He released a slow sigh. “OK.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I give. I'll make you a deal. You close at seven and I'm off duty at eight. I'll meet you here tonight, I'll fix the toilet and the lock, and then you'll give me two months' rent. I promise I will find someone in Columbus with exhaust experience to come in to give an estimate in the next week or two. Deal?”
“Deal,” Maggie said with a twinge of a smile in her eyes.
He must have been mistaken. She shared smiles with everyone except him.
“See you tonight.” Sean nodded his head in what he hoped was an authoritative manner. Shoving open the front door to exit, he prayed that the woman never committed a crime. He would likely allow her to convince him that he had forced her into the felony.
~*~
Maggie hoped the warmth of the shop hid the flush spreading across her cheeks as she watched all six foot three inches of rugged masculinity, with a dimple-cheeked smile and dark brown eyes the color of pure cocoa, walk with purpose toward the police station. How could one man make her angry in one breath and with the next inhale turn her heart into a puddle with his kindness towards an aging friend?
After six months, she would hope her reactions, good or bad, to be simple and straight forward; like nice, sweet vanilla. But when it came to the good chief she was all Rocky Road. “Ugh,” she moaned a grunt of frustration.
She slammed open the swinging door connecting the bakery with the kitchen and retrieved the cup of coffee she'd been sipping earlier. Setting amidst the cooling racks of her Better-Than-Your-Momma's Chocolate Chip cookies, her fourth morning jolt had been interrupted by the jingle announcing the chief. Now the coffee cup was cold to her touch. She poured the stale contents into the stainless steel sink as she flipped the switch to start her personal coffee maker. The machine popped and spurted as she rinsed out her mug. No reason to dirty another dish. She would have plenty by late afternoon when various groups from the high school huddled around her café tables.
Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the stack of mail she'd abandoned with the arrival of the chief. Placing her cup on the long prep table, she sorted through advertisements, offers to win a million dollars, a notice from her bank, and a small sample of shampoo promising to make her hair gleam like diamonds.
The fragrance of the nutty Colombian blend filled the cramped kitchen and drew her attention. She filled her mug, lifted it to her lips for a tentative sip and glanced at the clock. Her interns wouldn't arrive for at least another hour. The time for a leisurely coffee had exited with the chief.
Grabbing the mail, she pushed the door open with her hip as she swallowed another deep drink. She slid onto the tall stool behind the register, continuing to sift through the various sizes of envelopes, throwing junk in the recycling bin and what she needed to review later in a stack on the back counter.
At the bottom of the pile was a wide envelope with a Florida postmark. Her mug slipped from her hand and crashed to the floor. She ripped open the package with a single tear and peered inside. A folded strip of paper slithered from the opening. With shaking hands, she unfolded the note. Her vision blurred as tears pooled, but the scrawled letters across the middle of the page were clear as crystal.
HE'S OUT.
2
An hour after closing, Maggie was lifting one of the last cakes from the display case when she caught sight of Sean crossing the street toward the bakery. Her palms began to sweat. Steady girl.
The note had her jumping at her shadow most of the day. If she wasn't careful, her worries and her inexplicable attraction to him would be a neon sign of confession glowing all over her face, and her landlord would switch into cop mode.
Cop mode translated into attention. Attention meant that her game of hide-and-not-quite-seek would end with her as the loser.
Focus on all of the reasons why you don't like him. Why you can't even think about a relationship with him or anyone else.
A chill slammed through her body as the image of a pair of thick, black glasses flashed in her mind's eye. Swallowing deeply, she shook her head. She hip-checked the swinging door and set the cake on the stainless surface of the prep counter with a soft clink. Yanking off her splattered apron and well-worn chef's coat, she dusted her hands down the front of her sweater and jeans, sweeping off any stray flour or powdered sugar. She tossed the apron and coat into a plastic clothes basket on top of the day's used towels. With a quick scan of her reflection in a drying cookie sheet, she shrugged her shoulders with a sigh.
Guess it'll have to do.
