The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) (6 page)

What was it about her? Pajaro Bay was always full of tourists in bikinis spoiling for a good time. He was used to ignoring the drunken overtures of women on vacation who were just dying to act out their fantasies about men in uniforms. Why did this woman—who seemed to have no interest in him at all—get under his skin?

She was pretty. No doubt about it. But she was wearing a sweatshirt, not a swimsuit. His reaction to her made no sense. It wasn't about looks, somehow.

Maybe it was just his cop's curiosity. Her situation didn't make sense. So he felt a need to investigate until he got all the answers.

He wished that were all, but he knew it wasn't.

There was something about the way she looked at him. A "damn the torpedoes, full steam ahead" look. She wasn't going to take life's problems lying down. She was facing her troubles with that cute little button nose up and a stubborn set to her jaw. There was something admirable about her. The awareness that she was alone in the world, without a penny to her name, but she wasn't going to stop trying until she found a way out of the mess in which she found herself.

He wished he had her faith that everything would work out, if one only kept trying. But he knew too much about the world to have her optimism. It wasn't attraction, he told himself firmly. It was just her innocence he envied.

He got in the truck.

He glanced over at her and noticed she didn't have her seat belt on.

"I can't find the latch," she said when he asked. "It must have slipped down behind the seat."

"Here." He leaned across her body and pulled the shoulder belt across her, then reached in the crevice next to her left thigh and found the missing seat latch. He pulled the seat belt taut across her chest and fastened it. She smelled like flowers. She wouldn't meet his eyes.

"How would it look for me to be driving around violating the seat-belt law," he whispered, his mouth only inches from her ear.

"We can't have that," she whispered back, her voice husky.

He pulled away, fastened his own seat belt, and started up the car.

"Lights and sirens. You promised," came from the back seat.

"Yup," he said, not looking at anything but the road in front of him. "I promised. Here we go."

~*~

The school principal's office was small but cheerful, with big posters on the walls and a window overlooking the playground. Ryan hadn't set foot in a school since his step-daughter was murdered, and he found his palms sweating at the sight of all the kids—the kids Sara's age—playing in the yard outside the window.

He stood back as Val DiPietro, the principal, motioned for Camilla and Oliver to take seats by her desk.

"Hey, Captain Ryan. It's good to see you out and about," Val said, giving him a big smile. He mumbled something polite. Why did everyone talk to him like he was a recluse? Because he was. They never saw him except on duty. At least she hadn't commented on his resignation. The grapevine must not have picked up on it yet, 'cause Val, with two gossipy sisters, was at the top of the gossip food chain in town.

"So how are you, Ryan?"

He shrugged, his usual answer to that constant question. "Fine," he muttered.

"This won't take long," Val added with another smile in his direction. She turned to Camilla and Oliver.

"And how are you, young man?"

"Fine," Oliver mumbled in a perfect imitation of Ryan's attitude, and he felt himself smile.

Camilla introduced Oliver, and then handed over a folder. "His school records and a copy of the adoption papers giving me authority to sign him up for school," she said. She'd adopted the boy even before marrying his father? Add that to his mental list of things that didn't make sense about this pair of waifs.

Val took the folder, glanced through it, then turned back to Oliver.

"So, you're eight—"

"—and a quarter," he quickly corrected.

"I'll make a note of that." She wrote something on a pad of paper.

Ryan went over to a bulletin board to read the notices. He listened closely as Val tried and failed to draw Oliver out of his shell.

"Do you like school, Oliver?" she finally asked after "how was your trip here?" and "what's your favorite subject?" drew no answers.

Shrug. Still no response.

"I see." Val looked through the papers. "I see we have some attendance and grade issues. Has Oliver been evaluated for learning disabilities?"

"He's been tested. There's nothing wrong with him that a steady home life and doing his homework won't cure," Camilla said firmly.

Ryan turned to watch her. She looked like a momma tiger, eyes flashing a warning. Val may have met her match.

The principal looked a bit skeptically from Camilla to the silent, pouting boy.

"Tell her about your new book, Oliver," Camilla said.

He shrugged.

