The Sheriff Meets His Match (6 page)

T
he embers
in the fireplace spread warmth through Jack’s chilled bones. Well, cold except for the spot on his leg branded by Laurel’s sweet touch. He glanced around, hoping to see a cushion he could set on his lap to hide his burgeoning arousal. One touch was all it had taken to light a spark that set him burning for more.

Laurel and her uncle were studiously ignoring his question, pretending to doctor up their tea and butter the hell out of a couple of scones. If she stirred one more spoon of sugar into her cup he figured she’d have a nice batch of syrup.

Her fiery locks echoed the color of the fire’s flame. It took everything he had to keep his hands in his lap instead of combing them through the silken glory of her hair. He’d never seen anything quite like it, thick and lustrous with kiss-me curls highlighting peaches and cream skin and that little mole high on her cheekbone. She could have made a fortune as a
Victoria Secret
model.
Oh, great
. Now he was picturing her in a sexy little bra and panty ensemble, a set of pearly white wings, and wearing those fuck-me-now red heels she favoured.

Her uncle gave a great hacking cough, jerking Jack’s no doubt dazed eyes to meet his back-off-before-I-stab-you-with-this-bread-knife glare.

Laurel reached over and patted his hand. “I told you, you needed to give up your pipe, Uncle. Those things will kill you.”

Max smiled at his niece, but kept his gaze glued on Jack. “We all gotta die sometime, ain’t that right—sheriff?”

Jack had to give it to the old man. He had balls.

But was he a murderer? That remained to be seen.

“Funny you should mention death, Mr. Doyle.” Jack picked up the less than organized, slightly damp file, and passed it to Laurel’s outstretched hand. He kept a careful eye on the elder man as she leafed through the top pages. As soon as she reached the mugshot of Joseph Ray London, Laurel slammed the folder shut and glanced back at him, a very real fear darkening her eyes. Jack frowned.

“Something you want to tell me, Laurel?” He silently urged her to come clean. He couldn’t help if he didn’t know what the hell was happening.

“Laurel,” her uncle warned.

She met Max’s gaze head-on for a taut moment, then turned back to Jack. “Is he dead?” She held herself stiff and seemed strung as tight as a guitar string, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

Jack couldn’t do it; he refused to be the one to break her spirit. “No. At least we’re not sure.” Relief flooded her face and she slumped her tense shoulders. She stared at her uncle until Max gave a slight shake of his head. Jack wanted to growl. What were they hiding?

“We found London’s car at the Rendezvous Hotel. It was covered in snow, which seems to suggest it sat there since last week’s blizzard.” He stared pointedly at Laurel, reminding her of their encounter out on the highway east of town.

“Pearl, who runs the hotel, told my deputy that the owner of the Impala had checked in the week before and paid two weeks cash for a room. When he didn’t show up to gather his things, she called it in.”

Max rubbed his jaw and looked lost without the offensive pipe. He sighed with regret and settled for his teacup, swinging one leg up to rest an ankle on his knee before meeting Jack’s gaze. “And what, pray tell, does this have to do with me and the wee lass?”

If they were playing crib the old man just placed him in check.

Jack almost grinned. If the matter weren’t so grave, he’d be enjoying this match of wits. Unfortunately, it was serious, possibly dead serious.

“Well, sir, since your daughter—who I believe is currently spending time in a Miami hospital due to a severe beating—lives with the missing person, I figured he might have traveled here to…
visit
you and your charming niece.”

Checkmate.

* * *

O
h
, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God. He knows everything.

They were going to jail. And he’d probably throw away the key. Laurel’s stomach twisted up so tight a marine couldn’t have undone the knots. It was like that time she got food poisoning from eating seafood. Her head pounded as though an entire marching band had taken up residence and her skin felt clammy and yet sweaty at the same time.

This is bad. Sooo bad.

The only chance they had was to come clean. Tell the whole sad story and pray for forgiveness. Any dreams she might have been imagining of her and Jack in a romantic relationship went swirling down the drain.

“We know him,” she muttered, “unfortunately.”

Max coughed and glared at her before hurrying to correct her words. “What Laurel means, sheriff, is that she and my daughter’s… ah, friend, don’t always see eye to eye.” He took out his napkin and swiped under his eyes, seemingly defeated, though Laurel knew better. “You have a wee daughter, don’t you, Jack? You must know what it’s like having to bite your tongue when she makes mistakes. It’s tough being the only parent to any child, but especially a young lady. We want to do right by them and let them live their lives, but protect them from the world at the same time.”

He shrugged and took a delicate sip of his tea. The cup rattled against the saucer and he hurried to set it back down.

