Chapter Thirteen
Dalton’s apartment was messier than he remembered. Or maybe he was just more embarrassed at bringing Blakely home to any mess when her home had been neat as a pin. He mumbled an apology as he moved to the patio to fire up the grill.
“Do you mind fixing those inside so you won’t be exposed?” Blakely asked as her gaze swept the twin building out the window and the parking lot in between.
“Okay,” he conceded. He had one of those fancy stoves with a grill top.
It wasn’t as good as outdoor grilling, but she had a point.
No matter how much of a long shot, someone might have figured out the two of them were together and identified him.
It would take both of those for someone to get his address since he was certain no one had followed them from the courthouse.
Better safe than sorry. His grandmother Lacey’s voice had a habit of popping up in situations like these.
Thinking about her was too hard, so he stuffed the memory down deep.
“I’ll do the baked potatoes,” Blakely offered. “It’ll give my hands something to do.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “Let me know when you’re about twenty minutes out.” In the meantime, he could let the steaks rest after peppering them with Lawry’s Seasoned Salt.
“Will do,” she said as she preheated the oven.
Normally, a cold beer would sound good about now.
But his mind needed to be clear. Being around Blakely was distraction enough.
Every time he walked past her or needed to stand beside her, he breathed in her clean floral and citrus scent.
Every time their skin grazed, electricity pulsed through him.
Every time his gaze dropped to her lips, an ache formed deep in his chest.
Rather than torture himself by focusing on someone he could never have, he excused himself from the kitchen to straighten up.
Blakely’s cell buzzed in the next room. She grabbed it from her handbag and then checked the screen. The look that crossed her features before she dropped the phone into her purse again brought on questions. “Everything okay?”
“Yes,” she said without turning to face him. Was she hiding her expression or was he reading too much into the situation?
Dalton finished straightening up by tossing clean and dirty clothes into a laundry basket that he set on top of the washer in the hallway between the two bedrooms.
“Did you just move in?” Blakely asked as he joined her in the kitchen.
“I just signed a lease for another year,” he said.
“Oh,” she said as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
“What gave you that impression?” he asked, doing his level best to keep a straight face. It was obvious to anyone who walked in, but he wanted to hear her version.
“I didn’t mean to make an assumption,” she said. Was she trying to spare his feelings? “But there’s not one picture hanging on the walls, so I just assumed.”
“Did anything else tip you off?” he asked, continuing with the blank-face routine to see how far he could push it.
“The packing box sitting next to the front door,” she said, looking like she was choosing her words carefully.
Dalton broke into a wide smile. “This is my second year living here, but I haven’t made the time to finish unpacking.” He chuckled as she made a face at him. “What? I wanted to give you enough rope to hang yourself because you seemed so worried that I might get offended.”
“Thanks for the save,” she quipped, but then she laughed too. And then they both laughed in a manner that far outweighed the joke.
Blakely pinched her side but couldn’t stop. “I really thought you might be doing your best here.”
Dalton couldn’t hold a serious face if he tried. “I might not have your decorating skills, but I do realize when a house hasn’t been unpacked yet. I’ve got eyes.”
“Really? Because for a minute, I thought you couldn’t see that walls need pictures or art, or something on them so they don’t look like dry-erase boards.
” More laughter broke out. It was good to see Blakely with a smile on her face for a change.
The situation wasn’t all that funny, but both needed a break in tension.
Stress usually found an outlet in the form of tears or laughter.
This time, Blakely was laughing so hard she cried, and he wasn’t far behind.
When the laughter finally died down, Blakely said, “Why isn’t there anything on the walls? Too busy?”
He shrugged. “The truth is that this place is a convenient location, but I can’t say that it’s ever felt like home.”
“Why’s that?” she asked. He resisted the urge to ask if she was sure about asking anything deemed too personal.
“I grew up on a ranch, so the land probably has something to do with it,” he said. “I’m not sure what else the problem is, other than to say it doesn’t feel like home.”
