Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Spring was in the air. Friday had arrived, and Gin was free for the weekend. She rolled down her windows, letting the brisk mountain wind erase the pervasive stench of the prison.
For hours after she returned home, she could smell the place, as if every inhalation held the suppressed anger, despair, and hopelessness.
With a grunt of frustration, she kicked on her ride-the-roads playlist with Roger Miller’s King of the Road and let the music flow around her.
Heavens, but this had been a nasty day. Sex offenders. Of all the inmates, she found them to be the worst. And the one she’d had in session today had shown no remorse at all. He didn’t think he’d done anything wrong in raping a child.
It purely made her nauseous.
Trying to escape the feeling, she stomped the accelerator, whipping around the curves and glorying in how her low-slung car clung to the road.
As forest gave way to small farms, she slowed.
Everywhere she looked was color. Vibrant spring-green grass had sprung up along the road shoulder.
Leaves were filling in the deciduous trees.
Tiny lupines created purple swaths across a pasture.
Yellow flowers in the ditches were bright enough to rival the sun.
In town, a banner strung high across the intersection proclaimed: BEAR FLAT WILDFLOWER FESTIVAL. Below it, sawhorses blocked off Main Street.
Gin’s mood lifted at the sight of colorful booths lining the street and on the boardwalk. A band at the end was playing a country-western tune of Willie Nelson’s.
An SUV pulled away from the curb, the back filled with children who waved cheerfully at her. Laughing, she waved back and parked in their spot.
Once out of her car, she frowned down at her clothes. Since the recommended prison attire was “baggy,” Kallie’d given her some of Jake’s old sweaters. The oversized man’s sweater she wore was perfect for the prison, but way too blah for a spring festival.
But if she wore only the tank beneath it, she’d freeze.
Hadn’t she left something in the trunk?
She had. She peeled off Jake’s sweater and donned the green, three-quarter sleeved cardigan. The open knit draped nicely around her. And surprise, she had a figure again.
After slinging her purse over one shoulder, she locked her car and headed toward the fun.
“Gin.” Her name was called in a deep baritone voice. Atticus was exiting a Ford Taurus, which he’d parked in the street. In the very center.
Typical arrogant police officer, right? Even his walk was strong, almost predatory.
And yet…her body quickened at the sight of him. She sternly told it to behave. The man—even if he should be polite for a change—was Sawyer’s brother and, by Department of Corrections’ policy, off-limits to her.
Having watched Gin changing clothes, Atticus smothered a grin as he left his unmarked vehicle.
Couldn’t blame her for not wanting to look like a box—the recommended style for women entering a prison.
He’d far rather see her in something that showed off her curvy figure and brightened her moss-green eyes.
He’d hoped to run into her.
Three days ago, she’d orchestrated the “intervention” which had turned his brother around. Because Sawyer was different. Sure, he wasn’t back to the light-hearted, gung-ho person he’d been when they were growing up. But since his TOD in Afghanistan, he’d grown increasingly withdrawn.
He’d never gotten drunk though.
No, Ezra had been the one who’d enjoyed being blitzed. He’d probably goaded Sawyer into going past his usual limits. Like Atticus, Sawyer didn’t like giving up control to anyone or anything. He’d been a control freak even before the SEALS. After his discharge, he’d consumed even less.
Being the man he was, Sawyer would blame only himself.
And the canny counselor had figured it out in the few sessions she’d had with him. God knew, the asshole previous shrink hadn’t managed dick.
Sawyer had been almost himself this morning. Had made a few jokes. Reminisced. Asked after their younger brother. Even mentioned that he was trying to figure out what he’d do when he got out in another year.
Atticus sighed. The little submissive counselor had done well, and he’d treated her like crap. Guilt was a lead weight in his gut. When people judged him by bad interactions they’d had with other cops, he considered them idiots. Look who held the idiot label now.
And even when he’d thought her an asshole shrink, he’d wanted her. Her body, and even more, her submission. Her trust. Her generous spirit. The sweetness in her that made her enjoy cooking for others. That made her feed a starving dog and give it a home.
But his behavior had burned his bridges with her. Just now, her eyes had lit up—and then turned blank. He’d probably taken up permanent residence on her assholes-of-the-world list.
She braced her feet and raised her sharp little chin. “Can I help you, Officer?”
“Not Officer. It’s Detective,” he said.
“What? Oh. Detective Ware. Right.”
“And yes, you can help me by slowing down. You ran your ass through a speed trap halfway up the mountain.”