"You know," Camilla continued unfazed, "I'm not sure you really understood all those diagrams about engines in that last chapter you read...."

"I did so!" The boy sat up straight in the chair. "The truck's fuel injectors could get clogged, and that would impede its performance, so it's important to periodically use a fuel injector cleaner." He sat back triumphantly. "I do so understand it."

"What's a fuel injector, Oliver?" Val asked.

"It mixes air and gas in the engine to make it more fuel-efficient. It makes the car work better 'cause it doesn't waste gas."

Camilla turned to Val. "Like I said, he's a very smart boy, but he's moved around too much, and no one has been supervising him when he does his homework. That's changed now."

Period. End of sentence. Round one to Camilla. He felt himself liking her more and more, and had to remind himself that liking her was not on his agenda. He was just here to do his job—help her get around until her car was fixed. And, though he had no intention of telling her, his investigative instincts went on high alert every time he saw her, and he wanted to figure out what was going on. It was just part of his job, he told himself again. The sooner he satisfied his curiosity, the sooner he could retreat back into his shell and ignore these two.

Val sat back in her chair. "So will you do your homework if your mom helps you, Oliver?" she asked him.

"Not my mom."

"Joyce Hutchins passed away some time ago," Camilla said quickly.

"Camilla's my adopted mom." Oliver looked down at the floor again.

"Of course. Thank you for straightening me out. And your dad...?"

"He had to go away. He travels a lot on business. He said he'd come back after he finished his latest job." Ryan watched Camilla's jaw clench, but she kept a neutral expression her face.

"I see." Val looked skeptical.

Oliver looked up at Val, obviously catching her expression. "He wouldn't stay away. After Mommy died he promised he'd always take care of me."

"That's good. And your last school was in San Jose?"

Oliver crossed his arms and pressed his lips together.

"It's okay to say yes, Oliver," Camilla said softly. "I knew you in San Jose, so it's not giving anything away."

San Jose. Heart of Silicon Valley. Ryan could picture Camilla there, working at that big high-tech firm. He wondered again about Dennis Hutchins, about how he'd fooled this obviously intelligent woman into letting him have access to her computer—and to her. He felt his own jaw clench in imitation of Camilla's, and wondered if he could control it as well as she did. He hated the thought of her with that con man. Her ex-fiancé she had called him, sounding disgusted. He had given her a ring—probably bought with her own money. They had been engaged. Ryan wasn't naive enough to think they had waited for marriage to get together. How could she have allowed a con man to touch her? Whoa. There he went again. It was totally irrelevant to the case how much physical contact she'd had with the jerk. Dennis was out of her life.

And now she sat in this tiny office with the frightened boy next to her, lost and alone and trying to start over. He realized Oliver was still talking and tuned back in to the conversation to catch the end of what he was saying.

"Sacramento with Mommy, then Fresno, Salinas, San Jose," Oliver ticked off on his fingers.

"You've lived in all those places, young man? My, you're a real traveler."

Up and down the state of California in eight years. Probably one jump ahead of the law. Ryan felt the urge to wring Dennis Hutchins' neck for what he'd done to his own son.

"I didn't know about Fresno," Camilla said quietly. "Why didn't you tell me about it?"

"Daddy always says it's best not to chatter too much about the past."

Camilla blushed, which Ryan had noticed happened whenever she was upset. She always showed just what she was thinking, and right now she was clearly thinking some not-so-polite thoughts about Oliver's "daddy."

"I think it's important for us to know all the schools you went to so we can help you do better," she said patiently. The gentleness in her voice was surprising, given how mad she obviously was at Oliver's father. She was very good at separating her feelings about Dennis Hutchins from her feelings toward his son. The boy was in good hands.

"Are those the only cities you lived in?" Camilla asked.

Oliver pressed his lips tightly together again and nodded.

"You sure?"

"I'm not a stool pigeon." That wasn't an answer, but it sure said a lot about his life with his father. Ryan began to get a picture of the mess Camilla was in, and apparently so did Val.

