Fated Hearts (11 page)

“Yes. I am. Thank you for asking.” He didn’t look as though he believed her.
Jeez, I don’t want Deputy Doug assigning himself the role of gallant knight to my supposed damsel.
She moved past him into the main room, hung up her jacket, and strode to her desk. She tucked her purse into a drawer, pretending not to notice Doug had followed her through the room. He was standing at her side; she couldn’t pretend he wasn’t.

“If someone bothered you, I need to know.” He flushed. “I have to tell the sheriff. He wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Not that I want anything to happen to you either. ’Cause I don’t. But that’s the job, my job, you know, protecting the citizens of Trappers’ Cove. I mean, that’s the sheriff’s responsibility, too, but with you, it’s personal. For him.”

“It’s not like that. Carter and I are friends. Just friends.”

“I know you were out at his place the other night. I thought—”

“It’s not like that,” she emphasized.

“Yes, it is,” Carter corrected, strolling into the room. “Hey, Doug. Morning, Doc.”

She looked around for an object to throw at him. From the wink Carter threw her way, she guessed he had a good idea of exactly what her intentions were. He wasn’t that charming. She refused to smile.

“No, it’s not,” Henley argued. Doug stood there, his expression miserable. The grin Carter wore implied he found her amusing. She eyeballed the stapler and wondered how much damage it could inflict if propelled.

“You know, Doc, hitting an officer of the law is as much a criminal act here as it is in Cleveland.” Yeah, he had her number.

“Take off that star then.” Turning up her nose, she sat with as much dignity as she could muster. She sorted through the paperwork that accumulated during her days off, the sounds of Doug and Carter discussing the day ahead muted in the background. She smelled the coffee brewing; it took all of her willpower not to salivate.
Get a call, go on patrol
, she chanted internally.
Come on, already. Sure, life is great for the blue-eyed giant. Now go away.

She raised her head to find a steaming cup of coffee had magically appeared within her grasp. She inhaled the aroma, made a happy little noise deep in her throat, and reached for the mug. Her eyes flicked up as she took the first glorious sip. Carter lowered his hip to the corner of the desk. She reluctantly returned his grin; he’d made it the way she liked it.

“You’re not as charming as you think. But thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He drank from his mug. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

“That didn’t sound like an invitation.”

“Henley, would you do me the honor of having dinner with me tonight?”

“Now you’re mocking me.”

“A little bit, yeah.” He smiled and cast his eyes around the room as though getting ready to impart secret information, his gaze glancing over Doug, who was trying, and in Henley’s estimation, failing, to appear as though he wasn’t eavesdropping. “I’m nervous.”

That made her laugh without reservation. The intimidatingly attractive, confident, flirtatious Carter McAlister was nervous asking a woman out on a date?

“Bullshit.”

“Dr. Elliott, I’m shocked. I didn’t think you swore.”

“I’m not a prude.” She peered up at him from under hooded lids, pursed her lips, and blew over the surface of the coffee. Henley was pleased to see his eyes narrow and his nostrils flare.

“Please have dinner with me tonight? We can go to Mario’s right down the street, keep it casual.”

“How casual?” He laid his hand over hers, keeping her from lifting the mug. She felt his need and his curiosity. But it wasn’t overwhelming. She pulled her hand free regardless.

“I’ll wear this; you can wear that. Go to our own homes after, in our own vehicles.”

“Okay. But you’re buying.”

“Deal. Now that we’ve got that settled … ” He didn’t give her time to prepare because she didn’t realize his intent until his lips brushed hers. The caress was whisper-light. But Henley felt the impact like a fist to the stomach. When Carter pulled back, Doug looked away, his profile awash in a deep blush.

Carter moved a few feet beyond her desk. “I want you to consider moving into town. The second floor of this building is a functionally furnished apartment. It’s not as luxurious as Maggie’s cabin, but it’s not a dump, either. It’s included in the sheriff’s compensation package. I didn’t need it. It’s sitting empty.”

“I don’t want to move into town.” She could feel herself tensing. She didn’t want to be told how to live or where to live. Not by anyone, but least of all a man who thought one kiss and an invitation to dinner warranted that level of control over her. She should rethink dinner.

