4
NATHAN SAT ON his front porch early Monday morning, drinking coffee, thinking about the day and, admittedly, waiting for his neighbor to show herself.
He’d learned her pattern by observation.
Lights out at ten each night. Her porch light stayed on.
No visitors, but she ventured out to her porch early evening to read.
And each morning, between seven and seven thirty, she exited her front door, went down the walk putting in earbuds, her iPod attached to the waistband of yoga pants, and she jogged.
It was now seven fifteen.
When he heard her door open, he didn’t look her way. Just set aside his coffee cup and flexed his arms.
He was ready. More than ready.
Today she wore running shoes, black compression shorts, a yellow tank top, and if he was any judge of breasts—and he was—a sports bra. She had her thick dark blond hair in a fat braid down her back. Instead of sunglasses, she wore a visor that cast a shadow over her amazing eyes.
Without looking his way, she picked up her pace and fell into a light jog, her braid bouncing behind her.
Nathan watched her go, flexed again, then headed down the walk. His legs were longer, he was stronger and he’d catch up easily enough. But first he wanted to do more observing.
Why was she so aloof?
Trailing a good distance behind her, he watched the movement of her toned, shapely legs, the swing of her slim arms and the gentle sway of her round ass. She turned the corner.
Knowing she wouldn’t hear him, not over the rhythmic thwap-thwap-thwap of her sneakers, he picked up his pace.
Did his scar bother her? Sure as hell bothered him, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Well, he’d retired from his position in one of the largest SWAT teams in the country and taken a much less demanding position in southern Ohio. That was something, he supposed. Wouldn’t rid him of the scar, but maybe it’d keep him from getting more.
Thinking about that day and the changes he made always left him hyperaware of the memory, the people who had died—and the people who had lived.
He touched his face where the scar cut across his cheek from his temple to the corner of his mouth.
Stopping suddenly, she turned and looked right at him.
Nathan dropped his hand and continued jogging.
So did she, but not for long.
She paused at the stop sign to a cross street and turned to face him.
Anticipation crackling, Nathan slowed as he reached her.
The second he was close enough, she demanded, “Are you following me?”
A direct attack. He hadn’t expected that, not when she’d been so cagey previously. Lying, he said, “Just out for a jog.”
She eyed him like she didn’t believe him.
Smart lady. “Do you jog every day?”
“Yes.” She unbent enough to ask, “You?”
He lied again. “Sometimes.” These days he did most of his cardio in the gym in his basement. But he’d always enjoyed jogging, so why not? “What did you say your name is?”
Giving him “the look,” she shook her head. “I never said. And you don’t strike me as the obtuse type, so I’m guessing you already knew that.”
Of course he did, and the curiosity drove him nuts. Hell, he’d thought about her all night. “Is it a secret?”
“No, I just...” Hands on her hips, she looked across the street.
Was she thinking about running? Away from him? Nathan took a step back, ensuring he didn’t crowd her.
She surprised him by holding out a hand. “Brooklin Sweet.”
Warmth uncurled inside him. Trying not to rush her, he gently took her hand. “Nathan Hawley.”
“I remember.” She pulled away. “Your friend introduced you.”
“Hogan.”
“Yes.”
Clipped answers. Trying to get rid of him quickly? Too bad, because he wasn’t in a mood to accommodate her. Perversely, the more remote she acted, the more he dug in. “I’m pleased to meet you, Brooklin.”
Her beautiful eyes stared into his. “Did I have a choice in the matter?”
“I don’t know,” he said, pretending to think about it. “I was pretty determined.”
A smile cracked, but she controlled it. “Nathan.” She spoke gently, as if to a half-wit. “You’re a very handsome man. And clearly successful. Being sheriff, I imagine people fall into line pretty quickly for you.”
Not really. Not in Clearbrook. He could debate the successful part, but he stayed quiet, anxious to hear what else she’d say. He thought it would be just as surprising as the rest of this meeting had so far been.
“Please don’t take it personally. But I really value my privacy right now.”
He lifted a brow.