“The building is tall and modern,” she pointed out after careful thought. “What floor is this?”
“Seventeenth,” he supplied.
“It strikes me as odd that you’d live so high in the air when you’ve always been a feet-on-the-ground person,” she stated. The comment resonated. There was real insight in those words.
Dalton resisted the notion she might know him better than he knew himself. They’d spent a long weekend together before now, which wasn’t nearly long enough to get to know a person. “Well, you have a point there, Your Honor.”
It also dawned on him that she was most likely good at reading people and body language given her chosen profession.
He could say the same about himself. It still had him scratching his head how he’d misjudged the situation that had happened with the two of them talking for hours about nothing the first night they’d met and then spending the night together making love.
But that was probably coming from the bruised ego she’d left behind after walking, no, running, away from him.
Dating a coworker wasn’t professional. Having sex with a coworker definitely wasn’t considered professional.
Technically, however, they weren’t coworkers.
They worked in the same district and in the same type of business.
Their paths could cross. That was an obvious reality given the circumstances.
It scorched him that she didn’t believe he could be professional enough to handle the situation should they come face-to-face.
Now that he’d been assigned to protect her, having a fling was off the table. When they’d made love, she hadn’t known him from Adam.
“We’re twenty minutes out,” she announced, cutting into his reverie.
Dalton moved into the kitchen, trading places while Blakely took his seat at the small table built for two.
Moving around each other in the kitchen felt like a dance they’d rehearsed their entire lives.
There was nothing more natural. “Hold on.” He moved to the opened box in the living room, dug around and extracted a picture of all the cousins together at the paint horse ranch.
They were young and fresh-faced, all sitting on top of a small stretch of wood fence, all smiling like they’d just been told they could eat nothing but ice cream for dinner.
His cousin Crystal had found the picture years ago, had duplicates made and then framed for each one of them to put up in their homes since they all lived apart in different areas of Texas.
This way, no matter where they were, they would always have each other.
Or, at least, that was what she’d said while presenting the gifts.
He set the picture on the fireplace mantel, in the center. “There. Is that better?”
Blakely smiled. “Yes, it is.”
He couldn’t agree more.
* * *
Blakely watched as Dalton worked his magic on the stovetop grill. “Do you mind if I ask what drew you to law enforcement and becoming a marshal?”
“I’ll tell if you will,” he said. “And you go first.”
These topics had been off-limits before, but there was nothing stopping them from sharing details about their private lives now.
“I had a run-in with someone when I was fifteen years old,” she explained. “It resulted in the scar on my forehead.” She paused a beat, realizing it was easier to talk about than she feared it might be. Was that the Dalton effect? “After that, it took a really long time to trust people again.”
“I’m sure that must have left a huge imprint on you mentally,” he said. “Being fifteen is hard enough without having a traumatic event to knock you off-balance.”
He didn’t know the half of it.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he said with the kind of compassion that made her almost believe everything would be all right again. “It must have left a lasting impression.”
“It did,” she admitted. “But then I got strong physically and mentally, and I promised myself that I would do everything in my power to protect others from a similar fate.”
“What happened to the person who did this to you?”
“He got off with a slap on the wrist because his family had enough money for an expensive lawyer. One who played golf with the judge who presided over the case,” she said, realizing she hadn’t spoken those words out loud in…ever.
“Sonofabitch,” he mumbled, and she couldn’t agree more. “So you studied law and decided to become a judge to protect those who can’t protect themselves.”
“Yes,” she said, also realizing the irony in the fact one of those bastards was currently threatening her life after being released on a technicality. At least they knew who they were looking for now. There was a BOLO out. She had to trust law enforcement to do their jobs.
“It’s noble,” he said. “And I’m still sorry the bastard walked away without punishment.”
“He self-destructed within a couple of years,” she said before turning the tables. “How about you? Why did you become a US marshal?”
“Job security,” he quipped. They both laughed at that. His job was one of the most dangerous paths in law enforcement.
“Seriously,” she said.