How to Land Her Lawman (8 page)

“So, what do you want? Define asylum.”

“As God is my witness, I will be the world's best man of honor my sister ever had, but I can only do that if I can recharge my batteries with someone normal and reasonable.”

“Where's Kim now?”

“Out with Luke.”

“So, last time I checked your dad and nephew were normal and rational.”

“They're not home.”

So he'd been alone. Did that mean he was lonely, too? Just moments ago she'd been feeling sorry for herself and now those feelings transferred to him.

“Okay.” She nodded. “I'll throw together a salad. You open the wine.”

“Roger that.” He saluted, then frowned at the intermittent noise coming from the microwave. “What's that sound?”

“My frozen dinner.”

He made a face and managed to look adorable. “So a case could be made for me rescuing you from a tasteless, plastic meal.”

“One could say that, but one would be wrong.” She pulled the small, pathetic, individual dinner out of the microwave to stop the annoying sound and dropped it in the trash. “This particular entrée is one of my favorites.”

“That's obvious by the way you couldn't get rid of it fast enough.”

“Okay.” She couldn't stop a smile. “You're the one who set a high bar for full disclosure. Pizza is so much better than what I was going to have. You did rescue me.” She gave him an adoring look and batted her lashes. “My hero.”

“Aw shucks, ma'am.” He picked up the bottle of wine and asked, “Where's your corkscrew?”

“That cylindrical red thing on the counter to the left of the oven.”

He walked over and picked it up. “You have an electric one?”

“It's an investment.”

“In what?”

“Independence. Women's liberation. Whatever you want to call it. I just needed to know I could get a cork out of a wine bottle without a man around to pull it out with brute strength.”

Was that a flirty remark? It felt a little flirty, but lately she'd been pretending with him. And it had been so long since she'd done it with any man, her flirt-meter was rusty. But she was pretty sure she'd just nailed him with genuine, authentic flirtation material.

The thing was, no effort had been involved and that was due in no small part to her attraction, which was completely natural and extremely powerful. The challenge wasn't in flirting with him, but in not letting it be more.

“Okay,” he said. “Since I've got nothing to prove regarding my masculinity, I'm okay using the girly opener.”

“Good thing. It's the only one I've got. Your other choice would be to get the cork out by hitting the bottle on the edge of the granite and whacking off the top.”

He laughed and the sound brought back more memories that grabbed at her heart. When they were together, talking had always turned to teasing and that turned sexy, which led to making love. Since that was her endgame, his need for sanctuary worked to her advantage. But somehow the whole thing felt dishonest.

“Something wrong, April?”

His voice snapped her out of the conscience attack. “No. I'll get the salad made.”

She turned the oven on low and put the pizza in to keep it warm while getting everything else ready. In ten minutes they were sitting across from each other at the square oak table in the kitchen nook with a meal in front of them. Slices of pizza on paper plates. Salad in bright orange pottery bowls. Stemless glasses containing a deep maroon–colored wine.

Will held up his glass. “To—” He thought for a moment, then shrugged and said, “I've got nothing.”

“How about to friends who are willing to take you in as long as you bring the pizza and wine?”

“I like it.” He touched his glass to hers, then took a sip.

April did the same, set her glass down before digging into the pizza. It was like a party in her mouth, as she savored the blended flavors of cheese, tomato sauce, sausage and black olives. With her mouth full, she said, “This is my favorite.”

“I know. You think I'd have begged you to take me in with anything less than your beloved first choice?”

“I'm just surprised. I didn't think you'd remember.”

“Then prepare to be surprised again.” He thought for a moment. “I remember that you don't like ketchup on your fries because it camouflages the exquisite taste of a perfectly good potato. Same goes for flavored chips. You're a traditional-chip girl who doesn't like it messed up.”

“Hmm.” This was a little disconcerting. Nice. Flattering, but unsettling.

“I also remember no ground pepper on your salad. You like guacamole but a naked avocado makes you gag. Toast or English muffin has to be well done and you credit, or blame, your mother for that. When she got distracted, anything in the toaster burned, but money for a single mom raising a daughter was tight. No food in your house got wasted, so she somehow convinced you the black part was good for you. And now you have to have it that way.”

April somehow managed to keep tears from welling in her eyes. It wasn't easy, what with him talking about the mother she still missed terribly. On top of that she was moved that he recalled the silly little things she'd shared with him.