“I’m not interested in dating.”
He folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t recall asking you.”
She almost flinched. “No, you didn’t, did you? That’s good.” She rallied together a look of optimism. “Saves us both the awkwardness—”
“But now that you’ve mentioned it,” he said, cutting her off. He smiled over her groan. “How about a no-pressure, meet-your-neighbor visit? Screwy Louie’s would do. Lunch, or maybe dinner?”
“Has a woman ever told you no?”
“Often. It’s never as much fun as yes.”
Her mouth twitched. “You’re dangerous.”
Hands up, he denied that. “Swear I’m not. I’m the sheriff, you know. I have to be on the up-and-up.” When she looked ready to bolt again, he said, “Odd. Your eyes look much darker with the sun behind you.” Almost like whiskey, instead of topaz. But that sounded absurdly poetic, so he kept the description to himself.
“How tall are you?” Staring up at him, she said, “I’m five-eight, not exactly petite, but you still tower over me. I’m thinking six-two?”
Wondering at that observation, he shrugged. “About that.” In case she wanted all his stats, he added, “I’m thirty-four, a hundred and eighty pounds.”
“What? No credit report? Marital status? Financial statement?”
Nathan laughed. “Never been married, no kids, and I’m financially comfortable. Not rich, so don’t get greedy. But I don’t struggle.”
Brooklin blew out a breath. “I never asked for any of that. My point, if I can remember it now, was that I don’t like men towering over me.”
“You’re into shorter guys, huh?” Maybe he should stoop down a little.
“I’m not into guys at all.”
That brought both his brows up. “Gay?”
Rolling her eyes, she said, “No. Just very uninterested in...” She waved a hand between them. “This.”
“Me?”
“Anyone. For crying out loud, pay attention.”
“Yes, teacher.”
She backstepped, breathed a little faster and said, “I need to go.”
Nathan gestured. “Lead the way.”
“No...” Hand to her temple, she groaned. “Alone. I want you to go away now.”
He would.
For now.
But first... “Just in case you think you can dodge me by jogging in the opposite direction tomorrow—”
The look on her face assured him he’d nailed it.
“—you should know that it’s going to be a nice day, which means Mr. Westbrook will be cutting his grass early. In his Speedo.” He watched her face. “He’s sixty-eight and let’s say he’s on the stocky side.” Very stocky.
Thick lashes lifted. “You’re joking.”
At least she wasn’t so jumpy now. “He claims it keeps his boys healthy, like maybe they need the fresh air, too.”
“His boys?”
“Balls.”
“Oh.” She snickered.
“A few neighbors have complained, but I figured at least he’s wearing the Speedo, right? Even though he somewhat overflows them.” Nathan touched a hand to his own trim middle. “He’s a beer drinker you know, and has the gut to go with it.”
“If I jog your way, will you follow me again?”
Once more direct and to the point. Nathan looked up at a bird on the lamppost near them. “Possibly.” Definitely. He met her worried gaze. “Has this little chat been so painful?”
Brooklin shook her head. “I guess as long as it’s only chatting, it’s okay.”
Headway. He crossed his heart. “Only chatting.” Until she relaxed enough for him to push for more.
* * *
Joni Jeffers was every bit as annoying on Monday as she’d been on Friday. Without an ounce of encouragement from Hogan, she’d set her mind to furthering their association beyond the professional.
She hovered around his desk until Hogan knew he wouldn’t get anything done.
Her continued interruptions for intimate, too-close chitchat, along with his preoccupation worrying over Violet, added to a lack of sleep over the weekend, and he could barely see the numbers in the columns.
He turned his chair to face Joni, ignored the few coworkers around them and said, “I was thinking of working from home the rest of the week.”
The way she smiled, you’d think he’d invited her over. “If that’s what you need to do...”
“I’ll get more done there.” And it’d give him time to check on Violet. “I’m missing a few returns, but I’ve already emailed the client. I’ve got the basics down on the restructuring and modernizing of the system used. Everything is online now and I should be able to present it by the end of the week, or next Monday.”
