Chapter Six
Paul bought a fourteen-foot aluminum fishing boat and a trailer for transport.
Pleased with his purchases, he returned to the cabin to complete the paperwork.
He had to register the boat under his assumed name.
By noon, Paul Murphy was ready to roll. He’d seen a designated boat launch area near the campground, less than a mile away.
Before he went for a cruise around the lake, he decided to check out the dock where he would park the boat after his excursion.
Vanessa’s car sat in front of the cabin, proving she was still nearby.
When he walked down the path toward the shoreline, he spotted her on the dock with her daughter, lounging in the sun.
They must have gone for a midday swim. The wooden platform appeared damp from their bodies.
While the little girl dangled her feet over the water, her mother lay motionless. She appeared to be asleep.
Paul swore under his breath. He was no expert in child rearing, but he understood the dangers of drowning. This was exactly why he didn’t want them around. Did he have to shout out a reminder for her to take care of her kid?
Jesus Christ.
Paul was about to stride forward and give her a piece of his mind when she straightened and rubbed her eyes. She was awake. He paused in the shade, seething with nervous energy. Then she rose to her feet and his mouth dropped open.
He forgot what he’d been about to say. He forgot about everything except her beautiful body on tantalizing display.
Her bikini was basic, black, and brief. Twin triangles of fabric covered her breasts, cupping them snugly.
Another swatch of fabric formed the bikini bottoms, held together by little ties at each hip.
The suit hugged every curve of her luscious figure.
It was revealing, but not indecent. All of the important parts were covered.
Even so, he was struck by a wave of lust so intense he couldn’t move.
He’d been an admirer of the female form for as long as he could remember.
He’d seen his share of scantily clad women in public places and he knew it wasn’t polite to stare.
He’d never reacted this way to a near-stranger.
Something about her caught him by the throat and wouldn’t let go.
He realized that he was leering at her from behind a tree, which was creepy as hell.
He had to get out of here before she spotted him.
He beat a hasty retreat, sun-blind and pulse throbbing with arousal.
He stumbled over a tuft of grass and kept going until he reached his truck.
So much for trying out his new boat. He couldn’t cruise up to the dock with her there.
She was like a sex bomb, ready to detonate if he got too close.
He drove to the boat launch area to check it out.
Then he returned to the cabin and waited for Vanessa Nava to leave.
She didn’t leave. Her silver SUV remained parked out front, along with a second vehicle, as if she’d invited friends to join her.
Paul paced the cabin with growing agitation.
After a few hours, his patience evaporated.
He couldn’t let this bikini-clad interloper ruin his summer retreat.
If he conceded the space to her, she would feel empowered.
He stormed outside, intent on inspecting the dock for a secure post to tie off.
He vowed to ignore her even if she was frolicking buck-naked on the sand.
Paul’s grand plan faltered as he strode toward the edge of the lake. A tall, dark-haired man in a deputy sheriff’s uniform stood at the shoreline.
Goddamn it. She’d called her brother.
He swept the area for Vanessa. She wasn’t frolicking naked or partying with a group of friends. She was walking toward him with her daughter. She wore a loose T-shirt over her suit and she had a tote bag slung over one shoulder. As she approached him, he noted her haughty expression.
“We’re going to the campground to shower,” she said.
Paul glanced down at the little girl, who had two fingers in her mouth instead of a thumb. Her swimsuit was orange with pink dots. Her shoes were sandy, her curly hair tangled. She stared up at him with big brown eyes.
He didn’t say anything, but he got the impression that Vanessa was annoyed with the inconvenience of having to use the public facilities.
The unmitigated gall of this woman. He remained silent, tamping down his exasperation.
She lifted the girl off her feet and continued walking.
He turned to watch her go on impulse. Her hips swayed with unconscious—or perhaps conscious—sensuality.
The little girl took her fingers out of her mouth and attempted to stick one up at him. It was an awkward, ill-formed gesture, but her intent was clear. So was the mulish expression on her miniature face.
Paul choked out a laugh, because the kid was adorably brazen. Like mother, like daughter.
