She fixed pot roast with browned potatoes and carrots, a ton of gravy and an apple pie with birthday candles stuck into those little vent slits on the top crust—not thirty-five of them, but enough. It was the best meal J.T. had eaten in, well, maybe forever.
The last bite consumed, he pushed himself back from the table and groaned. “How’d you know?”
She stabbed a piece of pie crust on her plate, turning it into crumbs. “Know what?”
“My favorite meal.”
She tapped her temple. “Woman’s intuition.”
He contemplated the way she annihilated the crust, indicating nerves of some kind. “You called Belle.”
A flash of surprise crossed her face, then she smiled. “Great deduction, Chief. She challenged me to a bake-off, by the way. Her apple pie against mine. Blind taste test by the city council. I didn’t know there was one.”
“We don’t hold city elections. People volunteer. They keep the position until they get tired of it, then someone else steps in. Aaron Taylor’s been the mayor for seventeen years, I think.” He stood when she did, scooping up dirty dishes to carry to the kitchen. “The biggest controversy I’ve heard about was when some city slicker—their words—tried to build a hunting lodge and resort over the ridge. Lots of people here hunt, but it’s to feed themselves, not for sport.”
“It’s a very nice town, J.T.”
“It grows on you.” He set the dishes in the sink. Has it grown on you, Gina? Enough to stay?
“You won’t win the bake-off with Belle.” He smiled at her offended look. “The citizens of Lost and Found are loyal to their own.”
“How would they know which one is hers?”
Placing an arm on either side of her, he trapped her against the sink as she rinsed the dishes and nuzzled her neck. “’Cause yours is so much better.”
“Good answer, Chief.”
Reaching past her, he flipped on the radio, found a slow country tune. “I believe you owe me a dance. One where our bodies actually touch.”
Staying within his human barrier, she turned to face him. “That was merely self-preservation, as you’ll recall. A sacrifice of the highest order.”
A kiss first, he decided. Then another as they danced…longer, an invitation to more.
He leaned close. The phone rang.
Muttering one pithy word, he snatched the receiver off the hook and snarled a hello.
A brief silence greeted him, then, “Happy birthday, Son.”
It took him a couple of seconds to change gears. “Mom. Hi.”
Gina loaded the dishwasher as he talked to his mom, then his dad. His voice was strained at first, then he settled down, leaning against the counter and making more than just polite conversation. She’d talked to her parents today, too, for the third time since Winnie’s arrival. Her father had apologized for calling her a brood mare. Her mother wanted to visit, but Gina put her off, not knowing whether J.T. would think she was being presumptuous inviting her to his house.
“Where’d you go?” He wrapped his arms around her as she stared out the kitchen window, wringing a dishcloth over and over. She leaned against him, tossed the cloth in the sink.
“Just thinking about family, how complicated those relationships can be,” she said, enjoying the moment. How lovely to share life with him. How very lovely.
“That’s the first time I’ve talked to them on my birthday since Mark died. They always call, but I never pick up. It was selfish of me. They were grieving, too. I heard it in their voices on the answering machine.”
“You invited them to visit?”
“All these years, they waited to be asked. Helluva son I am.”
“They understand. I know they do.”
“They feel guilty. Mostly because they couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Mark for so long, although it wasn’t for lack of trying. But also because they thought I got lost in the shuffle. Mark got all the attention, because he demanded it.”
She linked fingers with him at her waist. “Were you lost in the shuffle?”
“Yeah. Sometimes.” J.T. shifted a little, uncomfortable with the memories. Mark had an illness. How could anyone get mad at someone for that? “He liked to call me the good twin. He was the evil one, of course. But sometimes I would get furious with him and I’d yell that I was the evil twin, like it was a compliment or something.” He closed his eyes. “Then I’d get scared that I was becoming like him.”
“Which is why self-control is so important to you.”
It was the perfect lead-in for the discussion he’d planned…
“And it’s why you quit the force after you shot that man,” she added.
After a paralyzing flashback of the moment he’d had to fire, J.T. moved away from her, busying himself by washing his hands. The symbolism didn’t escape him—he had blood on his hands he could never scrub away.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” she said quietly, laying her cheek against his back for a moment. “I just wanted you to know that I understand.”
She did? How could anyone understand?
No, he didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not if he hoped to keep Eric out of their relationship as much as possible. But he felt the defeat of that moment all over again. Just like his brother, the man had wanted to die. But he’d done something different than Mark. He’d taken a hostage—his own ex-wife.
