Читать книгу Dust Up With The Detective - Danica Winters - Страница 11

Chapter Two

“Not every situation requires a gun,” Gemma said as she walked up the steps to the back door. “You scared poor Megan. Didn’t she, honey?” Her mother wrapped her arm around her daughter and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m fine, Grandma, really.” Megan tried to wiggle out of her embrace.

Blake snorted lightly. If the girl was a bit older, she would have realized that, for good or bad, no matter how much she struggled, she would never be out of Gemma West’s grip.

“I’m sorry about this mess, Jeremy. Having a gun pointed at you isn’t much of a thank-you for your help in trying to get Megan out of those handcuffs,” her mother continued.

Blake looked over at Jeremy Lawrence. She’d always thought of him as the gangly neighbor she had once had a crush on, but seeing the grown-up detective now, it was clear he was nothing like the boy she remembered. Now he stood tall with impossibly wide shoulders, a chiseled jaw and the piercing green eyes of a stranger. Everything from the way he walked, solid and firm, to the way he watched their every move, in control and ever vigilant, screamed alpha man.

“You’re a tough one, Megan,” Jeremy said as he held the door for them. “You remind me of my daughter. I think you’d like her. Once she got ahold of my handset and started playing Simon Says on the radio. It was funny, except for the fact that it was on a live channel. I thought the dispatchers were going to lose it.” He turned to Blake and smiled like he understood what she was going through as a single mother.

She gave him a thankful nod, but he couldn’t possibly know how hard it was. How each day she was plagued with Mom-guilt—the overwhelming fear that no matter what choices she made, she should be doing more for her daughter. As it was, she tried her best to be there for Megan, but because of the crazy nature of her job and her unconventional schedule, Megan was often left with her grandmother—who never missed an opportunity to remind Blake of all the things she could do better.

There was no way Jeremy could understand all the hats she had to wear to make it through the day.

“Were you mad when your daughter messed up, Mr. Lawrence?” Megan asked him as she made her way into the house.

Jeremy shook his head as he smiled at Blake. “It was my fault. It hadn’t occurred to me she would play with my scanner.”

“See, Mom, he wasn’t mad when his daughter screwed up.” Megan looked back at her as if gauging her residual anger.

“I’m not mad,” Blake said as she followed her mother and daughter inside. “I just don’t understand what possessed you to take my handcuffs out of my drawer and put them on. You had no business—”

Jeremy put his hand on her lower back as he followed her inside and let the door close behind them. His hot, familiar touch made her stop midsentence.

“I’m sure she didn’t mean to upset you, Blake. Did you, Meg?” he asked, smiling as he gently moved his hand away, leaving behind the warmth of his touch.

Did he know what he was doing to her? The last man who had touched her, at least in that way, had been Megan’s father. Sure, she and Jeremy had known each other as children, but he couldn’t touch her so familiarly—not when their friendship had existed a lifetime ago.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Megan said.

“Jeremy’s right. It’s your mom’s fault,” Gemma said as she moved through the kitchen. “If she wouldn’t have left the handcuffs where you could find them, none of this would have happened.” She turned to face Blake. “And it would have been nice if you would have answered your phone.”

She loved her mom, but the jab pierced deep, puncturing the little bubble of guilt that she tried to keep out of reach. Her mother was right; she had messed up. She shouldn’t have left her cuffs where Megan could find them. But... “Mother, I have no control over where and when my phone works—you know this.”

“Well, I don’t think you have any business traipsing around the county without a phone that works. Do I need to call the sheriff to make sure you get a satellite phone?”

She looked to Jeremy. He didn’t need to hear any of this. The last thing she needed was another officer thinking she was incompetent, or worse—that she needed her mother to fight her battles.

He gave her a Cheshire-cat grin, the same mischievous grin that he’d always used to get them out of trouble when they were kids.

“Mrs. West, is that your famous fried chicken?” He motioned toward the plate on the counter.

Her mother took the bait, brightening up at the chance to feed a man. “Oh, are you hungry? Why don’t you have a bite?” True to her nature, the question was more an order than a request. “I’ll throw the beans on, and it’ll be ready in a jiff.”

“That sounds great, but I need to get running home. I’m just up from Missoula for the night.”

“Really? Is everything okay?” From the look on her face, it seemed like Gemma meant the question to come from a place of concern, but her voice made it clear that she was more curious than empathetic. As if she looked forward to some thread of gossip that she could share at the next bunco party.

“I’m sure everything’s okay. Right, Jeremy?” Blake hinted, hoping that he would take this as his chance to get out before he and his family became the central focus of the Butte Red Hatters Bunco Club for the next six months.

He looked at her, his eyes shimmering with something she could have sworn resembled lust, but she shrugged it off. There was no way he would be interested in her. He was married.

She glanced down at his ring finger—his ring was missing. That’s right... He’d gotten a divorce. When her mother had told her about it a few months past, she had pushed the news aside as irrelevant. Yet, with him standing in front of her, it seemed more relevant than ever. The knot in her gut tightened as she forced herself to look away from his naked hand.

