Angel Lane (26 page)

“Sure.” He shrugged off his coat and hung it over a chair, then joined her at the little kitchen's breakfast bar. He leaned on the counter and looked around. “Cool place.”

She got down a mug and poured coffee in it. “I like it.”

It wasn't much, really: two bedrooms, a bathroom, this little kitchen, and the not-so-great great room. But with its cedar paneling, old wood floors, and vintage throw rugs it was cozy. Her furniture consisted of the buttery yellow leather couch she'd saved for a year to buy, a vintage rocking chair that had been her grandma's, the old hope chest her mom and dad had given her for her eighteenth birthday, and an ancient cedar picnic table with accompanying benches that she'd gotten at a garage
sale and restained. The table sported her newly made pinecone wreath, which held a scented pillar candle. Her one piece of art was a giant painting of sunflowers that she had bought from a local artist during the Fourth of July festivities.

That was it for the decorations, other than a picture of her family, which sat on the kitchen counter. When a girl had a view like the one she had outside her living room window, pictures were superfluous.

“So, you own this place?” Josh asked as she poured his coffee.

“I'm renting, which is fine. I'm happy renting.”

“I like owning my own place,” said Josh. “It makes me feel like I'm in charge of my life. Not that I am,” he added, and took a big slurp of his coffee. He saluted her with the mug. “This is good.”

“It's pretty hard to screw up coffee.”

“I don't know. My wife was pretty good at it.” Suddenly his smile wasn't so easy.

“You still miss her?” Why was she asking? Now she'd made him uncomfortable. Heck, she'd made them both uncomfortable. “Sorry. That's so none of my business.”

“That's what everybody thinks,” he said. He put his coffee mug down and stared into it. “People don't like talking about things like this. They tiptoe around it or just stop talking about it. But then it's like the person never even lived and that doesn't seem right. My wife was great. I wish she was still alive. I wish my girls still had a mom. But, like they say, wishing don't make it so.” He took another drink of coffee.

“It doesn't seem fair,” Jamie mused. She stopped short of
asking if he ever thought of getting remarried. Not only was that a nosy question, it could very easily be misinterpreted.

“We're doing okay,” he added. “I've turned into a pretty good wife myself.”

“So, you got in touch with your feminine side,” Jamie teased.

“Yep. It was a disaster at first, though. You probably know why you shouldn't wash colored and white clothes together. I didn't. And I thought you always put bleach in the laundry.”

“Don't tell me, let me guess. You wound up with pink underwear.”

“I look pretty in pink,” he quipped. “I never did laundry when I was a bachelor. Always took it home to Mom or sent it out to be cleaned. Then I got married and Crystal did the washing. And the cooking.” His voice trailed off as he looked at something Jamie couldn't see. He forced himself back into the present. “I'm one self-sufficient dude now,” he finished, and went to put another log on the fire.

He turned and stood with his back to the fire, regarding her. “So, what about you? Your aunt seems to be busy on your behalf.”

Jamie suddenly felt the need to check the kitchen clock. It was almost six. Didn't Josh the cop have to be home for dinner? She should offer him dinner. It was the least she could do after he'd rescued her from being snowbound. But if she did he'd get the wrong idea.

Maybe they could make a pact to adopt each other as brother and sister. Brothers and sisters didn't risk their hearts, didn't give their bodies and their souls—didn't get hurt.
Hic.

He frowned. “Why do I make you so nervous?”

Before she could answer, the lights went out.

 

 

 

 

A
power outage should have been the perfect distraction, offering them something to talk about besides her nerves, like, “Where are the candles?” And something to do, like fetching candles, instead of fighting off the little pheromones Jamie felt zinging around her like bees. The way the flickering firelight silhouetted Josh's tall frame when he bent to snag a book of matches from the cookie tin made her think of romance novels, all the good parts. He returned and lit the candle on her table.

She should get her extra candles out of the kitchen cabinet.
Come on, feet, let's move. The cabinets are that way
. But her feet betrayed her, standing perfectly still.

