Worth The Wait
Lori Foster
Don't miss this sizzling romance, the latest book from New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster!Ready or not…love will find a way.Single dad Hogan Guthrie is getting his life back on track, and working as the “barbecue master” at a local café is just a temporary detour. He and restaurant owner Violet Shaw constantly butt heads…until one night they end up mingling other parts instead. Hogan thought he had the recipe for happiness all figured out. But loyal, carefree Violet is daring him to trust his impulses…and see just how sweet small-town living—and loving—can be.Nathan Hawley traded his SWAT team credentials for a sheriff's badge, but a gorgeous new neighbour is shaking up his orderly life. Nathan has a hunch there's more to Brooklin Sweet than meets the eye—but given her caution about getting involved, he has his work cut out for him. Still, there's something about the elusive beauty Nathan can't walk away from—and helping her come to terms with her past might pave the way to the future they both secretly long for.“Brimming with heart, heat and humour, Worth the Wait is Lori Foster at her finest.” —Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author of Lost and Found Sisters
Ready or not...love will find a way
Single dad Hogan Guthrie is getting his life back on track, and working as the “barbecue master” at a local diner is just a temporary detour. He and restaurant owner Violet Shaw constantly butt heads...until one night they end up mingling other parts instead. Hogan thought he had the recipe for happiness all figured out. But loyal, carefree Violet is daring him to trust his impulses...and see just how sweet small-town living—and loving—can be.
Nathan Hawley traded his SWAT team credentials for a sheriff’s badge, but a gorgeous new neighbor is shaking up his orderly life. Nathan has a hunch there’s more to Brooklin Sweet than meets the eye—but given her caution about getting involved, he has his work cut out for him. Still, there’s something about the elusive beauty Nathan can’t walk away from—and helping her come to terms with her past might pave the way to the future they both secretly long for.
Praise for New York Times bestselling author Lori Foster
“Teasing and humorous dialogue, sizzling sex scenes, tender moments, and overriding tension show Foster’s skill as a balanced storyteller.”
—Publishers Weekly on Under Pressure (starred review)
“Best friends find hunky men and everlasting love in Foster’s latest charmer.... Her no-fail formula is sure to please her fans.”
—Publishers Weekly on Don’t Tempt Me
“Foster brings her signature blend of heat and sweet to her addictive third Ultimate martial arts contemporary.”
—Publishers Weekly on Tough Love (starred review)
“Emotionally spellbinding and wicked hot.”
—New York Times bestselling author Lora Leigh on No Limits
“Storytelling at its best! Lori Foster should be on everyone’s
auto-buy list.”
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Sherrilyn Kenyon on No Limits
“Foster’s writing satisfies all appetites with plenty of searing sexual tension and page-turning action in this steamy, edgy, and surprisingly tender novel.”
—Publishers Weekly on Getting Rowdy
“A sexy, believable roller coaster of action and romance.”
—Kirkus Reviews on Run the Risk
“Steamy, edgy, and taut.”
—Library Journal on When You Dare
Worth the Wait
Lori Foster
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Cover (#u1e2dd78f-d0cc-5323-a5ff-3f8634351c2a)
Back Cover Text (#ucc803aed-c88a-5e7e-ada4-7b48637f9fd4)
Praise (#u2f1e1b01-2f80-5435-8869-30d359ee8e68)
Title Page (#u5bb8d90b-1d2f-5377-bf87-7abb6beab4e4)
Chapter 1 (#ud0600d2e-faad-5d1c-94ae-d57a1ae08f1b)
Chapter 2 (#u7d298267-6e2e-53a5-b707-6c816126e6ec)
Chapter 3 (#ude2237a8-051e-5f18-923b-7ff1803a22c7)
Chapter 4 (#ucf9e6ea6-f3fa-5d60-8b0a-7e1fb9cf844c)
Chapter 5 (#u63fafb5b-3cf9-52e7-b84b-5a66b4c531a8)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
1 (#u08a0e847-b341-512b-9bf3-f222fb23b9b3)
FIVE O’CLOCK ON a Friday and Hogan Guthrie found himself smiling in anticipation as he closed the books on his work and powered down his computer. He could work from home, and sometimes did, but the scope of the new client meant some coordinating with other employees. For a week now he’d spent hours at the desk for his usual nine-to-five shift, poring over past records and updating them to a better, more cohesive platform. Popping his head to the side, he released tension gathered in his neck. A glance at the clock showed he’d have time to run home, shower and change into more casual and comfortable clothes before heading to the diner.
Friday nights at the diner usually ran late, but he didn’t mind. Hell, he was actually looking forward to it.
Of course he knew why.
Violet Shaw.
Violet with that sexy Southern drawl, her rich red hair and vivid blue eyes. And that pale, creamy skin—
He jumped when a small, warm hand settled on his shoulder and he looked up to see his boss, Joni Jeffers, smiling down at him.
“You look tense,” she said, and her fingers dug into his muscles in an impromptu and very inappropriate massage. “It was a grueling week, wasn’t it?”
Wondering, with facetious cynicism, if he should file a sexual harassment suit, Hogan said only, “Too much time reformatting numbers. I should have remembered to stretch more.”
“I can tell you stay in shape.” Her other hand settled on him, too, and she leaned close as she kneaded his shoulders. “How’s that feel?”
Like a blatant come-on. Not that long ago, he’d have jumped on Joni’s unspoken offers. After having his life turned upside down, he’d spent damn near a year belatedly sowing his wild oats with a single-minded vengeance. He’d been a miserable bastard, too, and had probably made others around him miserable.
He hadn’t known Joni then. Probably a good thing since he now worked for her. He’d done a lot of stupid things lately, but he wasn’t an idiot.
Joni was cute with her bubbly personality, curly brown hair and top-heavy figure. At the moment, he felt not only her warm breath on his ear, but her lush boobs on his back.
Yet he wasn’t even tempted. Again, he knew why.
These days, along with feeling more content in general, he had a preoccupation with his two jobs, his seventeen-year-old son—and unrequited lust for Violet.
Standing—and dislodging Joni’s hands—he asked, “Ready to head out?”
“I was thinking about grabbing a drink.” Her tongue slicked over her bottom lip in blatant suggestion. “Interested?”
Hell no. “Sorry, I can’t. I have to get home in time to see my son before he leaves on a date.” He assumed Colt would have a date, so that wasn’t a lie.
Her eyes, sultry a moment before, flared. “Your son?”
“Yeah.” The mention of a kid had often proved to be effective discouragement with a certain type of woman. Apparently, Joni was that type. “Colt’s seventeen, almost eighteen now,” he added, hopefully putting the nail in the coffin of her interest.
Straightening, Joni looked him over with suspicion. “You’re not old enough for that.”
“I’m thirty-five and I had Colt young.” One of the few things he didn’t regret from his youth.
“Your wife?” she asked bluntly.
Just as blunt, he answered, “Dead.” And he wasn’t explaining beyond that. “I have to run, but it looks like Derrick is hanging around. Given the way he smiles at you, I’m betting he’d love to get a drink.”
She wrinkled her nose, but sighed as if resigned. Proving she wasn’t yet entirely dissuaded, she gave him a long look and said, “I’ll catch you next time.” Turning, she headed for Derrick, who perked up at her approach.
Colt wasn’t there when Hogan got home. Neither was Diesel, their dog, but then, the dog often hung next door when he and Colt were away.
He checked his phone but didn’t see a message from his son. At almost eighteen, he understood that Colt wanted his independence, but one of his few rules was that he needed to give his father a call when he’d be late.
It wasn’t until Hogan stepped out of the shower that he heard Colt coming in, Diesel with him. Drying off, Hogan opened the bathroom door and asked, “Where’ve you been?”
“I was at Uncle Jason’s. You didn’t see my truck?”
Relaxing, Hogan shook his head. It wasn’t only the dog that liked to visit next door. He’d bought the small house next to his brother, Jason, when Jason married the woman who’d previously owned it.
Diesel hurried in to get some pats and show some love, then went back to sit next to Colt. Hogan should have realized where Colt would be but he’d been in such a rush, he hadn’t been aware of anything except his anticipation.
Insane—yet he seemed to have found his calling, and it wasn’t accounting.
While Hogan pulled on jeans, Colt leaned in the doorway, Diesel sitting beside him. At six-three, Colt was taller than both his father and his uncle. Broad-shouldered. Lean and muscular. Both Colt and Jason had dark brown eyes, whereas Hogan’s were a much lighter blue.
Colt hadn’t inherited much from him. Diesel, a shepherd mix they’d rescued that had first belonged to Honor but now adored Colt. He was fond of many people, but he was clearly Colt’s dog.
“I’m coming to the diner tonight, okay?”
“Sure.” Hogan glanced up after pulling on a polo. “A date?”
“Maybe.” Colt smiled crookedly. “It’s a group of us, but...”
“But?”
While he stroked the dog’s head, he said, “A new girl joined my chemistry class today.”
“Ah.” Hogan guessed, “Pretty?” Maybe his son had inherited something after all. Not entirely a good thing.
“Very.” Colt grinned. “I’m hoping to win her over before anyone else does.”
Probably wouldn’t take much effort. Once Colt had settled in after the move from Columbus to the much-smaller, quaint town of Clearbrook in Ohio, the girls had been flocking after him.
“So,” Hogan said, “is this a request that your old dad stays away, or can I meet her?”
Looking far too serious, Colt said, “You don’t need to hide away, ever.”
Hogan sat to pull on his boots. “If it becomes an issue—”
“It won’t be.”
Unsure when he’d become philosophical on the issue, Hogan said, “You know, if the girl is new around here, she might need a friend more than a hot date.”
“I’ll be both.” Colt straightened off the wall. “Gotta go. I’ve got grass-cutting jobs this weekend, so I want to finish my homework now. C’mon, Diesel.” The dog was already on his heels.
“Be sure to cut our grass, too, before you take off.”
With a wave, Colt headed to his incredibly messy room, so messy, in fact, that it kept him from being too perfect. Not that Diesel minded. He tended to sprawl on the piles of discarded clothes.
Smiling, Hogan wondered how he’d gotten so damn lucky. Lucky, at least when it came to his son.
He grabbed his keys and helmet, yelled a goodbye to Colt and headed out the door to his bike. The late-August evening hit his face like an open oven.
As he rode, the sweltering air tore across his face and he loved it. Sure, he’d first gotten the bike to indulge some idea of being a rebel with a “fuck you” attitude, as if that could make up for the past year of hell. He was over that now, mostly anyway, but he still loved the bike.
A few minutes later he pulled into the already-crowded lot of Screwy Louie’s, the town’s most popular diner. Accountant by day, Hogan thought as he strode in, barbecue master by night.
He stored his helmet and keys in a locker, found a stiff white apron and greeted the others who worked the evening weekend shift with him.
When he didn’t see Violet bustling about as was her usual preference, he stopped one of the waitresses. “Where is she?”
Knowing exactly whom he meant, the girl said, sotto voce, “Back office,” and added, “I think she’s sick.”
Frowning, Hogan started his massive grills so they could heat, took the racks of previously prepared ribs from the industrial refrigerators and then headed for the tiny office at the back of the building.
He and Violet had an understanding of sorts. He wanted her; she resisted. He didn’t make it easy on her, and she didn’t give him any leeway. So far, the cat and mouse game had been fun. He was still patient.
And still very determined.
It didn’t matter that he also worked for Violet; since this was a part-time job, not his career, the usual issue of mixing work with pleasure didn’t apply.
Grinning, he rapped his knuckles against the door and opened it.
With her rich red hair fanned out around her on the surface of the cluttered desk, Violet rested her head on her folded arms. Without looking up, she asked, “What do you want, Hogan?”
“How’d you know it was me?”
She tipped her face and one vivid blue eye peeked up at him through that fall of incredible hair. “Honey,” she drawled, “I know the sound of your walk, the way that you knock, and I know your scent.”
