It Takes Two (7 page)

He looked at her for several heartbeats. Enough time to clearly communicate that he didn’t think that was okay. “What time are you leaving?”

She knew
exactly
where this was going. “Not sure. But early. Or whenever I get around to it. But probably
really
early.” Shane didn’t do early mornings. Mostly because he did late nights so well.

Shane moved in close, not touching her, but looking down at her with a combination of exasperation and affection. “Good try. What time are you leaving?”

She crossed her arms. “Whenever I want to. This is
my
trip and it doesn’t matter to
anyone
else what time I leave.”

“You’re not driving clear across the state of South Dakota by yourself and you’re certainly not spending the night in some remote cabin you’ve never been to by yourself.”

“Oh, really?” She hated being told what to do. Shane did it all the time anyway.

“Yes. Really.”

“I’m not sure what you’re going to do about me leaving whenever I want to.”

Of course, when she said stuff like that Shane took it as a challenge.

“I’ll camp out on your porch if I need to so you don’t leave without me knowing about it.”

“You can’t go. You’re not invited.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll be…
working
.” He couldn’t come to the cabin with her. She was trying to get
away
from him so she could think. And relax. She hadn’t felt relaxed since he’d first asked her to move in with him over two months ago.

She also couldn’t have him around while she was trying to do homework on the fibromyalgia. If he was there she’d be distracted and very likely tuck the books under the bed and forget about them. Like she’d done eight months ago when she’d first started dating him.

Of course, that wasn’t entirely accurate. She’d started with the books on her bedside table. She hadn’t moved them to the floor and pushed them under the bed until the first time Shane spent the night.

“You can work if I’m there.”

She raised an eyebrow and waited. Finally he sighed.

“If I was into puzzles and stuff you could work while I was there.”

“Exactly.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“A week. Maybe two.”

His jaw dropped. “
Two weeks?
”

She shrugged. “However long it takes to get my work done.”

“Fine. I’ll follow you up there on my bike. Then I can go and sightsee or something while you work.” He dropped his voice. “Right on your ass is one of my favorite places to be anyway.”

She pushed him back. “No. You’re not invited.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not driving that far alone and you’re not spending two weeks away from me.”

“Wow, you been taking stalker classes?”

He sighed. “I know. It sounds creepy. But I don’t like this.”

She smiled in spite of agreeing that he was overreacting. “I’ve been away from home, away from you, before.”

“But you’ve flown. And stayed in nice hotels. And had work functions where there were other people around who knew you. This whole cabin thing doesn’t sit right.”

For god’s sake. Why hadn’t she told him she was going to Boston to stay in the Four Seasons for a work conference? Dammit.

She tried to appeal to his practical side. “You’re going to take off work and drive over five hundred miles to babysit me?”

Of course, this was the man who’d brought a helium tank, a ring toss and a cotton candy machine into a bar to show her how he felt.
Practical
wasn’t the perfect word for Shane.

“Yes,” he said. “Besides, I love Mount Rushmore.”

There was no way she was going to win this argument. “You want to sleep outside on the porch? Fine. Whatever. I’m not telling you when I’m leaving.”

He grinned. “God, you’re a lot of work.”

She rolled her eyes. She’d heard that a time or two from him as well. “Look who’s talking.” She headed for the door before anything stupider happened. “You better bring the Kahlua too.”

“Love the sound of that.”

“Yeah, it’ll help you keep warm. It’s only March. It’s gonna get chilly outside at night.”

Shane could honestly say that a yoga studio was in the top three on the list of places he never thought he’d go. Yet here he was. Because Emma Dixon was a pain in the ass.

He needed to talk to her and since she lived with Isabelle, he’d suggested the bar or a coffee shop. She’d said he’d have to come to her studio because she had a late class.

He knew it was actually because she wanted to see him totally uncomfortable in her girly shop.

He loved girly stuff. On girls. Around girls. Because of girls.

But he didn’t do pink, he didn’t do instrumental music, he didn’t care about smelling things that would relax him and he didn’t do workouts that included sitting with his eyes closed. He wasn’t completely convinced he could sit on the floor with his legs crossed like that anyway.

“You’re just in time,” Emma said with a huge grin as he stepped through the front door.

“I need to know how serious this knitting thing is with Isabelle,” he said without preamble. He didn’t want to start breathing in too much of the aromatherapy fumes. He might get mellow or something.

Emma’s eyes widened. “She told you about the knitting?”

“Yeah.” Knitting. Wow, he hadn’t been expecting that.

Then Emma’s eyes narrowed. “You mean about the
knitting
? Like with yarn and needles and stuff?”

He frowned. “Yeah. Is there another kind of knitting?” Oh great. There was more than one kind? He had no idea what to think about the first kind.

Emma shook her head. “No. Never mind.”

“But she’s serious about it?” he asked. “Like she means it? This is a real thing to her? Sitting at home on the couch and
knitting
for hours?”

“Yes,” Emma said. “It’s very serious. But I can’t get into all that right now. Class is starting.”

“Class? I thought you were done.”

She brightened. “Oh, just one more. This is a special session.”

The look on her face—mischief, pure and simple—made Shane sigh.

“You’re thinking I’m joining this special session?”

“You can watch if you want,” Emma moved to lock the front door. “But it might be good for you.”

“Yoga’s a little—calm—for me,” Shane said.

“Yeah. No kidding. Exactly what this session is about.”

She opened the tall white French doors at the end of the room. “Come on.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk to you this bad,” Shane said, starting after her anyway.