Now he was next to her. He was so big.
Look at the size of those pecs. Wouldn't it be fun to touch them? No!

“Do you have some more candles somewhere?”

Who asked about candles in such a seductive voice? A hiccup escaped her as she yanked open the cupboard door.
Candles, candles. Romantic candlelight, candlelight dinners. Stop it!

Now he was behind her, so close they were almost touching. “So, why do I make you so nervous?” he asked softly.

“Because.” There. That explained it all. She pulled down another pillar candle. The one on the table was already doing its job and the room was starting to smell like apple pie. Josh took the other from her hand. Their fingers touched and she felt like he'd lit a fuse. It burned all the way up her arm and exploded in her chest.

“Because?” he prompted. He struck another match and touched it to the wick. Light blossomed between them, showing her the hard planes of his face, that strong angular chin, now stubbled with five o'clock shadow.

Fear flooded her—fear of what he'd do, what she'd do if he did it. One kiss and she'd be trapped. She couldn't be trapped again. She took a step back. “Because I don't like cops. I told you, I was married to one.”

That should have offended him, brought back a sharp retort. He should have stalked off in anger. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully, studying her. “The ex-husband. Did he beat you?”

She bit her lip and nodded. She could almost feel that horrible pain again; feel the emotional shock and betrayal. She shut her eyes.

“So, we're all like that. Is that what you've decided?”

He made her fears sound so irrational. But they weren't. Her wounds had taught her it was better to be safe than sorry. She turned her back on him. “I'm a dead end for you.”

She heard him heave a big sigh. “I'm sorry for what happened to you. Not every cop is a wife beater, Jamie. Really.”

So he said, but she'd heard enough stories in the news, seen it happen often enough to other women who loved the men in blue. Cops got wound too tight, and then put in a pressure cooker where they were expected not to blow. Of course they blew. And whoever was nearby when it happened became collateral damage.

“I wish I could believe you,” she countered. “I'm sorry, Josh. Anyway, there's a reason I'm on my own. I like it that way.”

He stood there silently, probably trying to figure out what to say next.

“I'm sure your kids are wondering where you are,” she added, since he didn't seem to be getting the message.

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “You're right. Good luck.”

She heard him walk across the floor, felt the cold rush in as he opened the door. Then the door shut and it was just her alone in her candlelit house.

A lucky escape, she told herself, and blinked back the tears.

 

The snow was gone in two days and life returned to normal. Normal wasn't as satisfying as it used to be, Jamie realized as she finished up a batch of caliente fudge for the gift basket she was contributing as a door prize for the Christmas festival. Emma had contributed a quilt, which was going to be raffled off, with the proceeds going to the food bank. Heart Lake Holidays was always a big celebration, and she and Emma had been planning to go together for weeks. But now Jamie wasn't sure
she wanted to go. She was bound to run into Josh and his kids there, which would be awkward. It would also remind her of what was missing in her “normal” life. That was the last thing she wanted, but she couldn't bail on her friend. Emma needed to get out and have some fun, take her mind off her troubles.

At nine, the shop phone rang. It was Emma, wanting to bail on going to the festival.

“What? Why on earth do you want to do that?”

“I'm just not in the mood. Anyway, I don't have any money to spend.”

Emma needed this, and she was going to go to that festival and have fun even if Jamie had to drag her there and pin her lips up in a smile. “Well, I've got money. And I want to go,” Jamie insisted. Actually, she did, she realized. No matter what she told herself, no matter how much she kept trying to protect her heart, she wanted to go and at least get a glimpse of Josh and the girls, torture herself over what she didn't dare take. “Come on. If you're really good, I'll get you one of those giant candy canes.”

Emma sighed. “Okay. I guess.”

“It'll be fun,” Jamie insisted. “Take your mind off your troubles.”

“I don't think anything can do that, but I'll come.”

