B007S2Z1KC EBOK Read online

  Last night had been her choice, he reminded himself. She was a grown woman.

  A vulnerable woman, his conscience replied strictly. Had he taken advantage of her?

  “Clare...” Responsibility strangled him. His tongue felt thick. His heart swelled. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “You’re wonderful. Last night was...”

  “Wonderful,” she volunteered.

  Dammit, did she look amused?

  He frowned. Didn’t she understand the enormity of what she’d just said? “Yeah. But I’m guessing it’s the first time in a long time you... Your first experience of—”

  “Sex.”

  His teeth hurt. He was clenching them too hard. He was trying to safeguard her emotions, and she was running conversational rings around him. He’d rather be cross-examined by an aggressive defense attorney than face another of her cheerful prompts.

  Manfully, he continued. “Anyway, under the circumstances, it’s only natural for you to feel—”

  “Horny?”

  “Confused!” He took a deep breath. “You know, it’s easy, when things are as good as they are for us, to mistake your feelings.”

  Strangely, as his own confidence slid away, hers seemed to return. She arched her red eyebrows.

  “You think I’m romanticizing sex with you, cowboy?”

  He didn’t know what to think. Carefully, he said, “I think it’s possible.”

  She shrugged her slim shoulders, her expression suddenly cool and irritatingly kind. “Think what you want. I know you don’t plan on sticking around. I just thought I’d better alert you to the possibilities. Well.” Her smile flickered. “I’ve got to go thin spinach.”

  As easily as that, she walked away. No pretenses, no pleas, no games. She was as honest in her emotions as in all her other dealings. He was convinced he could never live up to her, terrified he would hurt her.

  Wait, he almost called. We need to talk.

  But he didn’t have a clue what he would say. He had to fight the urge to grab her, the compulsion to spill his heart and guts and babble promises. Downing the dregs of his coffee, he stumped outside after her.

  ***

  Matt was planted in Clare’s garden like unwanted statuary, a distracting focal point. He’d pulled his disreputable lawn chair into a thin slice of shade, his elbows resting on his knees and his gun was in plain sight on his hip. In spite of his civilian clothes—jeans and a navy T-shirt—and relaxed posture, he looked like business and smelled like trouble. He wasn’t even pretending to read the morning paper she’d provided.

  The man might make her senses swim and her heart sing, but right now he was driving her crazy.

  Clare yanked at a handful of seedlings. They came up easily, their thin roots showering dirt. Swell. She was distracted, she was scared, she was tumbling in love, and now she had dirt in her socks.

  She’d thought she’d made things easy for Matt this morning by qualifying her declaration, letting him know where things stood with her without crowding his Lone Ranger routine. She’d failed to consider that Matt Dunn was a bottom line kind of guy. She’d said, “I’m afraid I might be falling in love,” and he’d heard, “Marry me.”

  Well, the hell with him. She wasn’t any more ready for that kind of commitment than he was.

  Approaching Matt at the end of her row, Clare set her hands on her hips. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

  “Like what?”

  Work slowed on the nearest rows as George and Benny paused to listen to their exchange. Clare sighed.

  “I don’t know,” she said, frustrated. “Walk your beat. Chase some bad guys. Arrest somebody.”

  His face tightened. “One, I’ve got a bad leg, so walking the beat is out. Ditto for chasing bad guys. At least my playing guard dog here frees an able bodied detective to look for Boothe.”

  Clare squelched her immediate sympathetic response to his obvious frustration. Sympathy was the last thing her wounded hero needed. “You look fine to me. Your leg obviously hasn’t kept you from...well, from...”

  Images ignited: slick bodies sliding, warm bodies clinging in a tangle of limbs and sheets. Matt’s eyes were alight with temper and memory. Her own body heated as if she’d been dipped in a scalding pot.

  She was a target, Clare reminded herself, the thought like a douse of cold water. And as long as Matt’s stubborn sense of duty kept him close, he could get hurt just being near her.

