with great firmness to his mother. He stared at her intently, waiting for her old cop instincts to kick in and avoid disaster.
“Acting…” She stared back at him for a moment before a small crease appeared between her eyes. “Oh, acting. When are you going to give that up and find a proper job?”
He breathed out a silent sigh of relief. Trust his mom not to let him down.
“I’m not that bad, am I?”
But his mom’s attention had veered off to Abigail standing next to him. “I’m so happy to meet you, dearie. I don’t know why Brody kept you such a secret.”
A pink hue swept over Abigail’s face as she studiously avoided Brody’s eyes. “Brody and I haven’t been together all that long.”
“Why are you here, Mom?” Brody broke in, keen to steer the conversation away from his “girlfriend”. “You’ve never been interested in knitting.”
“I’ve never had time to be interested, have I? But now I’m retired, and I loved that wee baby jacket Shannon’s mother-in-law made for little Angie. I want to make something like that.” She turned to Abigail. “Is it difficult? Can you help a beginner like me?”
Abigail’s face brightened. “Of course I’ll help. We have plenty of easy patterns for baby jackets, and if you run into any problems you can always ask me.”
Moira nodded at Brody. “See, I knew I’d come to the right place. There aren’t any specialty yarn stores near me. It was a good idea trekking over here, especially since I get to meet Abigail.” Her eyes glinted mischievously. “Bring her to lunch on Sunday. Everyone will be there, even Caitlin.”
Brody gritted his teeth. “Mom, I don’t think we can make it. Abigail has to mind the store.”
“On Sunday afternoon?” Moira fixed her gaze on Abigail. “According to your store hours, you close at twelve thirty, so Brody could have you at my place by one.”
“Oh, uh—” Abigail was turning pink again. “Well, I guess I could.” She darted a quick glance at Brody and dammit if her lips weren’t twitching with amusement.
“Fine, we’ll come,” he conceded. He didn’t know why he was getting so worked up. This whole charade was only for Katherine’s benefit. As soon as they were somewhere private, he’d explain the real situation to his mom, and then there’d be no need to pretend Abigail was his girlfriend, and they wouldn’t have to endure a family grilling on Sunday.
“Wonderful.” His mom beamed at him, and for a moment his heart twinged at her misplaced happiness. She smiled at Katherine confidingly. “You don’t know how hard it is getting this one to bring a girl home to meet his mom.”
“It must be your lucky day today.” A wistful look filled Katherine’s eyes, as if she was thinking of her own son and his deficiencies. “Every son should appreciate his mother.”
“Absolutely. You sound like you have a son of your own.”
The wistfulness died from Katherine’s face. She tugged her scarf around her neck. “I have to go. Goodbye.” She scurried out the store, head bent.
“Odd woman.” Moira frowned after her.
Brody drew in a breath. “Mom, I have to tell you—”
“Can it wait, honey? I’m so keen to get my knitting going, and I have to be back in an hour.” She smiled at Abigail. “You were going to show me some patterns?”
Brody watched in resignation as his mom and Abigail ambled off to the racks of patterns on the other side of the store. With other customers hovering nearby, now wasn’t the ideal time to enlighten his mother.
“Excuse me?” A tiny old lady with a flowerpot hat smiled sweetly at him. “Could you help me, please?”
“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t know much about yarn.”
“Oh, I can see that, but it’s your height I need, not your expertise.” She motioned to the shelves of yarn. “I need some teal wool. It’s near the top, and, well, you see my problem.”
“Oh, yeah, sure.”
He walked over to the shelves and picked up a couple of balls of teal wool. “That enough?”
“I’ll have to make sure it matches the yarn I already have.”
The flowerpot lady spent a great deal of time comparing yarn. Brody had to fetch a dozen balls of yarn before she was happy with one, and afterward he had to restack the rest she’d discarded. After all his labors, she only bought the one ball, a total of three dollars. He didn’t know why Abigail worked so hard for so little return, but as he watched her with his mom, he knew it wasn’t abou
t the money but about the pleasure she got in dealing with her customers. She’d be happy to help them even if they didn’t buy anything. And she and his mom appeared to be getting on like a house on fire. She was showing different types of yarn, and his mom was listening intently. His mom didn’t do things by half measures. If she’d decided to take up knitting, then she was going to charge full tilt at it.
