Granted: A Family for Baby Read online

  Instead of stretching out, he ought to limp, stagger or crawl out to the highway, hold out his thumb and hitch a ride home. Because he’d been tempted once before by this kind of a setup. At one time this was all he’d wanted. A house to come home to. A wife waiting with dinner simmering on the stove. A baby in the crib. But not anymore. He’d chosen a life of law enforcement and as he’d told Suzy, it was no life for a married man. It broke up marriages, it put an unfair burden on the wife and kids. It broke hearts. His, for one.

  But what was one night, he asked himself. What was the harm of eating one dinner, spending one night on her couch? Yes, he was there against his will. He’d probably regret it. But since having Suzy make a big deal out of a broken toe, bring him his dinner and let him sleep under her roof were not likely to happen again, not in this lifetime, anyway, he might as well relax and enjoy it. Which was why when she returned in less than the allotted five minutes, he was smiling to himself.

  He looked up. “You put Travis in bed and he didn’t cry?” he asked, noting that she’d changed into faded jeans and a Brady Wilson for Sheriff T-shirt.

  “He’s usually good about it. I don’t know what happened the night you watched him. I’m afraid you weren’t firm enough with him. He must have spotted you as-an easy mark.”

  “Don’t let my constituents hear that,” he said. “Or the would-be criminals lurking around Harmony.”

  Suzy brought the food into the living room so he could stay where he was. She sat cross-legged on the floor, facing him. As they ate, they talked about many things. He told her how he felt when he first came to Harmony, before he knew anyone, how he felt at home from the first and how much he liked it. She told him stories about growing up in Harmony and how much she liked it.

  He didn’t talk about his ex-wife, and Suzy didn’t talk about the man who was Travis’s father. He wanted to ask. He wanted to ask how such a levelheaded, down-to-earth person like her could have made such a terrible mistake, but deep down he really didn’t want to know. He wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. Her affair and his marriage. Neither one. He carefully avoided talking about her next husband, too. The one who was waiting at the diner for a chance to propose to her. Why spoil a nice evening?

  They didn’t talk about what had happened that morning, either. It was best to pretend that it hadn’t happened at all. He didn’t know about her, but he was really having a hard time pretending. Every time he looked at her, he thought about how he’d kissed her and how she felt in his arms. And he remembered the flush that tinted her cheeks, the way she held on to him as if she’d never let go. The sharp intake of her breath.

  The dinner was the best he’d had in months, maybe years. The pot roast was tender and moist, smothered in a rich gravy, surrounded by small, new potatoes and carrots. He mopped up the last of the gravy with a piece of French bread.

  “Yes, he’s a lucky guy,” he said. He just couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t stop comparing himself to the man Suzy was looking for, who would one day be sitting where he was sitting, eating what he was eating, but unlike him, would not be spending the night on the couch.

  “Who?”

  “You know, the guy you’re going to marry.”

  “Just because I can put a pot roast in the crock pot before work? Come on, Brady, anybody can do that.” She gathered the empty plates in her arms.

  “Oh, sure. Right.” Maybe anybody could put a roast in a pot, but not anybody could look like Suzy when they took it out. Blond and beautiful. Not anybody could make him feel like he did, relaxed yet stimulated. Not anybody could manage a one-year-old boy, a thirty-four-year-old sheriff and his campaign and make him believe he could do anything, even win an election.

  Suzy smiled modestly, her face flushed as if he’d embarrassed her with his compliments, and took the plates to the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with a blanket and a pillow in her arms to ask, “How do you feel?”

  He glanced up and his gaze locked onto hers. Her hair was curling around her flushed face. Her eyes were bright. Was there a hint of desire there, or did he only imagine it because it was what he wanted to see?

  She’d asked him how he felt. If she only knew, she would run out of the room as fast as she could. He felt like hauling her down on that couch and tearing her clothes off and making passionate love to her all night long. Because he knew how she’d feel, all soft and warm and—He wasn’t going to do it. They had to work together a little longer still. And he respected her too much. And he was her guest, in her house. Which made his look like a barn. Which it was.

  “Fme,” he said.

  She leaned over the couch to give him a blanket and pillow. As she did, he noticed that the soft material of the T-shirt brushed against her breasts indicating that she wasn’t wearing anything under her Brady Wilson for Sheriff T-shirt. He clenched his teeth to keep from groaning. So she’d ditched her bra along with her work clothes. He pictured her satin-smooth skin, full breasts unrestrained by a bra and rosy nipples brushing the thin fabric of the shirt. If he lifted the hem, he could reach up and slide his hands to cup her breasts. Brush his fingers against her firm budding peaks. Swift, hot desire hit him right in the groin like a bolt of lightning.

  “Anything else?” she asked with a catch in her voice and a look in her eyes that made him wonder...did she feel the way he did? Did she want what he wanted? To let go of their previous identities for one evening? To forget he was her boss and she was his hostess? To explore the possibilities? To experience a once-in-a-lifetime roller-coaster ride? Anything else? Oh, if she only knew he wanted everything else.