“I would appreciate it if you’d consider it. There’s no rent; you’d only be required to pay your utility bills. If it would make you more comfortable, we can put you on twenty-four-hour call for dispatch. The line already runs up there. You’d be less isolated. Safer.” He sat in his desk chair. “Think about it.”

She thought about it all day, when not plagued with anxiety about their upcoming dinner date and mixed emotions about that kiss. Though the rent Maggie had set was beyond reasonable, only having to cover utilities on a small apartment and food, coupled with the savings from having virtually no commute at all, meant Henley would be in a position to pay off her car repairs sooner rather than later. She’d owe Maggie nothing, not so much as a goodbye. Henley could leave as quietly as she wished when she wished. But if she took Carter up on his suggestion, what would that be telling him?

Someone from the garage had dropped off her car around lunchtime with four new tires she’d had to pay for outright. It had caused a serious dent in her meager savings. But with the recent repairs and now fresh tires, she could leave today, right now. Look for somewhere new or return to Cleveland and send a check or wire the money she owed when she got on her feet. She wasn’t trapped in Trappers’ Cove, and the decision was hers and hers alone. However, the idea didn’t appeal.

She had made a definitive move toward permanence. The Cove was becoming home. Perhaps it was time to move out of the Gaels’ cabin anyway. The apartment over the sheriff’s office could be a good alternative residence while she house-hunted or until struck by wanderlust. If she decided to stay, would she remain the dispatcher? She was overly educated for the position.
How would the people of Trappers’ Cove react to a psychiatrist?
The thought put a smile on her face.

“Penny for your thoughts, Doc.” She hadn’t heard the front door open and wasn’t prepared to deal with Carter.

“Oh. Well. To be honest, it wasn’t charitable. I was imagining the locals visiting a psychiatrist.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely an amusing image.” Carter smiled. “I’m going to make an educated guess that you’re the psychiatrist in question?” She nodded. “Doug would make a couple of appointments.”

“That’s mean.” But she was losing the war with her grin.

“Are you ready?”

“Ready?”

“Yes. Your day is done. As is mine, and we have an appointment with a big plate of Mario’s famous linguine.”

“Right. Wow. Day flew by, didn’t it?”

“Nervous?”

“Of course not.” She was a mess. And that irritated her. Why was he always confusing her? Worse, why was he always touching her? His emotions, pure and steady as they were, made her head swim and her heart race. She retrieved her purse from the drawer, and he held up her jacket, easing it up her arms and around her shoulders. “What makes Mario’s linguine famous?”

“He and Ma Stevens had an understanding.” Carter held the door open for her. “They would review menu changes to ensure little overlap. Years ago, Ma decided to offer linguine despite the fact that Mario featured the dish that month. Turned into a ridiculous War of the Roses type battle, or so I’m told. The late judge, being a character and connoisseur of food, decided to mediate the problem. The diner is forbidden to offer linguine, and Mario’s has no choice but.”

“Doesn’t sound like a fair resolution. Sounds to me like Mario won.” Main Street consisted of only a few blocks and they’d quickly arrived at the restaurant. But Henley was pleased to find her nerves had settled during the short walk.

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?”

He smiled down at her, and Henley enjoyed the admittedly false sensation of being petite. She’d avoided being this physically close to men, let alone one who was significantly taller than she. It was … unique. Was it Trappers’ Cove affecting her, providing fresh perspective, daring her to try things that she would characteristically eschew? Or was it the man who currently held the door open for her?

“Hey, Tony.”

“Good evening, Sheriff. Ms. Elliott.” The older man with the hideous handlebar mustache hustled his girth from around the counter that lined an entire wall. Mario’s was one of the few restaurants in town, and the only one that offered “authentic” Italian fare, according to the delivery menu currently tucked in her desk drawer, as well having the distinction of being the Cove’s sole pizzeria. The counter was opposite a wall of ovens and tapered off into the kitchen. Booths filled the available space, except for the round wooden tables that lined the large front window overlooking Main Street. There were only two people eating in, but from the sounds of the kitchen, Mario’s had plenty of takeout business.

“Dining or ordering?” the owner asked.

“We’ll be eating in tonight, thanks,” Carter answered.

