Читать книгу The Bachelor Project - Victoria Chancellor - Страница 11

There! The scratching, bumping noise filtered through the closed, locked windows.

Robin peered through the mini-blinds into the vast darkness outside the fringe of artificial light. She couldn’t see beyond the large pecan trees to the county road. Having grown up in a Houston highrise, she felt as if she were the only person alive in the Texas Hill Country. Of course, there were other people around—just not very close. She’d noticed a few other houses, perhaps a quarter-mile away, when she’d driven in early this afternoon.

Floodlights mounted high on the side and back of the residence bathed the lawn and shrubs in a brightness bordering on daylight. Squinting into the shadows, she searched for the source of the suspicious noise she’d heard only moments ago.

Nothing.

She’d hoped to see a wild animal running among the rows of clay pots filled with begonias. Or even a loud car driving carelessly on the two-lane road that connected Ranger Springs to nowhere in particular.

Nothing.

“There’s no one outside,” she whispered to herself. This comfortable, rural, family home was safe. Her Great-aunt Sylvia’s dear friend Bess wouldn’t have suggested a town rife with criminals or juvenile delinquents. And certainly no one she knew from Houston would be rummaging around outside the house, especially since they didn’t know where she’d run. Why would she tell them, when she didn’t want to face family or friends for at least two or three months?

Her hand was poised to turn off the floor lamp in the large den when the sound came again. Horribly clear and menacing, just outside the thin glass windows. Near the dining room? She tilted her head, listening, her body strung tight. No, perhaps the kitchen. She imagined the intruders preparing to enter the house…or maybe just frighten her. Who knew what kind of mischief rural teenagers could perpetrate?

With a frown, she reached for the phone. Was this town large enough to have an emergency number? Somewhere in the house, she’d seen a listing of fire and police departments, but at the moment she couldn’t remember where that might be. Well, she’d dial 9-1-1 and see what happened.

“Ranger Springs 9-1-1. What is your emergency?”

“I think I have an intruder. Could you please send someone out here? I just moved in this afternoon. The house has been empty for a month, and I’m afraid someone might be prowling around.” Robin swiveled so she could see the windows and listen for more sounds.

“Can you give me a description of the intruder?”

“No, I can’t see him…or them. But I heard something just a few minutes ago.”

“What’s your address?”

Robin gave the dispatcher the rural route number, but kept on listening for sounds.

“Chief Parker is on his way.”

A horrible crashing noise came from beneath the dining room windows. “Please, hurry,” she whispered, suddenly more afraid. “I think they’re getting desperate.”

“Hold on, ma’am. Tell me your name.”

“Cummings. Robin Cummings. I’m staying at the home of the Franklin family. House-sitting.”

“Chief Parker will be there in just a few minutes. He’s on his way. He’s listening to the call.”

“Hurry.”

“Do you have a weapon?”

“No,” Robin said, shuddering as she imagined herself trying to pull the trigger as she stared down the barrel of a pistol. Or, worse yet, clutching a knife to defend herself. “No weapon.”

“I’ll be on the line with you until he’s there. Stay away from the windows and keep your doors locked until the chief identifies himself.”

“Don’t worry,” Robin said, leaning against the couch, “everything is locked, and I’m not going anywhere near a door or window.”

She pulled her knees up high and hugged them to her chest. The police chief would be here soon. Not just a patrol officer, but The Chief. Someone experienced, mature, competent. She didn’t care if he looked like Andy Griffith or the guy Carroll O’Connor had played in that Southern television drama. In just a few minutes, he’d be here and scare the intruders away.

POLICE CHIEF ETHAN PARKER cut the lights on his patrol car; he’d already shut off the siren a ways back. Parking beneath the spreading pecan trees that lined the two-lane blacktop and driveway to the Franklin house, he took just a moment to let his eyes adjust to the darkness so he could look around the property. He seriously doubted that out here in the country there was an intruder lurking in the darkness. More than likely, an animal was scrounging for food or just curious about activity inside the recently vacant home.

Still, he unsnapped the holster restraint and gripped his pistol. Even if a human predator wasn’t about this night, he’d seen a couple of pretty large cougars not too far west of here. No sense in tempting fate.

The car’s clock reminded him that his shift ended in just ten minutes. If one of his patrol officers wasn’t in Austin for a training class, Ethan would be home, getting ready for bed right now. The chief didn’t usually work the night shift, but in a small town, every person had to do double duty at times.

He gave his position to Ben, his regular nighttime dispatcher, clipped his call unit on his shoulder, then gripped a flashlight. Ethan eased out of the patrol car into the warm, humid night, shutting the door as silently as possible. Every lamp in the house seemed to be blazing, giving him plenty of light to see around the exterior. Floodlights on two sides illuminated the side and back entrances, and brass fixtures on either side of the ornate front door revealed the wide, deep porch.

