Firefly Glen: Winter Baby (Harlequin Signature Select) (9 page)

“That's
my
lot, by the way,” Ward interjected, his forefinger raised warningly. “A man can do what he wants with his own property, can't he?”

“I know,” Parker said. “We already checked that out. Anyhow, your uncle has put a ten-foot picture of
himself across that billboard. Must be the worst picture ever taken of him. He looks like the ugliest, meanest old coot you'll ever see. And above it, he's printed, Last Seen In Firefly Glen. Do Not Attempt To Apprehend.”

“Damn, I'm good!” Ward laughed. “It's a thing of beauty, don't you agree, Sarah? Simple. Effective. Ten little words, and every one of them true. Best of all, there's not a thing Bourke Waitely or any of those money-grubbing sellouts in this town can do about it.”

“Don't be too sure about that,” Parker put in grimly. “Mayor Millner's looking into it even as we speak. There are ordinances. Zoning. Height restrictions—”

“I comply with every one of them,” Ward said, waving his hand dismissively. “Damn, man, don't you think I looked into all that? I'm not stupid.”

“Well, you're sure
acting
stupid.” A slow, heavy vein was throbbing in Parker's jaw. “For God's sake, Ward, use your head. I don't know whether you're just trying to piss off Bourke Waitely, or whether you've just plain lost your marbles, but a lot of people down in that town are boiling mad. And I'm not going to be responsible if a mob of them decides to march up this hill some night and stuff one of those sleighs right down your throat.”

“Okay.” Ward looked bored. “You're not responsible. Now was there anything else you wanted?”

Parker stared at the older man for a long moment, apparently caught in a strangely inarticulate impo
tence. Then he slapped his hat against his thigh, muttered something short and furious under his breath and wheeled around to head for the door.

Sarah cast one pleading look at her uncle. She met nothing but his bland, poker-faced answering stare. With a sigh, she, too, gave up and rushed out of the room.

Her robe was whirling around her legs, and her bare feet made small slapping sounds as she ran lightly across the hallway. She caught Parker just as he was opening the door.

“Wait,” she said, grabbing his arm. “Please. Tell me. You mentioned a mob. It hasn't come to that, surely. Has it?”

He shook his head, more in frustration than in denial. Anxiety squeezed at Sarah's throat. She wished she could follow Parker outside, so that they could talk in true privacy. Standing here at the door was no good. Snow was already falling on his shoulders, and cold air rushed in through her inadequate satin night-clothes, making her shiver uncomfortably.

Her sloth this morning had been a mistake. She should have dressed early. She should have been prepared for anything, the way she always had been back in Florida.

“I don't know.” Parker sighed. “They're mad, Sarah. And they have reason. He's way out of line here.”

“Can't you control them? I mean, you
are
the sheriff.”

He tossed her an irritable glance as he efficiently
turned his collar up against the cold. “Sorry. My uniform didn't come with a magic wand to wave over angry mobs and turn them into flocks of geese.”

“I didn't mean that. I just meant, surely they'll listen to you. Surely they'll back off if you tell them they should. His behavior may be childish, but he hasn't done anything illegal, has he?”

Parker slid first one hand and then the other into soft, black leather gloves. “Well, you can bet that Bourke Waitely and all the other lawyers in town are finecombing the city code book right now, trying to prove that he has. They want him neutralized. And that's Bourke's own word.”

“Neutralized?” Sarah frowned. “That sounds a little threatening.”

Parker zipped up his jacket with a frustrated metallic growl.

“Right,” he said tightly. “
Now
you're catching on.”

 

E
MMA LIT A PATCHOULI CANDLE
, put Dean Martin on the CD player and dimmed the lights. Yes. That was perfect.
Yes.

Then, five minutes later,
no.

She blew the candle out and raised the lights. It was too much pressure—it would just make things worse. But she left the music. Corny old Italian music was Macho Harry's embarrassing little sentimental secret. For the first six months of their marriage, he had warbled “That's Amore” in the shower every morning.

But not lately. Emma touched Dean Martin's smiling face on the CD case. “Come on, Dino,” she whispered. “I could really use some help here tonight.”

Tonight was the night. Tonight, come hell or high water, she was going to make her husband notice her. Make her husband
want
her. Make her husband be a husband.

But how?

She'd thought about buying one of those black leather teddies Ginger sold down at Sweet Dreams, the lingerie shop that was directly across the square from Emma's paper store. But she had decided against it. She didn't mind a little playful costuming now and then. In fact, the night they'd gone to a Halloween party dressed as Mulder and Scully from
The X-Files,
the sexual tension had been terrific. Harry had kept her awake all night, protecting her from aliens.