“But you do,” she said confidently. “Quit being a baby.”

Being a part of Isabelle’s life meant putting up with Emma on a regular basis. While they had a lot in common, Emma Dixon could wear even him down.

Shane followed her through the doors that opened into a huge inner room with twenty-foot ceilings, a light-colored wood floor and a mirror that took up an entire wall.

The most interesting thing in the room, however, was the collection of people gathered for the “special session”. That they were all men was note-worthy. More so was the fact that Shane knew them all.

“Hey, buddy!” Ryan called in greeting. “Emma said you were coming but I didn’t believe her.”

More specifically, Shane was shocked to realize that all the class participants were paramedics at St. Anthony’s who worked with Ryan and Conner. They were all members of Sam Bradford’s crew—including Sam.

Ryan was positioned up in front of the group, sitting on a thin purple foam mat, seemingly in charge.

“Yeah, well, Em left out a few important details,” Shane said. “What the hell are you guys doing here?”

“Yoga,” Dooley Miller said with a shrug. “We have very high-pressure jobs, you know.”

Emma handed Shane a rolled-up mat. “They’re learning stress reduction, how to quiet their minds, how to focus their positive energies.”

Shane looked down at the mat. “Uh, no.” As a cop he needed the edge that came with the stress and pressure. And he certainly couldn’t look at the criminals he handled with “positive energies”, whatever that was. He couldn’t—and didn’t want to—go soft.

“Kelley, get your ass over here,” Kevin Campbell called. “You need to relax as much as any of us.”

Shane shook his head. “Being wound up keeps me sharp.”

Emma shrugged and moved into a spot between Mac Gordon and Sam Bradford. “No yoga, no advice,” she said simply.

Shane gripped the soft foam in his hand.

Dammit.

He didn’t want to breathe deep and stretch and he definitely didn’t want this to be a group therapy session. “We can do the advice another time,” he said, tossing the mat aside.

“Kelley.” Mac stretched to his feet.

The guy was as big as Shane, even wider through the shoulders.

“You’re staying.”

Shane lifted an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Mac was big but he was also more than a decade older than Shane. If nothing else, Shane could outrun him. He was pretty sure.

“You’ve now seen all of us here, getting ready for yoga,” Mac said. “I can’t let you leave until I’m sure that you won’t tell anyone.”

Shane snorted. “No one would believe me anyway.”

At least they were all dressed in shorts and T-shirts. The only leotard in sight was the one on Emma. And she wore it well.

Mac put his hands on his hips. “Get your mat. If you’re doing it too, you won’t be blabbing about it.”

“But—”

Kevin got to his feet too. He was leaner than Mac but he’d played football in the NFL. He was younger too. “Get your mat,” he said.

Shane started to reply, then looked at Em.

Fuck.

Shane dropped his head. It wasn’t their physical threats—that he didn’t take seriously anyway—it was that Emma was a pain in the ass and would definitely withhold information about Isabelle if he disparaged her beloved yoga by not participating.

He was stuck.

With a heavy sigh, he retrieved the mat and unrolled it next to Dooley.

“Why are you all here anyway? Seriously?”

“Look at ’em,” Dooley said, gesturing to Mac and Sam. “They look like shit.”

Shane had to admit that Sam and Mac had both looked better.

“Sam’s got twin baby girls at home and is up all night and worried all the time,” Dooley said. “Which, by the way, is hilarious considering how many times in the past he was up all night and making other people worry.”

Sam flipped him off.

“What’s wrong with you?” Shane asked Mac, settling down onto his mat.

“Sara’s pregnant,” the big guy said of his wife.

“Yeah.” Shane knew that. Everyone knew that.

It was hard to miss Sara Bradford Gordon even if she weren’t hugely pregnant, looking like she’d stuck a beach ball under her shirt. “Congrats,” Shane said to Mac.

“Thanks.”

Shane looked at Dooley for further clarification but it was Kevin who answered with a chuckle, “Turns out Mac’s a worrywart too. Who would have guessed? He needs to learn to chill out before she goes into labor or
he’s
going to be the one they have to sedate.”

“They’re not sleeping well and the worry is a little out of control,” Ryan said from the front of the room. “They’re concerned that all of this is going to affect how they do their jobs, so I suggested some meditation and yoga.”

Ryan had been raised by a woman Shane swore was part hippy and part gypsy. Ryan knew all about herbs and acupuncture and all kinds of other stuff that sounded hokey to him. Shane had never met an illness that didn’t respond to rest, orange juice and ibuprofen. But Ryan wasn’t weird about it. In fact, he had a sense of humor about all of it, so on occasion Shane would say yes to one of the healing creams Ryan’s mom made for bumps and bruises or would actually drink some of the crazy tea she made to help with inflammation and circulation.

So far he’d never felt
worse
for using the stuff, so he went along with it when Ryan brought it up.

“And what are
you
doing here?” Shane asked Kevin and Dooley.

“We’re here for moral support,” Kevin said.

“And entertainment,” Dooley added, trying to touch the toes on his outstretched leg. He was several inches short of his goal. “I’ve seen beautiful women get into amazing poses doing yoga. I can’t wait to see these guys try.”

“We’re not going to be the only ones falling on our asses,” Mac told him. “I’ll make sure of that,” he added.

“And you’re the fearless leader?” Shane asked Ryan.

“Em thought the guys would be less intimidated having me here.”

“Is
intimidated
really the word you want to use?” Mac asked.

Ryan chuckled. “They’d be more
comfortable
with me leading.”