“Wow. Your powers of recall are impressive.” And touching. “Okay. Two can play this game.”

“This is a game?” One dark eyebrow rose questioningly.

“It's called reminiscing.” She tapped her lip, searching through the amazing stack of recollections. “I remember that you like a steak so rare it's practically mooing on the plate. You prefer rice to potatoes, but mac and cheese is the carbohydrate gold standard. And raw spinach in a salad is acceptable, but cooked is slimy.”

He finished chewing a bite of pizza. “Gold star for you, missy.”

“Thank you very much.” She drank some wine, nearly finishing what was in the glass.

Will picked up the bottle and refilled them both. “You cry at sad movies and jump out of your skin at scary ones.”

“Busted.” She smiled, thinking about how she used to hide her face against his shoulder when they saw a horror flick. These days she just didn't go to that genre. “And you preferred science and discovery channels on TV as opposed to scripted comedies and dramas.”

“Still do.” He looked at her, something dark and intense in his eyes. “It's nice to know some things don't change.”

“Yeah.” She drank some wine, a wistful, reflective feeling settling over her.

They finished the meal in relative silence, each of them thinking their own thoughts. Doing the dishes together was another thing that hadn't changed. There weren't many from this meal, but on the rare occasions she'd cooked for him and the two of them were alone, he'd always insisted on helping to clean up. It was the least he could do since she'd done the hard part.

She closed the dishwasher door and finished the wine in her glass. Since the bottle was now empty that meant she was responsible for half of it disappearing and the buzz she was rocking didn't come as a surprise. It was also liberating, as in the censor between her brain and her mouth was buzzed, too. That meant it wasn't functioning efficiently to filter her thoughts.

All this talking about the past brought up good memories but also bad. April hadn't forgotten that he'd cast her aside for another woman. There was a question she'd never had a chance to ask, but she did now thanks to two glasses of wine.

“Why did your marriage break up, Will?”

Chapter Eight

B
ecause she wasn't you.

The thought popped into Will's mind and he was a little stunned. But maybe he shouldn't be. The other day while his sister was freaking out he'd told her she waited until Luke came along and got it right. He hadn't waited and got it wrong because the woman he'd proposed to wasn't April. He hadn't said as much to Kim, but it must have been in the back of his mind.

He would probably regret that decision for the rest of his life.

And now he was lucky enough to be standing in her kitchen after sharing pizza and a bottle of wine. It was more than he deserved.

“Will?” April held up her hands. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. I shouldn't have asked. It's really none of my business and, for the record, I'm blaming it on the wine. Seriously, I'm sorry—”

He touched a finger to her lips to stop the words. “You have nothing to apologize for. I don't mind telling you what happened. More than anyone else you have a right to know. Obviously, you already realize what an idiot I am.”

“I don't think it's fair or right to factor in IQ in terms of relationship analysis. Being smart has nothing to do with matters of the heart.” She leaned back against the counter in front of the sink and folded her arms over her chest. “For what it's worth, I don't think you're an idiot.”

He stood across from her with the kitchen island to his back. “You're very gracious even though I don't deserve it.”

“No, you don't,” she teased. “But I can't help it. A flaw in my personality.”

“Okay. As flaws go it's not bad.” He smiled, then wondered how it was that she could do that when he was contemplating this deeply personal disappointment in himself. It was a mistake he still took very hard. Maybe telling her would be a good thing, help put it to rest forever. “The reality is that the marriage was doomed from the start.”

“Why do you say that?”

Will didn't expect to hear genuine sympathy in her voice. Probably because he'd treated her so badly and felt fortunate that she was even talking to him. She had every right to be glad things hadn't worked out for him. Who could blame her for it? But he didn't see anything like that in the compassionate expression on her face.

“She was just there, a bar where cops hang out after a shift. She was pretty. Flirty.”

“That's not good.”

For the life of him he couldn't figure out why she looked guilty all of a sudden. Maybe she did have a little he-got-what-was-coming-to-him going on.

“Anyway, she was there and available. I was lonely.”

“I understand.” A little sadness crept into her voice.

Now it was his turn to feel guilty. He looked down at her and in the dim light he could see sorrow on her face, a bruised expression in her eyes for just a moment. Because he'd been the one who moved to Chicago and left behind everything and everyone he'd known, he thought loneliness was exclusive to him. Now he saw how selfish that was. He realized April must have been lonely, too, and she'd stayed behind in the town where they'd fallen in love. That must have been a different kind of loneliness.