But that was
before.
This was
after.
And, given the current state of their love life, the teddy was risky. What if it didn't work? What if Harry still walked away and flicked on the television? How demeaning would that be? She could just picture herself standing there, tricked out like a two-bit dominatrix. She'd probably feel like killing him.

So she'd settled for her prettiest pink underclothes and Harry's favorite dress. When she heard Harry's car come up the driveway, she knocked back the rest of her wine for luck, and poured herself a second glass. She added another ice cube to his Scotch and
water, and arranged herself with what she hoped was casual sensuality on the sofa.

“Hi.” She looked up from the magazine she'd brought over as a prop. She pretended to glance at her watch in surprise. “Gosh, it's late, isn't it? You must be starving. I've kept a plate of roast beef warm in the oven. Do you want it now, or after you change?”

Harry tossed his coat over the arms of the hall tree. “Neither,” he said, dusting the snow from his hair. “I knew the city council meeting would go on forever, so I grabbed a sandwich at the café.”

Emma counted to ten silently, hoping she would keep her big mouth shut. He could have called. He could have spared her the effort of fixing a meal no one would eat. Not to mention he could have invited her to join him at the café. Just a few months ago, he would have.

But she mustn't say any of that. Nagging wasn't exactly an essential ingredient of any love potion she'd ever heard of.

Harry took his wet boots off and propped them in the corner next to the coats. Their house was too small to have a mudroom, so they had created a mud corner. He straightened wearily, twisted his back until his spine released a cascade of small cracking sounds, and sighed.

“Is your back bothering you?” Emma folded her magazine. “Come sit over here. I'll massage it.”

Harry shook his head. “No, thanks. I'm fine. It's just those god-awful metal chairs at City Hall.” He
moved over to the CD player and punched the power button. “Do you mind if I turn this off? I've got a headache.”

Okay, that was enough. Emma stood, forcing herself to stay relaxed. She went to Harry and put her arms around him, ignoring his subtle stiffening.

“Poor guy,” she said, resting her cheek against his chest. Though he didn't return the embrace, it still felt so right. If only he knew how much she loved him, loved the familiar contours of his body, the jut of his collarbone against her temple, the thump of his heart under her hand. “It must have been a tough day.”

“Not really. Just long.”

She tried not to be discouraged, but she knew this mood. Passive, unreachable, yet steadfastly contrary. He would disagree, politely but firmly, with whatever she said. If she mentioned that it was Thursday, he'd say, no, it's just the day after Wednesday.

Even worse, though she had begun to softly knead the tense muscles along his spine, he remained completely wooden. She might as well have been hugging a life-size doll.

But she refused to take offense. She refused to give up. It had been three months now since they had made love. If he defeated her tonight, those months could stretch into four, then a year—and then what? He'd be like a boat whose tethers had been sliced, drifting further and further away from her on a tide that would never turn.

She kept rubbing softly. Her hands knew him so
well. She knew what he liked. She knew where the little kinks of tension were hiding.

“Emma, stop it.” Harry put his hands on her shoulders. “I know what you're trying to do here.”

“Good,” she murmured, her face half-turned into his chest. She let her hands drift toward the small of his back, then down, over his belt, grazing the tight curve of his very sexy rear. She nuzzled him, encouraged by the skitter of his heartbeat. “Then help me do it. This kind of thing is usually a duet, you know.”

“Stop it.” He pushed a little with the heels of his hands, forcing her away from him. She lifted her head and looked at him. His face was so tense the muscles practically screamed. “Damn it, Emma, stop it. You know this is pointless.”

She took a deep breath, but she was at her limit.
“Pointless?”

“That's right. You know what the doctor said. It's never going to happen, Emma. We can't have a baby.” He tightened his mouth. “No, correct that.
I
can't. I can't give you a baby, no matter how hard I try. You heard what he said.”

“Yes, I heard him say that we probably can't have children.”
Oh, Harry.
How could she want to strangle him and make love to him all at the same time? “But I
didn't
hear him say that we can't have sex.”

For a minute she thought he might give in. He looked at her with such longing in his gaze that she was sure he couldn't resist. But, after only a few sec
onds, he muttered an oath under his breath and pulled away.

“What?” All the frustration she'd been smothering came roiling to the fore. This was so wrong. It was one thing if he had lost interest in her. That would be terrible, even heartbreaking. But she was strong, and she would survive it if she had to.