“Did you see any savings?”
“Plenty, actually.”
“Perfect.” She smiled down at him while trailing a finger up and down her cleavage.
Thank God her back was to everyone else.
“You know, Hogan, I might stop by middle of the week just so you can show me everything.”
“I can come back in Friday,” he said quickly. Then, to shore that up—because he seriously didn’t want a surprise visitor—he said, “My son has friends over a lot.” A lot, meaning occasionally. “You know how loud boys can be.”
Her gaze became assessing. “How old did you say he is?”
“Almost eighteen.”
“Closer to a man than a boy now.”
“No.” Hogan didn’t trust Joni, not at all, and he wanted those thoughts out of her head real quick. “He’s still in high school.”
“You weren’t much older than him when you became his father.”
“True. Colt is a hell of a lot smarter than I was.” As he spoke, Hogan gathered up his papers, saved his files and stood.
Joni didn’t back up.
Jesus, half the office—all of five other employees—were watching this farce play out. “I’ll check my email first thing every morning. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”
“I’ll walk you out,” she said.
Short of telling her to go to hell, what could he do? Is this how women felt when being sexually harassed? No, for a woman it’d probably be worse. After all, Joni didn’t physically threaten him.
She just annoyed the hell out of him.
* * *
Violet wanted to crumble. She wanted to sink down to the floor and put her head on her knees and give in to the need to sleep. Thanks to the meds, her chest didn’t feel quite so tight and the coughing was now at a minimum, but the awful exhaustion remained.
Where had her usual energy gone? After being a complete slug all weekend, having Hogan wait on her—even hold her while she slept—she should have had a little more pep.
To everyone she saw, she explained that she wasn’t contagious, but still, she tried to avoid direct contact with the food and the customers, just so no one would worry.
In a diner, there was always something else to do, and she stayed busy doing it. Too busy.
Once the lunch-hour traffic died down, she decided she could finally head to her office and tackle some paperwork. She was just leaving the seating area when Hogan stepped in.
Doing a double take, she watched him talk with Colt for a bit.
Damn, he was a good dad. Very hands-on and available. So what if he’d had a temporary lapse while chasing tail? Most men she knew made it a lifelong profession, not a temporary anything. And even then, he’d been with Colt a lot.
Just not in the evenings, when he’d spent time in other women’s beds.
She’d bet her last biscuit that he hadn’t slept chastely with any of them, not the way he had with her.
After his private talk with Colt, Hogan looked around, searching, she knew, for her.
Violet didn’t move from her position near the farthest corner booth where she’d been collecting dirty dishes. She’d planned to deposit them to the washer on her way to her office.
Hogan smiled and came her way. When he reached her, he took the heavy tray from her hands.
“How are you feeling?”
“What are you doing here?”
His gaze searched hers. Then he started away, saying, “You first.”
“I’m fine.” Violet hustled along behind him. “Why aren’t you at work?”
“Liar,” he said, almost like a compliment. They were both quiet as he deposited the tray in the commercial sinks where two high school boys worked with awesome efficiency.
It wasn’t until they reached her office that Hogan said, “I’ll be working from home the rest of the week.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here.” She headed to the chair behind her desk and sank down to sit.
For too long, Hogan studied her.
She fought off a sigh, a frown and a cough. “What?”
“I wanted to check on you.” As if he had every right—and maybe he did after the weekend—he put the back of his hand to her head. “You don’t feel feverish.”
“Not even a little.”
“But you’re still pooped.”
Given she had both elbows propped on her desk to keep her head from hitting the surface, lying would be pointless. “Pretty much.” She forced herself into a more upright position. “But we won’t get that busy again until dinner and I can veg here while doing—” she made a face “—paperwork.”
To her surprise, Hogan looked uncomfortable. It took her about two seconds to realize why, and with renewed energy she rushed to her file cabinet, but the files were gone, just as she’d known they would be. Slowly turning to glare, she whispered, “What did you do?”