Ethan circled the house, listening for any whispers that might indicate some local teens looking for a deserted house to use for a party. Or to sit around outside and drink some beers they’d taken from a parent’s refrigerator. Even Ranger Springs wasn’t immune to the problems of the city, so he wouldn’t put it past a few teens to smoke a little marijuana out here in the country. But the only sounds he heard were the usual summer night noises of crickets and other insects.

A far cry from the career at the FBI he’d given up almost three years ago. Crime in Ranger Springs didn’t compare with that in Dallas. In the past three years, he’d never before received a 9-1-1 call from a hysterical woman who feared for her life. He had to wonder who this caller might be—a friend of Mr. and Mrs. Franklin, or someone who’d heard about the vacancy through Gina Mae Summers, the local real estate agent? Ethan had already been making extra patrols to the property just to make sure teens looking for a good hangout hadn’t decided an uninhabited, upscale, three-bedroom house would make a great Party Central.

His boots made barely a sound as they sank lightly into the damp earth. No footprints other than his marked the property, giving him further reassurance that two-legged predators weren’t lurking. Kids weren’t nearly as sneaky as they thought they were, and he doubted any one of the teens in Ranger Springs would think to conceal evidence that they’d walked around outside an empty house.

He reached the side entrance, where a couple of moving boxes and some plastic bags tumbled haphazardly across the concrete path to the detached garage. Nudging the closer box with his boot, he wasn’t too surprised when two dark shapes scrambled out of the mess. One paused briefly to stand on hind legs and stare at him in curiosity from darkly masked eyes. Then the raccoons both ran to the nearest tree and scurried up the rough bark.

Ethan smiled as he eased his 40-caliber semiautomatic into the holster. Reassured that no danger lurked in the moonlit shadows, he approached the front door and knocked.

“Police Chief Ethan Parker,” he announced loudly.

He heard the whisper of footsteps, then saw a feminine shape cross the leaded panels. Finally, a woman flung open the heavy oak door.

She stood inside the threshold, dressed in a skimpy peach-colored robe she clutched around her middle. Something—perhaps a T-shirt—peeked out below the hem, brushing against her thighs. Long, tanned thighs. He took only a second to take in her average height and build, delicate features and heart-shaped face and determined she posed no threat to him.

In the next instant, the description “doe in the headlights” popped into his head. He’d seen the same look of fear in large brown eyes just before he’d slammed on the brakes and steered to avoid one of the beautiful and plentiful deer that populated the Hill Country.

“Miss Cummings?” Thankfully, he remembered her name from the dispatcher’s conversation. Every other rational, professional thought seemed to have deserted his brain for the moment.

“You’re the police chief?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, automatically reaching for his wallet badge. “Ethan Parker. Are you all right?”

“Yes, but thank goodness you’re here,” she said, her voice soft and throaty. Kind of sexy…except he shouldn’t be thinking about that when she was obviously upset.

“Did you see who was outside?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, trying not to let his gaze roam over her thinly dressed figure, shapely legs and bare feet any more than absolutely necessary for police business. “They were raccoons—two, to be precise—and I can assure you they were as frightened of me as you were of them.”

She sagged against the door frame, her breath fast and shallow. “I feel so foolish. I thought maybe some kids were hanging around, or maybe vagrants. I really don’t know anyone in this area, so I assumed whoever was making the noise wasn’t friendly.”

“It’s all right. I understand.”

She released her robe long enough to rake her fingers through dark blond, shoulder-length strands. Her other hand maintained a white-knuckled grip on the door frame. “Are raccoons dangerous?”

“Not unless they’re rabid.”

“Rabid!”

She looked absolutely shocked. She must be from the city if she was unfamiliar with one of the most common animals in Texas. And surely she’d heard of rabies. Or maybe that was the problem. Some people had an unreasonable fear of wild animals and the diseases they might carry.

“You shouldn’t have to worry—” The static signaling a call from the dispatcher was immediately followed by a request for his status.

The woman in the doorway jumped as though she’d taken a .45 to the chest.

Ethan cursed beneath his breath as he touched the communication unit attached to his uniform near his shoulder. “Parker to dispatch,” he answered more curtly than usual. “Everything’s fine out here, Ben. Just a few curious raccoons.”

His attention didn’t waver from the woman as the dispatcher signed off. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, warm her hands between his larger ones, erase the look of panic from her wide brown eyes. Her palpable fear ate at his soul like acid.

“Would you like me to show you what made so much racket?” he asked gently.