But when he so clearly still wanted her, how could he let this business about his sperm count come between them? As if she gave a
damn
about his sperm count!

“Harry, for heaven's sake. Stop making this so complicated. You are my husband. Not my baby-making machine.”

He was facing the fireplace. “I know that you don't understand why it's complicated, Emma. Maybe that's because you're not the problem. I am.”

“You certainly are.” He was so unbelievably blind. And she was so damn mad. “I'm going nuts, Harry. I love you. I want to have wild and crazy sex with you. I'm talking about panting, sweating, up-till-dawn sex. Remember that? Believe me, babies have absolutely no place in this picture.”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry. It's just not that simple for me.”

“Well, it is for me. I'm only twenty-six years old, you know. I'm not quite ready to become a nun.”

He didn't answer her. She clenched her fists, so frustrated that she was starting to feel slightly lightheaded. Wasn't there anything she could say that could break through his shield of self-pity?

“I'm warning you, Harry. Maybe you should see someone. Talk to someone. Because if you don't work through this—if you don't stop pushing me away, then—”

He gave her a tired glance. “Then what?”

She set her shoulders. “You know what. If you won't make love to me, sooner or later I'll go looking for someone who will.”

It was, of course, a lie—a deliberate jolt of electricity designed as a crude kind of shock therapy. She wanted to scare the apathy right out of him. She wanted to shock him straight into her bed.

Instead, he shocked her.

“Maybe,” he said slowly, “that isn't such a bad idea.”

P
ARKER LIKED WORKING AT NIGHT
. He liked working alone. He could get about ten times as much done when he wasn't distracted by Harry's sullen tension, Suzie's sarcasm, or the endless phone calls from the Fussy Four Hundred.

Not that he was exactly
alone
tonight. He actually had six companions, though they were all asleep. Suzie had turned the holding cell into a temporary pet store.

Yep, he thought, smiling to himself. He now worked in a zoo literally as well as figuratively. And he had no one but himself to blame.

Suzie had come in one day last week, practically in tears, her arms full of puppies. Apparently she had decided to raise a little “easy” money for her college fund by breeding her female golden retriever. The results had been five adorable, but not quite pure-blood, puppies. After several weeks of trying to be patient, Suzie's mother had finally thrown a fit and threatened to send the animals to the shelter.

Parker had been fool enough to feel sorry for the girl. Consequently, all five puppies, and the mother dog, now called the holding cell home. Suzie planned
to trot potential customers in and out of here every day next week.

First the nativity, now this. He clearly wasn't ever going to get his cell back. Good thing there was no crime in the Glen. Unless, of course, Parker's own criminal stupidity counted.

When he heard the light knock on the front door, which he kept locked at night, he assumed it was the dispatcher, coming in to take over the graveyard shift. But, to his amazement, when he opened the door he saw that it was Sarah Lennox.

She was so thoroughly bundled up against the fifteen-degree freeze he almost didn't recognize her. The pale oval of her face peeked out from a dark green hood, and her honey-colored hair was escaping in wisps that looked even softer than the hood's golden cashmere lining.

What was she doing, coming down to the Sheriff's Department after dark? It was supposed to snow soon. Almost everyone was at home by a roaring fire.

“Hi,” he said, too surprised to be very suave. Then he had a sudden troubling thought. “Is anything wrong? Is it Ward?”

She smiled. “No. Nothing's wrong.” She shivered a little and bit her lower lip. “May I come in?”

Apologizing, he stood back and let her enter. She brought cold air with her, and something else, too. He sniffed the tantalizing aroma, trying to identify it. Perfume? No.
Food.

Chinese food.

As she paused, scanning the office, apparently
looking for a spare surface, he finally noticed that she was carrying a large brown bag with the logo of the local Chinese restaurant stamped on it—
The Firefly and the Dragon.

His favorite.

It was too good to be true.

“I guess I've been working too long,” he said, awestruck. “I'm hallucinating. I actually think I saw an angel walk in here holding my favorite takeout.”

She laughed. What a pretty laugh she had! It had a cool sparkle, like a clear, sun-shot creek. It was a laugh you could wash yourself in and clean away the grime of the day.

“No hallucination,” she said. “It's real food. I asked around. Apparently in a small town everybody knows everyone else's habits.” She dug in the bag and pulled out a small container. “There's even a piece of pumpkin pie for dessert.”

“Wow.” He closed his eyes for a moment, imagining how good it would taste. Then he opened them, met hers and smiled. “But why?”