“I brought you into the twenty-first century, for one thing.” He took a step toward her, no longer abashed but now righteous. “I streamlined your really shitty records.”
“Hogan—”
“And I started the process for some cost analysis.”
Throwing up her hands, Violet asked, “When the hell did you have time? You spent all your weekend with me!”
“Not all of it. Most, yes, but—”
God, she felt inadequate next to him. Completely, utterly inadequate. “So you...what? In the random fifteen minutes you had free you updated all my bookkeeping?”
“As I said, I haven’t completed it yet, but I’ve made enough headway to know your old accountant sucked. Good riddance to him.”
Violet was barely listening. “I’ll pay you.”
He stiffened.
“What’s your hourly salary? Let me know, and how many hours you spent on it, and I’ll—”
Looking more than a little pissed, he took long steps to reach her, caught her chin and, after scowling fiercely, kissed her.
Oh, he was definitely fired up. Maybe in a good way.
When she didn’t fight him, didn’t lurch away, he lifted his head and stared down at her. Heat lightened the color of his blue eyes and his breath had thickened.
Violet licked her lips, tasting him. But it wasn’t enough. Without really thinking through the obvious consequences, she rested her hands on his chest and leaned closer.
Hogan groaned. By slow degrees he gathered her against his body until they touched from thighs to chests. His attention drifted back and forth from her eyes to her mouth until, finally, his mouth settled on hers again.
Slower this time, more gently.
Far more devastating.
Fisting her hands in his shirt, Violet fitted herself more tightly against him. Oh, she’d known he would be trouble to her senses, but heaven help her, it was even worse than she’d expected. He turned his head, and his tongue touched along her bottom lip. She immediately opened, making her own small, desperate sound of need.
He stroked a hand down her back to her hips, hesitated, then opened his fingers over her backside, cuddling, exploring—
The knock on the door sent them both jumping apart.
Hogan stared at her, unblinking.
“Dad?”
Colt’s voice. Dear God. Violet jerked away, pretending to be busy with her file cabinet. Honestly, she didn’t know what she was doing. Shuffling something...
Behind her, she heard the door open, and then Hogan said, “What’s up?”
“Someone just dropped off a stack of the Clearbrook Trickle. What should I do with them?”
“The what?”
Violet cleared her throat. “How can you have been here so long and not know about the Trickle?”
“What is it?”
Glad to have something to focus on, but keeping her back to them anyway, she explained, “It’s the free community paper. All the various establishments in Clearbrook set them out so the locals can know about any sales, public activities, school calendars and stuff like that. Each week they herald a local citizen for one reason or another, and there’s also this newly added advice column. Very delicious stuff.”
“Advice column?” Hogan asked.
“Yeah. It’s been really fun.” She glanced back at Hogan, and with Colt standing there smiling at her in such a knowing way, she had to fight a blush. “It’s all worded in a way that you’re unsure who is who, you know? You were in it last week. Some lady wanted to know how to convince you to go shirtless.”
She watched his face blanch. Then, amazingly, hot color slashed his cheekbones. “You’re making that up.”
Feeling more herself, now that he was the uncomfortable one, Violet crossed her heart. “Swear it’s true.”
Colt laughed. “Did you keep a copy?”
Of course she had. She opened a lower drawer of the cabinet and withdrew her saved copy, already folded back to the right page. “Here you go, sugar. Bet you didn’t know your old dad was a hottie, did you?”
“Yeah, it’d be hard to miss the way the ladies carry on.” Colt shifted the stack into one arm, and with the other, he skimmed the paper. He read aloud.
“Many denizens of the female variety would like to know how to get a certain barbecue chef to tend his meats...shirtless.”
Hogan looked aggrieved.
“Ladies, I suggest you ask him. It appears he has few boundaries, if all the gossip is true. Or to be more effective, issue the request to the one who employs him. She seems to be a very competent business owner who won’t likely let a promo opportunity go unchecked.”
Colt’s laughing gaze met hers. “What do you think?”
“I asked him,” she said. “So far as I know, he’s considering it.”
