Troublemaker

  That worried her. She didn’t want to be the target of any strategy . . . or did she? She had no idea what she wanted. She knew what she should want, knew what was safest, but for the first time in a long, long while she wasn’t certain she could stay the course she’d mapped out for herself.

  He looked around the office. “Are you finished here?”

  “I am. I’m getting out of Dodge—or in this case, Hamrickville—before anything else can happen.” Maybe, with the court hearing over and both Melody and Miss Doris out of jail, they would have peace again.

  She locked up and they went to their respective vehicles. Tricks loaded up into the Jeep, looking very happy to be in her special place with Bo. Bo pulled her thoughts away from what she shouldn’t, couldn’t, have and concentrated on the very good things that were in her life now. She reached over and rubbed Tricks’s neck. “Did you play ball with Morgan’s machine? Was it fun?” Man, she wished she had a video of that.

  Tricks gave her a tongue-lolling-out-the-side-of-her-mouth grin.

  From his vehicle, Morgan motioned for her to lead. Fifteen minutes later, after a stop at the mailbox to retrieve the day’s offerings, they parked side by side in the dark driveway. The security lights came on, and he’d left the porch light on to dispel the shadows on the patio. She didn’t like going into a dark house, never had, so the light was a welcome relief. She wouldn’t tell him that, though; he’d gotten his way about the added security and that was enough.

  As she got out of the Jeep and let Tricks out, the mild spring night folded around her, rich with the sweet scents of wild rhododendron and fresh grass. The crickets were chirping, some night birds offering an occasional liquid note. She paused a moment to savor the smell, then joined him on the porch.

  They went in together, man, woman, dog. It was almost like a family, she thought wistfully before she caught the recurring theme. Morgan was not family. She and Tricks were family, they were the ones who’d still be there when he was somewhere on the other side of the world.

  Tricks ran to her bowls and first checked to see if food had magically appeared in her food bowl, then transferred her attention to the water. Morgan dropped into “his” spot on the sofa, propped his boots on the wood and steel coffee table, and turned on the TV. Bo stood there for a minute, absorbing the new rhythms of her life that had become commonplace without her noticing.

  “Stop watching me like that,” he said without looking at her. “Or we’ll have to go upstairs.”

  Damn it, she should have known he’d be able to pick up when he was being watched. She felt her face getting warm. There was no denying it though she wasn’t happy that he’d noticed. Denying her interest would be silly; giving in to it would be downright dangerous. “No,” she said. “We won’t.” Then she added, “You said it’s my decision, remember?”

  He gave her a sideways glance. “Never said I wouldn’t try to change your mind.”

  Her mind shouted No! but excitement fizzled along her veins at the idea. She almost asked him exactly what methods he’d use before catching herself. Physical attraction was a bitch. She knew exactly what she should do, and too damn bad she had to battle chemistry and her own stupid hormones to keep her head straight.

  Irritably she said, “Any relationship between us would be a waste of time.”

  “How is that?” He looped his arms behind his head, linked his fingers. He looked totally at ease, which was at once both annoying and sexy. She didn’t want him to feel at ease when she didn’t, but his self-confidence definitely called to her. “Wouldn’t the relationship be the whole point?”

  “Been there, done that, don’t see the point of doing it again. I’m not—” She started to say “interested” but swallowed the word before she made an even bigger fool of herself. “I try to learn from my mistakes. The fact is, I’m better off alone than I am investing time and effort in a relationship that’ll be over in a few months at the most, maybe even a few weeks—hell, maybe tomorrow, for all either of us knows.”

  His eyebrows lifted. “How do you know it would be over?”

  “Because you won’t be here,” she explained with exaggerated patience. “You’ll leave, and—”

  “And the roads go in only one direction? I can’t come back?”

  She wanted to smack him out of sheer frustration. If she hadn’t already betrayed her attraction to him, she’d have simply lied, but she’d stood there like a fool and kissed him back in a way no man would mistake, especially a man like him who was trained to notice every detail. Now she was cornered, and she hated being cornered, hated not being in control. Damn it, why did he have to be so persistent and reasonable? He wanted sex; for a man, that was simple, but she wasn’t a man.