His brows lifted. “My scent?”
Sitting back with a grumpy sigh, she asked again, “What’d you want?”
Ignoring her mean mood, he said, “Besides you?” He heard her growl and his grin widened. “Why are you in here moping? Late night yesterday?”
“Yes.”
Before he could get jealous over that, she gestured at the scattered papers. “I fired my accountant, the miserable bastard.”
“Why?”
“None of your business. But now the accounts have piled up. I despise paperwork—you know that. I worked on it off and on all day yesterday and a big chunk of today, but I’m still not done.”
God, he loved her twangy voice, the way she drawled her words.
She gathered the papers together into a file and closed it, then stood to tuck it into an old metal file cabinet.
Her office was ancient and Hogan suspected her accountant’s ideas might have been, as well. Hesitating to overstep, or to take on more work, he asked, “Anything I can help with?”
“You already are, darlin’. Your ribs are a huge hit.” Using both hands, she finger-combed her hair into a high ponytail, then secured it with a cloth-covered rubber band that she pulled from her wrist. “I’m even looking into buying a special oven so you can keep it going through the winter months.”
Standing in the doorway, blocking her exit, he asked, “Who said I want to be here in the winter months?”
“You’re not stupid. You know you were born to do this.”
Since he’d recently thought the same thing, he said, “I don’t mind grilling in the snow.”
With a seductive smile teasing her lips, she sidled closer and patted his face. “If you ever decide to give up that stuffy shirt and tie during the week, I’d hire you full-time in a hot minute.” Her warm fingertips trailed down his neck, his chest and away. “Customers would love it, and I bet you’d make more in tips than you do sitting in an office.”
Paying no attention to the job offer, Hogan caught her wrist. “You just love playing with fire, don’t you?”
With her gaze on his mouth, she whispered, “You got those ribs ready yet?”
“I just got here.”
“Best get a move on, then.” She ducked past him.
Sometimes, Hogan thought as he watched her sashay away, Violet deliberately distracted him. Why? If she truly didn’t want to get physical, why taunt him?
He glanced back at that file cabinet and wondered again about her accounting.
An hour later he didn’t have time to think about anything except cooking. The orders were pouring in. Since they weren’t served during the week, it seemed that come Friday night and through the weekend, everyone wanted barbecued ribs. Standing just outside the restaurant, near the side of the building where Violet had added more outdoor seating, Hogan whistled and slathered on more of his special sauce. The heat of the day waned as the sun fell lower in the sky, bleeding over the horizon in shades of crimson, purple and sunflower yellow.
Until coming to Clearbrook, he couldn’t remember ever paying much attention to the sunset. He breathed deep of cooking meat, freshly mowed grass and humid air.
All around him, customers chatted and laughed, some sitting on picnic tables under shade trees, others using the metal tables and chairs under the overhang. After lifting three more racks onto a platter, Hogan rang a bell.
It was Violet, this time, who came to collect them.
Damp tendrils of her fiery hair escaped her ponytail and clung to her temples. Her flushed cheeks made the blue of her eyes even brighter. He’d already noticed the T-shirt she wore with Screwy Louie’s scrawled across her breasts and a pair of khaki shorts with tennis shoes. Now the shirt stuck to her in select places. Eyeing her toned and shapely legs, he couldn’t help thinking—
“We’ve got a real crowd tonight,” she crowed, sounding a little breathless but pleased with the action. “Keep cooking, sugar!”
What did she think he would do? Abandon his station? Giving a theatrical sigh, he said, “Chained to my grill. A man’s work is never done.”
She crossed her arms and cocked a shapely hip against the wall. “There are ladies out front, gossiping about you.”
Hogan quirked a brow while basting sauce over a slab of meat. “All compliments, I hope?”
“Suggestions, actually.”
He waited.
“These ladies want to see you grilling...shirtless.”
The smile came easily. Had her voice sounded a bit hoarse? No doubt from speaking over the rambunctious crowd. “Not sure that’s allowed, is it? There has to be a code or something?”
Her eyes flared. “You would consider it otherwise?”
Shrugging, he said, “I’m not selfish. I’ll do what I can to help your business thrive.”
Violet snorted. “Not selfish, not modest...” Her nose wrinkled. “You have a hairy chest.”
“True enough.” Slanting her a look, he added, “Hairy thighs, too. And on my stomach, there’s this line of—”
“It’s enough that you don’t wear a net on your head. I don’t want to have to worry about chest hair in the sauce.”
She definitely sounded hoarse. “I don’t exactly shed, you know.” He frowned at her and saw she appeared distracted, leaning a hand against a table and drawing a slow breath.
“You okay?” he asked, wondering if the waitress was right about her being ill.
“Exhilarated.” Quickly she straightened, patted his shoulder and took off again, her hands loaded with platters of meat.
For a little while, Hogan wondered about her. But they were too busy for him to dwell on anything but his job. The night droned on, and during small respites, Hogan prepared more ribs for the following day. His process required hours of precooking before the meat ever touched the grill. He worked alone, guarding his secret recipe—what a joke—which required him to hustle back and forth between the rear kitchen area and where the grills were set up.
Colt and his friends sat at a picnic table nearby, drinking tea and devouring burgers. The new girl was indeed cute, and if Hogan was a judge, his son had already won her over.
When Colt introduced him, Hogan felt a familiar, unmistakable pride. Despite the not-too-distant-past turmoil of their lives, Colt was a remarkable young man, and not just physically. He did well in school and he enjoyed helping others. Hogan knew he couldn’t take all the credit for that, but he didn’t want to think about his wife.
Before long, he saw that Colt had his arm around the girl and she rested her head on his shoulder. Hiding his smile, Hogan repeatedly glanced their way.
The move had been tough on Colt, but things were looking up for both of them.
The lingering crowds grew mellow as they neared the midnight hour. It was a few minutes to closing time when Kristy, a waitress, found him cleaning the grills.
“Hey, Hogan, got a minute?”
He glanced at her. She was young, cute and exceptionally friendly. Tonight, though, she looked worried. Aware of Colt watching him, Hogan said, “What’s up?”
“I wasn’t sure who to talk to.”
He closed the grill and cleaned his hands on a dish towel. “Something’s wrong?”
“It’s Violet. I think she’s really sick.”
An unfamiliar emotion tightened in his chest. Worry, he decided. Only worry for the boss. He wouldn’t allow it to be anything else. Not since his wife...
He shook his head. “Where is she?”
“In her office. But she’s been in there awhile and it’s time to shut down. You know Violet always oversees things.”
Colt appeared at his side. “Anything you want me to do?”
Now see? How could he not beam with pride?
“Maybe.” Often when Hogan worked at the restaurant, Colt was around. He probably knew the routine better than the actual employees. “Where’s Beth?” She was Violet’s assistant manager, and one of them was always around.
“She had her baby, so she’s on maternity leave. Violet’s in charge tonight.”
Well, hell. He turned to his son. “You mind giving Kristy a hand?”
The way Kristy smiled at Colt made Hogan want to growl. He said, “You’re not eighteen yet, so don’t touch any alcohol, all right?”
Kristy laughed. “That’s his way of telling me you’re off-limits.” She patted Hogan’s shoulder. “I’m already aware, Dad.” Then she added to Colt, “You do look a lot older, though.”
Colt grinned, not in the least embarrassed. “Let me say ’bye to my friends, and then I’m all yours.”
Kristy watched him walk away, a hand to her heart.
Hogan rolled his eyes, hooked his arm through Kristy’s and hauled her back into the restaurant, giving directions along the way.
It never occurred to him that he might be overstepping.
Since he could still be considered relatively new with only a month under his belt, there were others at the restaurant probably more qualified, but they all seemed relieved to have him take charge.
After setting things in motion, he peeked in on Violet. She was asleep at her desk. For only a moment he looked down at her. Those damned strange feelings stirred again; this time he ignored them.
He wanted to immediately wake her and suggest she go home, but instead he slipped back out of the office without making a sound. Far as he could tell, the restaurant was Violet’s number one priority. If he woke her before everything was done, she’d probably start pitching in when clearly she needed some rest.
The employees knew their jobs, but still welcomed his reminders of how Violet preferred things done. He, himself, did her usual duties, running the end-of-day reports, balancing the books and closing out the cash drawer. He locked the remaining money in the safe and left the register open.
After Colt and Kristy left, Hogan did a final sweep of the building, set the security alarms on all but the back door and finally went to Violet’s office. Before he could open the door, he heard a rasping cough. Again, he opened it and stepped in.
Violet, looking messier than he’d ever seen her, leaned over the papers again scattered across her desk.
“Violet?”
Slowly she turned her face toward him.
Her bloodshot eyes surprised him. Sick. He stepped in farther. “Hey, you okay?”
She looked from him to the paperwork. “I don’t know.” More coughs racked her.
Hogan strode forward and put a hand to her forehead. “Shit. You’re burning up.”
“What time is it?”
“A few minutes after midnight.”
“Oh.” She pushed back from the desk but didn’t make it far. “The restaurant,” she gasped in between strained breaths.
“I took care of it.” Holding her elbow, he helped to support her as she stood. His most pressing thought was getting her home and in bed. No, not the way he’d like, but definitely the way she needed. “Where are your car keys?”
Unsteady on her feet, she frowned. “What do you mean, you took care of it?”
“You have good employees—you know that. They’re aware of the routine. Colt pitched in, too. Everything is done.”
“But...”
“I double-checked. I’m not incompetent, so trust me.”
Her frown darkened.
“You can thank me, Violet.”
She tried to look stern, coughed again and gave up. “Thank you.” Still she kept one hand on the desk. “I’m just so blasted tired.”
“I know.” He eased her into his side, his arm around her. “Come on. Let me drive you home.”
Giving him a lost look, she said, “I can’t be sick. I don’t have time to be sick. Beth’s gone for at least four weeks. I have to—”
“You don’t have to do anything, not right now.” Hogan remembered once when Meg, his wife, had gotten pneumonia. Her cough had sounded the same and she, too, had been tired and run a fever. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be here for the weekend. I can handle things.”
“It’s not your restaurant!” Soon as she rasped the words, she began to cough.
Worried, Hogan set her against the desk. “Stay put.” Then he found her purse and, without a qualm, dug through it for her keys.
He found them. He also found two condoms. His gaze flashed to hers, but her eyes were closed and she looked asleep on her feet, her body utterly boneless as she drew in shallow, strained breaths.
“Come on.” With an arm around her, her purse and keys held in his free hand, he led her out the back way to the employee lot, securing the door behind her. Her yellow Mustang shone bright beneath security lights.
His bike would be okay. Or at least, it better be.
* * *
Violet tried to get herself together but it wasn’t easy. She honestly felt like she could close her eyes and nod right off. “The trash—”
“Was taken out.” He opened the passenger door and helped her in.
“If you left on even one fan—”
“It would set off the security sensors. I know. They’re all off.” He fastened her seat belt around her and closed her door.
As soon as he slid behind the wheel, she said, “But the end-of-day reports—”
“Are done.” He started her car. “Try not to worry, okay?”
Easier said than done.
Because the town was so small, Hogan seemed to know where she lived even though she’d never had him over. She hadn’t dared.
Hogan in her home? Nope. Not a good idea.
Even feeling miserable, her head pounding and her chest aching, she was acutely aware of him beside her in the enclosed car, and the way he kept glancing at her. He tempted her, always had, from the first day she’d met him.
He was also a major runaround. Supposedly a reformed runaround, but she didn’t trust in that. Things had happened with his late wife, things that had made him bitter and unpredictable.
Yet no less appealing.
She wasn’t one to pry; otherwise she might have gotten all the details from Honor, his sister-in-law, already. She figured if he ever wanted to, Hogan himself would tell her. Not that there was any reason, since she would not get involved with him.
Hogan was fun to tease, like watching the flames in a bonfire. You watched, you enjoyed, but you did not jump in the fire.
More coughs racked her and she wheezed for breath.