“They’re still here?” She peered into the darkness as if she could see around the house. Her hands now clutched the thin peach-colored robe as desperately as they’d gripped the door frame.

“No, although they might be up that tree over there—” he pointed “—watching us talk about them. There’s a stack of trash they found mighty interesting. They were probably checking out the moving boxes to see if you’d left anything for them to eat.” He smiled, but she didn’t seem the least bit at ease with his good-ol’-boy routine. He decided another tactic was in order.

“You mentioned several possible intruders. Have you had any problems? This house was vacant for over a month.”

She focused on him immediately, her eyes even wider, her shoulders rigid. She took a deep breath. “No, not really. I was just letting my imagination run wild. There’s absolutely no reason anyone would know I’m here.”

He frowned. “No family?”

“Of course, I have family,” she said cautiously. “Just not here. And I haven’t told them where I’m staying…yet.” She shrugged dismissively, then tried a weak, unconvincing smile. “No big mystery.”

He hadn’t lost his instincts for investigation when he’d moved from Dallas to a quiet, small town. Miss Robin Cummings was running away from something—or someone. He’d bet his badge she wasn’t about to let her family know where she was until she was good and ready.

“Are you in some kind of trouble, Miss Cummings?” he asked calmly, stepping closer. He needed to understand her fear. As an officer of the law, he told himself. Not as a man reacting to a woman who brought out every protective tendency he possessed.

“What do you mean? Why are you asking me that?”

“Because that’s my job.”

“I’m not in any trouble,” she claimed, then paused. Her expression revealed what might be regret. “Unless you count an angry ex-fiancé and two parents who spent a fortune on a wedding that almost went off without a hitch.”

Dammit, he did not need this complication in his life. Especially this particular problem. How was he, of all people, supposed to be rational, objective and sympathetic toward a woman who had left her angry, frustrated fiancé at the altar?

But then her lower lip started trembling, and she whispered, “It was going to be a very elegant wedding.” She started shaking.

With another muttered curse, Ethan ignored his own prejudice and years of training. He ignored the little voice in his head that told him this was a very stupid move, as he pulled her into his arms.

ROBIN WASN’T SURE how she ended up in the police chief’s arms. She didn’t know if comforting overly emotional women was standard police procedure. All she felt was the overwhelming relief of being wrapped snugly against a hard, male chest, with his strong hands soothing on her back, his heartbeat steady against her cheek.

She shouldn’t crave the feeling. She definitely shouldn’t get used to the comfort. And yet her arms clung to him, and her fingers pressed into the muscles of his back as she breathed in the scent of clean male and fresh starch. She sighed and closed her eyes, unable to resist the security this man—this stranger—represented.

There was nothing personal in his embrace…or in her reaction to him, she told herself as her tears and sniffles stopped. He was simply…tranquillity. Understanding. Acceptance in an unforgiving world. And he hadn’t asked her about the foolish remarks she’d made. Her relief over the reprieve of not having to explain why she’d called off her wedding would have been enough to send her into his strong arms.

She could have stayed there for an eternity. Perhaps she did. Time ceased to exist as his hand stroked her upper back. Gradually, her breathing returned to normal. But then she realized his heartbeat was no longer steady and slow. And his chest wasn’t the only hard, male part of him pressed tightly against her thin robe and skimpy cotton sleep shirt.

He must have felt the same awareness, because his hand stilled and he tensed. Robin pulled away at the same time as he cleared his throat and focused on the seemingly fascinating architectural details of the porch posts.

“I’m sorry for acting like such a…wuss,” she said softly.

His smile appeared a bit strained as he looked back at her. He was embarrassed, she realized. Of her actions or his body’s reaction?

“A wuss?” he asked. “You were afraid.”

“Of raccoons.”

His smile faded. “And you were upset.”

She hugged her arms. Sooner or later, she was going to have to explore her feelings about the marriage that didn’t go off without a hitch, but not now. Not yet. “Whatever. You showed me there’s nothing to be afraid of.” If she didn’t count her response to the handsome police chief.

“I didn’t say that. There’s plenty to be cautious of out here. A lot of animals can be dangerous if they’re hungry enough. But we hardly ever get a case of rabies.”

She rubbed her arms against a sudden chill at the thought of salivating, fanged beasts. “I’ve never lived in the country before.”

He glanced quickly at his watch, letting out a long sigh. His expression told her he was battling some inner struggle. He was probably weighing common courtesy against correct procedure, counting the moments until he could escape from the crazy city woman.

“Parker to Dispatch,” he said into the device pinned near his shoulder. His wide, strong shoulders. “Ten forty-two.”

The dispatcher replied, but Robin couldn’t hear what they said. She was just about to ask what the code meant when Chief Parker spoke.