Colt’s eyes widened and he guffawed.
“It’s absurd,” Hogan blustered, and he gave his son a shove, almost making him lose hold of the papers.
Colt caught his balance and laughed all the more.
“It’s entertaining,” Violet corrected, taking back her copy and storing it in the file cabinet again. “Go read it and you’ll see what I mean.” To Colt she said, “You can put the new editions on the counter next to the register. They won’t be there long.”
“Thanks.” Colt didn’t leave. “I also wanted to let Dad know I’m heading to the creek with friends after my shift ends in an hour. That is, unless you need me to stay longer?”
Well, shoot. Violet glanced up, trying for a bright smile, and said, “Not a problem, kiddo. Go and have fun.”
Of course Colt’s gaze jumped from hers to his father’s and back again. He grinned. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Holding a file in front of her, she faced him. “You look far too much like your dad with that particular expression.”
Both father and son blinked over that.
Hogan, bless the man’s prudence, stepped out of the office and took Colt with him. She could hear the low drone of their conversation, but not precisely what was said.
Colt’s laughter traveled back to her; because of the Trickle, or because he knew what they’d been doing?
For a brief second, Violet considered racing to the door and locking it while Hogan was on the other side. But that would be foolish, and besides, she didn’t have the energy for racing.
A few minutes later Hogan returned—and he let the door stand open.
Violet stared at him. “You overstepped,” she said and wished he’d kiss her again. She wanted him. Worse, she liked him.
The problem was that she very much disliked liking him.
Wanting him was a little easier to take.
“I know I did, but with good intentions.” He leaned back against the wall and tried to stare her down. “First, I don’t want your money.”
“I already pay you!”
“Let me clarify. I don’t want your money for helping out a friend and neighbor. For clocking in and standing over a hot grill, yeah, you bet I’ll take my pay.”
“You don’t consider snooping through my records real work? You do that for all your friends?” Maybe for all the women you lust after?
He smiled. “You’d be surprised how many people want free advice. Back in Columbus it happened all the time, especially with my wife’s...” He stopped, shook his head and frowned.
His wife’s what? Her family? Did he see them anymore?
Did Colt?
“Once I have you set up, you’ll be able to do the recording yourself. Or you can hire a good accountant to keep up.”
“Meaning someone other than you?”
“I’m as good as it gets,” he said without modesty. “I’m also expensive. Or used to be, anyway. I meant someone better than the idiot who mucked up your books in the first place.”
That idiot had worked for her great-uncle, and since she’d loved her uncle a lot, she’d tried hard to honor all his decisions. Unfortunately, even she knew Uncle Bibb had been out-of-date on many things, especially bookkeeping, and he’d been more interested in making the restaurant a family, rather than a thriving business.
Resenting Hogan a lot, she eased down into her chair. “You mentioned cost analysis.”
“Yeah. For instance, you aren’t charging enough for the ribs, not with the way they’re selling. Same goes for the specialty burgers, the meat loaf and a few other menu items.” He came to lean on her desk and spent half an hour telling her his initial assessment, what should be adjusted up and what should be adjusted down. He even suggested she alter her specials based on sales stats.
She didn’t like owing him, and now she was more in his debt than she wanted to admit. She was also impressed. “I was thinking the same about the ribs, but until I can offer them through the week, I don’t want to tamper with success.”
“So let’s do a test week. Since I’m working from home, I can be around enough for you to sell ribs for dinner. We can keep track and see how that goes, plus see what sides sell the best with them. From what I can tell, it’s potato salad and leafy salad, but I’m not in the kitchen much, so I can’t say for sure. That’s just what I see with the customers sitting around me.”
Having Hogan around even more would be such a blast of temptation. She was only a flesh-and-blood woman and she hadn’t been with a man in too long to count.
But whoever wrote that advice column had recognized an important facet of her personality; she was a businesswoman down to the marrow of her bones. It would be completely stupid to pass up such a terrific opportunity. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”
“I can get most of my work done in the morning, then swing by to lend you a hand while I get things going.”
