Finding Sarah (32 page)

“Why don’t we try? Dinner and a
movie tomorrow? That’s a pretty normal thing for two people to do on a first
date, isn’t it?”

Even in the dim light, she saw
the hope behind the uncertainty in his face. And hope rose in her. Get back to
a normal routine, her support group had said. This looked like as good a start
as any. “Yes, but instead of the movie, would you teach me how to drive a stick
shift? That’s a normal thing, too, isn’t it?”

Randy’s brows lifted. “I guess
so, but why that?”

Sarah took a sip of her cocoa,
and some of the knots inside untied. “The first time I got away from Chris, I
found his car, but it was a stick shift, and I didn’t know how to drive it.”
She paused. “Well, it didn’t start, but if it had, and I’d known how to drive a
stick, I might have gotten away.”

“These days, manual transmissions
won’t start unless you depress the clutch all the way when you turn on the
ignition. But sure, I’ll be happy to teach you.”

She smiled. “Good. And one more
thing.”

“Name it.”

“I’d like to take some
self-defense classes, too. It might be locking the barn door after the horse
got away, but I think I’d feel better.”

“The department offers classes. I’ll
look into it. I might even show you some moves myself.” He grinned. “I’d still
like the dinner and a movie, though.”

Sarah smiled as a warm glow crept
through her insides. Her heart tried to escape her rib cage again, but this
time it was a positive feeling. She rose from her chair. Randy’s gaze locked
onto hers. When she crossed to him, he sat there, motionless. Letting her make
the first move. She closed the distance between them, brushed her mouth against
his forehead, heard the sharp intake of his breath. When she stepped between
his legs and put her hands on his shoulders, he raised his head, his lips
parted, inviting, but not insisting.

Without conscious thought, she
accepted his invitation. Their lips met, barely touching. And then she was
sitting on his lap. Without hesitation, she ran her hands through his hair and
pulled him to her. As the kiss grew in intensity, her bones dissolved and her
insides puddled. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. She kissed him deeper and deeper and
absorbed his kisses as they sent flames raging through her.

When it was time to breathe
again, she leaned away. “Oh, I missed us so much. Thanks for waiting.”

“As long as it takes.”

“Enough talk,” she said and drew
him to her.

I hope you enjoyed reading this book. One thing readers can do
to let an author know they've enjoyed a book is to pass the word along. If
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Also, the best way to help readers find authors is to post a brief review. If
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it. Also feel free to lend this book if your e-book reader permits

And keep reading for Bonus Content

Thanks!

Terry

Cover photo by Amy
Daraghy

Cover art by
Dave Fymbo

There are countless
people deserving thanks for the help in creating this work.

To Sandra McDonald who
got me started.

The Short Story Group
at iVillage whose weekly prompt led to a full-blown novel.

To the Yahoo Novel
Construction group for their crits and feedback. And love to the Pregnant Pigs,
who insisted I never give up writing and submitting. \

To Wally Lind and the
gang at crimescenewriter, and to Detective Tom Bennett for the law enforcement
and forensic advice.

To Dr. Randy Ferrance
for the medical consults, and Amy Daraghy for keeping me straight on Oregon
flora and fauna.

And, of course, to all
the wonderful people at the Central Florida Romance Writers, who were there for
me no matter what.

Thanks to Jessica,
Nicole & Jason for their parts, and to Dan, my favorite research assistant,
especially for always being willing to accept “scrounge” as the answer to
“What’s for dinner?”

Don't miss
the next Pine Hills Police novel—
HIDDEN FIRE
. Here's a sneak peek:

HIDDEN
FIRE

Terry
Odell

Under the table, Sarah's toes
found the cuff of Randy's pants and inched their way up his calf, the coarse
hair tickling her foot. His eyes widened, his eyebrows arched and the standard
restaurant candle-in-a-jar caught the hazel flecks in his otherwise brown eyes.
He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead, but it flopped back the way it
always did.

She smiled at the hovering
waiter, placed her hand over her empty coffee cup and shook her head. "No
more, Tony. Thanks."

Tony refilled Randy's coffee cup
and whisked away his empty pie plate. Randy's eyes returned to Sarah, moving
between her dessert and her face. He smiled, but she could sense his
impatience. She continued her torment by dipping her spoon into the chocolate
mousse in front of her. Slowly, carefully, she filled the spoon with the rich
delight.