“You’re cold,” he observed almost casually. “Would you like to go inside, Miss Cummings?”

“Well…”

“I’d be glad to give you a rundown on what you’re likely to see out here. Kind of a Country Primer,” he added with a reluctant smile that was way too sexy for a late-night official visit.

She hoped his observation about her being cold was based on her rubbing her arms and not the fact her thin robe was revealing more than she’d like him to see. The idea of his noticing her breasts caused a reaction that she hid by folding her arms across her chest. The friction was almost painful.

When she spoke, her voice sounded husky. Breathy. Sexy. Not at all like an interior decorator standing on a front porch in the middle of the night, wearing no makeup—and not much else, for that matter. “I don’t want to keep you from your other duties.”

“You’re not. I’m off duty now. And like I said, it’s usually real quiet around here. This is the most excitement—”

His sudden pause was followed by what Robin strongly suspected was a blush from the local law enforcement officer, although she couldn’t tell, since his back was to the porch light. The thought that she’d been the cause of so much “excitement” made her smile—to herself. No sense making him any more embarrassed than he already was.

On the other hand, she couldn’t let him go so quickly. Not when the air was practically sparking with something very foreign and enticing. Maybe she was just relieved that there hadn’t been a real threat to her security tonight. Maybe she wanted to focus on something besides her former fiancé and irate parents. Whatever the reason, she’d like the police chief’s company for a while longer.

“I’ll take you up on your offer. Why don’t I fix us some coffee?”

He seemed genuinely surprised by her response. “You don’t have to do that. You’ve had a scare.”

“Which I’m now over, thanks to you.” She reached for the storm door. “Please, come in for coffee and tell me all about these wild predators. I’d like to know how to tell a deranged killer from a hungry raccoon.”

He smiled in an endearing, aw-shucks-ma’am manner that made her want to hug him tightly and tell him he was way too good to be true. Way too good-looking, too.

“If you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

“I’d appreciate the company. Something tells me I won’t be able to get to sleep anytime soon.”

Especially if I keep thinking about Police Chief Ethan Parker, Robin silently added as she walked barefoot down the hallway to the “mother-in-law’s room” she’d claimed as hers while staying at the Franklin house. Many of her clients in the suburbs had these bed and bath combinations separated from the other bedrooms. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

She needed something more substantial to wear. There was no way she’d be able to continue a conversation—even one based on the flora and fauna of the Texas Hill Country—in this robe. Not when the chief looked so darn good in his crisp uniform and sexy, reluctant smile.

Robin paused, her smile fading as she pulled a T-shirt on over a sports bra and donned a pair of running shorts. She hadn’t looked at the chief’s hands. She hadn’t noticed if he was wearing a wedding band. He might be married. There might be a Mrs. Parker waiting for her husband to come home.

He didn’t seem in any hurry to get home to the missus. When Robin strolled into the kitchen a few minutes later, he was making coffee as if he owned the place. The distinctive aroma filled the room as the sputtering, hissing water filtered through the grounds.

“Find everything you need?” she asked, making more noise than necessary as she removed two mugs from the cabinet. Favorite mugs she’d placed there just hours before, as she’d unpacked the necessities she’d brought with her from her Houston condo.

“I hope you don’t mind. I found some decaf. I didn’t think you needed caffeine after what you’ve been through tonight.”

“Decaf’s fine. But like I said earlier, I don’t want to keep you. Your…family might be expecting you home.”

He turned his head to the side and smiled in a knowing way. “Is that the polite way to ask if I’m married?”

Robin stood straight, surprised she was so transparent. She really was rusty at this man-woman thing. Dating one man for two years would do that to a person. “I—”

“That’s okay. You probably should have questions. Believe me, I don’t usually…Well, let’s just say that I haven’t needed to comfort an upset woman in a long, long time.”

“Is that your way of saying that you were just doing your job?” She placed the mugs on the counter next to the coffeemaker, then rested her hands on her hips. For some reason she didn’t want to explore, she felt extraordinarily irritated by his remark.

“No, that’s not what I meant.” He rotated his neck, then ran a hand through his short, dark brown hair. His sheepish smile was totally different from the falsely charming one he’d given her on the porch, when he’d tried to convince her that strange noises in the night were nothing to worry about. “Look, I’ve never hugged a 9-1-1 caller before.”

“Oh.” She let her hands fall to her sides and concentrated on not smiling with feminine confidence. Perhaps she was still giddy with relief, but her reaction to Chief Parker was as out of character for her as he claimed his earlier behavior was for him. In a tiny corner of her mind, she knew being attracted to a man so quickly after her botched near-wedding was not smart, but for the moment she chose to ignore the warning.