Vanessa must have heard him, because she glanced over her shoulder. Then she frowned down at her daughter, who was still trying to flip him the bird. Vanessa covered the girl’s hand with her own and scolded her as they left the area.
Damn. He’d been caught looking—and laughing.
Paul tore his gaze away from the pair and found that he was being studied in turn.
The cop brother had his arms crossed over his chest. Although he was in uniform, he didn’t wear a gun belt.
He must have a lockbox in the truck, or he patrolled without a weapon.
Paul wondered if peace officers in quiet recreation areas spent their days writing fines for fishing or boating violations, and chose not to carry.
Paul didn’t want to talk to a cop, regardless of his armed status. But avoiding him would seem cowardly, perhaps even suspicious, so he moved forward. The deputy greeted him with a friendly smile and a firm handshake.
“Jackson Nava,” he said.
“I remember,” Paul said.
“Right.”
“Did you ever find that stolen property?”
“I did,” Jackson said.
They sized each other up in seconds. Jackson’s face had a relaxed openness that invited candor, and probably served him well on the job.
The family resemblance was subtle. Both Navas were good-looking, with dark hair and eyes.
Vanessa’s beauty had a delicacy her brother lacked.
Paul figured Jackson was the younger sibling, but not by much.
Most brothers were protective of their sisters.
That went double for brothers with badges.
“You’ve met my sister,” Jackson said.
“Yes.”
Jackson didn’t comment further. He just arched a brow as if to communicate the impossibility of women. “You want a beer?”
Paul shrugged, and Jackson walked toward a small cooler on the picnic table.
He fished out two longnecks, brandished a bottle opener attached to his key chain, and popped the tops.
Paul accepted the beer without argument.
He didn’t find it odd that a small-town cop would drink in uniform, in a quaint lakeside town near the Texas border.
This relaxed approach to professionalism wouldn’t fly in Houston, but this wasn’t Houston.
Paul turned his attention to the lake. The afternoon sun shimmered on its surface, beckoning swimmers. He should be taking a dip off the dock. Instead, he was stymied at his own vacation spot.
“She’s upset about her reservation,” Jackson said.
“I know.”
“She doesn’t want to leave until she speaks with the owner.”
“He’s in Jamaica.”
“She told me.”
Paul sipped the beer and said nothing.
“She’s going through a rough patch,” Jackson continued. “She’s got her heart set on staying here for the summer.”
“Why can’t she go to your place?”
“I live with my dad, and they don’t get along.”
Paul wasn’t surprised to hear she had other conflicts with men.
“Maybe we can work something out,” Jackson said.
“I’ve been over this with her. Both units are being remodeled for the next two months. Neither is available.”
“You’re staying in one while you work on the other?”
“Yes.”
“How about this,” Jackson said. “You take a break from your remodel and let her have the cabin for one week. She can enjoy the lake with Emily. In the meantime, I’ll convince her to make reservations somewhere else.”
Paul shook his head. “Sorry, I can’t do that.”
“What if I pay for the cabin rental and your lost wages?”
Paul took another pull on the beer. He wasn’t interested in making any deals. “I don’t want your money.”
“What do you want?”
“A hassle-free work environment, without a kid underfoot or your sister’s—” He bit off the end of that sentence, because it wasn’t polite to say tits in my face in present company, and because it was an exaggeration. She hadn’t put her tits anywhere near his face.
“My sister’s what?” Jackson said in a flat voice.
Paul didn’t answer, for self-preservation reasons. “Look, she can’t stay here. I’m using power tools and hazardous materials. It’s not safe.”
“I agree,” Jackson said.
Paul suspected that Jackson meant he wasn’t safe, and it pissed him off, even though it was true.
“Your sister is obviously in some kind of trouble. Whatever it is, I want nothing to do with it. I came here to be alone, to work at my own pace, and to recover from a shoulder injury. I came here for peace and quiet.”
Jackson’s eyes narrowed. “You think she’s in danger?”
“I don’t know. Is she?”
“She’s going through a divorce.”
Paul had figured as much. “Will her ex come after her?”
“He won’t come here.”
“Why is that?”
“Because he’s not welcome,” Jackson said. “And he’s not the type to risk a beating.”