  Worry sharpened her voice. “Anyway, you’re making my crew nervous. Didn’t they teach you how to be inconspicuous in police academy or detective school or whatever?”

  Matt leaned back in his chair. “I told you I was no good at undercover. And I’m not trying to be inconspicuous.”

  She bit her lip. Of course he wasn’t. He was determined to either scare her assailants off or draw their fire. If he got shot protecting her, she didn’t know how she would cope with the guilt.

  “Well, I’m going in,” she announced. “I’ve got to change for an appointment at two.”

  His dark brows snapped together. “What appointment?”

  “Bob Collins, City Parks and Recreation? You introduced us Saturday night. I’m negotiating for those empty fields in White Oaks.” She sighed at his thunderous face. “I was pretty sure you weren’t going to like this.”

  “You knew damn well I was going to hate it. Clare, the Vipers mean business. You move on taking more turf away from them, and they’ll come after you.”

  “They’re after me anyway, aren’t they? Besides, the gunman said he was only firing to frighten me.”

  “Uh huh. And if he’d said he was the Easter Bunny, would you have believed that, too? Don’t provoke them, sugar.”

  “I’m not trying to provoke anyone.” Especially not Matt, she thought. “I’m just trying to keep the project going.”

  “Fine. But your timing on this expansion stinks. Wait until they’ve picked up Boothe and at least established a connection so they can hold him.”

  “The way they established a connection in Paul’s case?” Clare asked bitterly. “No. If I can get those four acres in the park, I can get another whole crop of tomatoes in by the end of the month.”

  “You can’t risk your life for tomatoes, Clare.”

  “The expansion will give me the basis for at least one new hire.”

  He stood, looming over her, the warmth and breadth of his body at once a bulwark and a threat to her carefully achieved composure. “And that couldn’t wait another month?”

  It could. Of course, it could. If she didn’t plant tomatoes, she could plant com or squash. Once she had the land and the projected profits, she could hire new workers any time. There was something else at stake here, more important than profits or schedules. The Vipers had struck at the heart of who she was, of what she had made of herself after they’d murdered her husband.

  “I can’t let him frighten me away,” she admitted at last. “I won’t let him win. Eddie Boothe took my husband away from me. Well, I’m taking his turf away from him. Every child I hire away from the Vipers helps me live with the loss of the children Paul and I might have had together.”

  If anyone could understand, she thought with a stirring of hope, it would be this man with his battered body and his warrior’s heart. If only he could accept that inside her unimpressive body she was a fighter, too.

  “I made my life over,” she added. “Don’t ask me to give it up.”

  Silence stretched between them. Her pulse hummed. She waited.

  And then his dark, level gaze met hers like a salute, and her heart stilled at the look in his eyes. Acceptance. Acknowledgement. Respect.

  “Go get changed, then,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”

  ***

  Matt had changed his clothes, too, Clare saw when she came down the stairs twenty minutes later. She noted his white shirt and gray slacks with approval.

  His attitude could have used a similar adjustment. He frowned suspiciously at her linen
jacket and flowered skirt. Tension rode his shoulders.

  “For heavens sake, smile,” she commanded lightly. “I feel like I’m going out with my bodyguard.”

  Humor gleamed in his face, but he didn’t shift his protective posture at the bottom of the stairs. “Smart woman.”

  Rolling her eyes, she started to brush past him. But after last night, her senses were too finely attuned to him to ignore the lure of his deep muscled chest under that fresh cotton shirt. With a sense of shock, she accepted she wanted him naked. She wanted him sweaty. She wanted to thread her fingers through the short curling hair on his neck and draw him close for her kiss.

  Unable to stop herself, she touched him on the pretext of adjusting his collar, smoothing the nylon of his navy windbreaker along his broad shoulders. She didn’t meet his eyes.

  “I don’t think you need a jacket,” she said. “I’m just wearing one because I want to be professional.”

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  Puzzled, she looked up. And then she felt under her exploring fingers the hard outline of his shoulder holster.

  He wore the jacket to hide his gun.

  Her hands dropped. His gaze met hers, aware and rueful.

