Jarod's Heart (King Brothers Stories #2) (2 page)

As he deepened the kiss, he felt her soften, causing an involuntary moan to issue from his chest. Just before he wrapped his arms completely around her, she stomped on his instep.

“How dare you!” She stormed off toward the house, her blonde locks whipping angrily behind her like wheat in a cold, autumn wind.

At least she
’
s heading in the right direction this time, he thought. He had to jog a bit to catch up to her.

“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”

They’d made it inside the entry by now. Lauren was full steam ahead cruising into the kitchen.

“You might be my boss at work, Jarod, but you are not my anything after hours! You have no right to dictate to me where I can go on my own time!”

“Calm down, Lauren.”

“I will NOT calm down. I’m getting sick and tired of you ignoring me except when you feel like paying attention and that usually means you want to dictate how I should live my life! I’m sick of it!”

He almost ran into her back when she stopped dead in the kitchen, where everyone had congregated and were now listening intently to their argument.

Perfect, now the whole family knew they were fighting.

He’d deal with Lauren later. Right now he needed to explain to everyone what was going on with Billy and his cohorts, and try to make a plan to keep them all safe.

MONDAY MORNING, OCTOBER…

HE LOOKED UP
at the dark sky feeling a kinship with the clouds. The oncoming storm reminded him of those chaotic, black days when she’d broken his heart, scattering its pieces to the four corners of the universe.

He coughed up a disgusted laugh at such melancholy nonsense before he unlocked the door and folded his six-feet-three-inch frame into the driver’s seat. He turned the key in the ignition and the cruiser purred to life.

Sheriff Jarod King drove away from his parent’s palatial family home in the High Sierra desert. He switched the heater to “on” and the sweet tang of wet sage billowed through the air vents in the dashboard. The aromatic flavor was much better than the crusty funk coming from the backseat, where drunks and petty criminals had left a little something of themselves behind. He would have Lauren call the detailer to have the cruiser scheduled for a good cleaning. No, she still wasn’t speaking to him but it hadn’t effected her job performance…much.

The forecast was for ice and possibly snow in this freak October storm, so the chances weren’t good that he’d have it freshened up anytime soon. The wrecks would keep him busy most of the day.

Jarod was the oldest son of James and Camille King, who were a prominent family in this little corner of Nevada. His father ha built his construction company from the ground up before Jarod was born. King Construction was now one of the leading outfits in the state. But Jarod had eschewed his birthright, handing over his legacy to Jason, the second oldest of the three brothers who Jarod loved dearly. He preferred law enforcement, working with and helping the people of his community.

But his dark mood this morning had nothing to do with his job. Today was the fifth anniversary of his darkest hour, the day his high school sweetheart, Miranda, had left him for her drug dealer. After the bitter divorce, he’d moved back home into his suite of rooms at the King estate with his parents. Since then, every morning had been a carbon copy of the last; wake up, get dressed, and go to work.

It would be funny if it weren
’
t so tragic, he thought to himself with ironic disgust.

A gust of wind blew sand and rocks into his windshield, startling him. He gripped the wheel to keep from drifting into oncoming traffic when the pickup in front of him blew a tire.

Sighing out loud, he pulled his cruiser over to the shoulder behind the disabled vehicle and called it in to dispatch. He needed a fortifying drink of coffee to warm him up before he left his vehicle, but as he reached for the much needed elixir he realized he’d left his mug on the counter at home. Disgusted with himself and his sour mood, he carefully opened his door and stepped out of his vehicle to approach the disabled pickup. He was halfway to the driver when the skies opened up in a chilly downpour of icy rain.

Thank you, Monday, for wasting no time in throat-punching me in the trachea.

An hour later, he’d made it to the Timbisha County Sheriff’s Office, drenched to the bone. He sloshed through the doors, hoping no one would make eye contact with him.

“Good morning, Sheriff!”

Today just wasn’t his day.

“G’morning, Marguerite,” he intoned before shutting his office door without a backward glance at his receptionist. The last thing he needed at the moment was to get caught up in a gossip session with the town-crier. Oh, she was pretty enough and she had impeccable customer service skills, but there was something about that woman that rubbed him the wrong way.

Not that Jarod was interested in conversing with any woman. He had been there and done that before and after the divorce. From that experience alone he knew that women were only good for one thing; making sure his office ran smoothly.

Okay, they were good for more than that, but he was only interested in impeccable office skills. If he got the itch for something more, he went out of town and gave a fictitious name…

And a fictitious number.

He closed his office blinds before he grabbed the extra uniform he kept in the armoire that his mother had insisted he have installed in his office. There was a small locker room in the building but he seldom used it because it often smelled like the back of his cruiser.