Even if he wasn’t married, he wouldn’t want her. No man would want to take on a single mom who lived with her mother and was struggling to make it in a small-town sheriff’s department—unless he was a glutton for punishment.

“Things are a little rough. You know...family drama.”

Her mother perked up. “What’s going on?”

“It’s just my brother. He’s going through a hard time.”

“Is that right,” her mother chimed. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Thanks, Mrs. W, but it’ll be all right.” Jeremy sent her a grateful but guarded smile. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to pass on the chicken—but it smells great,” he added, as her mother’s face fell.

“Oh, okay,” she said, her voice specked with disappointment, the kind that always moved Blake into doing whatever it was Gemma truly wanted.

Jeremy’s body tensed, his biceps pressing hard against his cotton T-shirt. Apparently, Gemma West’s shaming worked on someone besides her. Why did her mother have to put everyone under her spell?

Megan thumped down in the chair by the dining table. “Mom, I’m hungry.”

“Thank you, Jeremy, for helping us out,” Blake said, motioning toward her daughter.

He glanced at her and smiled again. The way he looked at her made her temperature rise. No one had looked at her like that, like she really existed as something more than a mother or a sheriff’s deputy, in a long time.

She turned away as she scolded herself. He was just looking at her. It didn’t mean anything. She was lonely. She needed to get a handle on her emotions. Crushes were for those who had a chance—which she didn’t.

He needed to go. She simply could not be around a man like him.

“I need to get back to work. After you?” She walked to the door and opened it, motioning for him to leave.

He turned to walk out.

“I hope everything goes well with your brother. By the way, which brother is it?” her mother called behind him, throwing a speed bump into Blake’s plans.

Jeremy looked back over his shoulder. “Robert.”

“Where’s Casper these days?” her mother continued.

Blake’s sweaty hand slipped on the open door.

“He’s working up north with Border Patrol.”

“That’s wonderful,” her mom said, turning to her with a raise of the eyebrow. She flashed a glance back at Jeremy, like she was trying to coach Blake on how to get him to stay. “Isn’t that nice, Blake?”

“Yes, that’s great, Mother.”

Jeremy chuckled. “If you need me again, Mrs. W, I’ll be in town for a couple of days.” He brushed against Blake as he made his way out the door. His touch magnified the need she was trying her best to ignore. “Hey, if you need a break, maybe we could meet up sometime,” he whispered so low that only she could hear.

In a flash, she was back in high school, and they were planning to sneak out of the house. The thrill of being caught and the excitement that came with breaking the rules filled her. Just as quickly as the feelings rose, she stomped them out. She wasn’t sixteen. She was a mother. And her daughter came first—no matter how badly she wanted to take Jeremy up on his offer.

“Thanks, but maybe next time you’re in town.”

He nodded, but there was a faint look of hurt deep in his eyes as he turned away. She couldn’t help taking one last look as he walked away. His jeans were the kind with the fancy stitching on the back pockets, the kind that always drew a person’s eye to them and, in this case, to his perfectly round behind.

Clearly the man worked out.

Dang it.

She forced herself to look away. What was wrong with her today?

She could feel her mother’s eyes boring into her back. She needed to leave, to get to work, but she let the door close as she turned back to her family.

“That right there is why you don’t have a man in your life,” her mother said with a tsk as she flurried around the kitchen, getting the potato salad out of the fridge.

“Maybe I don’t have a man in my life because I don’t want one,” Blake retorted. Instantly she wished she hadn’t, because it would only allow her mother to continue on her soapbox.

“That Jeremy, he’s got a good head on his shoulders. You need a man like him. You would get one, if you weren’t so hard to please.”

That was the pot calling the kettle black.

“Here you go, sweetie.” Her mother set a plate of fried chicken and potato salad in front of Megan and went back to the can of beans.

“Thanks, Grandma.”

Blake glanced down at her watch. “I need to go.” She gave Megan a kiss on the top of the head while her daughter chomped away. “Please don’t get into any more of my things.”

“Wait,” her mother said. “Why don’t you eat first?”

There was a rumble in her stomach, but she had to escape the mess that was her personal life. Work was so much easier. “I’m good, Mom.”

“Fine then.” Her mother’s disdain was palpable. “At least take the rest of this food over to Jeremy and his family as a thank-you. You know, he didn’t have to come over here to help us. It was just lucky he was even around. We could have been all day if we had to wait for you.”

The sharp edge of her mother’s words deepened her wounds. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be closer to her family, but she had to work. She had to support the people she loved most, even if they sometimes forgot how much pressure she was under.

Her mother covered the plate of chicken with plastic wrap, then shoved it into Blake’s hands. “Now run along. And don’t get lost with my chicken.” Her mother pushed her out the door. “And make sure you let his mother know that I’d like my plate back.”

It was like she was eight years old again, her mother moving her along in her pursuit toward her own means. She would never be exactly what Gemma wanted her to be, would always be a disappointment, constantly seeking her mother’s approval and trying to make her proud. No matter how badly she wanted them to, some things would never change.