Читать книгу A Cop's Honor - Emilie Rose - Страница 15

Chapter Five

BRANDON THREW DOWN his pen in disgust late Friday afternoon, pushed back from his desk and stabbed his fingers through his hair. He had shit for brains today. He’d tried repeatedly to focus on the case files on his desk, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t wipe what he’d seen Wednesday night from his mind.

For a split second while standing on the landing outside Hannah’s bedroom something hotter than the hurricane lamp’s flame had flickered in Hannah’s eyes. Want. Need. Hunger. And for the span of a dozen racing heartbeats, he’d been tempted to give her what she desired. Because he’d wanted it, too. Then he’d come to his senses. He’d tried blaming the heat in her eyes on the reflection of the lamp’s fire. But he wasn’t buying it.

Circumstances were throwing them together and causing the craziness. It had been five years and she didn’t date. That meant she didn’t have sex. She needed a man. Any man. Except him—the man she blamed for her husband’s death. It didn’t matter that she needed his help with Mason right now, a basic distrust—because he’d let her down, because he’d let Rick down—lay just below the surface.

His dry spell hadn’t been nearly as long as hers, but it had obviously been too long if he was looking at Rick’s wife that way. He needed to rectify the situation. He reached for his phone but didn’t pick it up. He had no interest in dialing any of the numbers in his contact list, and he wasn’t interested in a casual pickup.

As if his thoughts had activated the device, his cell phone vibrated on the desk. He glanced at the screen. He had a text message from his mother.

Hello, dear. Jessamine and Logan are flying into town for the weekend. We’re going to have an impromptu cookout. Are you able to attend?

His mother’s habit of always texting in complete sentences and with proper grammar made him smile. His youngest sister and her new husband lived in the Florida Keys. He didn’t get to see them often. He liked Logan, his brother-in-law, but a guy always had to keep an eye out for his baby sister’s welfare.

Depends on day and time. Helping Hannah, he tapped back.

Hannah? Are you dating someone new?

He cringed. He could practically feel her excitement even though they were miles apart. She’d made it clear she wanted more grandchildren. He’d also made it clear they wouldn’t be coming from him. But she wasn’t listening.

Rick’s Hannah.

I thought she wasn’t speaking to you?

His parents had been at the funeral and witnessed the blowup.

She needs help with a project.

What kind of project?

His mother had been a schoolteacher until she’d quit at the end of the last school year to help his father around the orchard, and she understood kids better than anyone he knew. He would like her advice. He debated filling her in. But that was a face-to-face conversation. Not a texted one.

Home maintenance.

Truth, just not the whole truth.

You could bring her and the children to the cookout. They are welcome and we would love to see them.

Given Rick had practically grown up at their house, the sentiment was no surprise.

I’ll relay message. When’s dinner?

Saturday night. Come early. Your father will need assistance, but don’t let on that you’re helping.

Will do.

He put down the phone. It immediately vibrated again, but this time “Hannah Leith” flashed on the screen, sending a jolt through him.

Need u 2 come over. NOW.

A freefalling sensation hit him, not unlike what he’d experienced the one time he’d stupidly let Rick convince him to try skydiving. He grabbed the phone and hit her number. This wasn’t texting material, either.

“Hello?” The whispered response was almost inaudible.

Adrenaline pulsed through him. People whispered on the phone when they were in danger. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“It’s me. Mason. Mom doesn’t know I swiped her phone. There’s water all over the kitchen floor. Something busted. She wants to call a plumber, but she told her friend Lucy we can’t afford it this month. She’s kinda upset. I think she might cry.”

Relief doused panic. Water and tears he could handle. “The cutoff valve is in the pantry. Bottom left corner. Turn off the water. I’m on my way.”

He grabbed the file he’d been working on and shoved it into his briefcase. Thankful the rest of the team had already left to begin whatever their Friday night entailed, he signed out and headed for Hannah’s. Twenty minutes later he pulled into the driveway. Mason was waiting for him on the porch.

Brandon grabbed the toolbox he kept in his truck. “Did you turn off the water?”

“Yeah. I umm...didn’t tell Mom I called you. She might be mad.”

“If she is, I’ll handle it. You did the right thing. Let’s see what we have.” The kitchen floor resembled a soggy quilt of multicolored, saturated towels. Hannah stood over the sink wringing out one. Her drooping shoulders screamed defeat. Her lavender scrub suit was wet at the bottom and down the front. The thin fabric clung to her—

“Occifer Brandon,” Belle cried out when she spotted him. Brandon welcomed the distraction.

Hannah stiffened and turned. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you needed help.”

Hannah shot Mason a scolding look then nodded. “Clearly, I do.”

Oblivious to the tension in the air, the little ballerina sprang from her stool and splashed across the wet floor to wrap her arms around Brandon’s hips. He set his tools on the counter and hugged her back. She was, of course, dressed in the same hue as her mother. He liked that. But he couldn’t see his sisters ever doing it.

He crossed to the sink, squelching on wet towels with each step, and stopped beside Hannah. Her breath caught, her head tipped back and her lips parted. Standing only inches from her, her scent infiltrated his nostrils, addled his brain. He mentally shook himself. “I need to check under the sink.”