She lifted one hand to the door and the other hand to her head, releasing her heavy curls from the makeshift bun she'd erected earlier in the morning. As she walked through the doorway, a soft sigh melted through her body with the wave of tingles rolling over her scalp. For sheer mass, her hair deserved its own zip code. She wasn't always the prettiest girl in the room, but her hair definitely made a statement: Beware Trespassers.
She wasn't too concerned that her curls would frighten the good chief. Despite what she was loathe to call a “moment” earlier today, Sean barely noticed her beyond her rent check, or lack thereof, and she was fairly certain he'd never think of mixing business with pleasure. Not the perfect police chief.
Shaking the weighty bulk with her fingers, she took one additional step into the café to avoid the door tweaking her in the back, and gave herself a pep talk.
Remember, he's your landlord. Not your friend. He'sâ¦come on! Think of a reason. There were a thousand this morning. He's mean. Well, except for his kindness to sweet Mr. Thompson. And, renting this building to someone with cash, but no credit history. No. No. No. He's mean. He's a bully. He's the landlord. Tonight is business. Stay on the offensive. He's a cop. You can't trust anyoneânot even cops.
The chief walked into the café and her heart dropped to her stomach, crushing all of her arguments with a thud.
~*~
Sean pushed open the front door. The jingling bell announced his arrival. His gaze shifted to the connecting door and he froze. Reflexively, he tightened his grip on the handle of his toolbox. The vision of Maggie, hair down and no apron, hit him like a prize fighter in an opening round. Swiping the back of his hand across his mouth, he couldn't tear his gaze from her.
She was catch-your-breath stunning, but her saucy mouth usually curbed her appeal. In the six months he'd known her, he had not experienced the full force of the waterfall of tresses framing her gorgeous face. Seeing her hair flowing around her shoulders made him yearn to tangle his fingers in her curls. He said a silent prayer for God's strength and willpower. Tonight would be a challenge.
A sweet twist of her lips matched the twinkle of welcome in her eyes. She stopped just inside the narrow walkway connecting the dining area and the sales counter. The smile seemed genuine, free from her typical nasty bite.
Maybe they'd made a breakthrough this morning as they'd bonded over Mr. Thompson?
“I really appreciate you coming,” she said.
“Well, I'd like to pay the mortgage on the building⦔
Her smile bent to a snarl. Pivoting on her heel, she said, “Oh, yes...the rent.” She rammed open the door and let it swing back, nearly slamming into his face.
He sucked in a deep breath and then released air slowly through tight lips. He slid his hand up the smooth wood and pushed the door forward with the barest touch of his fingers.
Thanks, Lord. That helps.
She waited for him by the first of three prep tables, her arms crossed. Her foot tapped to an impatient rhythm. “I have my checkbook handy. As soon as you finish up, I'll write you a check for three months' rent. How'll that be?”
“No need to give me more than the two months' rent.”
She turned toward the back of the kitchen.
He followed as she expertly wove through a delicate obstacle course laid out in the shoebox-sized kitchen, stopping just to the left of the back door. Memories of running through the door to sneak a warm cookie off of one of his mom's trays floated across his mind and squeezed his heart. Closing the final two steps to the rear entrance, he set his tool box on a wooden crate and crouched down next to the door to inspect the existing lock. He risked a quick glance over his shoulder.
With her arms hugging her middle and her brows lowered in a questioning glare, she exuded the intimidation intensity rivaling his former partner.
He suppressed a chuckle. “I can take it from here. You don't need to supervise, unless you don't trust me?”
“Of course, I trust you.” A tiny sigh slipped through her lips and her arms dropped to her sides. “I guess if you don't need my help, I'll wrap up the kitchen.” Glancing back towards the bathroom, “Please, don't forget the toilet. One of the interns nearly wiped out on the growing lake in there today.”
He nodded. He caught the shimmer of water pooling around the base of the toilet. If he wasn't careful, he could be replacing an entire floor rather than tightening a few nuts. “Gotcha. Lock, then toilet.”