“You know what?” he said, veering away from the direction of her house. “I’m taking you to the ER instead. You need some meds. Tonight.”
She wanted to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t his decision, but she wasn’t stupid. Tomorrow was Saturday, so finding a doctor would be no easier then. She couldn’t even imagine how much worse she might feel in the morning, given that she felt more wretched by the minute.
“Yes,” she said, her head back and her eyes closed—not that he’d waited for her agreement. “I think you’re right.”
Three hours later, after a long visit in a crowded waiting room where he’d held her against him, a few tests that had shown she had pneumonia and a script for antibiotics that he’d filled for her at an all-night pharmacy, Violet finally slogged through her house for the bedroom.
Her throat was so dry; she desperately needed a bottle of water. And she’d dearly love to lose her bra.
She managed only to drop facedown into her bed, on top of the comforter. She missed the pillow.
It didn’t matter. For someone who never got sick, she’d gone all out. Pneumonia. They should call it “debilitating weakness” instead.
Hogan stood over her. She pulled together enough energy to say, “Thank you. Lock the door on your way out.”
Instead she felt him tugging off her sneakers.
Her eyes popped open; she was sick, not dead. “What are you doing?”
“I won’t steal your shorts, so relax.” After removing her shoes, he lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Holding her with one arm—something she couldn’t help but notice—he turned down her bed and tucked her in.
When he walked away, she felt like crying.
She, who cried about as often as she got sick, which was never.
But instead of leaving, he came right back with the coveted bottle of water. “Here, let me help you.” Sitting on the side of the bed, he slipped an arm beneath her and levered her up, put the bottle in her hand and supported her while she drank. “Better?”
“You know,” she whispered, “since we’re doing this, I may as well go all in.”
“All in?”
She was in a bed—her bed—with Hogan Guthrie right next to her. Not ideal circumstances, but still... “Help me out of my shorts.”
Across her back, his arm tightened until she thought she could make out every lean, hard muscle.
Maybe it was lack of oxygen caused by the pneumonia, but she heard herself say, “Unhook my bra, too—I’ll take care of the rest. And thanks in advance.”
“Um...”
“It’s uncomfortable. I usually sleep naked, so—”
Letting her recline again, he quickly stood, then stared down at her with a gaze so intent she would have blushed if she’d had the energy.
After struggling over onto her stomach, she waited. Silence ticked by, and then the bed shifted and Hogan’s hands, so incredibly large and warm, slipped up her back. She felt a brief tug and the bra cups loosened.
Heaven. She muttered, “You’re pretty good at that. Guess you’ve had lots of practice.”
“Don’t try baiting me right now. You’re not up to it.” One by one he slid his hand up her arms, beneath each short sleeve of her T-shirt, and pulled the straps down and over her elbows, freeing her arms.
He turned her to her back, gave her a long look with his incendiary blue eyes and said softly, “I believe in finishing the job.”
She could barely keep her eyes open, but awareness burned through the lethargy as he reached under her shirt, hooked a finger in the front of her bra and tugged it out and away.
All the while, those hot blue eyes of his stared at her body.
Through a hazy gaze, Violet watched him look at her now-freed bra. It was beige with black lace and tiny polka dots, making him smile slightly before he tossed it onto her rocking chair. He wasn’t above copping a feel—this was Hogan, after all—so his palm coasted across her ribs, her waist and over her stomach.
He drew in a breath, held it and opened the top snap of her shorts.
As he slowly tugged down the zipper, she said, “If I wasn’t sick—”
He growled. “I know.”
“—we wouldn’t be doing this.”
That made him laugh. “I think you enjoy torturing me.”
“Sometimes,” she admitted. And why not? His presence tortured her plenty.
He finished stripping off her shorts, then took his time looking at her in great detail. “Your panties match your bra.”
“I’m aware.”
He pulled the sheet up and over her, and when she shivered, he layered on the comforter. Now more detached, he said, “They’re sexy.”
Yup, she knew that, too. Since, by necessity, she was forced to be more celibate than not, wearing sexy underthings was her balm, her way of reminding herself that she was still an attractive, healthy woman.
Bracing one hand on the nightstand, the other on the back of the headboard, Hogan loomed over her. “You’re sexy.” He kissed her forehead in a most sexless way. “Do you need more ibuprofen? A cough drop? Anything else?”
She needed to get well. She needed a man.
She needed Hogan Guthrie, but she wasn’t a stupid woman, so she tried to never court trouble. “No, and thank you again.”
“Try to get some rest.” He turned out the light and left the room, pulling the door behind him until it almost closed.
Violet turned onto her side, snuggled tight and faded into sleep.
2 (#u08a0e847-b341-512b-9bf3-f222fb23b9b3)
HOGAN STEPPED OUTSIDE the front door, but didn’t secure the door behind him.
He had no intention of leaving.
God, the sight of her in nothing more than a snug T-shirt and boner-inspiring panties will be forever burned on my brain.
Her nipples had been visible through the thin cotton of the top, making his damned mouth water. And her skin, especially over the gentle curve of her belly, had felt like silk. Warm silk.
The urge to brush his mouth over her, to inhale her scent, had been nearly impossible to ignore. But despite his more recent lacks, he wasn’t completely lost to civility, so he’d tucked her up and escaped.
No, he definitely wouldn’t leave her.
Sitting on the front step of her porch, he called Colt first.
Without a single sign of sleepiness, Colt answered, “What’s up? She okay?”
It was the middle of the damned night, practically morning, so Hogan asked, “Why aren’t you in bed?”
“I was, but I was also waiting to hear from you.”
“You’re there alone?”
“No, I sneaked in three girls. Make it four. Uncle Jason and Honor never noticed. I mean, there’s what? Thirty feet separating the houses? And Honor called twice to check on me, but I completely fooled her. I hid all the girls under my bed.”
“Smart-ass.” Hogan grinned. Colt was, by far, the best part of him.
Colt laughed as he said, “It’s just Diesel and me.”
The dog was good company, and good protection—not that Colt needed it. “I won’t be home tonight at all, but I’ll check back in the morning.” Briefly, he explained about Violet and that he didn’t want to leave her alone in case she needed anything.
Colt said, “At least she doesn’t make you hide under the bed.”
Frowning, Hogan wondered at his joke. “Don’t make more out of this than there is.”
“I won’t.” With definite amusement in his tone, Colt added, “I know you do goodwill sleepovers with all kinds of women. Doesn’t mean anything at all.”
“Colt,” he warned.
“Good night, Nurse Guthrie. Tell Violet I hope she feels better soon.”
As he disconnected the call, Hogan blew out a breath. Great, all he needed now was for rumors to get started. Who wouldn’t believe them, especially if they were spread by his son?
He glanced back at the door. Would Violet mind? He didn’t think so. She didn’t strike him as a woman who cared much what others thought. Then again, no one would have any reason to think anything less than positive.
Violet was a strong woman—intelligent, warm, hardworking, beautiful, sweet... Jesus. Hogan ran a hand over his face.
What struck him most was the fact that Colt had teased him about it. Because it was Violet? Since the death of his mother, Colt hadn’t said much about Hogan dating, but his silence on the matter had been more damning than words anyway.
He’d hurt Colt, and he hated that. Didn’t matter that he’d been hurting, too.
Colt hadn’t been silent about Violet. No, instead he’d joked. Maybe he knew Violet was too discriminating to get involved with him.
Rather than brood, he dialed his brother next.
Jason, at least, had been sleeping. He answered with a very groggy “What’s wrong?”
“Sorry to wake you. I’m going to stay over at Violet’s and Colt is already in bed. He’s got Diesel there with him, but if you wouldn’t mind—”
“Honor’s been mothering him,” Jason said around a yawn. “No worries.”
Of course she had. Honor was a true sweetheart; she and Colt had a very special relationship. Diesel did sometimes stay the night with Jason, sort of picking and choosing between the two houses at his own whim, but likely he’d either known Colt was alone and felt protective, or Honor had insisted he keep the dog with him. Either way, he was relieved.
Hogan felt like a schoolboy explaining, but he did so anyway. “Violet has pneumonia. She was pretty hammered by the time we got back from the ER. She’s crashed right now, but I figured I’d—”
“Got it. Take good care of her, okay?”
In the background, Hogan heard Honor ask, “What’s going on? Take care of who? Is Colt okay?”
Jason said only, “Hogan’s sleeping over at Violet’s.”
Alarmed by how he put it, Hogan protested, “Don’t make it sound like—”
Honor seemed far more alert when she sang, “Oh, he is, is he?”
“Damn it, Jason, tell her—”
To Honor, Jason said with far too much gravity, “You know how noble my brother is.”
They both laughed. At him.
Hogan heard some shuffling, a few whispers, and Jason said, “Later, brother.”
Standing, Hogan put away his phone and leaned on the rail, looking out over the quiet street, most of the porch lights glowing in boxy homes set close together. Single-car driveways, mature trees everywhere.
Before long the sun would be up. On Saturdays, kids played in their yards and on every cul-de-sac, crowding the sidewalks with their bikes. Older folk walked their older dogs and groused about the bikes. Hogan smiled. The area was as different as night and day to where he used to live in Columbus.
He didn’t use to think so, but now he knew it was better. Cleaner. Calmer.
A whole new life greeted him here—now if only the old life didn’t still plague him.
Pushing that aside as he often did, he wondered if Violet was sleeping okay. He’d like to go in and check on her, but she thought he’d left. She was in her bed, not fully dressed, and he didn’t want to intrude further. It was enough to stay over on her couch.
He saw again her slim body nestled in that big bed. From the day he’d met her, he’d appreciated her fair skin and red hair. She was so petite that with one splayed hand he could span the width of her from hip bone to hip bone. But her breasts weren’t small. Not really large, either. Just full and soft and perfect.
Closing his tired eyes, Hogan breathed deeply.
Heavy humidity thickened the night air and filled his lungs. Insects carried on a cacophony of sounds, and when he listened closely he could even hear frogs in the large creek that served as a social gathering spot for the small town.
Clearbrook was a good place. Peaceful, close-knit, filled with friendly people. He discounted the remaining crime element since incidents were fewer and far between. The refurbishing of the town had been, by all accounts, a huge success. What used to be a slum area was now occupied by middle-class families.
Since he’d gone from a prestigious accounting firm to a small local business, supplemented by weekend restaurant work—that now included him and Colt.
Heading back inside, he quietly closed and locked the door. He flattened his mouth at the sight of the short, squat couch, but he wouldn’t roam her house looking for a guest room.
After turning down the volume on his phone and setting it on the coffee table, he sat on the couch and removed his boots and socks, peeled off his shirt, then unsnapped and unzipped his jeans. He’d like to lose the jeans, but yeah—probably not a good idea.
There was no way to stretch out, so he sprawled as best he could, his head and one calf on the sofa arms, one leg dropping over the side. He snagged the knit throw over the back of the couch, half-heartedly tossed it over his body and closed his eyes.
He thought of Violet.
He thought of her panties.
Soon he was sound asleep and dreaming.
* * *
Violet found him on her couch. At 8:00 a.m., it was too early to be up, especially after the late night, but when she’d gotten up to use the bathroom and find more ibuprofen, she’d heard a snore.
It didn’t scare her only because she immediately guessed the source.
Her first thought when she found him there was that he was too big for her couch, his shoulders too wide, his legs too long.
Keeping the comforter swaddled around herself, she tipped her head and studied him—specifically she studied his body. Still wearing jeans, now open, he rested on his back, one arm above his head, the other folded over his stomach. Only a corner of the throw blanket covered him; the rest was on the floor with his right leg. He looked in danger of sliding over the side with it any moment.
Of course she’d seen him without a shirt many times at neighborhood picnics, but she hadn’t been able to stare then, not with him so aware of her and neighbors all around them.
Now her eyes felt gritty, and she stared anyway. A sparse covering of crisp, dark hair went from his collarbone to just below his pecs, faded in a narrow line to his navel, then widened a little before disappearing into his jeans. Beneath his raised arm she saw softer hair.