Alone in a crowd.

“It's no excuse for what I did to you, but it is the truth.”

“I really do understand, Will.”

He studied her expression, then nodded. “Anyway, I proposed to her and she said yes. There was no cooling-off period. We went to city hall and got married. It was all downhill from there.”

“What happened?” She crossed one foot over the other at the ankles.

“I wanted to make detective, so when anyone asked me for anything, any extra work, I was the go-to guy. Special task force on drugs. Working with vice. Stakeouts for illegal weapons trafficking. You name it, I did it.”

“Didn't she understand that you were trying to move up in the department?”

“I told her that. More than once.”

Will remembered the endless arguments about him not being around. The accusations that everything and everyone was more important than her. His response was standard-issue—he was there now and she'd picked a fight.

“We had some pretty loud discussions,” he said.

“Did you try marriage counseling?”

“I suggested it and she came back with something sarcastic like I was never home as it was. I couldn't fit her in, so how could I manage to see a shrink?”

“I hate to say this, Will, but that's a valid point given what you just told me.”

One of the things he liked about her was that reasonable streak and he couldn't fault her for it now.

“Yeah.” He dragged his fingers through his hair. “I know. And I was about to concede that point to her when she accused me of using work to avoid her.”

“Was she right?”

“At the time I was defensive, but now that I have some distance it's fair to say there was some truth to her accusation.”

“But nothing changed.” April wasn't asking a question.

He'd made an effort to be around more. Turned down some extra assignments. “How can you know that?”

“Because you're not married to her anymore.” She shrugged as if that explained it all. And she was right.

“No, we're not married.” Duh. And whatever pathetic attempt he'd made hadn't changed the inevitable split. “I approached her about a trial separation, to see if we'd be happier apart. And it took me a while to bring it up. I didn't want to hurt her.”

“What did she say?”

“She bypassed the idea of separating and went straight for divorce. Said there was no point in dragging things out longer than necessary.”

“How did you feel about that?”

“You sound like a shrink,” he commented.

She lifted one shoulder. “When I take portrait photographs, I ask a lot of questions. That brings out emotions that the camera captures. It's a habit.”

“I'll remember that. And the truth is that when she wanted to end things permanently I was relieved.”

“Obviously that was the right decision, then.”

“It feels wrong,” he said.

“Why?”

“I always wanted what my parents had before my mom died in the car accident. They were crazy about each other. Held hands and kissed in public. Kim and I used to give them a hard time about embarrassing us, but they didn't care.”

“I remember.” She smiled fondly at the memory.

“And Kim always said she was the family screwup, getting pregnant at seventeen. The thing is she never made the mistake of marrying the jerk. She waited until she knew it was right.”

“Everyone's journey is different, Will,” April said reasonably. “No one gets out of this life without regrets of one kind or another.”

“I know,” he said. “But being the family failure is hard for me.”

“Because you've always been the guy in the white hat, righting wrongs and fighting the good fight.”

“Truth, justice and the American way. Superman, that's me. But I messed up.”

“That's one way of looking at it. Or one could make an argument that you saw things weren't working out and did the right thing for both of you.” She straightened away from the counter. “But here's something your father always says. It's not our successes that reveal character. It's how we handle our mistakes that defines us. Your actions don't sound like a failure to me.”

“You're cutting me slack I don't deserve.”

“Oh, Will—” She hesitated a moment, then took two steps toward him and moved in close, wrapping her arms around his waist. “It really is way past time to stop beating yourself up about what happened in the past.”

Will was having a hard time processing her words, what with that sweet little body pressed to his. He could feel her small firm breasts and her soft cheek resting against his chest. The scent of flowers drifted to him from her hair and he couldn't stop himself from wrapping her in his arms.

“April—” There was a hitch in his voice as a powerful yearning ground through him.

When she raised her head and looked up at him, he kissed her. Their lips met for one beat, then two. In the next second they couldn't get enough of each other. She met him more than halfway and above the swishing of the dishwasher he could hear the sound of their heavy breathing and her soft moans that made him hot as a firecracker.

“I never thought I would get a chance to kiss you again,” Will said in a husky, edgy whisper against her lips.