"Well," the principal said breezily while standing up from the desk. "I'll have a chat with your adopted mom about your lesson plans later. For now, let's get you to class. Ms. Gonzalez is a wonderful teacher. I'm sure you'll like her." She came around the desk.

Both Oliver and Camilla stood, too.

Val followed them all out into the hallway. "I'll take Oliver to class and get him settled. Let's arrange a time to talk later, Ms. Stewart?"

Camilla nodded.

"Goodbye, Captain Ryan," Val said. "It's really nice to see you. Will we you be there tonight? I know a lot of people are looking forward to saying hello to you."

"No," he said automatically before he even knew what she was talking about. Right. The school fundraiser tonight. They were raising money for gym equipment or library books or something. Whatever. He hadn't attended one of those things for months, but people never gave up trying to convince him to go. He bought tickets, donated his money. They should be glad he wasn't showing up to eat enchiladas and take up space. But they still bugged him about it every time. "Can't make it, I'm afraid," he added gruffly.

"Are you ready to go, Ms. Stewart?" he added.

"Thank you, Captain Knight," she answered, gathering her things. "You be good, Oliver."

"I will," he promised.

Ryan escorted her out.

~*~

Camilla put the adoption papers back in her purse as they left the building. She was disturbed by Oliver's latest revelations, but hoped it didn't show. There was still so much she didn't understand about Dennis Hutchins. But she knew that teaching his son to lie was wrong, as wrong as ripping her off had been. But who could she talk to about this? Not Ryan. The less he knew, the better.

Ryan held open the car door for her.

"I appreciate your help, Captain Knight, but I can walk home. It's only a few blocks."

"Ryan, not Captain Knight. And it's no problem. You're going to be living here in town, and it's my job to help Pajaro Bay's citizens."

She didn't want to correct him, but she was definitely not going to be a "Pajaro Bay citizen" for long. The sooner she got that silly cottage sold and moved on to some place no one knew the truth about her, the better.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asked.

"I'm leaving town as soon as I sell the cottage," she said firmly, hoping to end the conversation there. "Thanks for the offer of a ride, but I could use a chance to walk and clear my head before I get to work on the house."

He still held the car door open. "Why get tired out before you even start? Come on. I won't bite."

He smiled, and the warmth for the first time reached his eyes, lighting up their cold depths and transforming him from an imposing figure into something warm and accessible. She felt a tightness in her throat. Again, like the first time she'd met him, she felt that moment of recognition—he wasn't just a cop, and she wasn't just a perp. He was a human being just like her, and he was more than that—kind and concerned, and genuinely a nice guy.

She took a step toward him, then stopped. She looked away quickly. What was she thinking? This was the last thing she needed. She wasn't going to find him attractive. She just wasn't. The last thing she needed in her life right now was a man.

But she wasn't thinking, she was feeling. That was the problem. She wasn't making lists, or rationally crunching numbers pro and con. She was feeling. Feeling something she really didn't want to ever feel again.

He cleared his throat, and she looked at him again. He was watching her with that assessing look. "Let's go before Val calls her sisters and we become topic number one in the town's gossip mill."

She looked around the parking lot anxiously, then quickly got in the car.

He smiled faintly at her as he shut the door, then leaned in the open window.

She still looked around. She didn't see anyone watching. "Where is she?"

"Who? Oh, Val? I was kidding—well, half-kidding. This is a small town, and if you are here for more than a day everyone will know everything about you."

Her dismay must have shown on her face, because he added, "Don't worry about it. As long as you don't break any laws, there won't be any problem."

"I have no intention of breaking any laws," she said. She could hear the stiffness in her voice, and he looked taken aback by her reaction. What had he expected? She hated being reminded of her criminal record. She stared out the window while he walked around the SUV and got in the driver's side.

"I'm sorry, Camilla," he said quietly. "I meant it as a joke."

She turned to face him, watched his sheepish expression as he buckled his seat belt. She pulled in her claws, forcing herself to let go of the sense of shame he brought out from somewhere deep inside of her. "I'm sorry—Ryan," she said. She added, trying to make it light: "I know you're used to dealing with criminal types. I shouldn't overreact."