The Past Came Hunting (12 page)

Chapter Fifteen

Never let anger control you. Anytime you feel like lashing out, hit this
.

Joe’s breath came hard and fast as his gloves slammed into the bag. A former commander’s sage advice never failed. With every jab, uppercut, grunt and groan, his mind began to clear.

What an idiot. Never again
.

From manpower shortages to the robberies, the one thing that had felt right all day had been Melanie’s kiss. And by the way she’d responded, he’d been sure she felt the same. He tore into the bag and vowed from now on to trust his instincts. He would fight this attraction and get over it. Hell, he hadn’t known her that long. Not
this
Melanie.

The doorbell rang and Joe glanced at the clock on the basement wall. Who would be stopping by at this hour? He shucked off the gloves, ran a towel over his sweating body and fumbled into his clothes. On the other side of the door, he expected law enforcement, but one never knew. To be on the safe side, he grabbed his Glock.

Upstairs, he checked the peephole. Finding no one there, weapon in hand, he stepped out in the freezing night, his breath ghostly white, adrenaline racing. His late night caller had already made it to her property line. “Melanie,” he shouted.

She pivoted and returned to his porch. But at the sight of his gun, she drew back.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Her eyes never leaving the Glock, she nodded. “I... thought you’d gone to bed. If you have a minute, I’d like to talk to you.” She lifted her chin. “I mean, if this isn’t a bad time.”

Renewing his promise to himself to keep his distance, Joe held open the storm door and waved her inside.

Mel had been inside Joe’s house before.
That time, however, she hadn’t been focused on details. Bachelors obviously lived here. A layer of dust covered the entryway table, a withered coleus sat neglected in its clay pot and a stack of junk mail lay unopened.

She couldn’t let Joe believe she’d been angry about their kiss. On the contrary, it meant more than she’d ever imagined. As far as her earlier behavior, she hadn’t quite figured that out for herself. She’d waited for Luke to fall asleep, then left him a note and came over.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Joe asked.

Clearing her throat, she faced him. Evidently, he’d been working out. He looked different in a T-shirt and sweats, tougher if that were possible. Every muscle in his body appeared rock hard and galvanized. Infinitely more intimidating.

“I wanted to explain about this afternoon.”

At his set jaw, she thought about leaving. He wasn’t about to make this easy on her. “Well?”

The last time she’d stopped in to see him, he’d invited her into the den. Tonight, he wasn’t near as accommodating. “Could we sit down?”

Unsmiling, he extended his arm.

Mel entered his den. Like the last time she’d been here, she took stock of a room full of clocks. She wanted to ask about them. But, also, as in the last time she’d been here, tension prohibited small talk.

Joe sat, but Mel chose to pace. “Today was a bad day,” she began. “The holiday rush, misplaced orders, customers wanting their orders yesterday―”

“I couldn’t possibly understand the stress that you’re under.”

She stopped walking. Oh for crying out loud. This wasn’t working. This man had real issues to contend with.
She
thought she sounded pathetic.

Joe rose from the couch. “I’m sorry you had a bad day. Why don’t you sleep on it and see if you don’t feel better tomorrow. Good night, Melanie.”

Well, that had to be the politest dismissal she’d ever received. Without an ounce of finesse, she blurted, “Are you and your ex-wife getting back together?”

“Where’d you get an idea like that?”

Grinding her back teeth together, she strove to recover an ounce of her pride. “From Matt. Your ex-wife’s coming to town, you’re taking her skiing. You cleaned out your daughter’s bedroom tonight.”

“For Trish and her mother.” Joe frowned. “I have to buy furniture this weekend for my daughter. Karen’s not sleeping with me.”

Mel stared back at him. This wasn’t happening. Why not put up a billboard advertising her feelings?

Joe obviously read the sign. His lean, angular face lit up in a knowing smile. “You were angry this afternoon because you were jealous?”

“What? No!”

“That story about having a bad day, you made it up?”

“I did not. I had a tough day.” Mel might as well have been standing next to a furnace her face was so hot. “For the record, I couldn’t care less what you do. But I
hate
being used.”

Joe took a step toward her. “So if Karen and I were getting back together, you’d be okay with it?”

You conceited jerk
. Mel took a step back. “More than okay. What I’m not okay with is you kissing me if you’re thinking of someone else. Or maybe because you wear that badge you think you’re entitled. Who knows? Maybe you’ve been leading on poor Lydia, too.”

Hands on his hips, Joe tossed back his head and roared with laughter. “
Poor
Lydia. That’s a first. Thanks to her ex-husbands, she has more money than both of us.”

“You’re missing my point, Joe Crandall.” Mel bristled. “Oh, what’s the use? I’m leaving.”

She brushed by him, but wrapping a hand around her bicep, Joe stopped her. “My marriage ended long before I signed the divorce papers, Mel.”

Swept up by his touch, his low sultry voice and his use of her nickname, she felt a surge of relief. “It did?”

“It did. Why didn’t you just ask me?”

She turned to face him. “I guess I just did.”

Joe pulled her into his arms. Using the pads of his thumbs, he rewarded the tight muscles at the base of her skull with a magical massage. “I don’t kiss a woman if I’m thinking of someone else. If you want to know something about me, all you have to do is ask.”

She wanted to quip something clever, to say she wasn’t in the least bit curious. But he was so
close
, and thanks to the strong fingers easing away her tightness, all that emerged was a low, satisfied growl. Worse, it came out so sensual it would have made an adult-film producer proud.

Joe’s gaze took on a predatory gleam.

Tormented from last night’s kiss, and willing it to happen again, Mel acquiesced.