  “You’re such a turd,” she said sourly and stomped upstairs.

  Her feelings weren’t helped by the laughter that followed her.

  Morgan smiled to himself as he clicked to a softball game. Normally Bo was as level-headed and contained as anyone he’d ever known; she got angry, but she didn’t lose control. He was getting under her skin, and that was a good thing because it meant she wasn’t able to distance herself. She wanted to—but, damn, their physical chemistry was so hot it kept blindsiding her, getting her flustered and annoyed.

  He almost knew how she felt. He wasn’t reluctant to get involved the way she was, but almost every day he’d get punched in the gut by the growing intensity of his fixation on her. This was new to him, scary new.

  He’d wanted women before, but mostly he’d wanted sex. He hadn’t been this focused on one particular woman since high school and his first major crush—and the situation was getting worse by the day. Instead of spending most of his time now thinking about regaining his strength, going over and over everything that had happened that last day in an effort to pinpoint exactly what had almost gotten him killed, he was thinking about Bo: watching her, evaluating her smallest response, learning her patterns and movements and likes.

  He wasn’t a navel-gazer; when he wanted sex, he got sex. Couldn’t get any simpler than that. And after sex, he turned his analytical thinking back to the job. But he felt as if he needed to concentrate on Bo, to get the best read possible on her so he didn’t make any missteps. He didn’t know why not screwing up with her was so important but it was, so he went about his campaign to get her with the same thorough attention he’d given to planning critical ops. His question about whether or not he could come back hadn’t been rhetorical. No matter what happened with his job, he didn’t want to lose touch with Bo.

  Or her dog. Don’t forget the dog.

  As if reading his mind, Tricks trotted up to lay her muzzle on his knee and give him the full dark-eyed, furrowed-brows treatment. Then she woofed and looked at the stairs before looking back at him. He chuckled because the message was plain: Aren’t you going upstairs too? If one of her humans went upstairs, she evidently thought the second one should follow.

  He liked the way she thought. And he liked thinking of himself as one of her humans.

  But Bo was giving herself time to cool off, and he didn’t want to push her too much. She’d be back down in a few minutes. Next time . . . maybe next time he’d get his hands on those little boobs and find out if they were soft or firm. He was betting on firm, and his mouth watered at the thought. Shit, he had it bad. Or good. He hadn’t decided which yet, but it was exciting as hell. He said softly, “Not yet, girl,” as he stroked Tricks’s head.

  CHAPTER 17

  THE WEATHER HAD BEEN CLOUDY FOR THE FEW DAYS before the Heritage Parade, but parade day dawned clear and warm—unfortunately. Bo had kind of been hoping for rain, which was bad of her on the kids’ account. She resigned herself to sitting on a flatbed trailer in the sun, but at least everyone else would be having fun.

  She put Tricks in the shower with her, which Tricks actually loved because cavorting in the “rain” was one of her favorite things. There wasn’t room for much cavorting, but Tricks didn’t care. She whirled, she dan
ced, she tried to catch the water drops in her mouth. Bo tried to stay on her feet with the dog bouncing around like a delirious dervish, and get Tricks clean and thoroughly rinsed. Then she used three beach towels to get the excess water out of the plush golden fur; after that, Tricks stood patiently while Bo finished drying her with a blow dryer, as if she knew she needed to be extra pretty for the day.

  Bo huffed out a tired breath when she was finished. She needed to shower, too, and even though she hoped she wouldn’t be on display, she wasn’t betting the farm on it, no matter how much the kids reassured her. That meant makeup and something dressier than her usual work garb: not a dress, because she’d be climbing on and off the flatbed, but nice pants and shoes, and a pretty blouse. Part of her looked forward to dressing up a little, but being in a parade had never been on her bucket list. Tricks and the kids, though, would have a ball; if Tricks had a bucket list, being queen of a parade would definitely be on it.