The two of them came up to the front counter where Brody was lounging and deposited knitting needles, yarn and a pattern next to the register. Before Abigail could ring up the purchases, flowerpot lady corralled her, asking for help on crochet hooks.
“You go ahead.” Moira waved Abigail off. “I’ll chat with Brody.” She turned to her son, gesturing at her knitting supplies. “Isn’t this great? Abigail can check my progress when you bring her over on Sunday.”
Brody stood up. Time to set him mom straight on a few things.
“Mom,” he said, lowering his voice so no one could overhear them. “I need to tell you something. Abby and I, we’re not actually dating.”
“Yes, I know you don’t like to ‘date’ women, but you and Abigail are…together, aren’t you?” Moira’s clear blue eyes leveled at him. “To be more blunt, you’re sleeping with her, yes?”
Christ, there was no escape from those direct, all-seeing eyes. And why the hell was his sex life even under discussion? He nodded tersely. “Yeah, but you see—”
“There are no buts, Brody. I only met Abigail ten minutes ago, but already I know she’s not the type to sleep around casually. If you’ve shared a bed with her, then you and she are dating. No ifs or buts about that.”
His mom was right. Abigail might have started off as his pretend girlfriend, but he’d crossed the line when he’d fallen into bed with her. He couldn’t brush her off as nothing. Dread prickled the back of his neck. Jesus, it felt like a noose was tightening around his throat.
“I notice the way you look at her,” Moira continued. “Plus, you just called her Abby. You can’t fool your old mother that you don’t feel something for her.”
He glanced at Abigail patiently assisting the flowerpot lady, and realized how much he’d missed her since Sunday. Missed spending the nights with her wrapped in his arms. Missed waking up to her hair in his face and her scent on his skin. Shit, what was happening to him? Was he actually falling for a woman for the very first time in his life?
His mom’s chuckle broke his boiling thoughts. Leaning across the counter, she patted him on the cheek. “It’s not so scary, honey. Just go with the flow and you’ll be fine.”
He shook his head as he forced the unnatural feelings away from him. Concentrate on something else, for Chrissakes. Something like work, for instance.
“Mom, I’m conducting a stakeout, and people around here don’t know I’m a cop. I’d appreciate you not blowing my cover.”
“I caught your vibe, and I’m not going to blow your cover.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “So Abigail knows, does she?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“Mm-hmm. And you got together with her during this stakeout?”
He swiped the back of his hand across his brow. He could never withstand his mom’s interrogations. “Sort of,” he prevaricated.
“Ri-ight.”
His mom didn’t look too satisfied with his weak answer, but fortunately before she could apply the third degree to him, Abigail and flowerpot lady trooped up to the counter, where Abigail began ringing up Moira’s purchases first.
“Thank you so much,” his mom trilled when she had paid and tucked the bag under her arm. She stood on tiptoe to peck Brody on the cheek and squeezed Abigail’s arm. “I’ll see you both on Sunday. Looking forward to it.”
Brody had to bite his tongue until the flowerpot lady had been served and tottered out the store, clutching her shopping bag. But when he and Abigail were finally alone, the words he thought needed saying seemed stuck in his throat. Instead of blurting out that Sunday lunch at his mom’s place was never going to happen, he found himself wishing he could make Abigail smile at him. It seemed like a very long time since she had smiled at him—genuinely smiled—and he missed that.
“So, that was your mom, huh?” Abigail busied herself tidying a pile of receipts.
“Yeah. I almost had a heart attack when she appeared, especially with Katherine standing by.”
“She seemed to know what you were up to.”
“She still has that sixth sense of hers. Kept her safe while she was on the beat.”
Abigail clipped the receipts together, taking unusual care. “You can tell her I’m not feeling well when you go over on Sunday.”
He squinted at her, trying to decipher her composed expression and failing. “You don’t want to go? Mom will be disappointed.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to, but you don’t want me to go.”
Damn, was she never going to look him in the eye again? Placing his hands on her shoulders, he drew her around to face him. “I might have thought that initially, but I’ve changed my mind. I want you to come with me.”