She opened her mouth as if she wanted to add a comment. But silently, her lips slammed shut as she twisted away from him and scooted back toward the kitchen. A silent Maggie was definitely more attractive than the speaking version. When she stepped out of his view, he rose and shifted back to project number one, replacing the dead bolt. Staring at the door, he struggled to concentrate on the simple steps he learned from Mr. Thompson when he and his brothers first inherited the building.
Come on Taylor. Get with the program.
Running his hand down the outside edge of the wood, he zeroed in on the existing lock. The facing was severely damaged. He wouldn't be adding an extra lock tonight. He would be replacing one.
He unhooked the latch on the toolbox. Metal clanging against metal echoed off the walls of the tight space as he shuffled various tools. Shoving aside loose nails, tiny screwdrivers and two pocket knives, he found a pew pencil hidden under a receipt for the paint he'd purchased to spruce up the building three doors down from the bakery. He lifted it from the cubby, marked a few spots where he would drill the cylinder for the deadbolt, and then dropped the pencil back into the tray.
Pulling the tiny metal rack from the box, he released a soft sigh at the sight of his coveted and very expensive drill. God definitely wasn't in favor of a love affair with inanimate objects, but this drill was high on his “like” list. He turned the drill in his hand and fit it with the best bit for the job.
In two swift moves, he yanked the old lock from the casing. He scrutinized the damage. The deadbolt was a mess. Someone had broken into the bakery. He glanced over his shoulder.
Maggie was scrubbing a cookie sheet and swaying to the soft sounds of jazz floating in the air. Why hadn't she reported the break-in? Was she unaware? Or maybe she was reluctant.
Telling the police meant telling him and that may have been enough deterrent.
Break-ins were rare in Gibson's Run. A few B and E's from time to time, often by local high schoolers looking for a thrill in a town with only two traffic lightsâone of which was always blinking. The police division only employed four full-time cops. As chief, he was one of them.
He stared at the mangled face and shaft. Whoever had taken a fancy at getting into the bakery either really liked Maggie's cakes or had some anger management issues.
He lifted the new deadbolt out of the box and slid it into the opening. The drill whirred, tightening the screws in place. Sliding his hand against the fresh lock and slightly damaged door frame, he scanned the back entrance and parking lot.
A single light, perched on a warped electrical pole, flickered and hummed against the chill of mid-October. Security definitely needed to be upgraded.
He glanced through the framed pass-through window, and his eyes locked on the gentle movement of Maggie's hips as she swayed with the beat. She had an unconscious grace he hadn't noticed before, or rather, he hadn't let himself notice.
From the first moment she walked through the door with his childhood friend, Jane, to enquire about renting the empty building, Sean was struck with her unique beauty and presence. Her smile and unabashed enthusiasm for her new business kindled a desire he could not fan to flame. Instead, he quickly shoved his instant attraction to her onto the back shelf of one of the many cubicles in his brain and plopped her into a folder marked business associate. He was her landlord. He wasn't her friend. He couldn't be her boyfriend.
They were in a business relationship and that was all it should ever be. His brothers trusted him to run their joint properties with professionalism. They would not appreciate him making nice with the pretty baker. Actually, they wouldn't care about the landlord-tenant issue and would probably love for him to make nice with the pretty baker. Then they would have something to hold over his head. One could not underestimate the power of a good burn amongst brothers regardless that two out of three were in their thirties. That's what brothers did. Hassle. Tease. Burn. They might be too old for noogies behind the barn, but they would never be too old for sibling harassment.
Sean wasn't about to give the two yahoos he shared DNA with any softballs to pummel over the back fence of his ego. And yet, at this particular moment, watching Maggie clean up the kitchen, he was having a hard time remembering all of his sound reasons for his not-mixing-business-with-pleasure rule.
But whether or not he should date Ms. McKitrick wasn't why he was here tonight.
He shifted his focus to the parking lot. He needed to talk to Maggie about upping the security, maybe putting in a couple cameras or motion detectors that would be directly tied to the station. He began mentally making a list of the necessary improvements to ensure her safety. It wasn't just because she was renting his place. He'd feel the same need to protect any of his residents. He was the police chief. This was his town. The safety and security of all of the residents was paramount. Sure, that was it.