  She let Tricks out of the bedroom so the dog could visit with Morgan while she herself returned to the shower to begin getting herself ready. She dried her long dark hair into a sleek fall that reached the middle of her back. She put on earrings and makeup. As she dusted blush on her cheeks, she wondered if Morgan would notice—then she mentally kicked herself for wondering. Whether he noticed or not shouldn’t matter to her. She couldn’t let it matter. Damn it . . . it mattered. She wanted him to find her attractive. She wanted to be pretty for him.

  She was as bad as Tricks. But while Tricks was supremely confident that she was the prettiest dog in the world, Bo had no such illusion. She wouldn’t break any mirrors, but neither was she a beauty queen. She liked that she had nice thick hair and big eyes, but her figure was nonexistent. If she let herself be self-conscious about anything it would be her lack of boobs; the only cleavage she’d ever have was butt cleavage, and—and Morgan had said she had a sweet little ass.

  A wave of heat engulfed her, and her legs were suddenly so weak she had to lean against the bathroom sink. Remembering what he’d said, and the laser focus of his eyes when he said it, leached the strength from her muscles so that all she wanted to do was lie down—preferably with him.

  She pressed her palms over her eyes. She was in so much trouble. The only hope she had of coming out of this devil’s arrangement unscathed was for Axel to call today, so Morgan could leave immediately. The temptation to simply forget about her well-founded reservations was growing every day. And even if he left today, would she be unscathed? Would she be able to promptly forget about him? The answer was no. She might never completely forget him; he might linger for the rest of her life in the area of her heart and soul reserved for regrets.

  Before she got so bogged down in what ifs and maybes that she couldn’t function, she shook herself out of the doldrums and finished dressing. It was going to be a long day, and she didn’t have time to dawdle.

  Long or not, the day should be interesting and could possibly be downright fun, once the parade was over. After the parade there would be a huge picnic in the town park; some vendors had already set up their booths to sell soft drinks, cotton candy, popcorn, and other treats. Every year, something happened that gave the townsfolk something to talk about for months, such as Mayor Buddy falling in the pond, or one of the kids thinking it was a good idea to tie his daddy’s car keys to a helium balloon and let go of it. The kid had thought the keys would weigh the balloon down so it would drag across the ground. The balloon had been a big one, and he had been wrong.

  Since becoming chief, she’d spent all day at every Heritage event, as did Mayor Buddy, all the town council members, and at least one patrolman. Things usually ran fairly smoothly with only minor bumps, though year before last there had been some excitement when a barbecue grill had caught on fire and also caught the tree shading it on fire. That had caused a rule to be put in place that no grills could be positioned under trees or close to structures of any kind. She was only surprised the town had gone that long without a grill catching something on fire.

  She left her bedroom to find the downstairs empty; through the wall of windows she could see Morgan strolling around the yard with Tricks. He was wearing jeans and a white tee shirt, and a pair of brown Vasque multisport shoes instead of his usual boots. As she watched, he squatted down in front of Tricks to say something to her and scratch behind both her ears. Tricks lifted one paw and laid it on his arm, her expression blissful as she listened to whatever he was saying.

  Stopping in her tracks, Bo simply watched him for a moment. The way he moved was powerful and lithe, as graceful as a ballet dancer but in a completely different way, as if his balance and strength were so intertwined that he could attack from either left or right without losing anything in speed. His bare arms were roped with sinewy muscle, his skin tanned from all the time he’d been spending outdoors. He’d been with her just a month and his recovery was nothing short of spectacular, especially when she considered how weak he’d been when he got here.

  He was completely able to care for himself now. Heck, he was even caring for her. He was doing the lion’s share of the housework: laundry, most of the cleaning, some of the cooking. If it weren’t for the situation he was in, he would likely already be gone.

  She had always treasured having her house to herself, her sanctuary where she could shut out the world and be alone, just her and Tricks. But now, when he left, there would be an empty place that she hadn’t noticed before, that he’d filled with his grouchiness and humor and guyness. The house even smelled different now: a man lived here, and it was obvious. She felt as if she should bring in fresh flowers to offset the musky scent of man, sweat, the leather of his shoes, the oil he used to clean both her pistol and his, plus sometimes the sharpness of gunpowder that told her he’d been practicing while she was gone. She’d never noticed anything like this before, during her marriage, but now all of her senses seemed to be acutely attuned to Morgan in ways she’d never thought possible.