She’d teased him about being hairy, but in truth, she thought he was the sexiest man she’d ever known. She loved his masculinity, which included that enticing dark hair.
Sleep masked his usual edgy persona so that he looked more peaceful now. His hair stuck up in tufts and beard shadow darkened his face. He, his brother and his son all had the most amazing, enviable lashes. They were long and thick, and looking at him, Violet liked the way they rested on his high cheekbones.
He wasn’t overly muscle-bound, but there was no denying the strength of his lean, toned body. Even in sleep his biceps were pronounced. Her gaze traveled over his shoulders, down his body again to his flat stomach. Out of self-preservation she skimmed her gaze over the bulge inside his jeans to glance along the length of his long, strong legs and down to his feet. She admired them, as well.
She would have gone on admiring him except that she drew in a breath—and coughed.
Hogan stirred, shifting his big body, stretching a little before opening one eye.
Violet froze. Damn him, he looked gorgeous sleep-rumpled, while she knew she looked completely wrecked. Only half her hair remained in the ponytail, and she was so weak, she started to shake.
“Morning,” Hogan rumbled.
“Good morning.” Trying for sarcasm, she asked, “Comfortable?”
“Not really. Your couch is too short.” He stretched again and sat up with a wide yawn.
Unmoving, Violet watched him scratch his belly, and she said with accusation, “You stayed over.”
“Yeah.” After running both hands through his mussed hair, he checked the time on his phone. Giving her another long look, he patted the seat beside him, no doubt still warm from his body. “Sit before you fall.”
She didn’t want to, but her body wasn’t giving her much choice. She stepped around the table and dropped at the far end of the couch, which wasn’t all that far.
Scooting closer to her, he touched his palm to her forehead. “Still feverish. You need more medicine?”
“I just took it. That’s how I found you.”
“Gotcha.” He frowned at her hair, deftly removed the band to free it and smoothed it down, massaging her scalp in the process.
Heaven.
He stole his magic fingers away. “Are you a coffee person or a juice person?”
“I’m not a baby.”
With a short laugh, he agreed, “Definitely not.”
She started to say she could get her own coffee, but she truly didn’t feel like it. Putting her head back and closing her eyes, she said, “Maybe both?”
“Juice now, coffee when it’s ready?”
She nodded, her eyes still closed.
“You can thank me, Violet.”
“Thank you.”
His fingers skimmed her cheek and she heard the smile in his voice when he said, “Be right back.”
Somehow in the time it took him to pour orange juice into a glass, she’d fallen asleep. She opened her eyes to see the juice on the end table beside her. In the kitchen, the coffeemaker spit and hissed.
Down the hall, a toilet flushed, water ran and Hogan emerged, his jeans now fastened, his shirt still off, his feet still bare.
Damn, he looked good like that.
He also looked good in her house.
“Sleep if you want,” he said as he passed her. “It’s the best thing for you.”
She drank half the juice and nodded off again.
Hogan’s voice, talking quietly on the phone, awoke her the second time. She saw that sunshine now flooded her front windows. More sluggish than she ever could have imagined, she sat up and tried to gather her wits.
She focused on Hogan in the kitchen, fully dressed, his hair less messy but with whiskers still on his face.
“I can probably take Violet’s car this morning, but I don’t want to leave my bike in the parking lot.” After waiting for a reply, Hogan said, “Yeah, that’d work. Appreciate it.”
Who said he could take her car? Take it where?
“No, she won’t make it in today. Damned pneumonia has really leveled her.” As he softly spoke, Hogan turned to face her, then smiled at seeing her awake. Holding her gaze, he nodded, saying, “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. Thanks again.” He pocketed the phone and moved out of sight.
“I’m going into work,” she told him, but raising her voice put her into a coughing fit.
He appeared with the coffee. “I reheated it.”
Grudgingly, she accepted. Because he’d worked with her for a few weeks now, he knew she liked cream and sugar and the coffee was perfect, even better than the juice. “Thank you.”
He surveyed her. “Are you hungry?”
“No.” More than anything, she wanted to sleep. More and more sleep. She tried for a slow breath and managed to do it without coughing too much. “I’m sorry I keep conking out.”
“I’m glad you did.” He frowned, then sat beside her. “You can’t go into work. You’re an intelligent woman and you know it, but you’re also stubborn. Put the stubbornness aside for now, okay?”
“I have to go in. It’s mine and—”
“I can handle it. I have the weekend free and I know what I’m doing.”
“What, no hot date?” Hogan always had hot dates on the weekends, and sometimes during the week—at least until recently. “What about what’s-her-name? That kid.”
The corner of his mouth curled. “Emma? She was twenty-five, not a kid—”
“Ten years your junior!”
“—and I only saw her once.”
“I guess with you, once is enough?”
He cocked a brow. “Are you always this nasty in the mornings?”
“Yes,” she lied. God, she felt so awful, she wanted to curl up and sleep until she felt normal again. “Go away, okay?”
“I haven’t had a date since I started working for you.”
No, she didn’t want to hear that! That would mean he’d been dateless for weeks. “Poor baby, am I using up all your free time?”
Shrugging a shoulder, he grinned. “I could go out during the week, I guess. In fact, Friday, before I left the office, my boss hit on me.”
Violet stared at him, scowled and guzzled the rest of her coffee. I don’t want to picture you with another woman. Of course, it was already too late.
Glaring, she asked, “When are the two of you getting together?”
His gaze went to her mouth. “Never.” Gently, he took the coffee cup from her and set it aside.
“I take it she’s homely? Not built to your specifications?”
“She’s attractive enough. Big boobs.”
Trying for mock surprise, Violet said, “And you turned her down?”
“Let’s say I redirected her attention.”
“Redirected it how?”
“To a coworker who looked interested.”
“Oh my God, you’re bragging about passing her off to someone else?”
“Redirecting her,” he emphasized. “It’s not like she was looking to get married.”
“Because that would have really sent you running!” Good God, just shut up, Violet.
After a long look, he picked up the cup and stood. He was halfway to the kitchen when he stopped. Keeping his back to her, he said, “Obviously you know I was married once.”
Violet’s heart started to pound. “Yes.” And she was sorry she’d brought it up.
He looked back over his shoulder at her. “Marriage doesn’t scare me. But cheating, lying women do.”
* * *
Why the hell had he opened his mouth? So she’d been needling him. So what. Nothing new in that, not with Violet. The woman lived to give him a hard time.
Hours had passed since he’d left her sleeping on her sofa, and still he wanted to chew nails. Colt rapped at the back door of the diner and Hogan let him in.
“Uncle Jason said you were here. I was going to work with him today but he said you might need me instead.”
“Yeah.” Hogan rubbed the back of his neck. “I rearranged the schedule for Violet since she’s down for the count. In between taking medicine, she sleeps. The doctor at the ER said she’d be feeling better by Monday, but I think that only means less miserable, not ready to work.”
“She’s home alone now?”
Hogan didn’t like it, either, but he’d set her up on her couch as best he could, arranging her medicine nearby with a glass of juice, a bottle of water and the TV remote. “She’ll be okay. My guess is she’ll sleep most of the day away.”
Colt looked around. “So what can I do?”
Since Violet didn’t have a breakfast menu, the diner opened at noon. Kristy would be in soon, along with another employee. He’d already come up with a plan, so he got Colt going, then did some prep work on his ribs.
With that done, curiosity got the better of him and he moved to Violet’s office to take a look at her paperwork.
Just as he suspected, it was horribly dated, and as far as he could tell, she didn’t have a menu profitability analysis. Critical stuff in restaurant bookkeeping. He’d work on that, he decided, as well as catching her up, but he’d maintain all her regular records, too.
Violet could be prickly. No reason to fire her up more.
Around three, Nathan Hawley, the sheriff, stopped in. Hogan wasn’t surprised when he came around back to sit in the shade.
“I went by to check on Violet.”
Hogan stiffened a little. Nathan was single, and he wasn’t blind. If he hadn’t been tempted by Violet, he had to be dead. “Yeah? How’s she feeling?”
“She told me to go away, and that if I saw you, to tell you to go away, too.”
“How can I go away when I’m not even there?”
“I didn’t ask her,” Nathan said. “She was too limp for me to tease her. But I did notice she was propped on the couch watching a movie. Or pretending to watch it. Overall she looked like a zombie. I told her...”
Just then a single woman, carrying a drink and salad, dark glasses on her eyes, walked out. Ignoring them both, she went to the farthest section of the seating area, to a worn picnic table under a large maple tree.
She sat alone, with her back to them.
Hogan watched her, wondering about her since he’d never seen her before, then realized Nathan was watching her, too.
Amused by the sheriff’s distraction, he grinned. “You were saying?”
Without taking his gaze from the woman, Nathan asked, “What?”
Hogan shook his head. “Never mind. Who is she? Do you know?”
“New neighbor,” he murmured. “Real private.” Finally, Nathan got his gaze off her. “I saw her step outside this morning to jog. I waved, but she didn’t acknowledge me.”
“Does she know you’re the sheriff?”
“My car is parked in the driveway and it’s emblazoned on the side, so yeah, I assume so.”
“If being sheriff doesn’t impress her, maybe she needs to hear you sing.” Nathan cut a mean guitar and sang for the local garage band, the Drunken Monkeys. Where they’d gotten that name, Hogan had no idea. It all happened before he’d moved into the area.
“I wasn’t trying to impress her,” Nathan growled. “Just being neighborly.”
“She’s pretty.” Thick, straight, light brown hair, secured in a low ponytail, hung to the middle of her back. Snug yoga pants and a tank top showed a very nice figure. She still wore running shoes, looked a little sweaty, and gigantic sunglasses hid half her face. “She lives on the other side of you?”
“Moved in a few days ago.”
“Alone?”
“Far as I can tell.”
Just then the woman peered over her shoulder. Those ridiculous sunglasses kept them from knowing if she looked right at them or not, but it seemed likely.
Nathan said nothing, so Hogan did the honors and waved.
She turned back around.
“See what I mean?” Nathan frowned. “What are we supposed to think about that?”
“No idea.” Hogan swiped up a dish towel, wiped his hands, then headed toward her.
Startled, then quickly on board, Nathan followed.
Stopping at her table, Hogan smiled down at her. “Hi. Welcome to Screwy Louie’s.”
Very slowly she put her fork on her salad dish and looked up at him. “Thank you.”
“I’m Hogan Guthrie, the barbecue guru, and this is Nathan Hawley, your neighbor, the sheriff, and part of Drunken Monkeys, the local band.”
After all that, which he considered plenty to be a conversation starter, she only glanced up at Nathan and nodded.
Talk about a tough act... “New to the neighborhood, huh?”
Her mouth tightened—a very nice, very full mouth, Hogan noticed—and then she said, “Yes.” She hesitated, pulled off her sunglasses and tried a smile. “Thank you for the welcome. The salad was delicious. I need to get going now.” She stood, her “delicious” salad only half-eaten.
Nathan and Hogan stared.
She had beautiful eyes. Calling them light brown wouldn’t have done the unique color justice. They were brown, definitely, but golden flecks lightened the color. Fox eyes, maybe. Really startling.
Hogan got it together first. “Sorry we intruded. It’s a small neighborhood. No strangers, if you know what I mean.” He offered his hand. “Hope we’ll see you around again soon. Violet—she’s the owner here—would love to meet a new face, I’m sure.”
After replacing the sunglasses, she accepted a quick handshake, her hand small in his, her grip firm. Then she gathered up stuff.
To escape.
Before she left, she paused. “You’re here often?”
“Weekends only, usually.”
Nathan said, “I usually stop in for my lunch, then sometimes on weekends, too.”
Ho, so Nathan finally found his voice? Not that Hogan could blame him. He couldn’t wait to tell Violet about this little meet and greet. She loved to observe her customers.