He took control of her mouth the way he took charge of everything. Urging her lips apart, long-abandoned sensations wound their way through her. Giving in to his taste of salty and sweet, she felt her inhibitions dissolve. His hand moved to her breast. It had been years since she’d been with a healthy, virile male. She lifted her arms in a blatant ploy to give him permission. Her attraction to him was more powerful than any of the illicit drugs she’d once sought. And as their bodies came together, it was Joe’s turn to groan.

Until from every corner of the room, his collection of clocks went off, broadcasting the hour with every chime, peal and clang. And along with these noises, she heard a series of coughs.

Persistent coughs.

Shoving away from Joe, Mel put her hand to her heart. Oh dear God, if Matt had witnessed any of this. . .

As for Matt’s father
,
he
started to laugh.

“I think Matt’s awake,” she whispered, at a loss to understand what Joe found so funny. “I think he’s sick. Didn’t you hear him―”

“Cough?”

“Yes,” she said, her frustration growing. “You should go check on him. And I should go.” She reached for her coat.

Shaking his head and still laughing, Joe took her hand and led her away from the couch. “Matt’s fine. He crashed early.”

She glanced around. “Then who else is here?”

Joe motioned to the wall behind his desk.

She turned to see family pictures, diplomas, framed accommodations, some photos a younger Joe Crandall in uniform, and, of course, one of his myriad time pieces. “I don’t understand.”

“My clock―it coughs instead of cuckoos.”

“Why?”

“It’s broken.”

“Then you should fix it.”

“I don’t think so.”

Okay, why would anyone be so happy to own a dysfunctional clock?

“I appreciate the advice, but if I had a choice to get rid of any of the clocks in this room, that cuckoo would stay. It was a gift from my mom. She... er... sort of made it.”

Mel stared at the wall behind her. Despite the cuckoo’s health problem, the clock itself was exquisite. It appeared hand painted, with intricate Hansel and Gretel-like figurines standing beyond a cottage façade, each on opposite sides of the cottage door. “Wow. She’s talented.”

Joe closed one eye and twisted his mouth in a way that said otherwise. “All right. She didn’t exactly make them. Her husband’s the real artisan. They live in Bavaria, Germany. When Alfred creates something he considers flawed, he sells them to the commercial dealers in the Black Forest. Or if my mom insists, he lets her have a go at it.” Joe rolled his eyes.

Mel smiled, even as she thought of her own mom. How she wished she had something to hand down to Luke. To this day, she tasted bile when she thought of the trucker who’d left her with nothing. “I’d never let go of that clock, either.” She waved a hand around the room. “And these others?”

Joe grinned. They came from her, too. Don’t be surprised if you get one for Christmas.”

Mel laughed and joined him on the sofa.

“Alfred,” she ventured to guess, “I take it he’s not your biological father?”

Joe nodded. “My real dad died young. Vietnam. My mom―her name’s Madelyn―later remarried. She, my older sister Kate and I ended up in Galveston, where my mom remarried a barge inspector. Hard worker, good provider, bad disposition.”

With Joe choosing to talk, Mel chose to listen. Carefully. Reciting what she was sure was the abridged version of his upbringing, he explained his mother’s marriage, how it had ended and Joe’s part in it. At the time, Kate attended The University of Houston. Madelyn moved out soon after and settled near Kate. As for Joe, he joined the army. After stints at US bases and a tour overseas, he was stationed at Fort Carson. He went to school on the G.I. bill, got his degree at C.U. Boulder where he met his former wife, Karen.

However, his run-in with the court system had fared far better than Mel’s. Intrigued with law enforcement, he’d chosen it for a career.

Shaking away memories of her own awful experience, she asked, “What happened to your sister?”

“Married, with three kids in Atlanta. She and her husband own an insurance franchise.”

“And where did your mother meet Alfred?” Mel grinned.

Clearly ecstatic that his mom was happy, Joe grinned back. “She was a conference planner. She and Alfred met at a clock convention.”

“Why, of course,” Mel said, laughing. Pleased that they’d talked things out, she could have listened to him all night. Nevertheless, her responsible side took over. “I should be going.”

“I could light a fire, pour us a couple of glasses of wine...”

“As much as I’d like that,” she said, eyeing the cuckoo, then winking, I feel a cough coming on. Besides, Simon wanted me to return his call, and even though he said he’d be up late, I think eleven-thirty might be pushing it.”

“He wants you to call? Why?”

“Simon insisted I keep a post office box in Cañon City. He brings my mail up every other week. That way I stay hard to trace.”

Joe shook his head. “Simon brings your mail up every other week because he wants to see you.”

“Carl’s former
boss
made a promise to Carl. Besides, Simon’s a sports nut. The boys have a game on Saturday. Plain and simple, he wants to be there.”

“If you say so. Sure you won’t have that glass of wine?”

Joe could be very persuasive, and she thought about kissing him again. But knowing where that would lead, she stood. “Positive.”

Joe rose with her and walked with her to the door. When she turned to say goodnight, she noticed he’d grabbed his leather jacket from a hook near the door.

“Going somewhere?”

“I’m walking you home, Mrs. Norris.”

She might have argued that she could be inside her place in less than thirty seconds, but she’d missed the I’ll-walk-you-home phase in high school. It felt nice having Lieutenant Crandall by her side. That was until he reached up into his closet and came away with the gun he’d met her with earlier. A guilty reminder of her own bedroom shelf where she’d hidden Carl’s .357 Magnum. Unlike her, he had a right to possess a firearm. She did not.

Last night at the basketball game, Joe had said Mel wasn’t a criminal. But she was. She slept with an illegal weapon not three feet away from her bed. Something was happening between them, she could feel it. But how would he react if he knew? Mel teetered at the thought of telling him.

“Melanie? You okay?”

Staring at the gun in his hand, she stuck to the truth. “I’m afraid of those things.”