  Clare tilted her chin. She didn’t want him to see how frightened she was at this reminder of her danger or the risks he would run to protect her. If she wanted to partner this man, the least she could do was try to match his courage. “Very effective,” she commented, keeping her voice steady.

  “Let’s hope so.”

  He opened the door for her, making her wait while he looked up and down the street before gesturing for her to precede him. She wished she could protest his precautions. She wished she could laugh. But he was clearly deadly serious.

  She glanced toward the lot where erratic progress was being made on the straggling rows of spinach. Isaac was taking a break in the shade, bending down, rubbing the top of Trigger’s head. Clare headed for the project’s flatbed, her neat, flat shoes crunching the gravel on the drive.

  “My truck,” Matt said behind her.

  “Should you be driving?”

  “You can drive. But we take my wheels.”

  Shrugging, she started toward his Chevy parked on the street. If he wanted to be macho about it, that was okay with her. Isaac’s voice stopped her before she reached the curb.

  “Hey, Clare!”

  She turned as Isaac approached from the lot. Matt was still halfway up the drive. He’d dropped to his haunches and was running his hand up under the cab of her truck.

  “What does he think he’s doing?” she wondered out loud.

  Isaac, coming up to her, swiveled to look. “Checking for car bombs?”

  “Car bombs?”

  Her voice reached Matt. Straightening, he pulled a handkerchief from his pants pocket.

  “Hasn’t been tampered with, but we’ll stay on the safe side. Get in the truck.” He looked at Isaac. “How’s it going?”

  “Quiet. We had a couple guys didn’t show for work this morning.”

  “That’s not that unusual,” Clare remarked.

  The crew chief pulled off his hat and rolled it in his hands. “Yeah, well, I was coming to tell you it might be best if I took off for a while, too.”

  “Isaac, why?”

  Over her head, he spoke to Matt. “Word is, Eddie Boothe is none too happy about Kenny getting arrested. Word is, he’s looking to tell me so.”

  Comprehension jolted Clare. She appealed to Matt. “Can’t the police do something?”

  He looked almost angry. “What?” he demanded. “The department’s stretched thin enough as it is. And no federal witness relocation program is going to help Isaac.”

  Responsibility for getting Isaac involved, for encouraging him to speak, made her stubborn. “But you—couldn’t you...?”

  A muscle worked in Matt’s jaw. “No,” he said flatly. “I couldn’t.”

  She heard what he would not say. He couldn’t keep a twenty-four hour watch on both of them.

  “I got cousins in Garner,” Isaac volunteered. “Figured I’d visit them ’til things cool down some. I just was hoping maybe you could pay me today for last week instead of waiting for Friday.”

  “Of course,” Clare assured him. “I’ll write you a check.”

  She struggled against an unfair sense of grievance as she hurried to the house. In spite of Matt’s reputation in the press, she didn’t really expect him to be Supercop, single-handedly taking on the forces of evil. Why should he come to the defense of a former gang member like Isaac? But still, Clare admitted, she wished he would do something, or at least want to do something, for her crew chief.

  The computer was set to print checks every two weeks. Pulling out the ledger she used for miscellaneous expenses, Clare wrote out Isaac’s paycheck, adding as big a bonus as the project could afford. Danger money. Conscience money. Whatever she called it, he would need something to support himself in Garner until he could either come back or find other work.

  Folding the check, she left the house. As she locked the front door and turned, she saw Matt and Isaac shaking hands. Isaac’s hand came away with something in it.

  He shoved it in his pocket. “Thanks, man. I’ll pay you back.”

  Matt shrugged as Clare came toward them. “Call it a payment from the department. We owe you.”

  He saw her over Isaac’s shoulder and, as usual when she caught him at his compassionate best, his face went carefully blank. She smiled at him anyway.

  She gave Isaac the check and hugged him. When she stepped back, her eyes were wet.

  “Now don’t get mushy on me, boss. I’m coming back.”

  “You’d better. I can’t run this place without you.”