As the woman left, Nathan fell into step beside her. “I’ll walk you out.”
She didn’t appear all that receptive, but still Hogan smiled at Nathan’s determination.
It occurred to him that she hadn’t given her name.
* * *
Throughout the day, Hogan got reports on Violet. The first time he called, she’d been napping and he’d disturbed her. After that, he asked her to call him and he kept his phone on him. She called twice, both times asking only about the restaurant.
She tried to dodge his questions, but he played tit for tat and wouldn’t answer her questions until she answered his.
No, she hadn’t eaten.
Yes, she had slept.
Yes, she’d taken her meds.
No, she didn’t need anything.
He sent Colt over to her house with some soup the cook made and a big glass of raspberry iced tea.
To Colt, she was apparently all sweetness, at least according to Colt. He’d stayed long enough to watch her eat and to pick up afterward.
By the time Hogan finished things that night it was nearly one in the morning. He packed up Violet’s accounting records and headed out.
She was still on the couch when he let himself in. A comb hadn’t touched her hair, and she was still in the same clothes.
The second he stepped in, she stirred awake, then forced herself to sit up. “Everything went okay?”
“Of course.” Keeping the files at his side, he strode into the kitchen and set them on top of the refrigerator. He’d rather give her his suggestions and his improvements when he finished. “How do you feel?”
“I managed to brush my teeth and wash my face. That’s as far as I got.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Would you like a bath? I’ll get it ready for you.”
She pulled the comforter to her chin. “Yeah, I just bet you would.”
“I’m not into molesting near-comatose women, I promise.”
“Huh, so you do have some standards?”
Hogan drew a breath. She was sick, making her usual wit more sarcastic and mean-spirited. “Yes,” he said evenly, “I have standards.”
Their gazes held for a moment, and then she slumped farther on the couch. “I’m sorry. I’m being a bitch and I know it. I don’t like being sick and I detest relying on—”
“Me?”
“Anyone.” She rubbed her temples. “So far Colt is the only person I’ve managed not to offend. He’s just too damned sweet to be mean to.” She glanced over at him. “You’re sure he’s yours?”
Hogan laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure. Colt looks enough like Jason, who looks like our dad, to ensure the parentage.”
Hogan knew the moment she harked back on his earlier comment about cheating women.
Despite the fever, her face paled. “Oh God, I wasn’t suggesting—”
Gently, he said, “I know.” Coming to sit by her, he brushed back her hair. “You meant it as an insult to me. Comparisons, right?” He winked to let her know he hadn’t taken offense or thought she was serious.
“Yes, a joking insult, I swear.”
Luckily, Violet knew nothing about Colt’s mother. Otherwise she might have had some real questions.
But even if Colt hadn’t been his—after all, his wife had proved herself more than deceitful—it wouldn’t have mattered. Not to his heart. Colt was his, now and forever.
“About that bath?” He tugged at the sleeve of her very rumpled T-shirt. “I can run the bath, set out towels, then even help tie up your hair, if you want. You’ll probably feel better afterward.”
“You’re right about that. I wanted a bath, but it seemed like so much work...”
“It won’t be, not for me. Give me just a few minutes to set it up. And afterward, I’ll tell you about the new lady in town who almost made Nathan trip over his own feet.”
3 (#u08a0e847-b341-512b-9bf3-f222fb23b9b3)
VIOLET RESTED BACK in the steamy tub, her body so lax she knew she could nod off. But she wouldn’t. No, she wanted to talk to Hogan.
He’d insisted she get the bath taken care of first.
Smart thinking, given her present limited supply of energy.
She’d already scrubbed head to toe, getting that out of the way before she tired. Now she just enjoyed breathing in the dampness in the air and feeling the warmth of the water sink into her bones.
“You okay in there?”
“Go away.” She smiled, then glanced over to the closed toilet lid. Hogan had put a fresh T-shirt and another pair of panties there.
The man was making himself at home all right.
But the bath felt so good she didn’t care.
He’d also put a thick towel on the side of the tub and her fluffy housecoat on the door hook.
Why did getting clean make her feel more human?
“If you stay in there much longer,” came his deep, seductive voice, “am I going to have to carry you out?”
“You wish,” she muttered low enough that he couldn’t hear.
But he replied, his tone laced with amusement, “As a matter of fact, it’s a current fantasy. You all warm, naked and—” he paused for effect “—wet.”
Violet caught her breath, promptly coughed and grouchily wheezed, “I’ll be out in five more minutes.”
“Okay, calm down.” She could almost picture his negligent pose against the door. “Hungry?”
Violet bit her lip. She was hungry. It was hours earlier that she’d eaten the soup Colt had brought her. But Hogan had already done so much—
“I’ll take that heavy pause as a yes.”
“Hogan, no, wait.”
No answer. She heard him walking away.
Blasted perfectly flawed man. She closed her eyes, felt herself fading and decided she had to get out. His fantasy, nice as it would be, could not become her reality.
She liked him. She loved his barbecued ribs. And she enjoyed him as an employee and a friend.
Intimacy would only screw up the dynamics.
She dragged out of the bathroom, mostly dry and bundled in her clothes and housecoat, to the scent of pancakes.
How does he know all my weaknesses?
She followed her nose into the kitchen just as he dropped a pat of butter onto a stack of three fluffy pancakes.
He glanced at her, looked back to his skillet, then returned for a longer look. “It would help,” he said low, “if you looked worse.”
She almost laughed. “Ratty hair, bloodshot eyes and chapped lips appeal to you?”
“On you, yeah.” He gave his attention back to the prep of the food. “I started to ask you what you’d like, but figured you’d just give me another smart-ass answer, so I decided on pancakes.”
She pulled out a chair and slumped into it. “My comfort food. Thank you.”
Smiling now, he set the first plate of pancakes and the bottle of syrup in front of her. “Juice, milk?”
“Juice, thank you.”
Hogan gave her a piercing look. “Keep thanking me and I’ll assume you’re delirious. You might find yourself back at the hospital.”
She grinned, filled her mouth with a big bite of syrup-drenched, fluffy pancake and moaned. “So good.”
Hogan said nothing.
She looked up and found him staring at her intently. When she raised a brow, he shook his head and joined her at the table with his own plate of pancakes.
In short order, without her having to ask, he told her about the day and how busy they’d been and how smoothly everything had run.
Without her.
Feeling glum, she asked, “What about your bike?”
“Jason got it home for me.” He eyed her. “I’m taking your car again tomorrow.”
The independent woman in her rebelled. “You just assume I’ll miss work again?”
Reaching out, he fingered one long, damp curl at her temple. “Ratty-haired women with bloodshot eyes and chapped lips should give themselves time to recoup.”
Instead of debating that, Violet asked, hopefully with enough indifference, “Are you staying over again?”
Sounding supremely confident, he said, “Yes.”
It was crazy. Beyond crazy. Bordering on dangerous. But Violet was thrilled. “Okay.” Hoping to coast past that, in case she’d given herself away and shown how much she wanted him to stay, she poked his shoulder. “Now tell me about Nathan and this other woman.”
He did, in exaggerated detail.
Once he’d finished, she said, “That doesn’t sound like Nathan.” Love struck? Nathan was so alpha, so very take-charge. Sure, he performed with Drunken Monkeys, but even then he remained, in every way, the sheriff—just a more lighthearted version. “He got that macho scar while part of a SWAT team, you know.”
Hogan’s brow quirked at her “macho” comment, but it was true. Explaining to him, she said, “Nathan is as much a man as a man could be.”
Now he frowned.
“It’s a little overbearing,” she added and watched his frown fade.
As if pledging the truth, Hogan lifted a hand. “Macho or not, his tongue was on the ground, I swear. And his eyes were glazed. He’s after her all right. But she didn’t even crack a smile for him.”
“Or for you?”
Hogan grinned. “I finagled a very perfunctory handshake from her, and a clear dismissal.”
“Huh. I like her.”
“I thought you might.” He waited while she yawned, then stood to get the dishes. “You ready to turn in?”
Her heart started thumping hard enough to lay her low again. She slid from her chair, didn’t look at him and said, “After I brush my teeth. Be right back.”
She wasn’t occupied for more than five minutes, and during that time she thought mostly about Hogan, him being so darned nice, so blasted domestic and caring.
Sure enough, when she returned to the kitchen it was cleaned, everything put away. She didn’t see Hogan—then the front door opened and he stepped in with an overnight bag.
While she watched, he stepped out of his shoes and put them by the door.
“Not boots?” she asked, noticing that he wore athletic shoes tonight.
“Only when I ride my bike.” Carrying the small bag, he headed down the hall. “I’m going to grab a shower and brush my teeth, too.” He disappeared into her bathroom.
So he’d assumed she’d want him to stay again? She should just go to bed, go into her own bedroom and close the door. Maybe even lock it.
She didn’t.
She was on the couch, her feet curled up under her, when Hogan emerged. His hair was damp and he wore only shorts, nothing else, and he looked so damned good she breathed deeper and ended up coughing.
“Have you taken your meds?”
Shooting for defensive snippiness, she said, “Yes, Dad.”
Pausing, Hogan grinned. “You know, if I didn’t have a seventeen-year-old son, I might find that game kinky, especially with you being such a brat who could probably use some discipline.” He shook his head. “But with Colt around, it’d just be too weird.”
Heat rushed into her face. “I didn’t mean—”
“I take it you want to visit for a while?” He checked that the front door was locked, then joined her on the couch. “I can manage to stay awake another hour if you can.”
Violet stared at him, at his tanned chest with the inviting warmth, the crisp curling hair, and she fought herself.
Either he read her expression, or he was just that good at knowing women, because he asked softly, “Would you rather just cuddle a bit?”
She took a slow, shallow breath and admitted, “Maybe.” She felt like hell. Cuddling sounded even better than the bath and the pancakes.
He didn’t tease her. In a voice pitched low and soft, he asked, “You want to stay here on the couch, or would you rather get in the bed? I promise to behave either way.”
But could she behave? Even sitting a few feet away, a sizzle of awareness played over her skin. She looked at the couch cushions. The blasted couch was so short...
Without waiting for an answer, Hogan stood. “Tell you what—why don’t I decide?” He scooped an arm under her legs and easily lifted her. “That way, you don’t have to debate yourself so long.”
Giving in, she rested her head against his shoulder. “I might blame you for this later.”
“I’m a big boy,” he said on his way down the hall. “I can take it.”
Oh, she imagined he could take all kinds of things. More and more, she was the weak link, the one unable to stay strong.
In the bedroom, he shoved the door shut with his heel and carried her toward the bed. At first, he just held her. Violet knew he was looking down at her, but she was too cowardly to meet his gaze.
Not this close. Not with his mouth right there and a bed behind her.
It was tempting enough, this easy display of his strength, the warmth of his body and how good he smelled, like soap and sunshine and man.
Letting her ease down the length of his body, he put her on her feet. Casually, as if he’d done so a dozen times already, Hogan untied the belt to her housecoat and, without haste, pulled it off her shoulders.
Keeping her gaze on his bare chest, Violet stood there in another T-shirt, this one oversize so it covered her better, but she knew he could still see her black panties.
Panties that he’d picked out for her.
Putting a finger under her chin, he lifted her face. “You’re okay?”
Breathing became more difficult, and not just because of her illness. “You must think I’m a terrible tease.”
A slow rascal’s smile only made him more appealing. “Definitely a tease. But I understand not wanting to be alone when you feel bad.” He kissed her forehead. “And I’m glad I’m here.”
It didn’t feel like a come-on, like an effort to soften her up so she’d finally give in.
She knew that Hogan had been hurting for a long time. He’d lost his wife, his job, and uprooted his life. For a while there, he’d been about as miserable as any human could be while still functioning and pretending nothing was wrong.
She admired his strength, the way he’d pushed forward instead of giving in to grief. Had he loved his wife a lot? It seemed likely, given they’d been together so long.