“Oh. Right.” She jumped out of the way, landing with a splash on a wet towel.

He opened the cabinet. “Dry here. That leaves the dishwasher and the refrigerator as water sources.”

He straightened and addressed Mason. “My dad taught me to check the easy fixes first. Since fixing the dishwasher means pulling it out from under the counter, I’m going to start with the fridge.”

“I’ll help.”

“First, try this.” Brandon cupped his hand beneath the water-in-the-door spout and pushed. It clicked but didn’t dispense anything. “This looks like the guilty party. Now I need your help, Mason.”

He didn’t really, but including the boy was a calculated move. Mason sprang forward, and together they rolled the fridge away from the wall. Brandon spotted the problem immediately, but instead of reacting, he asked, “What do you see?”

It took Mason a quarter minute. “The icemaker thingy is on the floor.”

“Bingo. Hoses don’t usually detach by themselves, but this one did.”

Hannah groaned quietly. “It might not have been by itself. I dropped Mason’s field trip permission form between the counter and fridge this morning. I pushed the fridge aside to retrieve the paper.”

“You might have jiggled the waterline loose. Grab my tools, Mason. I’ll show you how to fix it.”

Five minutes later the job was done. “Kids, carry the towels to the washing machine for your mom. Then Mason, you can turn the water back on.”

They hustled into action. Hannah stood with her hands wrapped around her middle. The gratitude in her eyes hit Brandon square in the solar plexus. She made him feel like a rock star when he was only a guy with a wrench. “Thank you for finding the leak. But more than that, thanks for making it a teachable moment and letting Mason fix it.”

“No problem. It’s what my dad would have done. He put tools in our hands as soon as we were able to carry them and taught us how to repair rather than replace. Besides, if the hose came loose once, it might again. He’ll know what to do next time.”

“We both will.” She shifted on her feet. “I’m sorry he called you. I hope he didn’t interrupt a date or something.”

Brandon stifled a wince over his lack of a social life and ducked into the closet to turn on the water without waiting for Mason. “I’m glad he did. It was past time for me to leave the office, and it’s important that Mason knows he can ask for help. I want to help, Hannah. But like Mason, you have to be willing to ask. Mind reading isn’t one of my skills.”

She ducked her head and plucked at her damp shirt. “I’m not very good at asking. My father raised me to be independent.”

“With him deployed as often as he was, I’m sure you had to be. Good thing you’re not too old to learn new tricks. Although you are pushing thirty-one. That’s cutting it close,” he teased.

Her gaze snapped back to his, surprised at first, then filling with amusement. A self-deprecating smile twisted her lips. “Thanks for making me feel ancient. My birthday isn’t for a few more weeks, and I’m still younger than you.”

He laughed. That was the old Hannah—quick with the comeback.

“Can Occifer Brandon stay for dinner?” Belle asked.

Hannah’s expression filled with dismay. “We’re only having hot dogs, sweetie, and I’m sure Officer Brandon has other plans.”

A smart man would go home. He, apparently, wasn’t that man. “I love hot dogs, and somebody needs to man the grill.”

He waited to see how Hannah would get out of that one. “The grill probably won’t work. I haven’t used it since Rick... Cooking outside was his domain.”

“Do you have propane?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mason’s old enough to take over. We’ll check it out.”

“Okay, then,” she replied with a noticeable lack of excitement. “Brandon, I need to pay you for what you’ve done and for the boards and whatever else you bought to repair the gutter.”

After hearing she couldn’t afford a plumber, the last thing he would do was take her money. “I had extra supplies laying around from fixing my rental houses.”

She shook her head. “They still cost you something, and your time is definitely worth—”

“Hannah, I don’t want your money.”

“I insist—”

Once again, opportunity knocked loud and clear. “There’s a way you can repay me. My parents are having a cookout tomorrow. I want you and the kids to come.”

He knew her answer before she opened her mouth. Refusal was stamped all over her from her puckered brows to her folded arms and even the curling toes of her bare feet. “No. I... I wouldn’t be comfortable.”

He held up a hand. “Hear me out. I told you my dad has Parkinson’s. He needs help. But he refuses to admit it. He’s losing ground, but he hates the physical therapist his doctor recommended. That means he doesn’t go. I want your professional opinion on his status. If you could evaluate him without him knowing what you’re doing and give me suggestions for managing the changes overtaking his body, it would be a great help.”

Compassion filled her eyes. She bit her lip. “Denial of the diagnosis is common. I guess we could drop by for a bit.”

* * *

EVEN THOUGH SHE’D been a guest at Rebecca and Thomas Martin’s home more than a dozen times, Hannah didn’t want to be here. She didn’t know how to act without Rick. But she followed Brandon’s instructions and circled the backyard, trying to keep up with her eager children.

A white board fence enclosed the large grass area. Beyond that border row upon row of peach trees, laden with fruit, stretched as far as she could see. Off to one side outbuildings, including a barn and a chicken coop, blocked her view.

“Ponies!” Belle squealed and tugged on Hannah’s hand. But Hannah held tight.

“Four-wheelers,” Mason called out with equal enthusiasm.