  Clare waited until they were in the truck, her purse and skirts arranged on the hard bench seat, before she turned to Matt.

  ‘“Payment from the department?’” she repeated. “Did you get a receipt for reimbursement?”

  He smiled some, even as his tanned cheeks reddened slightly. “Pushy, pushy.”

  Reaching out, she laid her hand on his thigh. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

  His big, warm palm covered her hand. “No big deal.”

  But it was, Clare thought. Every decent, honorable gesture he made toppled her deeper in love with him. The thought should have terrified her. She was apprehensive. And yet how could she deny the rightness of what she felt for this man? Maybe for this one day, for this moment, she could let herself ride the warm swell of feeling that engulfed her. She wrapped her arms tightly across her chest and held on.

  Matt would be gone soon enough. As he was so careful to remind her, his assignment here was only temporary. She would enjoy what they shared while it lasted, until the press of his job and the danger of her situation recalled her to lonely reality.

  ***

  Matt watched Clare’s fists ball in her lap as Bob Collins treated her to a first class city hall brush off. She was in no danger, Matt reminded himself. But as the parks and recreation director continued to hem and haw, he felt his own muscles stiffen and his blood pressure rise.

  “It’s a security issue,” the large, pale bureaucrat was explaining for the third or fourth time. “I understand your project’s having trouble with the Vipers. And some of your employees have criminal records.”

  Clare lifted her eyebrows. “I would still think you’d prefer hardworking men and kids growing vegetables in the park to drug dealers around empty picnic tables.”

  Go get him, sugar, Matt thought.

  But Collins was not impressed. “I’m sorry, Miz Harmon. Your dedication does you credit. But my department can’t possibly accept the security risk.”

  Matt had had enough. He leaned forward across the teak veneer desk.

  “You can leave security to my department, Bob. I’ve already recommended to Mayor Hunt that we move a new ministation into that neighborhood.”

  Beside him, Clare started. He didn’t dare glance her way. />
  “You’ll find the new community policing program fully supports the park garden initiative.”

  Collins waffled. “Well, in that case... If Robert is in favor of the scheme, of course....”

  Clare swirled to her feet, smiling with false brightness. “I can get the proposal on your desk by the end of the week, Mr. Collins. Thank you so much for your time.”

  As they left the office, her neat, flat shoes slapped the linoleum floors. Matt stumped along after her.

  When he drew level, she gave him one of those sideways looks of hers and inquired, “The new community policing program—that would be you, right?”

  Was she steamed at him? Matt wondered. He hadn’t meant to interfere. He knew she was used to defending her own turf. He jammed his thumbs in his belt loops. “Yeah.”

  “And the park garden initiative—that’s me?”

  He nodded.

  “It sounds very official,” she observed, primming up her mouth. But her eyes were shrewd and amused. “Thank you for your support.”

  Cautiously, he smiled. “Don’t mention it.”

  Allowing him to open the outside door for her, she preceded him down the brick-and-cement steps. “Speaking of not mentioning things...”

  Here it comes, he thought, anticipation tightening his gut. He’d wondered how she’d react to that little bomb he’d dropped in there. He figured he’d earned her lecture. It made him uneasy, the way he felt for her, and yet there didn’t seem to be a damn thing he could do about it. More and more, he didn’t even want to do anything about it.

  She put back her head to look down her nose at him. “Exactly when were you planning on telling me about the neighborhood ministation? Or were you going to let me read about it in the paper?”

  Her tone flicked him on the raw. He’d been holding out on her, and he knew it. “No. But I sure didn’t plan on discussing it on the steps of the municipal building with you, sugar.”

  Her smile twisted. “Worried I’d object to a police presence practically across the street?”

  “No.” He opened the door on the driver’s side for her. “Worried you’d ask me who the mayor had pegged to command the new ministation.”

  Slamming the cab door on her exclamation of surprise, he hitched around to the passenger seat and levered himself in beside her. “That’s right. He asked me.” When she just stared at him, still silent, he added, “There’s a promotion in it.”