It was a simple question, but a fair one. They hadn't exactly parted this morning on the friendliest of terms.

Her answering smile was a little sheepish.

“It's an apology. For this morning. I should never have said that about how you should control the people around here. It was rude, and it was ungrateful. I do understand that you are trying to protect my uncle, and I wanted you to know that I appreciate it, even if he doesn't.”

Parker didn't respond for a moment, marveling that anyone could be so humble and generous. He tried to imagine his ex-wife apologizing with such simple dignity about anything. But why would Tina ever say she was sorry? She wasn't. Tina didn't waste time regretting any of her sins. She was too busy committing new ones.

“That's okay. Just please warn your uncle that he'd better not get caught so much as jaywalking around here for a while. Or he and I will end up playing chess through the bars of a holding cell.”

“I know,” she said. “I have told him. It doesn't seem to sink in. Frankly, I'm stumped. I just don't know what to do.”

“Do
anything.
Get him therapy. Drug his tea. Tie him up.”

She smiled ruefully. “Put him in jail?”

“It's crossed my mind.”

“I thought it might have. So I brought you a book, too.” Sarah looked just slightly mischievous now. “I got copies for both of us.” She held out a small paperback, a current self-help bestseller.
Make Anyone Do Anything—A Primer of Persuasion.

He had to laugh, but he took it. “Thanks,” he said, riffling the pages, catching the occasional psycho-babble buzz-phrase. “I'm not sure the book's been written yet that can outsmart Ward Winters, but I'll give it a try.”

“Me, too. We can compare notes later.” She gave the bag of Chinese food one last nudge to make sure
it was secure on the table. “Well, enjoy. I guess I'd better get back before it starts snowing.”

“What?” He frowned. “You aren't going to stay and eat?”

“Oh, no.” She looked uncomfortable. “You obviously have a lot of work to do. I'd just be a distraction.”

A distraction. Well, she had that right.

It was ridiculous how often in the past couple of weeks he'd found himself thinking about her. Dumb stuff, like whether her hair was as soft as it looked. Whether that determined chin of hers meant she had her uncle's stubborn streak. Why she had looked so fragile, so sad, up there on the mountain that day. Whether she was always kind to strangers, the way she'd been when she tended to his blisters, or whether she had singled him out for special treatment.

And then of course there were the X-rated thoughts, the kind he hadn't had about anybody in a long, long time.

Yeah, she was a distraction, all right. If she only knew.

“I was almost finished with work anyhow.” But he wasn't convincing enough. That two-foot stack of files on his desk probably didn't help. She was already putting her gloves back on. “Really, Sarah. You'd be doing me a favor. It's not much fun eating alone.”

She was shaking her head, smiling politely, but, as if it had been a choreographed ballet of persuasion, at that very moment the dogs decided to wake up.

The soft, scuffling sound of clumsy puppy feet on shredded newspaper came first. Sarah looked toward the sound curiously. And then the master stroke—a series of the cutest little baby yelps imaginable.

Parker smiled. Hadn't he been clever to say yes when Suzie brought the puppies in? He might just have to buy one himself out of sheer gratitude.

“I'll show you,” he said, answering her unspoken question, “if you'll stay.”

She hesitated, but the puppies were clamoring now. They probably smelled the Chinese food, the little beggars. They were getting big enough to want more than mama dog had to offer.

“I didn't really buy enough food for two,” she said doubtfully, but he could tell she was hooked.

“That's okay. I've got some leftover pizza in the refrigerator. You like green peppers? At least I think it's green peppers.” He grinned at her. “It's green something.”

She screwed up her nose. “Yum,” she said. “Parker, I really should—”

“Please.” He took her right hand and, holding her gaze with his, began easing off her glove.
Go slow, go slow,
he reminded himself. But it was hard. Something about her made him want to go fast. “Please stay.”

She didn't stop him. He got both gloves off and dropped them onto the closest desk. Then he reached up and slipped his hands inside her hood. Slowly he eased it away from her head. Without it, she looked suddenly naked. Vulnerable.

He smiled reassuringly as he touched the top button of her coat. “Why don't you take that off?” The puppies were going crazy now, slipping and jumping and yipping for attention. “There are some guys over there who seem pretty eager to meet you.”

She tilted her head. “Are you sure you haven't already read that book I brought you? You seem pretty good at getting your own way.”