Even though she knew he was playing the sympathy card, Laurel stretched over the footstool and wrapped her arms around her uncle’s neck in a sympathetic hug. She squeezed her eyes closed on the tears and swallowed hard. Max was the only father she really remembered. He’d taken both her and Gabe under his wing and treated them as his own right from the start. And he’d always supported her decisions, whether he agreed with them or not. The least she could do is stand by him now.

She kissed the grizzled cheek so close to her own and leaned back to smile reassuringly into his red-rimmed eyes.

“My uncle is right, Jack. I’m not a huge fan of Bethany’s choice in men and I’m afraid I was rather vocal on the subject. But I can’t see Joe London driving all this way to try and change my mind.” An involuntary shiver slithered down her back at the thought of running into Joe on her own. She didn’t know what he was up to—other than embezzlement—but it
was
strange that he would abandon his car.

Unless…

No, what was she thinking? Her uncle would never do anyone bodily harm. Would he?

T
he next morning
dawned crisp and clear, a dazzling winter’s day. The Cascade Mountains stood out in stark relief against an impossibly blue skyline, the snow blinding against the brightness of the sun. Before now, Laurel would have set herself firmly in the no-snow-for-me-thank-you-very-much category, but it was hard not to appreciate the sheer beauty of the diamond encrusted snowbanks or the trees wearing lacy snowflake dresses of wedding white. The view from her dining room window was picture-perfect.

She poured a cup of freshly brewed dark roast coffee and opened the newspaper she’d fetched from the doorstep. The newsprint still carried a hint of coolness from the paperboy’s sleigh, and Laurel took a deep breath, enjoying the fresh scent. Sunday’s were the best; lazy mornings spent in bed, followed by a day of relaxation before the workweek began. She liked to sit and read the news section with the first coffee, then do the crossword after she made herself some multi-grain toast. And if the spot across the table sometimes seemed extra empty, she’d turn on the radio to a good rockin’ with the oldies channel, and sing along to dispel the loneliness. Today was one of those days.

She’d just begun her rendition of
“Sweet Caroline”
when the doorbell rang, interrupting her favorite part, the chorus line.

She grabbed her wallet, expecting the paperboy who usually stopped back for his weekly payment after doing the run, but when she opened the door Laurel came nose to whiskers with a bedraggled kitten. Her shocked gaze took in the shivering ball of fur before meeting the worried brown eyes of the girl holding it so gently. Tina.

“Um, good morning?” What was she supposed to say? Laurel had never really spent time around kids. She liked them; she just didn’t know what to do with them. “Cute cat.”

“You have to help me… please?” The girl tacked on the request at the last second, pushing her way into the entry. What was it with these Garrett’s anyway? “I was helping my friend, Ted Farley, to deliver the papers and we heard this poor little guy crying in the bushes.”

Aw.

Laurel’s heart turned mushy. The poor thing did look cold. And skinny. How could anyone abandon a defenseless creature that way? She ran a gentle finger over the animal’s motley coat and felt the bumps along its vertebrae. It was starving.

“Bring him, or her, into the kitchen and I’ll heat a bowl of milk.” She waited for the teenager to toe off her boots, then led the way down the hall. Tina sat in the chair Laurel had vacated and hugged the wet fur to her chest, rubbing her nose back and forth over the spot between the kitten’s ears. Every now and then a plaintive cry emitted from its throat, as though too weak to do much else. It probably wasn’t a good idea to let Tina get so close to the kitten, in case it had fleas or something, but Laurel didn’t have the heart to tell her to stop.

She hurried to heat the milk in a small pan on the stove, just until it was lukewarm, and then poured it into a saucer before setting it on the floor.

“Okay, let’s see if we can get it to drink a little bit. Who knows when the poor thing ate last?”

Tina gave the critter a last peck on the head then brought it to the bowl and set him down. The kitten wobbled and shook, but never moved from its spot. Tina gave Laurel a worried look, her brows pulled tight over her nose. “What are we going to do now?”

We.

Warmth flooded Laurel’s chest. She wasn’t used to being needed, at least not without an ulterior motive.

She gave the girl a reassuring look, then crouched down and dunked the kitten’s nose in the milk.

“Hey,” Tina cried. She attempted to push Laurel aside to save the cat, but Laurel held her off.

“Wait,” she urged. “Look.”

Sure enough, after a couple spits and sneezes, the kitten realized what he was licking off his fur actually tasted good. He went back to the bowl, dipped his head too far, and got another noseful for his trouble. It took a couple of tries before he finally figured out the trick. After that, he dug right in, on a mission to drink the dish dry.