  He considered telling her. He considered showing her. She was so close, the blanket and the pillow still in her arms. All he had to do was to reach out and take her, blanket and pillow and all, in his arms. Pull her down on top of him, bury his face in her silky blond hair, breathe in the scent of her. For a long moment time stood still. Tension hung in the air. Who would make the first move? Or would they stay like that, locked there for eternity, each afraid to give in to desire? Each afraid to take a chance on happiness? If the doorbell hadn’t rung he would have let her know what else he wanted. Or better yet, shown her.

  He strained to hear the voice of the person at the door. But all he could hear was Suzy.

  “Yes, I know.... You are? How interesting... No, I don’t think I could do that. You see, I work for the sheriff.”

  Who could it be that didn’t know Suzy worked for him? He soon found out.

  Chapter Five

  A moment later his opponent, Darryl Staples, the man who didn’t belong on a ranch, or in Harmony and most of all, the man who didn’t belong running for sheriff, poked his head in the door and, after raising his eyebrows in surprise, greeted Brady like a long-lost friend. “Sheriff,” he said, “just the man I want to see.”

  “How’s that, Staples?” Brady asked, bracing his hands on the edge of the couch to stand, but forced back down when the insistent throbbing in his toe reminded him how helpless he was. And how frustrated he was.

  “I want to report a crime,” he said stepping into the room.

  “What, tonight?”

  “It actually happened today, but I couldn’t find you in your office.”

  “Right. Well, go ahead, report it,” Brady said, shifting his foot on the coffee table.

  “Someone stole one of my signs. From the front of the dry-goods store.”

  Brady frowned. Suzy was standing at the door, holding it open for Darryl’s departure, which Brady hoped would be imminent.

  “Maybe the wind blew it down.”

  “No, this was vandalism.”

  “There is no vandalism in Harmony,” Brady said calmly. “But I’ll look into it tomorrow. I’m off duty tonight.”

  Darryl’s beady eyes swept over the room, taking in Suzy standing at the door in her T-shirt, the big couch, Brady’s outstretched legs, the pillow and the blanket. “I see,” he said.

  “Any further problems with your cat
tle, Staples?”

  “No. I should thank you for your help that day.”

  “No problem,” Brady said, putting up an affable front. “That’s what sheriffs are for,” he said pointedly. Not to run around looking for lost signs. “By the way, how did you know I was here?”

  “I didn’t,” he said. “You’ll get a kick out of this. I was just canvassing the neighborhood, introducing myself to the good people of Harmony, when quite by chance I knocked on the door of your...your...” He stumbled, not knowing that after all these years, this was only Brady’s second visit to Suzy’s house. Maybe he thought... Who cared what he thought.

  “My assistant,” Brady said firmly.

  “Late-night strategy meeting, I suppose,” Darryl said with a wink at Brady.

  None of your business, Brady thought.

  “Just a friendly warning,” Darryl said with a smirk. “You’ll need all the strategy you can get.”

  “Thank you,” Brady said, and watched his opponent leave at last. When Suzy closed the door behind him, Brady shook his head in disgust. This man had forced him to interrupt his life to campaign for an office that was rightfully his. What was worse, he’d just burst in at an extremely inopportune moment.

  “Confident son of a gun,” he noted, then paused. “Now where were we?”

  Suzy leaned against the front door looking at Brady with her eyes at half-mast and her eyebrows drawn together. He couldn’t read her expression. Had she forgotten where they were? That they’d been on a brink of doing something that would either make them both sorry or force them to come to grips with an attraction they were both fighting off?

  He wouldn’t force the issue. If she wanted him as much as he wanted her, she’d let him know. She didn’t. After an interminable wait, she straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, flicked off the lamp and said good-night.

  Brady slept badly that night. It could have been the couch. It could have been his sore toe. But it wasn’t. It was those dreams of Suzy in her T-shirt with his name on it and her beautiful breasts underneath it. And it was also those dreams of Suzy without her T-shirt that left him turning and twisting on the narrow couch. When he woke up between dreams, hot and bothered and aching with unfulfilled desire, he knew why he should not have spent the night here. It was torture.

  It was too easy to picture Suzy in her bed down the hall. Under the canopy of her four-poster bed. Was she tossing and turning like he was? Was she as frustrated as he was? Or did she dream peacefully of Mr. Perfect, her next husband, that nameless, faceless patron of the diner who would step forward and take his place as Travis’s father?

  Before dawn he hobbled to the kitchen and used the phone to call one of his deputies. He had to get out of there. Had to go home. Had to feel normal again. What was normal? Normal was what he was before this business with Suzy started. When did it start? Why did it start? he asked himself after Deputy Harris had driven him home, thoughtfully provided him with a pair of crutches and helped him up the steps to his converted barn.

  He couldn’t remember. He used to take her for granted, he knew that. Just assumed she’d always be there. With her quiet efficiency and her quick smile, her long legs and her flowing blond hair. He never thought of her as a desirable woman. Probably because he’d sworn off such diversions. He reminded himself why.

  There was no place for a wife in the life of a lawman. He’d learned the hard way that women want to know when you’re coming home. And when you do come home they want you to arrive in one piece. They don’t want to worry. They don’t want to spend long evenings alone wondering where you are. Granted, the life of a sheriff is not the life of a big-city cop. But his job came first. Always would. No woman would understand that.