Yet she remembered his comment about cheating, lying women. Had he meant one of the random one-nighters he’d indulged? She didn’t think so. None of those ladies had warranted even a second date, as far as she knew.
Testing the waters, she said, “It’s easy to see why you’re successful with women.” His wife, that murky lady who might have hardened him, had to have been a complete fool.
Hogan shook his head. “Come on. Into bed.” He straightened the messed covers and got her settled, then scooted in next to her, covering them only with the sheet.
Until now, she’d been so cold.
But lying next to Hogan warmed her up from the inside out—and he wasn’t even touching her yet.
He stretched out a long arm to turn off the bedside lamp.
She was wondering how this would work, what she should do, when the bed dipped as he adjusted, and he very naturally drew her into his side.
“Comfortable?”
Oh yes. She cleared her throat, but managed only, “Mmm-hmm.” God, he was hot. The entire front of her was snuggled close to the side of him, one strong arm under and around her, keeping her close. She wanted to lift her leg over him, but held herself still instead.
“You don’t sound comfortable.”
“I’ve never slept with a guy before unless... Well, I never have, not without sex first.”
“It’s a unique experience, that’s for sure.”
But he’d been married. Surely he and his wife hadn’t had sex every night. Then again, if she was married to Hogan... Whoa. No. She put the brakes on those thoughts real quick.
“I don’t know when you even have time to date,” he said, and he sounded tentative, like maybe he was asking for more than the obvious.
“I don’t.”
His arm tightened around her. “So why the condoms in your purse?”
Violet reared up over him. She couldn’t see him in the dark, but she stared toward his voice. “How do you know—”
“I got your keys from your purse.”
“And you snooped!”
“Nope.” His hands closed around her waist. “They were right there, front and center.”
She felt like an idiot. Of course they were—she’d carelessly tossed them there a few days ago, worried that she might give in to him and wanting to be prepared just in case.
She wouldn’t tell him that, so instead she told a half-truth. “They’re just a precaution.”
“Yeah?” He pulled her down to rest against his chest. She felt his hand sift through her hair until he’d freed it from the band. He smoothed it down her back, saying, “In case Nathan got interested? Or a customer?” Bitterness sounded when he added, “You know Jason is married now, so he wouldn’t—”
Slowly balling up her fist, Violet drew back and punched him in the ribs. She was too close to him and feeling too weak to make it very forceful.
In fact, he laughed, caught her wrist and held it against his chest. “Legit question, Violet.”
“No, I’m not interested in Nathan that way. I told you he’s too macho. And I don’t do random—unlike some people I know.”
He laughed again, a sarcastic sound. “And my brother?”
If she could go back in time, she’d erase the very brief relationship she and Jason had indulged. But she couldn’t, and obviously Hogan knew about it.
It was before Hogan had ever moved to the area, and it hadn’t lasted long enough for anyone to remember. But in a small town, everyone was in everyone else’s business.
Knowing this was a serious subject, a touchy subject, knowing that even though she and Hogan hadn’t hooked up it mattered a lot to him, she searched for the right words to explain.
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
Hogan did that often, letting her off the hook. But not this time. “Jason and I are friends, nothing more.”
“Friends with a history.”
“Not that it matters—not to him and not to me. Honor is good for him, and vice versa. I’m happy for them both.”
With one hand he continued to hold her one wrist while with the other he stroked her back. “You slept with him.”
Violet winced. “Just that once.” Her heart thundered so hard, she didn’t know if that’s what hurt her chest, or if it was the pneumonia. “It was stupid, for both of us, and it never meant anything. For a while there I was afraid it would ruin our friendship, maybe make things awkward. But Jason was no more interested in a repeat performance than I was.”
The seconds ticked by, then Hogan teased, “Should I be insulted on my brother’s behalf?”
Knowing he believed her, Violet relaxed. “No. The chemistry just wasn’t there.” Not like the chemistry I have with you. Because it was uppermost in her mind, and here, now, in the dark discussing such intimate things, seemed like a good time to bring it up, she asked, “What about you? Am I likely to run into one of your...” She didn’t want to insult other women, so she settled on, “Flings?”
“No idea. Would you mind?”
If he’d let her go, she’d punch him again. He seemed to know it and held her snug even as she felt the laughter rumbling in his chest beneath her cheek. “Jerk.”
“I’ve never claimed otherwise.”
He didn’t have to. Anyone who knew him saw right away that he was, overall, a really terrific guy. Definitely a great dad. A good brother, a friendly neighbor.
Gorgeous, and sexy and—
“If you need anything during the night, let me know, okay?”
What if she needed him? No, bad thought. Bad, bad thought.
The quiet settled around them.
When she squirmed, getting more comfortable against him, he whispered, “For the record, I’m not proud of my temporary stint as a hound dog.”
Heat, scented by his body, wafted around her, making her warm and sleepy. “No?”
His fingertips trailed up and down her bare arm. “It was stupid and immature.”
“I didn’t realize.”
He squeezed her. “Are you laughing at me?”
“No.” She surprised herself when she kissed his chest. Just a quick kiss, but still... “Do you know why you became a hound dog?”
“Yeah, I do. Now go to sleep.”
“Okay.” She was too lethargic to argue with him.
Even as she drifted off, she stayed very aware of Hogan against her—and she knew he was still awake.
* * *
The knock on the door woke Hogan and he opened his eyes before realizing that Violet sprawled half over him. He lifted his head, awareness hitting him hard.
Her slender thigh draped his lap, a warm, soft weight against his morning erection. Her hair spilled over his chest and shoulder, her hand in a loose fist over his right nipple.
The knock came again.
Well, hell.
He didn’t want to move, definitely didn’t want to disturb her, but he glanced at the clock and saw it was after nine. He came up to an elbow, and she awakened.
He watched her dark brown lashes flicker before her eyes slowly opened. She looked at his chest, down his body—then shot her gaze to his face.
“Good morning.” Jesus, she was beautiful in the morning. He opened his hands on her back and resisted the urge to fondle her bottom.
Her eyes flared.
She hadn’t yet caught on, obviously. “Someone’s at your door.”
As if she expected to see someone standing outside the bedroom, she scrambled up and pulled the sheet to her chin.
Hogan laughed. “The front door.” Ready to be gallant, he stood.
Her interest went directly to his lap and stayed there.
“Keep that up,” he warned her, while pulling on his shorts, “and it’ll be an R-rated greeting I give to your visitor.” Already he had more than usual morning wood, but then, given how he’d awakened, it made sense.
When she stayed silent, he sighed. “Clearly, you’re not a morning person. Stay put and I’ll do the honors.”
Hoping it wasn’t a boyfriend of some sort coming to call on her, Hogan opened the door.
Honor and Jason stood there.
“You didn’t hear the door?” Jason asked, looking past him at the couch—where clearly no one had slept. His expression changed. “Damn, sorry. Maybe we can just—”
“Come in.” Brain scrambling, Hogan stepped back to allow them entrance. What might have happened if his brother and sister-in-law hadn’t intruded?
Nothing, you ass. The woman is sick. Still, conversations from the night before flooded back on him. He wanted to dissect everything that had been said, the assurances she’d given him, the subtle ways she’d started to soften toward him.
Instead he had to entertain.
“I thought you’d be up.” Jason barely kept his humor in check. “I know it was a late night, but you’ll be opening the diner today, right?”
“Yes.” He didn’t bother explaining that he’d still been in bed, Violet half atop him, their legs entwined. He could still feel the softness of her, the cushion of her breasts against his chest, her silky hair tangled over him—
Honor looked around, then whispered, “Violet is still sleeping?”
Get it together. “Yes, she’s—”
“Right here,” Violet mumbled, coming down the hall in her thick housecoat, the comforter once again dragging in her wake. She glanced at Hogan, then away, in her sluggish beeline for the couch.
Honor immediately went after her. “You’re still so sick. I’m sorry.”
“She’s a little better,” Hogan said. “But she’s lousy in the mornings.”
Jason said, “Antibiotics are an amazing thing.”
“I don’t know,” Honor mused. “Could be your brother’s good nursing skills that are doing the trick.”
“Maybe.” Arching a brow, Jason grinned at Hogan. “Colt’s on his way.” He nodded at Hogan’s lap. “You, ah, might want to get on some pants. Denim maybe. Something sturdy.”
“Shut the hell up.” But he went down the hall, taking deep breaths with each step, and found his pants. Behave, he told his dick. Now, with the house full, it should be easier to do.
On his way to the bathroom, he heard Violet say, “You guys, this isn’t—”
“Any of our business,” Honor happily finished for her.
Hogan could almost see Honor smiling. Such a caring person, and not a snide bone in her body.
He wondered if she woke up grouchy. Didn’t seem likely; Honor was always a sweetheart.
In rapid order, Hogan dressed, brushed his teeth and finger-combed his hair. He would have liked to shave, but he’d just made it back to the small living room when Colt arrived.
For his son, nothing seemed amiss.
Jason had coffee going and Honor pulled a bag of homemade chocolate chip cookies from her tote.
They gathered in the kitchen. Hogan saw to it that Violet took her medicine, and to everyone else’s amusement, she let him. It didn’t occur to him that it might seem uncommon for him to feel her head for fever, or to suggest ibuprofen. At least, it didn’t until he realized they were all gawking.
Honor quickly said, “The cookies aren’t really homemade. All I do is bake them, but Colt likes them.”
“I do,” Colt agreed, putting three on his plate and then serving Violet.
She smiled at Colt, thanked him and said, “I’m not dying, people. I don’t have to be coddled.”
Except that she’d wanted to be coddled last night—by him.
“I can help again today,” Colt offered. “I’m cutting grass this morning, but then I’m free.”
“You don’t mind? You don’t have a date or something else you’d rather be doing?”
“The date was last night—sort of. She hung out at the diner with some of our friends. I got to visit on breaks, and I’ll see her Monday at school. You’ll be well soon, so it’s not a problem.” He grinned. “You’ve slipped me enough free refills and always give me double orders of fries. I’m glad to pay it back a little.”
That was news to Hogan. So Violet had been pampering his son? Nice.
Violet turned to Hogan. “You can fill out a time card for him?”
Hogan and Colt protested at the same time.
She held up a hand. “For once, you two look alike.” She frowned at Colt. “You are the nicest young man ever, but you can’t work for free. I wouldn’t want you to, and I won’t let you. And you,” she said to Hogan, “shouldn’t let him.”
Jason laughed. “Well, he is saving up for college, so...be gracious, Colt, and thank the lady.”
“Thank you.”
As the cookies and coffee were consumed, Hogan stewed. Yes, his son was saving for college—because his college fund had been robbed, wasted. And he, Hogan, had been blind to it, never once suspecting. It still made him ill. God, he’d been such a fool.
Violet’s bare foot thumped his calf under the table.
He looked up and saw her glowering at him. “What?”
Rolling her eyes, coughing briefly, she said, “Your brother asked you a question.”
“Oh.” He gave his attention to Jason. “What was it?”
“I asked if you wanted us to stay with Violet so you could go home and do whatever for a while.”
“And I,” Violet said, “told him I didn’t need a babysitter.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Hogan agreed. He stood. “And yes, I’ll be heading home now.” He waited until the others caught his not-so-subtle hint and abandoned their chairs.
“I need to get started on a new gazebo today,” Jason said.
Honor hooked her arm through her husband’s. “And I have to be at the salon in an hour.”
Glad to get them on their way, Hogan nodded. “I’ll walk you guys out.”
“You’re leaving now, too?”
Violet looked small and vulnerable and as far from “sweet” as a woman could get. “We’ll talk first,” he promised her. “Then I’ll go.”
“Honor, thank you for the cookies. Jason, thank you for the coffee. And, Colt, thank you for helping out at the diner.”
Colt slung his arm around her. “Thank you for the temporary job.” He gave her a squeeze, said, “Let me know if you need anything, all right?” and followed his uncle out.
Hogan gave her a long look. “I’ll be right back.”