The surprise in her eyes was delightful. Made him want to create it again when she was under his control in a scene. When she was naked and… No.
“I did?”
“Mmmhmm. I told the uniforms I’d take the responsibility of warning you.” Damned if he knew why he’d volunteered. Damned if he knew why she was stuck in his brain.
“Oh. Um. Thank you.”
“Your thanks can be observing the speed limit. The prison section of road is known for patches of ice. And for the number of people who’ve died.
I don’t want to be the one pulling your body from that POS car of yours—because when it hits a tree, the frame will fold like an accordion.
” Like the last accident he’d seen. His gut knotted at the memory.
“I—” Her gaze took in his expression and her eyes turned soft. “I’m sorry, Atticus. I never thought about how horrible dealing with accidents must be for law enforcement. I’ll be more careful.”
Why did she have to be so likable? Tenderhearted? Desirable? “I’d appreciate it.” He stepped closer.
She backed up. “Well. Excuse me then.”
Atticus grinned as she walked away. The little magnolia couldn’t quite manage to put a frost into her southern sweetness, could she?
As she disappeared into the festive crowd, he shook his head.
Diversion was done. Time to force his ass over to the climbing wall. The Search and Rescue guys had been surprised when Atticus volunteered to help out, since they’d seen his reaction to climbing higher than five or so feet.
But damned if he’d keep acting like a pussy. Only way to lose the fear would be to keep at it. Maybe today, he could haul his ass up higher—without a flashback. Without freezing or losing his lunch.
An hour later, Gin had managed to stop thinking about Atticus…
mostly. She’d scored sexy bookmarks from Pottery and Pages, had on a leather wristband from the camping store, and had munched Parmesan popcorn from the diner’s booth.
At the Hunts’ Serenity Lodge table, she’d nibbled homemade brownies and won Becca as a companion when Jake shooed her off for a break.
As they strolled down the boardwalk, Gin smiled at the bright yellow daffodils filling the wooden barrels. Over her head, purple pansies spilled over the sides of hanging baskets.
A girl darted past, pigtails bouncing, her face decorated with stars and moons. Her little brother gave chase, his cheeks an adorable pink under yellow tiger stripes.
At their giggling and happy yells, Gin felt homesickness sweep over her. There was none of this joy inside a prison. How could she have known she’d miss having children around so, so much?
“I know you ate a brownie. But would you like some non-bazillion-calorie food?” Becca gestured to the barbeque at the volunteer firemen’s booth.
Unfortunately, the scent of grilled meat reminded Gin of the camping trip.
No, face it; everything these days reminded her of Atticus.
Darn the cop for being the sexiest man she’d ever met.
And she might have been able to put aside a simple physical attraction.
But, his utter self-confidence—his power—attracted her like a lemming to a cliff.
And he was just as deadly.
“Sure, we can grab some food.” Past the firemen’s booth, a small crowd had gathered around a tall…thing. “What in the world is that?”
Becca followed her gaze. “A climbing wall. The Search and Rescue guys run it to raise money for their equipment. Logan might be there; he loves mountain stuff.” Becca shook her head ruefully. “Me? I can’t even cross a stream without spraining an ankle.”
Gin eyed the twenty-five-foot monolith. Colorful handholds poked out everywhere as if it had contracted a disease. Amazing. “I’ve never seen one in real life. Can we go watch?”
“Sure.” Becca led the way, skirting the crowd to come up on the side, almost at the base.
Perched on the wall, a little girl was reaching for a handhold.
Gin froze. “Oh my stars, she can’t be more than ten. She’s going to break her neck.”
“You’ve got what Logan calls the ‘mommy sees disasters’ syndrome.” Becca waggled her eyebrows.
“What?”
“A worst case imagination.” She shook her finger at an imaginary child. “‘If you run with a stick, you’ll poke out your eye.’ ‘Slow down on those steps or you’ll split your head open.’ ‘Don’t eat too fast or you’ll choke to death.’ ”
Gin’s snickering disappeared when the girl on the wall climbed another foot. “We worry because those things happen.” If the child hadn’t been above Gin’s reach, she’d snatch the girl down.
“In this case, no worries,” Becca said. “With a safety harness on, she can’t get hurt even if she jumped.”
After studying all the ropes and gear, Gin started to relax until spotting Atticus Ware beside a man working the ropes.
Oh no. No, no. Seeing him once today was one time too many. She didn’t like feeling all quivery inside; it surely wasn’t healthy. Maybe she was allergic to him?