The somberness in her eyes slowly gave way to wariness. “You do? But…why?”
He could ask himself the same question. He didn’t know the answer. All he knew was that he wanted Abigail smiling at him again.
“Because I don’t like you being mad at me.”
“I’m not mad at you,” she replied too quickly.
“Well, I think you are. After Sunday night.” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, suddenly awkward.
“Oh. That. No, I was to blame too. You don’t like to dance, I get that. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” Her gaze was aimed square at the top button of his shirt.
He did not do couply things, and he definitely did not like to dance. Should he tell her about Gina? No, it was too soon. He wasn’t prepared enough. He didn’t even know why he was doing it. Or, maybe he did but he wasn’t ready to admit it to himself.
Sliding a finger beneath her chin, he gently tipped her face up to look into her eyes. “If you’re not mad at me, then give me a smile.”
Her lips quivered before pulling into a brief, muted smile. “There you go.” She twisted away from him.
He stared at her, aware that everything between them was shifting fast. Too fast.
“Okay then. So Sunday is on.”
She nodded, once again torturing her receipts. “It’s on.”
“My mom isn’t the best cook, so don’t expect anything fancy.”
“Oh, I don’t think you should be saying that.” She seemed shocked.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She pressed her lips together, and he wanted to kiss her, to soften her mouth with his. The urge to be with her rose, stronger than ever, and with it came a throb of alarm. He was wrong for her, but he couldn’t seem to crush his need for her.
He cleared his throat. “Now that O’Brien’s shown up in the neighborhood, I need to spend more time watching his mother’s house from your apartment. That okay?”
She nodded quickly, though she seemed nervous about having him around. “Sure, no problem. I’ll be out at a neighborhood-watch meeting tonight.”
Was she trying to avoid him? Maybe he should tell her about Gina. But that made him nervous. He felt like he was wandering through a maze of dark alleys, and his head was getting more confused by the day. Better to play things by ear and see how they worked out.
The phone rang, and Abigail turned to answer it, leaving Brody alone. He still hadn’t got a proper smile from her, he realized, and that bugged him all day.
Chapter Ten
On Wednesday morning Abigail was finishing breakfast when Brody arrived at her apartment. Her surprise at his early arrival increased when she saw he wasn’t alone. A tall, rangy man about the same age as Brody walked in with him.
“Th
is is Detective Shane Jackson,” Brody introduced him. “Shane, this is Abigail Brightwater.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Brightwater.” Shane shook hands with her, curiosity frank in his face. He had dirty-blonde hair and ice-blue eyes that sparkled with humor. “I’m helping Brody out with his stakeout.”
“Please call me Abigail.” She aimed a querying look at Brody. She hadn’t seen him since yesterday. By the time she’d returned from her neighborhood-watch meeting last night, he’d already left. His absence had disappointed her more than she liked to admit. “So things are getting serious?”
“Yep. After I informed my lieutenant about O’Brien showing up at the library, he agreed to focus more resources on this stakeout.”
Why was he being so stiff and formal with her? Was it because of his partner’s presence?
“Do either of you want some coffee? Toast?” She waved the half-eaten piece of toast with marmalade she was holding.
Shane made as if to say yes, but Brody was already shaking his head. “Thanks, but no. We don’t have time. I gotta be somewhere else soon, and I need to show Shane the setup. Is it okay if we go through to your bedroom?”
“Sure, go ahead.” Thank goodness her bed was already made and her room reasonably tidy. She didn’t mind Brody seeing her mess, but his partner was a stranger. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”
Shane smiled at her before following Brody down the hall. Abigail returned to the kitchen, but her appetite was gone, and she had to force the rest of her toast down her throat. A few minutes later, Brody appeared in the kitchen, alone.
“Thanks for being so accommodating,” he said. “I know it’s awkward having strangers in your home, especially in your bedroom.”
Brody had been a stranger to her bedroom for three whole nights. But who was counting, right? She wasn’t the clingy type. She could do casual just as well as the next woman.
“Oh, I’m not worried.” Shrugging, she opened the refrigerator to put the butter away. “You’re keen to catch your fugitive.”
