Chapter Eight
A
few days went by, then a week. Every day Will sent somebody different from the diner to bring the prisoner his meals. He never sent Suzy. And Suzy never dropped by the way she’d promised. Brady hired a new assistant, an attractive young woman with long blond hair who was a recent Harmony High graduate. She quit after three days. Before he’d had a chance to take Suzy up on her offer to train her.
“I thought it would be exciting, working in the sheriffs office,” she said, “solving crimes and all that, but it’s not. It’s all paperwork and filing. I’d rather be a waitress in the diner. At least there you get to see your friends.”
Brady felt like banging his head against the wall. What was it about the diner? If his last visit there was any indication, a waitress didn’t have time for her friends. At least Suzy had no time for him. But he didn’t tell the woman that. He just let her go.
He went in to the diner every day, and every day
Suzy had no time for him. Even if he happened to sit at one of her tables, she just took his order, brought his food—or someone else’s food—and hustled off to another table. That was it. No small talk. No talk at all. He wanted to ask why she hadn’t come by that day, but he didn’t get a chance.
He had other things to ask her, too, like had she found Mr. Right yet, but he was waiting for the right moment.
When
the right moment would come in the ever-crowded diner, he didn’t know. Each day he lingered a little longer over his coffee, striking up a conversation with somebody or other, ordering a second and sometimes a third cup of coffee.
“Hey, Brady,” Roger Murphy, one of his deputies, said, sliding into the booth next to him one night after dinner. “Isn’t that Suzy waiting on tables over there?”
“Is it? I didn’t notice.”
Roger punched Brady in the arm and guffawed loudly. “She quit or what?”
“She quit,” Brady said.
“Why?”
“Guess she was looking for...some excitement.” He’d be damned if he’d spread the word that Suzy was looking for a husband. “Since the election it’s been pretty quiet around the office.”
“Thought you had a prisoner.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t make much noise.”
“So, you looking for somebody to take her place?”
“No.” He wouldn’t admit that he’d interviewed three or four more women after the first one had quit, but that he couldn’t picture any one of them sitting in Suzy’s chair, putting up their own pictures on her wall and bothering him with a lot of questions. He’d found the
prisoner blanket, the phone numbers, and now he realized he really didn’t need any old assistant.
He needed Suzy. He needed her smile in the mornings, the sound of her laughter and the sight of her sexy little body waltzing through his office on her way to the coffee machine. No, if he couldn’t have Suzy, he wouldn’t have anybody.
That didn’t mean he didn’t watch her every movement as she delivered her dinners in the diner, or study her face as she scribbled the orders. It meant that he had to ball his hands into fists to keep from patting her firm little butt the one time she’d leaned over his table to fill his empty cup. How he’d wanted to untie that apron, sweep her up in his arms and carry her the three blocks back to the office where she belonged. Did she ever regret leaving him? Did she realize what a terrible mistake she’d made?
The little worry lines between her eyebrows told him she did. But the way she straightened her slender shoulders when she caught his eye, and the way she tilted her stubborn chin when she caught him looking at her across the crowded tables, told him she’d never admit it. Not to him, anyway.
By prolonging the conversation with Roger and ordering a piece of pie, Brady was able to hang around the diner until closing time. There was no way Suzy could avoid him now unless she went out the back door. But she didn’t. She’d changed into blue jeans and a black sweater, and she was walking out the front door.
Brady threw some money on the table, grabbed his hat and caught up with her just outside the door.
“Can I give you a ride home?” he asked.
She looked startled to see him, as if she didn’t know he’d been in the diner. While he couldn’t keep his eyes
off her, she’d been oblivious to his presence. That’s how much he meant to her.
She quickly recovered her composure. “No thanks, I have my car,” she said.
“Then maybe you can give me a ride.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere. I want to talk to you.”
She didn’t say anything, but she gave him a look that said she didn’t want to talk to him. He didn’t know why. He followed her to her car and opened the door for her, then got in on the passenger side before she could leave without him.
She started the motor. “What about?”
“About everything. The office, the work, your job, your prospects.”
“I don’t have any prospects. Not yet. It’s too soon. So don’t say ‘I told you so.’ ”
“I would never say that,” he said. But he had told her so. He felt a flicker of hope. If she didn’t find anyone, maybe, just maybe, she’d come back.
“What about you?” she asked with a sideways glance in his direction as she drove down the street. “How are things at the office? Did you find someone to take my place?”
“No,” he said shortly.
“Then who...then how...?” She stopped abruptly, not wanting to admit she’d spied on him when he was interviewing the blonde.
“Who will I hire to take your place? Nobody. How will I get along? I don’t know.”
“You got along fine before I came, you’ll get along fine now that I’m gone,” she said, pulling up in front of her house. “This is as far as I go.”
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“I’m pretty tired,” she said with an elaborate yawn.
“Just for a few minutes.”
Suzy gave up and got out of the car. Brady was right behind her. When he wanted something he usually got it. That’s why he was so upset that she’d left him. He hadn’t really believed she’d do it, and now that she had he didn’t know what to do.
Suzy opened her front door. Her mother got up off the couch, switched off the TV and said hello to Brady as if it was the most natural thing in the world for him to be coming home with her.
“I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you since the election,” her mother said with a warm smile.
“Thank you, Mrs. Fenton. I owe it all to Suzy. I couldn’t have done it without her.” Brady smiled back at her mother.