After a few minutes spent chatting with Jason and Honor, Hogan watched them drive away. He turned to his son. “So, how’s everything going?”
“What do you mean?”
“New girl? Odd jobs? School?”
“Everything’s great, Dad. No worries.” He rattled the keys to his old pickup in his hand, anxious to be on his way.
Hogan settled against the fender. “You like the girl?”
The slow smile reminded him way too much of himself, and his uncle. “Yeah. She’s shy, but really nice.”
“Pretty, too, I noticed.”
Colt gave one nod. “Definitely pretty.”
“Working at the diner won’t put a crimp in things?” Colt carried a lot of AP classes, worked nights and weekends cutting grass and doing yard work, plus odds and ends jobs for neighbors, and still fit in time for girls and his friends.
“No, it’ll be fine.”
He didn’t often feel uncomfortable with his son, but over a touchy subject like college, he couldn’t help but frown. “I’m setting up another college fund—”
“It’s fine.” Colt opened the truck door in a rush. “I should get going. I’ve got five lawns to finish up before the diner opens.”
“Five?”
“They’re the size of postage stamps, Dad. Won’t take me long.”
Clearly Colt didn’t want to talk about it, either. Hogan let out a long breath. “I’ll see you at noon?”
“Probably quarter till. I’ll help you open.” He put the key in the ignition, but didn’t start it. “What’ll happen tomorrow?”
Hogan shook his head. “She’ll insist on coming in. She’s still got five days of meds to take, and she’s still running on empty, but there’s no way I can stop her.”
“I guess not.” Colt gave it some thought. “Tell the others to step up as much as they can.”
“Good idea. I’ll do that.” He clasped his son by the shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Be safe.”
Colt grinned. “You, too, Dad.”
Hogan closed the door, then turned to go back up the walk. He saw Violet standing at the window.
4 (#u08a0e847-b341-512b-9bf3-f222fb23b9b3)
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?”
5 (#u08a0e847-b341-512b-9bf3-f222fb23b9b3)
SEXUAL INTEREST CLENCHED Hogan’s muscles and shortened his breath. He looked at Violet, wondering if she meant it, if maybe the pressure was building in her the same explosive way it built in him.
The more they’d worked together, the more sexual their banter had become. It left him frustrated and, at times, annoyed.
Regardless of that, he liked seeing Violet every day. He especially liked stealing a kiss here and there—usually when he could catch her off guard.
Her protests were fewer and farther between. In fact, when he didn’t steal a kiss, she found a way to provoke him, as she did now.
She’d been nearly herself by Thursday, and today she looked even better—less tired, more refreshed. Recovered from her illness.
To be sure, he asked, “You’re feeling okay?”
“I feel terrific.”
“Not working yourself too hard?”
“No harder than necessary, definitely no harder than you.” She tipped her head. “What game are you playing now?”
“Game?”
Her look became accusing. “You going to give me that kiss or not?”
Hogan gave it quick thought and decided on a different tack. He held up his hands, now a little messy with seasonings, rub and sauce. “How about you kiss me instead? I believe in equal rights for women. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, or vice versa. If you want a kiss—”
“Are you challenging me?”
More like testing her, but he only cocked a brow and waited.
Giving it some thought, Violet gazed at his mouth until her own expression warmed, and Hogan knew she’d made up her mind.
Anticipation held him still.
Rising on tiptoe, she lightly touched his lips with a fingertip. He could feel her breath, his own suspended. She leaned forward, caught his bottom lip in her teeth and lightly tugged.
Interest keen, Hogan waited.
She soothed his lip with her hot little tongue and slowly, very slowly, fitted her mouth to his in a kiss that made him half-hard.
He held on to the counter behind him; not only were his hands messy, but if he touched her, he just knew he’d get carried away. They had relative privacy in his prep area, yet they weren’t alone, not in the restaurant with other employees around, customers coming and going.
For only a moment, her breasts pressed to his ribs and her hands held tightly to his shoulders. I want to do this again, Violet, with both of us naked and a bed nearby.
As she eased away she kissed his chin, his jaw and his throat.
In a soft, husky voice, she whispered, “How do you always smell so good?” She brushed her nose along his throat, his collarbone, rested her forehead against his chest for a heartbeat, and then with a sigh, she stepped away.
He was struggling to get his thoughts in order when she said, all brisk business, “I raised the prices on the items we discussed, and so far, no one has even noticed.”
Hogan stared at her. “Damn, you’re good.”
“At kissing? At conversation switches?”
So she’d done it on purpose? He growled. “At making me nuts.”
She gave an unrepentant grin. “I’ve learned from you. God knows you’ve done it to me enough times.”
“Is that so?” Sure, he’d stolen some kisses—and she’d enjoyed it.
Almost as much as he’d just enjoyed it. Damn.
Seeing that he understood, Violet laughed. “I like having you around, Hogan. I really do.” She patted his abs and sashayed away with her own sexy little swagger of triumph.
He had a lot to think about.
Luckily, an upside to grilling at a crowded restaurant was plenty of time to ruminate.
* * *
When Nathan pulled into his driveway at 7:00 p.m., grimy from head to toe and still seething, he paid no attention to his neighbors. He had a cloth wrapped around his bleeding hand and an attitude that could spit nails.
He didn’t notice Brooklin out front until he slammed his car door, and then heard her call out.
“Nathan? Oh my God, what happened?”
Curt, he said, “Nothing.” Which was stupid, given how blood dripped from the soaked cloth and down his forearm. The woman was elusive, but she wasn’t blind.
“Are you okay?”
Just freaking dandy. She never wanted to talk to him, so why now? “Fine,” he said, still terse, and kept walking.
It shocked the hell out of him when, before he could reach his front door, she joined him on his porch.
“You’re bleeding.”
Briefly, he closed his eyes, trying to get his temper under control. “An accident. Nothing major.”
“Let me see.”
“Shouldn’t you be running the other way?”
She pulled her head back, glared at him, then took the keys from his hand and, scowling as much as him, opened his door.
“Go to your kitchen,” she ordered, and now she was the one being abrupt. “Do you have a first-aid kit?”
He didn’t know what the hell to think, but having her in his house quickly took the heat from his rage. Wondering what she would do, he said, “Under my bathroom cabinet.”
“I’ll be right back.”
As if she invaded the homes of bachelors every day—bachelors she usually avoided—Brooklin went down his hall. Their houses were set up the same. Hell, most of the houses on the street were the same inside, with only subtle differences outside.
Wondering if he’d picked up his dirty clothes after his shower that morning, Nathan went to the kitchen sink and unwrapped his hand. The pad of his thumb on his left hand had already bruised around the two-inch slice. He threw away the cloth and ran water over his hand so he could see how deep it might be.
“Here, sit down.” Brooklin showed up with his first-aid kit and pulled a chair toward him. She looked at the blood and bruises, assessing the damage, then began cleaning it with an antiseptic. “How’d you do this?”
She held his large, tanned hand in her much smaller, much paler fingers while she worked. Nathan studied the top of her bowed head. “Stupid cat got stuck in a stupid old air conditioner, and I had to get it out.”
“And you stupidly cut yourself on a stupid, jagged piece of metal?”
Her take-charge, sassy attitude lightened his own. “Something like that.”
“The cat?”
“Back in the arms of the old lady who owns his mangy ass.”
“I trust he fared better than you?”
“Not a scratch.”
Once she’d cleaned it, Brooklin carefully prodded. “Since your kit has nylon butterfly bandages, I don’t think you’ll need stitches.”
“I already decided that.”
“I’m going to put some medicine on it, okay? Then the bandages, then I’ll wrap it.”
Nathan was busy noticing that for once she wasn’t in running clothes. She also wasn’t wearing a bra under her tan T-shirt. Heat ran up his spine until his collar felt too damn tight.
So did his pants.
“Sure,” he said. “Knock yourself out.”
Instead of activewear, tonight Brooklin wore loose, striped pajama pants. Her thick hair fell free around her face, half hiding her concentrated expression, occasionally brushing his forearm.
Breathing her in, Nathan enjoyed the scents of floral shampoo and sweet, warm woman. She’d broken with her normal routine and that interested him. A lot. “What were you doing before I interrupted?”
She bent closer to his hand. “Waiting for my toenails to dry.”
He glanced down at her bare feet and saw her toenails painted a sparkly purple. For some reason, that made him smile.
“Does this hurt?”
“No.” Not his hand. Other parts were starting to strain a little. “You a nurse or something?”
She hesitated, frozen, then shook her head. “No.” She wrapped some gauze around the bandages.
With his uninjured hand, Nathan lifted her hair away, then held the thick tresses in a loose fist. Their eyes met. “You don’t sound real convinced.”
She straightened abruptly. He didn’t let go of her hair fast enough and she winced at the tug, but said nothing about it. “All done. I hope you’re right-handed.”
“I am.” This time he brushed her hair back over her shoulder. Her hair was thick and warm and it turned him on. Hell, everything about her turned him on, even her obstinate and secretive attitude.
“Good. Might have been more inconvenient if...” Remembering that she didn’t want to engage in casual conversation, she shook her head. “I should get going.” But she looked around his kitchen.
Watching her, Nathan stood. “I don’t suppose I could impose further and ask you to make some coffee for me while I go change?” He still had blood on his shirt and pants.
Again, she looked around his kitchen. “I suppose I could...”
Not giving her a chance to change her mind, he said, “Thanks,” and headed out of the room, already unbuttoning his uniform shirt.
He wouldn’t put it past her to make the coffee and then skip out, so he rushed through changing into a T-shirt and jeans. Barefoot, he stopped in the bathroom and saw that, luckily, he’d left it tidy. He shoved his now-dirty uniform into the hamper and went after her.
Brooklin was in the kitchen, standing at the sink and looking out into the yard, when he came back in.
She didn’t hear him enter.
The loose pajama pants rode low on her curvy hips. The T-shirt hugged her narrow waist and proud shoulders.
And even with her back to him, he remembered how the soft cotton material had molded to her breasts, even showing the outline of her currently soft nipples.
Drawn to her, he stepped closer. “So you used to be a nurse, but you aren’t now?”
Turning, she braced her elbows on the counter and studied him.
This pose was even more enticing, and he couldn’t help but look her over.
She quickly straightened and folded her arms over herself. “You’ve held back all week and now can’t take the curiosity anymore, is that it?”
Nathan had to admit, he loved the way she cut right to the core of things. “Did you appreciate my patience? I jogged with you three times this week, silently, and didn’t ask a single question.”
“No, you didn’t. Your polite understanding of my privacy was a good plan. A solid plan. You impressed me. You should stick with it.”
Hiding his satisfaction, he poured the coffee, one for him and one for her. He’d confused her, probably a good thing. “There’s milk in the fridge. No creamer, sorry.”
“I drink it black.” She took the cup, careful not to touch him, and sipped.
“So did you work in a hospital?” He watched her stiffen, her face tightening as if gathering steam. He pressed her anyway. “For a private practice?”
Her eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Maybe the military? Though you don’t look like any soldier I’ve ever—”
“I worked in a school, all right?”
Huh. Testy about it, too. “A school nurse. Yeah, that fits.” Even firmed in annoyance, her mouth was nice, her lips full and soft. “Was it grade school? High school?”
She shook her head, refusing to answer.
“I take it you’ve left it behind?”
“Yes.” She took a big drink of coffee, burned her tongue, cursed low and set the cup in the sink. “I have to go.”
“Because I’m asking too many questions?” He could have told her that the more defensive she got, the more curious it made him. He lowered his voice, almost suspicious now. “Because I’m too interested?”
“Because you’re too damned pushy!” She headed toward the door.
Nathan followed. “Thank you, Brooklin, for fixing up my hand.” He pretended she wasn’t furious. “I really appreciate it.”
Uncertain, she glanced at him. “You’re welcome. The butterfly bandages should hold, but try not to soak it.”
He looked into her unusual golden eyes. “Okay to take a hot shower?”