But she wasn't really annoyed. He could tell. She took off her coat, draped it over Harry's desk, then turned to him, her hands on her hips and a small smile on her lips. “Okay. Show me. And they'd better be every bit as cute as they sound.”

He took her hand. “They are.”

He felt pretty safe making that promise. And she clearly wasn't disappointed. When he unlatched the door and brought her around the corner, she let out a short gasp of delight.

“Oh, Parker,” she breathed. “Oh, how darling.”

Then she went down on her knees and was immediately swarmed by five pale blond fur-balls, all huge tongues, oversize paws and yelping excitement.

She didn't seem to mind the muss and the slobber, their paws clawing at her soft green sweater or their little teeth tugging at her shoelaces. She laughed and cooed and cuddled each one of them in turn. And from the quiet corner of the cell, mama dog looked on without the slightest bit of anxiety.

Parker watched, too, and as he did a liquid warmth seeped into his veins, a sensation he only dimly recognized as desire, because it came so gently, so com
fortably, as if it was a perfect match for his own blood, as if it belonged there.

But once inside him, the feeling grew, flooding him with its light. He couldn't take his gaze away. He couldn't move at all. He could barely breathe.

When one of the puppies tried to climb up the front of her sweater, licking her throat as if she were made of sweet cream, Sarah flung back her head, eyes shut, lips curved in an innocent pleasure.

He couldn't stop himself. He bent over that blind, smiling, beautiful face. “Sarah,” he said softly.

She opened her eyes, and they were full of laughter. “What?”

He didn't answer. He touched her chin. And then, before either of them could think better of it, he kissed her.

It wasn't a long kiss. It wasn't pushy or intrusive or threatening. And yet he felt the delighted smile fade from her lips as if his kiss had been a frost, forcing the petals from the rose.

He pulled away, of course. It would have been impossible to persist in the face of such a reaction. It was a bit of a shock, actually. Ordinarily his kisses weren't greeted as if his lips had been dipped in poison.

She lowered her head and stared down at the puppies. Her whole body had gone strangely still.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “You just looked—cute. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn't. Really.” She set the puppies back down carefully. She managed to extricate herself, and
she got to her feet. “But I was thinking—I just remembered that my uncle will be waiting up for me. I really should get going.”

He didn't move as she slid past him, exiting the cell as if she feared he might try to lock her in. He still didn't move as she hurried to Harry's desk and scooped up her coat and gloves.

Slowly he pulled the cell door shut to keep the puppies in. He leaned against it, deliberately passive, watching her from a safe distance without making any sudden movements. He couldn't figure out exactly why she was so skittish, but he knew he had been clumsy, like a poacher crashing and stomping through a silent, untouched wood.

He kept his voice light. “Too bad. No Chinese, then?”

“I'd better not,” she said, fumbling with her gloves in an awkward haste. “I'm sorry. It's just that I had completely forgotten about Ward.”

She couldn't quite get the gloves on.

“Sarah,” he said gently, as she threaded her fingers incorrectly for the second time. “Sarah, it was just a kiss.”

“I know,” she said, smiling at him with an intensity that was obviously manufactured. “It isn't that, really. I just don't think I should leave my uncle alone too long.”

The buttons closed. The deep green hood swallowed her up once more. And then, with a polite exchange of goodbyes and small, firm click of the door, she was gone.

A puppy snuffled, scratching at the cell door.

“It's okay, buddy,” Parker said softly. “We goofed, that's all. We'll get another chance.” The puppy whimpered, as if he didn't have much hope that Parker would do any better the next time.

Parker glanced over at the paperback Sarah had left.
Make Anyone Do Anything.

He chuckled under his breath. “I think you're right, little fellow. I think we'd better read this book after all.”

 

O
N
S
UNDAY AFTERNOON
the temperature rose to fifty degrees, and the whole town of Firefly Glen came out to celebrate.

The square was a bustle of color—teens playing, mothers swinging babies, people walking dogs. The thermometer might drop to zero again by morning—weather up here was apparently famously unpredictable—so everyone wanted to make the most of this gift, this smiling hour of stolen spring.

In the Candlelight Café, Theo was serving Heat Wave Sundaes for fifty cents. Half the town was here. Sarah and Ward waited twenty minutes for a booth, and when they were finally seated, Sarah was dismayed to discover that she had an uninterrupted view of Sheriff Tremaine and his gorgeous brunette date, who sat at an adjoining table.

Of course he looked wonderful, in a casual blue cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow. Must be his day off. And he was smiling
that smile
at his date, who obviously was eating it up with one of Theo's silver dessert spoons.