Maybe J.T. couldn’t have talked him down. But he’d been making progress in getting the man to put away his weapon, when the rookie Eric rushed the situation, too much in need of being in charge rather than finding another solution. Startled when Eric moved in on him, the man shoved his ex-wife away, turned his gun on Eric. J.T. had to shoot.
An internal investigation cleared both Eric and J.T., because the man left behind a note announcing his intent to end his miserable life, apologizing to whichever officer pulled the trigger. Still, a senseless death in J.T.’s mind, a desperate solution to an almost hopeless situation. Because of Eric he would never know whether it had been completely hopeless. Would never have a chance to find out.
He couldn’t stay on the job after that, especially not with Eric as a partner. And to request a change meant explaining things he didn’t want to explain. So he quit. Sold his house. Hit the road. Saw California. Then ended up in Lost and Found because he was drawn to the name, like so many before him.
Fate.
“You’re going to wash off three layers of skin,” Gina said from behind him, pulling him out of his reminiscences. “I’m sorry I mentioned it. I had promised myself that I wouldn’t bring it up. It’s a bad memory for you.”
Yes. Bad. The worst, because it symbolized failure. “We couldn’t avoid it forever.” It was a connection, after all, between Eric and him—with her in the middle by default.
“Something else I’d like to bring up, though,” she said. “Then the past can die, as far as I’m concerned. Yours and mine.”
He held himself rigid.
“When you came to me, trying to get me to change my mind about marrying Eric—”
“Not change your mind, but to slow down. There wasn’t a reason to rush it.”
“Yes. Can you look at me, please?”
He turned around. She laid her hands on his chest. “When I told you I hated you—” she swallowed “—I didn’t. My feelings for you were way too complicated to sum up in any one sentence. I hated myself for how I felt around you. And I hated myself for accepting Eric’s proposal when I knew I wasn’t ready. I needed a target, and you showed up at the right moment, saying the wrong things.”
He cupped her face. “You were so young. And passionate about life.”
“Too passionate. Too much in a hurry. I wanted children, my own family. I vowed to love each of them the same, to shower attention on all of them, so they would know how loved they were. So they would never have to wonder. Like I did,” she finished in a whisper. “But it was no excuse for how I treated you. I shouldn’t have taken out my frustrations on you.”
Her gaze turned insistent. “I did love him. It’s important that you know that, even if it hurts a little. I wouldn’t have been pathetic enough to marry him without loving him. And Joey will know that his father was a good man, that he would’ve been proud of his son.”
J.T. had gotten stuck on the need she’d voiced again to have children, a lot of them. Enough, apparently, to start her own baseball team.
Tell her you can’t. Tell her. Stop it now, if it’s going to be stopped at all.
“Gina.” Her name. Just her name, then no more. The confession wouldn’t break out of its prison, even with the key in his hand. He didn’t want to crush her dreams, not after all she’d been through.
No choice, though. No damn choice. The whole truth, nothing but the truth. Anything less would be an insult.
He tuned back in to what she was saying.
“It was a love born of rebellion and dreams, which happened to coincide with his,” she said, grasping his wrists. “I see that now. And I need to remember the best about him, so that I don’t ever think of my marriage to him as a mistake, for my own peace of mind.” Her soul opened up in her eyes, then. “But what I feel for you is so much deeper and stronger.”
He wrapped her close. One more night. Just let me have one more night.
It was cowardly of him and selfish. But he needed her tonight, more than ever. He deserved to celebrate his birthday, for a change.
Tomorrow he would tell her, though, without fail.
As his present to himself, he carried her into the bedroom and unwrapped her like a priceless gift, rediscovering her, layer by layer. By sight and scent and sound. By touch. And a warm honey taste.
The images lingered long after she’d fallen asleep in his arms, naked and entwined, a little sigh escaping her now and then as she slept.
He brooded through the night. Fell asleep finally but dreamed, grotesque visions that made no sense, then he awakened to her soothing him, comforting caresses that turned bold and hot. Daring. Provocative. Tormenting.
Then, satisfaction at last.
Followed by a fear stronger than any he’d known.
The patrons of Belle’s Diner buzzed with news that Gina had picked up the gauntlet Belle had thrown down. In this case it was an oven mitt, but the ceremonial effect was the same, Belle assured everyone. The event would be held a week from Wednesday, at the end of the city council meeting, in the empty storefront about to turn library. Three pies each, because the number of council volunteers would undoubtedly increase for one night. Free pie brought out the community spirit, Mayor Taylor said, a twinkle in his eye. He would draw up an official document announcing the Rules of Engagement.