His call had surprised her
yesterday, when he announced he'd be coming back from San Francisco a day
early. She wriggled her toes higher up his leg, trying not to laugh as he
squirmed. She'd chosen her outfit with special care this morning. Demure didn't
begin to cover it. Prim? Prissy? That was closer. Navy blue slacks, a pale blue
silk blouse buttoned to the neck and a navy blazer. Not quite a suit, but close
enough. Of course, the thong beneath the slacks and the lace demi-bra under the
blouse were anything but prissy. She'd sensed Randy's eyes on her behind as
they walked up the steps to the restaurant. And maybe his hand had crept a
little lower than the small of her back as he'd guided her to their booth.

She poised the mousse-laden spoon
in front of her mouth, parting her lips a fraction. With her other hand, she
fingered the pearl button at her neck.

"It's warm in here, isn't
it?" One button, then a second, slipped through its hole. Randy leaned
forward.

"You're killing me," he
whispered.

Her tongue wrapped around the
mousse. Her eyes closed. She sighed.

"You're going to finish
that, aren't you?" he asked, resignation in his tone.

Without opening her eyes, she
said, "Every bite."

He blew out a long, slow breath.

She met his gaze and smiled at
his obvious annoyance. "It's chocolate. Some things shouldn't be rushed."

She slid her foot out from inside
the restriction of his slacks and worked it up his thigh. He reached for his
glass and swigged gulps of water. When her toes met his lap, he choked.
Coughing, eyes watering, he reached down and encountered her waiting foot.
Still choking, he clutched it closer to his groin and she felt his hardness.
She lowered her eyes to her mousse and took another bite, swirling her tongue
around her lips.

Tony appeared and refilled Randy's
water glass. "Are you all right, Detective Detweiler?"

Randy nodded and waved him off,
gesturing for the check. Sarah covered her mouth with her napkin, trying to
erase her grin.

"So, tell me all about your
violent-crime work," she said. "Not much call for that in Pine Hills.
Or do people get violent when they get parking tickets?"

He wiped his mouth and set the
napkin beside his plate. "To tell you the truth, Sarah Tucker, I'm
thinking about all the gruesome pictures, which is the only thing keeping me
from embarrassing the hell out of myself right here."

Heat burned in his eyes. Her
nipples pebbled behind the lace of her bra and moisture pooled between her
legs. She scraped the remnants of the mousse from her dish, the clicks of metal
against glass barely audible over the blood pounding in her ears. She wanted
him. Now.

Tony returned and dropped the
check on the table, not meeting Randy's eyes. "Whenever you're ready,
Detective." He pivoted on his heel and left.

"All finished," Sarah
said, smiling. "You want to go, or have more coffee?"

In response, Randy dumped some
bills on the table, angled himself out of the booth and extended his hand. She
fumbled, trying to get her foot back into one of the sensible pumps she'd worn
to complete her stodgy look. Grasping his fingers, she scooted across the vinyl
bench. He gave her the leverage she needed and she rubbed against him as she
stood.

He stroked her hand. "After
you." His aftershave wafted to her nostrils, counteracting the myriad
cooking aromas.

He quickened his pace. By the
time they hit the porch surrounding the rustic restaurant, he half-dragged her
down the steps and elongated his stride across the unpaved parking lot. Earth
and pine scents mingled, still unable to compete with his special scent. Spice
and Randy. A lethal combination.

"Hey," she said with a
laugh. "You in a hurry? I'm not six-six, remember? Short legs."

In response, he simply scooped
her up and covered the rest of the distance to his pickup. "If I hurry
now, maybe I'll be able to take it slow when it counts. Damn, woman, I've missed
you."

"Me, or the sex?" she
said.

He paused, as if he wasn't sure. "You,"
he said at last. "You, you, you."

"Oh, so you don't want the
sex?"

He unlocked the doors to his
truck and worked the passenger door open, then lowered her onto the seat. "You're
going out of your way to torment me, aren't you?"

She ran her tongue across her
lips. "Maybe."

"No maybes about it."
He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her hair. She reached around
him, his wool sweater rough against her cheek.

"I missed you, too."
She raised her face and parted her lips. "Welcome home."