Laurel looked up into Tina’s wide-eyed expression, and had to smile. The will to survive could be a mighty incentive in overcoming adversity. The kid had just learned an important life lesson. If only all traumatic experiences could have the same happy ending.

The kitten started to purr. It was the most pathetically beautiful sound Laurel had ever heard, sort of a cross between a slowly deflating balloon and a blender. She ran a last gentle finger over the boney back, and rose.

“Would you like to wait here while Ted finishes his deliveries?”

Tina eyed her shyly under a mess of nut-brown bangs. Now that the emergency was over, she seemed embarrassed.

“Thanks. I’d like that,” she murmured. She shuffled her feet, then stilled when the kitten backed away from the bowl, its belly plump with milk. They watched as he fastidiously cleaned his paws, ears, and chin, then ignoring the girls completely, curled up beside the dish as though scared it would disappear, and promptly fell asleep.

Laurel laughed. Typical male, eat and sleep.

She turned away, leaving Tina to babysit, and went to see if she had any of that scrumptious tasting hot chocolate left in the cupboard. Good, two pouches remained. Laurel filled the kettle with water and turned on the old enamel gas stove. While she waited for the water to boil, she went about setting out a few pastries, cheese, and some blackberries just bought the day before onto a plate and setting them on the table, aware of Tina’s eyes following her every move.

“So, you like my dad, huh?”

Laurel froze.

How did she get herself into these kinds of situations? Awkward didn’t begin to cover it. What could she say? “Yeah, I love when your dad sticks his tongue down my throat.”

Probably, not the right answer.

Feigning a calm she was far from feeling, Laurel turned off the kettle and poured the steaming water over the chocolate mix. She managed to waste a couple more minutes stirring the concoction and searching her cupboard for the last of the dried up mini marshmallows she’d used as a snack the last time she craved sugar.

She carried the two heaped up mugs to the table and tried not to let the fact that Tina was once again in her chair, bother her. Much. There are two things in life that should always be sacred, the remote control for the television, and a person’s favourite chair.

Tina’s knowing gaze followed her to the other side of the table. “It’s okay, lots of women like my dad,” she said. “He
is
pretty handsome, for an old guy.”

Laurel choked on her drink.
Old guy.
She’d never seen any senior who looked anything like Jack Garrett. His hair was still thick and dark, and while there were a few wrinkles around the edges of his eyes, they were mainly caused by hours of endless squinting into the sun for his job. His body was lean and muscular; while his shoulders were broad enough to protect those he cared about.

Like the girl sitting across from her now, licking the marshmallow off the top of the hot chocolate. A wistful pang of emotion tightened her chest. It must be wonderful to have Jack’s unconditional love.

Whoa.

She sat back in stunned shock. Where did that come from? Jack was a great guy, sure, but there were a lot of nice men in the world. It didn’t mean she was going to fall in love with all of them.

No, just Jack.

She had
.
Laurel wasn’t sure when, or how it had happened, but she’d gone and fallen in love with the sheriff.

* * *

J
ack rubbed his ear
. Someone was talking about him, at least that’s what his mom always said when he complained of a high-pitched whine in the eardrum. She might have been right, or he had an infection. Either way, it was a pain.

He stretched out his body on the leather recliner and then stood up with a groan. He was getting too damn old to be falling asleep in a chair. A glance at his watch showed him he’d slept half the morning away. He shook the cobwebs out and headed down the hall to the washroom.

If his head hadn’t been full of all things Laurel Thomas related he might have made it to the bedroom last night. As it was, he’d come home more perplexed than when he left. He’d kept a close eye on Laurel and her uncle when he released the news of the missing man. Neither one knew what had happened to the guy, he was ninety-nine percent sure of it, yet something else was going on. He’d bet his Mustang on it. And how did it all tie into the disappearance of Joe London?

He’d stayed much longer than necessary, and if he was being honest it was because he’d wanted to continue where they’d left off at the front door. The whole night he’d had to fight to keep his hands to himself and concentrate on the reason he’d gone there in the first place, business.

Yeah, righ
t.

It had nothing to do with the fact that she was on his mind constantly. He couldn’t even take a bath without thinking about her.
Oh, hell yeah.
Imagining that voluptuous body plastered next to his in a tub of soapy bubbles was guaran-goddamn-teed to mess with his equilibrium. Now he was going to spend the rest of the day picturing her slippery, wet body in his arms. Good job, Romeo.

He nicked himself with the razor and cursed. Jack needed to get his mind on the job. People counted on him. And he wasn’t going to think about what he’d do if it turned out he had to arrest Laurel and her uncle.