She swallowed. “Yes.” Her eyes went to his chest, then away. “But make it fast.”
He resisted the urge to tell her that he preferred things slow. Very slow. “Yes, ma’am. Fast it is.” Following her out on the porch, he watched her trot quickly down the steps and all but run away.
Again.
But he was wearing her down and he knew it. She knew it, too, and that’s probably what scared her so much.
What the hell was she hiding?
* * *
Brooklin was thoughtful as she went across the lawns, ignoring Nathan’s attention as it followed her.
Without looking his way, she went back into her own home, closing and locking the door behind her. Struck with inspiration—all kinds of inspiration—she went straight to her computer and sat down.
Closing her eyes, she pictured Sheriff Nathan Hawley. Over six feet tall, muscular, light brown hair and piercing green eyes. She didn’t feel a smidge of guilt; surely every single lady in Clearbrook had, at one time or another, fantasized about him.
Probably the married ladies, too.
Was there anyone, male or female, in Clearbrook who didn’t know him? Or at least of him?
Being the most imposing man she’d ever met, he would make an impression wherever he went, she was pretty sure.
She’d done her research on him. During the rehab of the neighborhood, he’d been brought in as a result of a special election. His past, working with a SWAT team in Columbus, made him a certifiable badass.
And he knew it.
He knew how damned handsome he was, how he affected people.
How he stirred all the ladies.
Yes, everyone in Clearbrook knew him. There’d be no misunderstandings.
Sometimes, Sheriff, when you push, people push back.
* * *
Violet had expected Hogan to give as good as he got, and she’d looked forward to it. Their verbal sparring always left her feeling alive and energized. Unfortunately, the weekend was so crazy they didn’t have time for teasing. They’d barely had time to breathe.
Even the preceding week was nuts, the usual lulls Monday through Thursday almost nonexistent as families flocked in for the rare treat of ribs on a weeknight.
She couldn’t wait to see how busy tomorrow, Friday, would be.
She loved the business; she really did, but clearly she needed to hire more help now. She also needed more picnic tables for outdoor seating. Some of the more regular customers had started bringing their own lawn chairs. Things were awesomely, wonderfully out of control.
All because of Hogan.
Her independent soul rebelled at the idea that he’d been so good for business.
So good for her.
But she wasn’t a woman who hid from the truth. Before Hogan, the business had steadily grown under her management.
With Hogan, it all but exploded.
If she hoped to maintain the current momentum—and she most definitely did—she needed him.
Blast the man—he’d even done a miraculous job with her bookkeeping.
Did he still want her? Was he as sexually frustrated as she was? Had he given up on her, or was he just biding his time?
God, she didn’t even know what she wanted, not where it pertained to an intimate relationship. When it came to business, she wasn’t nearly so indecisive.
Taking advantage of a fifteen-minute break, maybe the only one she’d get, Violet strolled around back to see Hogan. She paused just inside the prep area, making note of his organizational skills even here. He’d set up the area himself, taking it over without a qualm. An interior door kept the hot summer air from competing with the air-conditioning inside and allowed him to leave the exterior door open so that he could easily move inside and still keep an eye on the grills.
A man of many talents.
Something sweet but uncomfortable crowded Violet’s chest, making her heart ache in an odd way. The emotion was unfamiliar and, damn it, unwanted.
Giving herself a moment, she quietly stood there and watched Hogan, wondering what it was about him, specifically, that affected her in such a startling way.
Gorgeous, yes. No one could deny that. The Guthrie brothers had some amazing genes coasting through their bodies. But there were others in the area who were also very attractive, and Violet knew she’d never been even remotely tempted by any of them. Well, the idea of sex had tempted her, certainly. But not all the other stuff, not the confusing emotions that tried to take priority over her restaurant.
And sex, just for the sake of sex, had never really been her thing. Not in a small town like Clearbrook. Not with men she’d later have to regard as customers in her diner. The idea of sex had been nice but, in the end, just not worth it.
Now with Hogan, the complications would be tenfold, and still she couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Standing in front of one of three grills, an apron tied low on his hips, he turned a rack of ribs. The man had an organizational skill that blew her mind. He never looked frenzied or overwhelmed. Even now, under a broiling sun while tending multiple hot grills, he moved with efficiency.
At the table closest to him, his brother, Jason, and sister-in-law, Honor, sat with neighbors Sullivan and Lexie. Hogan laughed at something Lexie said, then shook his head.
Violet could remember a time when she’d thought something might’ve been going on between Lexie and Hogan. After all, Lexie was an extremely pretty woman with her short, pale blond curls and her very up-front sexuality.
Then Lexie had moved in with Sullivan, and Violet quit worrying about it. Talk about gorgeous—Sullivan, with his inky-dark hair and midnight eyes, killer instincts and ripped body, would keep any woman happy. He was very intense, mysterious and almost intimidating.
He was fantasy material, but not once had Violet been tempted to seek an involvement.
“So admit I was right,” Lexie said to Hogan while turning to Sullivan for backup. “He looks blissfully happy, doesn’t he?”
Sunlight glinted off Sullivan’s black hair as he pretended to survey Hogan. “You know, honey, I think you’re right. Hogan looks peaceful.”
“She’s absolutely right,” Honor chimed in, aligning herself with her best friend. “Seriously, Hogan, you do look somewhat blissful.”
“Peaceful? Blissful?” Jason hugged his wife and said, “I don’t want to be left out, so can I admit that it does seem to suit you, Hogan?”
“It’s a gift,” Lexie claimed. “A real talent. A man should never ignore the calling of a talent.”
Hogan laughed again. “You’re all nuts. Yeah, I enjoy it, okay? But it’s hardly a calling.”
“You’re wrong,” Lexie insisted. “You were meant to do this.”
“This?” Hogan waved his long metal tongs at the grills. “Come off it, Lexie. I can’t see myself working in a restaurant for the rest of my life.”
That smacked of an insult and Violet decided to announce herself. “Something wrong with working in a restaurant?” All eyes turned to her as she stepped out of the preparation area and into the side yard. “It’s not good enough for you?” Am I not good enough?
Hogan took in her frown. “I never said that.”
“Maybe it’s working for a woman that you find objectionable?”
“I work for a woman at the accounting firm, too.”
She hadn’t known that and it threw her, but only for a second. She squared her shoulders, ignored all the others and stared up into Hogan’s eyes. “I think it’s out of your hands. The demand now is too high. You’ve spoiled all the customers—”
Their own little audience cheered at that, sounding very spoiled.
“—and now no one is going to want to give up having your ribs whenever they want them.”
The grill hissed and spit, flames licking upward. Turning away, Hogan rearranged the meat and adjusted the heat.
When Violet glanced at the others, she saw they wore varying expressions of encouragement, amusement, agreement—and worry. The last was from Jason.
Did he expect his brother to bully her? Ha. Not likely.
In front of all those rapt faces, she demanded, “Well?”
Occupied with the grill, Hogan asked, “Well what?”
“Sign on. Agree to work here for a full forty-hour week.” She gave that quick thought then amended, “Maybe a little more than forty given how crazy the weekend gets.”
He didn’t look at her when he said, “What makes you think you can afford me?”
He wasn’t saying an outright no? Hope blossomed. Hope and something else. “Let’s discuss it.” Thanks to Hogan, she not only had a better grasp of her own finances, but she was making more per week. She could give him a bump in pay, no problem.
Finally, he set aside those long sturdy tongs and faced her. “You want to negotiate right now? In front of them?” He nodded toward their friends.
His mood seemed off. The idea of trying to discuss this, alone, made her tingle. Could he keep to business?
Could she?
They hadn’t had any alone time in far too long now. And damn it, she missed him. She saw him every day, but not like she had while being sick.
Dumb as it seemed, she missed having him touch her.
She missed him holding her while she slept.
At her long internal debate, he gave her a mocking grin. “Having second thoughts?”
“Tonight.” Risky. Once she had him alone, or he had her alone—but this was too important. “After we close up.”
“Ohhh,” Lexie whispered, sotto voce, “to be a fly on the wall during that meeting.” Then she squeaked, thanks to Sullivan’s squeeze.
“All right,” Hogan said. He turned back to his grill. “If you see Colt, have him come out on his break, okay? I haven’t seen him yet today.”
Relief flooded through Violet until she almost felt light-headed. Hogan hadn’t flat out refused. “If I can pry him away from the girls, sure.” While Hogan might be great for her adult customers, Colt was equally great for the younger crowd. And that got her thinking. She needed to do something special for the school, something that would draw in even more young people during the less insane time between dinner and the cocktail hour.
Conversation did not resume.
Hogan busied himself filling a massive platter.
Since he wasn’t being totally disagreeable, Violet decided to push her luck. “I was also thinking, maybe you need an apprentice, a trainee of sorts who could learn what you do and how you do it so that if you ever—”
“No.”
The abrupt refusal irked her. She put her hands on her hips. “What do you mean no? You won’t even think about it?”
“Not right now, no.”
“Then when? After you get sick or hurt and I’m left in the lurch?” Only half teasing, she said, “Don’t be selfish, Hogan. If you don’t want to share your sauce with anyone else, maybe you could just share it with me.”
Jason choked and Sullivan snorted.
“Hey,” Violet protested. “I’m capable.”
Honor and Lexie, both grinning, rushed to agree.
With their backup, she decided to take another turn at Hogan. “You can trust me, you know. I wouldn’t share your secrets. But if you teach me, then at least—”
As if much put upon, Hogan sighed, straightened away from the grill and turned to her. They stared at each other, him impatient, her defiant.
Before she could guess his intent, he bent and put his mouth over hers in a firm, no-nonsense kiss that lingered a few seconds too long.
Violet heard the collective breath of the audience, but she couldn’t seem to pull away. In fact, she leaned into him. The cat’s out of the bag now.
Against her now-tingling lips, Hogan whispered, “You may be the boss, but no is still no.” And just like that, he gave his attention back to his grills.
Feeling all eyes on her, Violet fought off a blush, turned on her heel and headed back inside.
She heard Hogan say firmly, “Tonight, Violet.”
And suddenly laughter broke out. Wow.
So maybe she shouldn’t have pushed him after all.
* * *
After Sullivan and Lexie left, and Honor went inside to find Colt, Hogan decided it was now or never.
He could feel Jason watching him, though, and as soon as they were alone, he asked, “So you and Violet, huh?”
Since that was what Hogan wanted to talk about, he should have had a better answer, but all he said was “I don’t know.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s complicated.” Hogan checked each grill, was satisfied and took a seat next to Jason. “I’ve been interested since the day I met her. No secret there.”
“Definitely not a secret,” Jason agreed.
“She’s always rejected me.”
“You’re not one to give up easily.”
“No.” Hogan looked out over the seating area. Neighbors, friends, people he’d met, people he liked, were all enjoying the day. And his food. He felt a sense of satisfaction over that. “Violet couldn’t be more different from Meg.”
“True.” Jason shooed away a bee. “That’s a problem?”
“I don’t know. I used to understand what I wanted, but that’s all gone now, and this—living in Clearbrook, being close to you, hell, even the sunrises and sunsets—they’re all nice.” Far nicer than he’d expected.
“I’m glad to hear it. Honor and I love having you and Colt next door. It would break her heart if you moved too far away. You know she never had real family until us, so she takes it very seriously now.”
Us. Yes, Honor definitely considered him and Colt a part of her family. “I know.” Meaning every word, he said, “Honor is special, not just to you, but to Colt and me, too.” He stood to slather more sauce on the ribs, then reseated himself, his legs stretched out in front of him, the sun hot on his back. “Violet is also unlike any of the ladies I’ve been with recently.”
“Amen to that.”
Hogan had to grin. “Your disapproval is showing through.”
“Not disapproval,” Jason protested. “It’s just that none of those ladies made you happy. Like you’ve said, you knew what you wanted and a string of meaningless hookups wasn’t it.”
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