  While she was gathering the supplies Tricks would need for the day—food, water, a chew toy, a soft blanket—Morgan came back inside with Tricks. “You ready to leave?” he asked.

  “Almost.” She put the food, water, and toy in a small cooler and set the cooler on the blanket. “Now I’m ready.”

  He tucked his Glock inside his waistband, in the slim-carry concealed holster, and pulled a blue shirt on over his tee shirt, leaving it unbuttoned. “So am I.”

  A little taken aback, she said, “Why the weapon? You’ve never taken one to town before.”

  He lifted his brows. “There’ll be a crowd there, right?”

  “Well, yeah. Most of the people in town try to show up.”

  “That’s why I’m armed. The probability of trouble goes up exponentially, the more people there are.”

  “We’ve never had any trouble before—not anything that required firearms anyway.” She paused, then smiled. “I take that back; someone had to shoot down a helium balloon year before last.”

  “Escaping, huh?”

  “With some car keys tied to it.”

  He chuckled. “Wish I’d seen that.”

  “Watching a grown man jump up and down like Rumpelstiltskin and scream ‘Get it! Get it!’ was definitely the highlight of the day.” She paused, then sighed. “I suppose I should get my weapon from the Jeep. I hadn’t thought about it.”

  “Firearms are like hospitals. If you have ’em and don’t need ’em, that’s a good thing. If you need ’em and don’t have ’em, that’s a very bad thing.”

  She grumbled inwardly because the pistol would have to go in her bag and would get heavier and heavier as the day wore on. She’d never bothered getting a holster that could clip to her waistband, rationalizing that she was just administration instead of a real police chief, but this last month had made her realize that for better or worse, she was the police chief, a real one, and she had to accept the responsibilities that came with the job. She could have used better training when it came to the Kyle
Gooding incident, and the “mob” scene could have turned out much worse if the people had been different. She’d been lucky; now she needed to be smart.

  Morgan stuffed Tricks’s leash in his pocket, then took the cooler and blanket from her. While he was putting everything in the Tahoe and loading up Tricks, she retrieved the pistol from the Jeep and stowed it in her bag, which was now as heavy as she’d anticipated.

  The main street had already been blocked off in anticipation of the parade. Morgan had so quickly learned the area that she suspected he’d been studying Google Maps, and without asking for directions he took secondary streets that led them to the staging area along the park where the parade floats and marchers were lining up.

  “Holy shit,” he said as he got out of the Tahoe and surveyed the scene. “I didn’t expect it to be this big.”

  “I think there’s thirty-something entries, but not all of them are from Hamrickville. The Shriners aren’t; they’re based in another town, but they do all the parades.”

  The local VFW led the way, followed by the Shriners on their motorcycles, then the Ladies’ Club on a short-trailer float that looked as if they were having a tea party because all the ladies were seated on delicate chairs around an ornate wrought-iron table. One year Mayor Buddy had ridden a Segway at the head of the parade, but it had gotten away from him, dumped him on his ass in the middle of the street, and mowed down a trash can. That was before he’d broken his ankle skiing. After the broken ankle, Mayor Buddy had decided riding the Segway was like asking for trouble so that idea had gone away, to the disappointment of the townsfolk.

  The high school seniors’ float was seventh in line, and the kids came running when they saw her and Tricks. “This is going to be so awesome,” said one of the girls. She was wearing a floaty summer dress and a tiara and had glitter all over her face. They were all dressed in their party best, boys and girls, and the whole bunch wanted to get Tricks “dressed.” Despite efforts to get her accustomed to a tiara, no way was Tricks having any part of it, but they’d prepared for that possibility by having a glittery pink bow with long dangling ribbons that they stuck on top of her head. At least it matched the pink boa they draped around her. Bo swallowed her laughter; she glanced over and saw that Morgan had turned his back, though there was a betraying shake to his shoulders. The kids were laughing too, so she didn’t think their feelings would be hurt. Tricks’s expression was blissed out; all that attention was right up her alley.