Once he was dressed, he hit the intercom and buzzed Lauren. She hadn’t been at her desk when he walked by but he hoped he could beg her to bring him a cup of coffee to warm him up. Unfortunately, she wasn’t back yet, so he began the report on the flat tire he assisted with this morning. As it turned out, the driver had a bench warrant out for his arrest. He was being booked downstairs now.

Once he finished the report, he shoved his chair back and stood. He needed coffee in a bad way, but in order to reach the breakroom, he had to trek through reception again, which was one big room that had been partitioned off with padded cubicle walls separating his deputies from the main area. Marguerite worked the long counter that divided the room from the public. In order to get to the much needed coffee pot, he would have to cross paths with her again.

He peeked out his door and looked around. When he stepped out he kept his head and eyes down as he hurried to the breakroom. Lucky for him, Marguerite was helping someone at the counter and didn’t see his reappearance. He sighed in relief when he managed to push his way through the breakroom door unnoticed.

He reached into the dishwasher for his favorite mug only to discover that the machine hadn’t been run. Frustrated, he grabbed a soap cube from the box under the sink and added it to the dispenser in the door of the washer, closed the door and pushed the “short-cycle” button. He reached into the cupboard and got lucky. There was one plain mug left. All the rest bore vulgar sayings, flowers or holiday themes. He would rather drink straight from the pot than use one of those.

He put his mug next to the coffee pot and grabbed the empty carafe.

Son of a
…

Reaching deep down inside for a calm that was almost nonexistent, he jerked on the faucet before angrily swishing some water around the dirty carafe, then dumped it out and refilled it. He dumped the water into the reservoir, added a new filter and coffee grounds to the basket and, out of sheer spite for his lazy co-workers, dumped in two extra scoops.

Finally feeling a bit of satisfaction, he pressed the Brew button.

He was leaning against the counter, whistling a jaunty tune, when Lauren crashed through the door. She was soaked, her clothes sticking to her perfectly curved body and she looked as if she might commit a homicide if pushed in just the right direction. Right now, Jarod felt like pushing.

“Nice outfit,” he deadpanned.

Frosty beams of anger shot from her winter blue eyes, causing him to unintentionally place a hand over his heart. She still wasn’t speaking to him. It’d been over a month ago since he forced her into the back of his cruiser in an effort to keep her safe from Julie’s crazy ex-boyfriend. They’d all been in danger, as Billy tried to enact vengeance on his brother, Jason. Thankfully, Billy had been apprehended, but at the time of their fight, Jarod couldn’t help but worry that Lauren might be kidnapped by Billy to be used for one of his sick games.

Jarod hadn’t been willing to take that chance, and Lauren hadn’t appreciated his efforts to keep her safe.

Women.

She shoved a soggy, brown paper sack into the refrigerator before moving to the cupboard to grab the mug that said, “HAVE A NICE DAY” on the front. Slamming the mug on the counter, she reached over for the carafe before she realized it was still brewing. She narrowed her eyes at him again.

“It was empty when I got here,” he said with innocence, showing her his empty mug. “So, I made a new pot.” He grinned evilly.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she went back to the refrigerator for the artificially, over-sweetened creamer. She slammed it on the counter next to her mug.

She tapped her perfectly manicured fingernails on the counter, staring daggers at the pot. He knew how she felt. She was in the same mood he had arrived in over an hour ago.

He frowned. Was she just now getting to work? She should’ve been here before him this morning.

Genuinely concerned by her soggy appearance, he asked, “Run into any trouble on the way in?”

She took another deep breath through her nose, probably working out how she could possibly get out of answering his question without speaking to him aloud.

Before he had a chance to ask if she was all right, she closed her eyes and shook her head. “Just a flat tire.”

That explained the wet cat fashion statement she was sporting.

Ticked that she hadn’t had the sense to ask him for help, she admonished, “Why didn’t you call for road assistance? One of us would’ve come out to help.”

She grabbed the now full carafe off of the burner and poured a small amount of the very strong, black coffee into her mug. He watched mesmerized, as she measured in a healthy amount of creamer and four packets of stevia. She mixed her concoction with vigor, turned to face him and very deliberately took a drink.

As she tipped up her mug, the image on the bottom was hard to ignore; a hand flipping him the bird.

He glared at her.

She smirked back with a raised eyebrow, turned back to the counter to fill her mug with more of the bitter brew and then stormed out of the breakroom. He couldn’t take his eyes off of the feminine sway of her rounded hips as she sashayed to her desk, before the door closed in his face.

LAUREN SLAMMED HER
Have A Nice Day mug onto her desk, tossed her purse in the drawer and headed to the ladies room to try and dry off.

Call in for help, indeed. Like she would use up precious manpower for a lousy flat that she could change herself. She wasn’t helpless, for heaven sake.

She looked at herself in the mirror and almost started crying. Her blonde hair hung in matted ropes with water dripping from the ends. Her makeup was smeared giving her raccoon eyes.