Chapter 7 #2
He wore bright white socks and no shoes.
For some reason, the sight had a strange impact on her, as if him being shoeless was somehow very personal and intimate.
The sleeves of the chambray shirt were rolled up to his elbows, showing off his corded forearms, which also affected her in ways she wasn’t used to.
For a fleeting moment, she imagined what life would be like with a man like him.
A man who gave as good as he got, a man with honor and integrity.
Rusk jumped up from his resting spot near the couch to inspect his handler. It was enough of a distraction for her to pull her attention away from Colt.
“Yum, something smells delicious,” he said as he parked himself at the end of the counter, his big body taking up space in the kitchen, though she didn’t feel crowded at all. His presence was comfortable and exhilarating at the same time.
And she really needed to get a grip.
“Don’t get too excited,” she quipped, busying herself by wiping down the counter. “Sauce from a jar, frozen meatballs, premade salad, and thankfully some sliced sourdough made into garlic bread.”
“Maren, I am grateful,” he said. “This is the closest I’ve come to a home-cooked meal in a very long time.”
She remembered his description of his family. “Now, I know that’s not true. I’m sure you go to your parents’ quite often for a home-cooked meal.”
He held up his hands. “True. But not the same thing. Having your mother cook for you as opposed to an unrelated, beautiful woman—” He shook his head. “Not the same thing at all.”
He thought she was beautiful.
Heat infused her cheeks and a thrill raced down her spine at his implication that there was more to this meal, to their time together, than professional partnership.
Ridiculous.
Turning away, she took the seasoned sourdough slices out of the oven and slid them onto a large platter. Picking up the platter, she handed it to him. “Did you find everything you needed at the store?”
He put his hands on the platter, but didn’t immediately take it from her. His gaze searched her face. She held steady, not about to let on how he affected her, yet she couldn’t deny the zing of attraction arcing between them.
He gave a gentle tug on the platter. “I did, thank you.”
Releasing her hold, she turned away and resisted the urge to fan herself. Why did she feel flushed?
Briskly, she served up two plates of spaghetti and carried them to the table where she’d arranged two place settings across from each other. No sitting side by side. That would be too weird. Too intimate.
“I have to say your place isn’t quite what I expected.” He lifted the pitcher of water and filled both their glasses.
She brought over the salad bowl and two smaller plates.
Taking her seat, she said, “I’m almost afraid to ask, but what did you expect?”
He held her gaze. “Functional. With no personality.”
Her defenses rose and she tucked in her chin, her eyebrows rising so high she probably thought they blended in with her hairline. “Excuse me?”
The sides of his mouth lifted in a teasing smile. “Seriously. I expected the practical, but I didn’t expect the whimsy. When you’re on the job, there’s very little whimsy evident.”
Mulling over his words, she dished out the salad.
There had been a time in her life when she’d been much more whimsical.
Before her parents’ deaths. Before Opal became addicted to drugs.
Before her uncle died. While the repeated blows had tried to knock her down, she was still fighting to stand tall.
“A girl’s got to have a little mystery.”
His low chuckle pleased her. Way more than it should. Time to change the subject. “Tell me more about your family.”
One of his chestnut eyebrows lifted.
She had the feeling he knew exactly what she was doing.
As long as he was talking, she didn’t have to.
Giving him a specific topic would keep the focus off the troubling plight of her sister.
And off Maren. She didn’t like being the focus of attention.
Plus, she liked hearing about his big family. So different from hers.
For the next hour, while they ate, he regaled her with childhood exploits of his and his siblings.
“It all sounds so wonderful and too good to be true.” But he was the living proof that some families were healthy and functional. Unlike hers.
“Even before our parents were killed,” she admitted, “I remember the stilted dinners with the four of us. The quiet evenings spent reading, or listening to my mother rehearse her lectures while our dad was engrossed in his research.”
“Both of your parents were academics?”
“They were,” she said. “My father was a professor of theology, and my mother taught social sciences.” A path neither she nor Opal had followed.
“I’m so sorry you lost them.”
“They weren’t lost. They were killed,” she said, an edge to her voice she couldn’t contain. “Most likely by somebody driving drunk. And I will never have closure.”
The sympathy in his eyes had her heart quaking.
“Probably not in this lifetime.” He slid his hand across the table and folded his fingers over her clenched fist. “Faith in Jesus is about trusting that what happens here on earth will be reconciled in Heaven.”
She’d heard similar sentiments from her pastor and others over the years. It didn’t diminish the loss or even the hurt. But for some reason, in this moment, the words did offer comfort. Or did the balm come from Colt himself? There was something reassuring about him, about his steadfast belief.
She stared at where their hands met. What would it be like to have someone in her life who knew her? Whom she could fully trust? Someone she was willing to risk letting into her heart?
Talk about a pipe dream.
Even if there was some sort of future where she and Colt might explore the currents of attraction running circles around them, they both had very precarious jobs that put them in the line of fire. She couldn’t go through another loss.
Unaccountably sad, she slipped her hand away and began clearing the table, aware of his inscrutable gaze. He moved to help, which only endeared him to her more, and they worked in companionable silence.
When the dishes were done and the kitchen back in order, she said, “We should take the dogs out back.”
She led the way to the back door and opened it wide.
Haven jumped up from her bed under the front window and raced outside.
Rusk was right after her. She and Colt stepped out onto the small back porch.
The grassy area was enclosed with a white picket fence.
It was the closest she would ever get to that sort of life.
A thought that usually didn’t bother her.
Tonight, strangely, it did. Why was that?
As she and Colt stood side by side in the dark, watching over the dogs, she gave voice to a question that plagued her mind. “Do you ever doubt God?”
“Yes,” he admitted softly. “Faith is not a destination, it’s a journey. Every day, I have to be intentional about releasing what I can’t control.”
She let his words wrap around her, seeping into the bruised places of her heart.
“Intentional,” she said, rolling the word around in her brain. “I like that. Sometimes I’m selfish. I forget that there’s more to this life than just me or the circumstances I find myself in.”
“Somehow, I doubt you could ever be selfish,” he said. “You wouldn’t be as good at your job if you didn’t care about others. If you didn’t work toward the greater good. Don’t sell yourself short.”
His arms slid around her shoulders, and she stiffened. He turned her to face him. The moon’s glow didn’t reveal more than the planes of his face, the shape of his mouth, in the dark. But she watched his lips move as he said, “You’re a good person, Maren Anderson. Don’t ever lose hope.”
Sudden tears pricked her eyes. She could feel herself leaning toward him. Her breath caught. What was happening?
A deep yearning to kiss him welled inside her chest.
Alarm bells went off in her head.
No, no, no.
It was all the frantic adrenaline of the last seventeen hours. She was getting caught up in the moment. She was finding herself attracted, not only physically but also emotionally, to this man. She couldn’t allow it. Too much was at stake.
Her sister. The mission to take down a dangerous drug kingpin. The urgency to stop an illegal adoption ring preying on young moms-to-be.
Her heart.
Allowing something to happen between her and Colt would compromise their judgment. Even a simple kiss would be too much.
She turned away and whistled, drawing Haven immediately to her side. Rusk raced forward to sit beside his partner.
“We need to get some sleep,” she said briskly. “Six a.m. will come pretty quickly. We’ll need to make a quick stop at the task force headquarters to check out an official vehicle before we go to the mission.”
Slowly, he released her and stepped back. His voice was just as curt. “Rusk and I will be ready.”