“How was Travis?” Suzy asked, anxious to change the subject and put an end to this conversation. An end to the conversation and an end to the evening. She was exhausted from the cumulative effects of standing on her feet every day all day for a week. All she wanted was to stretch out in a bathtub full of fragrant bath gel for a half an hour with her poor tired feet propped up on the edge of the porcelain.
“Travis was just fine. He’s an angel. Don’t you think so, Brady?”
Suzy’s mouth dropped open. Before she could protest that Brady hardly knew Travis, Brady nodded emphatically.
“Absolutely,” he said.
She wanted to say that the scattered toys, the half-eaten applesauce on the kitchen floor and most of all the exhausted baby and baby-sitter on the couch when
she got home that night he’d baby-sat for her were not exactly indicative of angelic behavior.
“Well, I’ll be off,” her mother said, slipping into her sweater. “I made a batch of cookies, Suzy. Maybe Brady—”
“Brady just had a piece of apple pie at the diner, so I don’t think—”
“I’d never turn down a homemade cookie, Mrs. Fenton,” he said, holding the front door open for her mother. “Watch your step.”
As soon as her mother waved from inside her car, Brady closed Suzy’s front door and leaned against it as if he wasn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. She had the distinct feeling it would be easier to move a granite statue out the front door than Brady.
“Why don’t you have a cookie?” she suggested, removing her shoes. “While I check on Travis.”
“I’ll come with you.”
Suzy took her shoes off and tiptoed down the hall. Brady followed right behind her to Travis’s red, white and blue bedroom. In the glow of the nightlight, Travis’s cheeks were round and pink, his blond hair ruffled against his blue blanket. He was sleeping peacefully.
“Your mother was right,” Brady whispered.
Suzy smiled. Travis
was
an angel. He was her angel.
Brady reached for her hand. They stood together at the edge of the crib, watching him sleep. She felt an incredible sense of peace and well-being. Forgotten were the mixed-up orders, the spilled water, her aching feet. The warmth of Brady’s hand in hers made it seem as if she wasn’t the only one caring for her child. As if she had someone to share the good times and the bad...as if...
She swallowed over a lump in her throat and pulled her hand away. No, Brady was not his father. Brady was not father material. She must find Travis a father. She
would
find him one. If she had to work sixteen-hour days at the diner. If she had to wear out a dozen arch supports and a hundred pair of support hose. It would be worth it.
She squared her shoulders, turned and went back down the hall to the kitchen. She’d give Brady a cookie and he’d leave. He had to. If that was what he
really
wanted.
She pointed to the plate of cookies on the counter and then she leaned against the butcher block in the middle of the room and took a deep breath. “I’m trying very hard to start a new life, Brady. You’re not making it any easier for me.”
“How’s that?” he asked, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a quizzical frown.
“You come into the diner and you stare at me. I’m nervous enough about getting the orders straight. And then I see you looking at me as if you’re waiting to see if I’ll mess up.”
“I’m
looking at
you
?” he asked “Who was it noticed I had the apple pie?”
“I can’t help it, it’s my job,” she said.
“It’s your job to keep tabs on my eating habits?” he asked. “What do you do, feed it into a computer along with my social security number?”
“It’s my job to keep the pie case stocked. I don’t care if you eat ten pieces of apple pie, as long as we don’t run out.”
“So you don’t care what I eat,” he said.
“That’s right,” she said.
“You don’t care anything about me.”
“No,” she said firmly, but she couldn’t tell a lie and meet his gaze. She looked at the messages stuck on the refrigerator. She stared at the clock on the wall and watched the seconds tick by. The room was still and very warm. The smell of cinnamon hung in the air. Even without looking at Brady, she was only too aware of his potent male presence, totally out of place as it was in her feminine, yellow and white kitchen. His broad shoulders in a dark blue corduroy shirt, muscular thighs in jeans, exuded strength and determination.
She ought to run her bath. She ought to go to bed. She ought to hand him a cookie and push him out the door. But she didn’t. She didn’t have the strength to do any of these things. She was weak, despicably weak. Because, damn it, even if she had the strength, she wouldn’t push him out the door.
She wouldn’t admit it, but she’d missed him. Missed sharing the day with him, the small-town gossip. Missed working on projects with him. Taking his calls. Listening to his voice booming from the next room. Missed the teasing and the laughter. Sometimes at night, after working all day on her feet, she missed him most of all.
“I think you’re lying,” he said with a smug smile. “I think you
do
care.” He took two steps and he was towering over her, all six feet three inches of male arrogance.
Her eyes widened. The nerve of him. She reached up to push him away, both palms pressed against his chest, but he misinterpreted the gesture and he closed the gap between them.
In a flash she was in his arms, clutching handfuls of corduroy, trying to catch her breath while he kissed her, while his mouth covered hers and his tongue met hers. Oh, mercy, she was lost, caught in a whirlwind of wild
passion. She kissed him. Not once, not twice, but over and over. She couldn’t stop. Her self-control was gone. She opened her mouth to him and let him explore the deep, dark recesses of her soul. He tasted like dark, black coffee and deep, dark danger. He was the most exciting man she’d ever met. And the most dangerous. Dangerous to her mental health and well-being. Dangerous to her future plans.
She knew this, but at that moment she didn’t care. She wanted him with a fierce longing, and she knew he wanted her, too. His strong arms held her tight, as if he’d never let her go. She knotted her hands around his neck, holding on for dear life. As if she was afraid he’d leave. Though only minutes ago she’d wanted nothing more. To get him out of her kitchen and out of her life. But the fires that had been banked inside her erupted in a firestorm, robbing her of her reason and good sense.