  He staggered down the hall to his spacious bathroom with the combination shower-bathtub and ran himself a hot bath. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand in the shower without passing out. He sat neck-deep in the hot water staring at his swollen toe, vowing to get things back on keel. He could not afford to dream about a woman who wanted a husband, a home and family.

  He’d escaped the despair of his former life by the seat of his pants. He’d found peace and tranquility and harmony, right here in Harmony. Happiness, too. All by himself. He had a house, friends, a great job. He was not going to do anything to change the equation. To modify the status quo. He couldn’t afford to upset his life in any way. Especially by falling for his assistant. Which would be the height of stupidity. He’d been through it all before and he’d learned his lesson.

  But that didn’t stop him from imagining what mornings were like at Suzy’s house. Imagining what he’d missed by cutting out early. The smell of bacon and eggs coming from his kitchen. A whiff of perfume from the bedroom. A child’s cry. A hug. A kiss.

  He buried his head in his hands and sat there in his extralong, claw-foot porcelain tub until the water was cold.

  As he dressed, he told himself all he had to do to ensure his present and future happiness was hold on to his great job and he’d be set for the rest of his life. Or until he was challenged again, which, if he won this time, wasn’t likely. The previous sheriff served for twenty-seven years and then retired. What made it easier was that he was sure Suzy felt the same. She didn’t want to mess up her life with someone who wasn’t husband-and-father material.

  So he’d go back to work, just as soon as he popped one of those painkillers and had a cup of coffee, and he would carry on as if nothing had happened. What could be easier, he asked himself. All he needed was a little self-control.

  Suzy was amazed to find Brady gone so early, the blanket folded neatly with the pillow on top of it as if he’d never been there. After a restless night during which she pictured his broad shoulders, his washboard-flat stomach and long, well-muscled thighs squeezed onto her narrow couch, she also worried about his broken toe and thought about the pain he must be in. And when she wasn’t worrying, she was wondering what would have happened if Darryl hadn’t come to the door. The look in Brady’s eyes made her think he wanted her.

  He wanted her, but he didn’t want to want her. He knew she was looking for a husband, and he knew he wasn’t husband material. Suzy privately thought he was wrong. He’d make somebody a great husband, and he’d be a great father. But there was no convincing him, and she was not going to try. She wanted someone who didn’t need to be convinced that she was the greatest thing since sliced bread. Who would swoop her up, along with Travis, and take her away from all her worries.

  He didn’t have to be handsome or sexy. He didn’t have to have dark hair that fell across his forehead or bedroom eyes or a deep voice that echoed through the office. He just had to be someone who’d stand by her. And she’d find that someone.

  If the doorbell hadn’t rung what would Brady have done? Who would have won the struggle going on inside him? His mind or his body? Would he have pulled her down on the couch with him? Would they have rolled onto the floor where she would have landed on top of him? Would she have sifted her hands through his hair again and kissed his wide, generous mouth? And would he have braced his hands on her temples and looked into her eyes as if she was the only one in the world for him? No, because she wasn’t. And he was too honest to pretend.

  A wave of longing hit her like the autumn wind outside. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she looked out the front window at the trees waving about, just shedding their leaves, and blinked back a tear. It was at this time of day, when she got up early, before anyone else in the world was awake, when she felt the loneliness press down on her. When she missed having someone to share her life with. At least she wasn’t afraid to admit it. At least she was taking steps to change her situation.

  Glancing at the couch she shook her head at the sympathy she’d wasted on Brady. He didn’t need her sympathy. He loved his life. Apparently he couldn’t wait to get back to his own house. He was so determined not to confront her this morning that he’d found a way to get home without her help. She brushed her palms toge
ther. So be it. Let him go. He was an independent man who didn’t want to lean on anyone. Especially not her. That was obvious.

  She got dressed, took Travis to her mother’s and went to the office. That day and every day for the next three weeks until the election she and Brady both pretended that nothing had happened between them. He worked in his office. She worked in hers. Sometimes she left the door open between them, and she listened shamelessly to his conversations. But she learned nothing she didn’t already know. He lived for his job. And he’d do anything to keep it.

  She thought she’d be sad about leaving the office. But since the day he kissed her, things weren’t the same. As hard as they both tried to go back to the way things were, there was tension between them like a wall, making small talk awkward and meaningful conversation, like the one they’d had over dinner at her house, impossible.

  She’d be glad to be out of there, away from him. The strain of pretending to be oblivious to him was wearing her down. Even with her door closed, his voice resonated through the wall. When she sneaked an occasional glance at him she saw there were tension lines etched around his mouth, even though the election seemed to be in the bag. His eyes, which could sway the most apathetic voter, had a hint of sadness in their dark depths. What on earth was wrong with him?

  “There’s no reason to worry about the election,” she said one morning when she came in early to get her paperwork done before the calls started. No matter how early she came in these days, he was always there ahead of her. Today his hair was standing on end, and he looked like he’d slept in his clothes. She reminded herself not to feel sorry for him.

  “What makes you think I’m worried about the election?” he asked, looking up over the top of his computer.