He leaned into the cab, meeting
her mouth with his own. He cradled her face in his hands and she surrendered to
the warmth of his kiss. She ran her fingers through his hair, sending tingles all
the way to her toes. Tongues teased and danced with promises of more to come.
He tasted of apples and cinnamon, of coffee and Randy. A vague impression of
couples passing, of headlights coming and going, of car doors opening and
closing hovered at the edge of her consciousness. A whistled catcall broke
through the final barrier.

"Guess we should go,"
she said. "I've got a few surprises for you at my apartment."

"My place is closer,"
he murmured between kisses.

When his cell phone rang, he
swore.

"Duty calling?" Sarah
said, trying to keep too much annoyance from her tone. "Now?"
After
a six-week separation? How could they? How could he leave her?

"I'm off duty, dammit. I'm
not here. I'm out of town until tomorrow. Noon at the earliest," he
growled as he released her and fumbled for the phone at his belt. He studied
the display. "Shit."

She smoothed her hair and reached
behind her for the seatbelt. "Guess we won't be going to your place
or
mine."

"Let me check. Maybe it's a
false alarm." He got behind the wheel and punched buttons on his cell. "Detweiler."

His jaw dropped. Sarah watched as
a cop replaced her lover.

"Should I call a cab?"
she asked.

"No way. I'll drop you at
your place. But that was the chief. I've got to go."

After a hurried goodbye, Sarah trudged
up the stairs to her apartment, thoughts milling through her head. Struggling
to keep her shop afloat after her husband David's untimely death. Finding out
someone she'd thought was a friend had been sabotaging her business. Meeting
Randy. Falling in love again.

Tonight wasn't their first
instance of
dateus interruptus
. Six weeks apart had blurred the memory
of how much time his job demanded. She and David had worked side by side, their
jobs and their lives inextricably entwined. With Randy, it would be different.

She loaded her CD player with
Simon and Garfunkel, then changed her mind. Justin Timberlake? Alanis
Morrissette? Melissa Etheridge? What the heck. She put all three into the
machine, hit "shuffle" and settled into her nightly routine.

She leafed through her mail,
separating the junk from the bills. Her answering machine had two hangups, one
recorded sales pitch and a reminder from Saint Michael's that they'd canceled
the pottery class she taught Tuesday night because they would be stripping the
floors in the rec room. Could she come Monday instead and help with a children's
dance recital?

She returned the call and marked
it on her calendar. The seniors loved it when kids came in and performed, no
matter how amateur the production.

After recording her daily sales
data into her computer, she smiled. Business was definitely on the rise. And
Hugh Garrigue's new pottery collection would kick autumn sales up another
notch. In years past, he'd given her shop half a dozen pieces once or twice a
year. Now Hugh allowed his wares in one or two shops at a time. She'd scored a
coup when he'd agreed to a three-month exclusive for That Special Something.

How best to display it? She
closed her eyes and did a mental walk-through of her shop, with its out-of-the
ordinary fittings. The spiral staircase? Or the library table? Maybe the
roll-top desk or the Welsh dresser. Or should she clear the center of the room
and set everything on the picnic table she and David had refinished as their
first real display table?

She decided she'd wait for the
shipment to arrive tomorrow. Her assistant, Jennifer, would be in and she
always had good ideas.

Sarah turned off her computer and
the CD player and called it a night. She yawned. After Randy's message
yesterday, she hadn't slept well, thoughts of their reunion keeping her brain
charged. And a few other parts.

In her bedroom, Sarah sighed as
she folded her new silk nightgown and put it back in the drawer. She pulled on
her cotton nightshirt and shuffled into her bathroom. As she brushed her teeth,
she glared at her reflection in the mirror.

You should have gone along with
Randy's suggestion, idiot. Dessert first, then takeout. He still would have
gotten the call, but you wouldn't be so—frustrated. Oh, say it. You're horny.

She checked her alarm and crawled
into bed. Tomorrow, they'd start where they'd left off tonight and if they
never got to dinner—well, they'd have a big breakfast.

She'd drifted off when the phone
rang. Her pulse raced as she fumbled for the receiver. Was Randy finished with
his case already? Before she could answer, Maggie, her neighbor from across the
hall, spoke breathlessly.

"Sarah, go turn on the
Channel Six news. I saw Randy. I'm coming right over."