“Cool. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Tony, as Carter called him, had barely reached them before pivoting on his heel and rushing behind the counter to answer a ringing phone. “Gem, you’ve got customers.” His voice echoed throughout the establishment and then dropped to an intimate tenor when he greeted the caller.

Carter led Henley to the booth farthest from the front door. She was pleased to find that in the back corner, parallel to the kitchen but separated by a wall, the noise had diminished to a comforting hum. “If I were an advocate of Ritalin, I’d suggest Tony give it a shot,” she murmured as she slid into the booth. She enjoyed Carter’s laugh as he settled across from her.

“He’s energetic, that’s for damn sure. One of my favorite persons in the Cove. His pizza is as good as any I’ve found on the East Coast. He tried his hand at a cheesesteak after finding out I’m from Philly. It almost destroyed our burgeoning friendship—it was that bad. But he promised to never do it again, and I promised I’d bring him back a real cheesesteak the next time I go for a visit.”

“Have you been back often?”

“Not once. I’m on the phone with my family often enough that I’m not exactly homesick. I haven’t plans to go.”

“Is your relationship with your family strained?”

“Nope.” He thanked the young, bored waitress and engaged in polite conversation while she dressed the table with flatware, menus, bread, a small dish of butter, and a second, deeper dish of infused olive oil. She lit a fat candle and stomped away.

“She forgot the water glasses, but I won’t tell if you don’t,” Carter said.

“I think Tony will notice.”

“Yeah, probably. That’s his daughter, Gemma. She hates working here, but if she wants him to pay the insurance on her car, that’s the deal. It’s good that he’s teaching her a work ethic, and she always has money in her pocket for gas and whatever it is teenage girls spend money on. He’s doing right by the kid, and she’s giving him hell for it. I’ve been in here while the two of them have had a screamer—I’d like to avoid a repeat performance.”

“This is his place?”

“Tony, yeah, he inherited from his father—Mario.”

“Family. Tradition. Expectations. Appears to be a theme in my life right now.”

“That’s a common theme in everyone’s life, Doc. I’m not only Carter McAlister, sheriff of Trappers’ Cove. I’m also a son, a brother, an uncle, a nephew. A friend. These things make up all different pieces of the whole that is me.”

“But those relationships come with strings.”

“Only if you let them. I know it sounds corny, but in my family you do for the people you care about because they’d do the same for you. It doesn’t have to be an obligation.”

Tony chose that moment to interrupt, carrying water glasses, and the men chatted amiably while Henley picked at a slice of bread. She had known as a child that her family was unique. She’d seen a degree of affection among her schoolmates and their siblings, their parents, to which she’d never become accustomed. But she’d seen and heard enough horror stories—parents that treated their children negligently, abuse, violence—to give Henley many reasons to be thankful for her parents’ odd brand of affection. She’d been glad to prove herself worthy of their quiet dignity, their pride, their respect.

After all, those were Bradley and Eliza Elliott’s only expectations.

She had failed them. And they, in turn, had failed her. Carter’s words rang in her ears. Would she ever know unconditional love? The bittersweet, painful memories Jacob always inspired flooded her. It was unfair to her and to his memory to get back on that merry-go-round. She had loved him. Maybe it wouldn’t have lasted a lifetime like she’d thought at the time. But it had been honest, sweet, and true. Until it wasn’t. She pushed the rest away. It still hurt.

When she looked up from the pile of bread crumbs she’d created, Carter was watching her, his expression thoughtful. She hadn’t noticed that Tony had returned to his counter. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not worthy date conversation.”

“You look sad, Doc.” Carter reached out as though to take her hand but changed his mind. He let it fall and rest on the table between them. “Anything I can do?”

She shook her head and reached for a menu, not wanting to make eye contact until she had her emotions under better control. “Tony will be back in a few minutes. We should be ready to order.”

“I know what I want.” The simple phrase sounded loaded. Henley resisted the urge to glance up but suspected if she had she would’ve seen a teasing hint of desire in his blue eyes. “Feel free to check the menu.”

She intended to do that, but when she opened her menu she saw only variations of linguine. She laughed, remembering Carter’s story as she glanced over the choices. She peeked at him over the top of the folder. “But you can’t get linguine over at the diner?”