J.T. heard about it everywhere he went, enjoyed the fun everyone was having with the challenge. He was about to lock up for the night when Gina, Winnie, Deputy and the baby came in.
“Joey and I are going to hitch a ride home with you,” Gina said, jostling a fussy Joey. “We’re pooped, but the library looks great. Twelve people showed up! We got all the bookshelves painted.”
He took the baby from her and talked to him. After a few seconds Joey screwed up his face and stared hard at J.T., quieting.
“How does he do that?” Gina said to Winnie in amazement.
“It’s a guy thing,” J.T. said. Winnie had yet to speak to him, but she and Gina were either ignoring the issue or had gotten past it, because Winnie was flinging daggers in his direction only. He grabbed a spare set of keys from his desk drawer and tossed them to Gina. “Why don’t you drive home, and I’ll walk with Joey. I don’t think he’s gonna be happy being buckled in the car seat, even for that distance.”
“Can I turn on the siren?” She laughed. “Guess not. But thanks. That’ll give me a head start to make dinner.”
“I’ll fix dinner,” he said. “Go relax in a hot bath.”
“Well, I can’t pass up that offer.” She hugged Winnie. “It was fun today.”
The phone rang just as Gina left. Winnie stayed, perusing the Wanted posters as he took a report from the sheriff’s office, jotting notes while cradling the baby and the telephone. She had something to say, obviously, and wasn’t going to leave until she said it.
He hung up the phone, then slid the paper into the top drawer and locked it. And waited.
Winnie stopped wandering. “This was quite a change for you, wasn’t it,” she said, her eyes as cool as her voice, “coming from L.A. to here.”
He reminded himself he should be grateful to her for inadvertently sending Gina his way. And to be honest, he’d come to tolerate the woman well enough. “A good change.”
“You don’t miss the action?”
“Not for a second.”
“You’ve probably never had to use your gun.”
“No.” Come on, Winnie. What do you want?
“I imagine that’s a relief.”
“A cop never likes to shoot.”
“If it happened, though? Would you run away again?”
His blood turned icy. Okay. He understood now. “Run away?”
“Like before. You quit the force because you shot that man, right?”
“I resigned for several reasons. That was one.”
Joey started to fuss, probably feeling the tension. Deputy moved between them and Winnie, his ears back.
“My son told us what happened. So tragic.”
“Yes.”
“I thought it odd, though, that you were the one with the experience, yet he’s the one who didn’t panic.”
What? What?
“Whatever prompted you to force that man’s hand? Eric said he’d almost talked him down. He wondered why you hadn’t waited for the hostage negotiator.”
I had! Eric jumped the gun. Not me!
Wait, he thought. If Winnie thinks this—does Gina?
At his silence, Winnie smiled slightly. “I’m only looking out for my son’s wife and child.”
Her son’s wife and child. As if he needed a reminder.
“Someone has to,” she added.
Me. I’m going to look out for them.
“Gina brought it up today. She feels so sorry for you. You know, what a painful memory it must be, and all.”
The words hit their target, a straight arrow into the bull’s-eye of his pride. No wonder Gina had been sympathetic and so hesitant to discuss the event. She felt sorry for him—and she believed him incompetent.
He couldn’t refute Eric’s version of the story without looking like a jerk. Blame the dead? Right. The truth had died with Eric.
Joey let out a howl. Deputy growled at Winnie, who stared him down. He backed off, sat tensely.
Comforting the baby, J.T. tried to come up with the right words to clear his name without muddying Eric’s. None came. Yet silence would only give credence to Winnie’s words.
A string of curses filled his head. Gina pitied him? She thought him unfit as a police officer? How could she marry a man like that? Why would she?
“You’ve had your say,” he said to Winnie. “And I need to get Joey home.”
She stared at him, as if waiting for him to add something. When he didn’t, she sighed, said good night and left.
J.T. tucked the baby against his shoulder, his cheek resting on the downy head, and sang to him, a lullaby he’d heard Gina sing every day for a month now. The words came, awkward and hesitant, without thought, without emotion, comforting himself more than the baby.
Joey calmed. J.T. imploded, his hopes and dreams reduced to rubble. He had no future with Gina and the baby, yet he couldn’t ask her to leave. He needed her to know the truth, yet he couldn’t tell her without tarnishing the memory of a man she loved. Nor would Winnie ever accept J.T. being responsible for her only grandchild. That was clear.
Everyone loses, yet no one wins.