* * *

The words sent a crushing cascade of guilt down on April that was as effective as a bucket of cold water in destroying the mood. More than anything she wanted to go where this kiss was leading, but she just couldn't do it. She couldn't get past the fact that this was part of a premeditated plan to flirt, fall into bed, then dump him in the name of closure.

Now the plan felt all kinds of wrong.

She stepped out of Will's arms. “I can't do this.”

“I'm sorry? What?” He stared at her.

“I can't do it.”

“What exactly?” Surprise and frustration merged in his voice.

“Kiss you.” She hesitated. “And whatever else might follow after that. I just can't. Not like this.”

“Well...” He blew out a long breath. “Just the Cliff's Notes of biology here, but
this
is pretty much the only way to do it.”

“No.” She twisted her fingers together. “You don't understand.”

“You're right. I don't. And, honey, at this moment I don't really want to.” There was a lot of lust in the look he settled on her.

“And I don't really want to tell you. But, like I said before, you set a high bar for full disclosure. So whether you want to or not, you have to hear this.”

“Okay, then. If I agree to listen, can we pick up where we just left off?”

“Trust me. You're not going to want to do that.” When he found out she was a scheming, underhanded, devious witch, he wouldn't want anything to do with her.

“Let me be the judge of that. Because right now I want to kiss you more than anything. And unless you tell me you're a man, which I know for a fact isn't true, there's not much you could say to change my mind.” His blue eyes turned darker and focused a lot of intensity on her mouth.

It was so tempting to say “Gotcha” or “Just kidding” and continue kissing him, but she realized the weight of this secret was crushing.

“Okay. Here goes.” April stood up straighter and met his gaze. “I'm kissing you under false pretenses.”

“I'm not sure what that means.” He tilted his head, studying her. “Are you saying you didn't like it?”

“No,” she said adamantly.

“Because it sure felt to me as if you were really into it.”

“I really was,” she assured him.

“Good. No offense, but I don't think you're that good an actress.” The corners of his mouth curved up. “I'm a detective. I know when someone's trying to pull a fast one and that's not what you were doing. Trust me on this, you couldn't lie your way out of a paper bag.”

“Thanks, I think.”

“So, define false pretenses.”

“Okay.” She twisted her fingers together, trying to figure out how to word this confession. “After you came to see me when you first got back to Blackwater Lake, I had a heart-to-heart talk with Kim.”

“I knew she was somehow involved. You two are as thick as thieves.”

Kind of an appropriate analogy, but he really had no idea, she thought. “Don't blame Kim.”

“I can't blame anyone until you tell me what's going on.”

“Right.” She didn't want to tell him the whole truth, about how hard it had been seeing him again, the painful feelings he'd stirred up. “Kim and I got to talking. This is a small town and people have a way of knowing everything that goes on. And they have long memories. I realized that since you and I broke up, I've always been the poor girl that Will Fletcher left behind. Your sister was just thinking out loud and remarked that I never got closure from our relationship. It all went down on your terms.”

“That's true.” He nodded and the shadows in his eyes said he regretted what happened. “I'm sorry, April—”

She held up her hand. “Please don't say that. The thing is that Kim had an idea for how I could get closure.” She stopped because as soon as she told him the rest of it, he was going to leave and never speak to her again. April couldn't really blame him, but, wow, this was really so much harder than she'd expected.

“What was her idea?” Oddly, Will didn't look wary or angry. Not even a little upset. More amused than anything else.

She blew out a long breath, then forced herself to meet his gaze. “The plan was for me to flirt with you. Have a fling. Then be the one to end it so everyone in Blackwater Lake would stop pitying me.”

“So that's why you looked guilty when I mentioned my ex-wife was flirty when we met.”

“Yes.” April was surprised he'd noticed, then realized she shouldn't be. He
was
a detective—a good one—and trained to pay attention to reactions. It was probably impossible for him to turn off his powers of observation. “And look how that turned out.”

“I knew something was up with you,” he said.

“No way.” Surely she hadn't been that obvious. “I don't believe it.”

“After that first meeting in your shop when we talked, every time I saw you, you acted funny. Did something weird with your eyes. Now I realize that was you flirting. Or trying to.” He looked awfully smug. “I guess I should be relieved that you're not very good at it.”

That didn't sound like an angry, resentful man who was going to set a speed record for walking out. But it could be payback for her scheming him. Or trying to. “Why relieved?”

“Because eventually you forgot to pretend and behaved naturally. When you flirted, and you did, it obviously was sincere.”