So, they closed up shop early on Saturday—nobody really hit the shops when the festival was going, anyway—and went to the center of town, where the main drag had been transformed into a fairground humming with booths and tents hung with cedar swags, tinsel garlands, and twinkle lights. After a lunch of vegetarian chili and cornbread from the Family Inn booth, they browsed their way down the street, checking out the jewelry,
hand-knit scarves, and paintings. Jamie insisted on buying a pair of silver heart-shaped earrings for Emma as an early Christmas present. Then they drifted to the parade route to wait for the Christmas parade at two, which heralded Santa's arrival (always in the back of a pickup truck stuffed with volunteer elves who threw candy to the crowd). This year Tony DeSoto had the honor, and he'd been bragging about his upcoming Santa debut to everyone who came into his wine shop.

“I wonder if it's going to snow again,” said Jamie as she rubbed her mittened hands together for warmth. “It sure looks like it.”

The old Emma would have immediately expounded on the joys of a Winter Wonderland. The new, depressed Emma simply said, “The weatherman only predicted a thirty percent chance of snow.”

Jamie studied her friend. Emma's mouth looked like it had forgotten how to smile and she had dark circles under her eyes. Worst of all was the darkness in her eyes. “Don't give up, Em,” Jamie begged. “Things are going to work out.”

Emma shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “I know.”

The words were right, but her tone of voice was wrong, and Jamie knew Emma was only agreeing to shut her up. She wished there were such a thing as Santa. She'd ask him to bring Emma a fabulous new life for Christmas.

“Jamie!” called a little voice.

“Jamie!” another echoed.

“Here comes your fan club,” said Emma, managing a wistful twist of the lips.

Jamie turned to see Lissa and Mandy swimming through the
crowd toward her. They were wearing winter coats and mittens and their curls stuck out from under floppy stocking caps. They both sported big smiles and their cheeks were kissed red from the cold, their eyes shining. She felt a painful tug on her heart. Why hadn't these girls come with an accountant or a minister? Behind them she saw Josh, pushing politely through the crowd. He didn't have to push hard. His size alone encouraged people to part before him.

The girls were in front of her now. “Santa Claus is coming,” Mandy informed her breathlessly.

“That's what I hear,” she said, smiling. “Have you guys been totally good this year so he can bring you what you really want?”

They both nodded.

“What do you want for Christmas?” Emma asked.

“A new mommy,” said Mandy.

Lissa frowned at her little sister. “Mandy, Santa can't bring us a new mommy. Daddy has to find her.” To Emma and Jamie she explained, “She's just a baby. She doesn't know how it works.”

“I am not!” cried Mandy.

Josh was with them now and frowning. “Are you two behaving like we talked about?”

“Sorry, Daddy,” they both muttered.

Then, back on track, they started chattering about what they'd done and seen so far. “We got to ride the merry-go-round,” said Mandy. “And Daddy got us hot choc'late.”

“Sweet,” said Jamie. She tried to keep her gaze focused on the girls, to not look up, but she couldn't help herself. He was
looking at her, desire plain on his face. She quickly refocused her attention on the girls.
Well, that helped a lot
.

“After the parade we get to buy something,” said Lissa. “I have ten dollars to spend.”

“Me, too,” said Mandy. She slipped her hand into Jamie's. “Will you come with us?”

“Oh, we're almost done,” Jamie said. Looking at Josh, she could feel her cheeks heating.

“Don't bug the ladies,” he said sternly.

“They're not bugging us,” put in Emma. “And we still have to check out the arts and crafts booths.”

They had just done that. Had Emma been having an out-of-body experience? Jamie turned her face so only Emma could see and scowled at her.

Emma ignored it. Suddenly she was really smiling and her eyes were starting to light up. Great. So now Emma was figuring to live vicariously through her friend's love life. Except this was not a love life. This was a no-love life. “We did the booths. Remember?”

“Yeah, but I saw something I want to look at again.” Emma pointed up the street. “Look, guys. The parade is starting!”

Sure enough, there came the Heart Lake High marching band, and behind it the convertible with the mayor perched in it, all dolled up in a red coat and a Santa hat.