Disliking him and his unending helpful attitude, she had to fight not to curl her lip. “That’s an awful lot for you to have to do.”
“True.” He briefly touched her cheek. “But I haven’t been sick, so I don’t tire easily.” He smiled and stood again. “I’ll go get started, and seriously, Violet, if you need something, ask.”
* * *
The week went by in a blur of rushed activity, calculations and unending enticement. Between him and Violet, they kept track of menu items, especially those ordered with the ribs, which were an enormous success, just as they’d both assumed they’d be.
At first, Hogan had considered teaching someone to do the ribs during the week for him, for the times when he couldn’t be there. But the more time that passed, the more territorial he felt about it.
And damn it, he enjoyed himself. So much time spent in the fresh air instead of an office. The conversation with customers, many of whom had become friends. The freedom of it, being able to laugh and joke even while working.
He loved it—all but the endless, grinding lust for Violet. Lust, but also more.
Hogan didn’t mean to, but he continually compared her to Meg. His wife had been, at least seemingly, the perfect partner. He wasn’t the only one who’d thought she enjoyed the domestic life, making their home as perfect as she could get it, always clean and orderly and well decorated. She’d loved to cook, stayed involved in the schools and always took pride in her appearance.
Violet, on the other hand, thrived on her business involvement. She would run herself ragged and smile while doing it as long as she was working in the restaurant. By the end of the day her amazing hair was a mess, her subtle makeup smudged and her casual clothes stained, but she never seemed to notice.
He noticed. Hell, he noticed everything about her.
Though incredibly petite, probably weighing no more than one-fifteen, Violet had strength. He’d seen her heft heavy boxes, rearrange picnic tables to rake up leaves and carry platters that weighed nearly as much as she did.
She also handled the occasional disgruntled customer with Southern charm and the take-charge control of a grade school teacher. Far as Hogan could tell, everyone liked her.
Single males flirted with her, but Violet never flirted back, at least not in a way that any guy could take seriously. Her flirting extended to everyone, male, female, young and old.
Except with him. Yet Hogan wasn’t sure what to do about it.
Especially since she still denied him.
In no time at all, Hogan fell into an acceptable rhythm. Being away from the office, working from home, made him more productive. He got far more done in a lot less time without Joni constantly trying to get in his pants. And since Colt was still working at the diner, he saw him more often, too.
It made Hogan wonder about opening his own business, a place where Colt could work alongside him. If it weren’t for the college expenses...
Damn Meg for throwing away everything they’d worked for, including their son’s future.
And for what? Sex with strangers? A few fast good times? Was it a ridiculous midlife crisis, or had she truly, completely stopped loving him to the point that all she felt was disdain?
Hogan didn’t like thinking about it, but he couldn’t clear the thoughts from his brain. He frowned while standing in the prep area, readying his fully cooked ribs for the grill. He realized he was breathing harder as the old rage and helplessness burned through his blood in a fresh wave.
For far too long that rage had chased him into being someone he hadn’t recognized, someone he didn’t respect.
Then Hogan felt a familiar hand swat his butt.
Immediately distracted from the choking memories, he glanced up into Violet’s light blue eyes. “There’s this thing called sexual harassment,” he teased, knowing how he felt about her and how he felt about Joni were two very different things.
Grinning, her thick red hair in a loose topknot, Violet said, “But, sugar, you haven’t even harassed me...today.”
She confused him more than any woman he’d ever known, including his wife. “No, I haven’t. You were busy talking to customers.”
“A group of young ladies who wanted to know Colt’s schedule.” She rolled her eyes. “I told them to ask him, and they said he wouldn’t share.”
“I’m surprised. These days Colt is all about the female attention.”
“I think he’s a tease, like his father.”
He’d like to tease her—in bed. He wouldn’t mind toying with her until she squirmed and panted and begged him to—
She bumped her hip to his. “You’ve got this glazed look in your eyes.”
Hogan scowled. “Do you want me to grill or make out with you?”
She pretended to pout. “It has to be one or the other?”