Wedding Bell Blues (5 page)

Doing my best to convince myself of it, I padded across the
hardwood
floor to my closet. Without thinking I pulled out a pair of sweat pants
and a well-worn tee shirt. After taking only enough time to brush my
teeth and take care of a few other things in the bathroom, I started
downstairs. It was time for Detective Colton Dougherty to understand
that he wasn't welcome to do whatever he wanted to here, not any more.
He gave up that privilege a long time ago.

By the time I made it to the kitchen, I'd worked up a fine
head of
steam. Of course, the fact I hadn't had any coffee yet helped. So did
the remnants of fear that still reverberated through my system. Nothing
would keep me from telling Colton just what an arrogant, inconsiderate
SOB he truly was.

I stopped into the kitchen and all coherent thought
disappeared.

Colton
stood before the stove, his back to me. That marvelously well-muscled
back that narrowed into a waist which, if he'd turned, would have so
wonderfully set off his washboard abs. Tanned and gorgeous enough to
eat, he stood there, barefoot and clad only in his jeans, the phone
cradled between his ear and shoulder. His thick auburn hair was
tousled, as if he hadn't yet run a comb through it. I resisted the urge
- barely - to run my fingers through his hair before tracing every
muscle, every finely sculpted line of his back.

Damn, he could still get my juices flowing.

Licking my lips and doing my best to get my lust under
control, I
leaned against the doorframe and watched as he carefully took up the
bacon; I winced as the grease popped and his left hand flashed out to
wipe it from his chest. Silly man. That had to have hurt. Why hadn't he
put his shirt on before starting the bacon?

Then, as if realizing I was there, he turned and smiled that
same
smile I'd learned a long time ago meant he was up to something and I
wasn't going to like it. Big surprise. I wasn't sure I liked the fact
he'd just assumed it was all right for him to stay the night. I sure as
hell didn't like the possible explanations for why he'd stayed - not
that I wanted to think about them just then. But somehow I didn't think
that look was because of either of those reasons. No, he was up to
something, and I most definitely did not want to know what.

"Dr. Jones, she just walked in. Here she is."

His eyes danced, and he smiled wickedly at me as he thrust the
receiver in my direction. My mouth went dry. I considered, just for a
moment, turning and running in the opposite direction. Not that it
would do any good. My mother would find me. So I might as will get it
over with.

What a way to start the day: explaining to my overprotective
and
wedding-infected mother why the former love of my life was answering my
phone so early on a Sunday morning.

Damn and damn and damn again.

Colton Dougherty was going to die a slow, lingering death just
as soon as I figured out how to deal with my mother.

"Morning."

"Jessica Marie Jones, what is he doing there this early? Are
you all right? Did Colton spend the night?"

The questions rattled off, just like rounds from a Gatling
gun.
Rounds I wanted to aim at Colton as he grinned unrepentantly at me
before once more turning his attention to the stove and the eggs that
were now ready to be taken up. Well, every condemned man was entitled
to a last meal. He just usually didn't cook it himself. But I was
willing to make an exception since the condemned was Colton.

"And
a good morning to you, too, Mom." I glared at Colton's back, knowing he
was enjoying my discomfort. The bastard. "I'm feeling much better this
morning, thanks for asking."

"Don't be bitchy, Jessie." Me, bitchy? Never. "But I am glad
you're feeling better. Did you get any rest?"

Now, if I were the suspicious type, I'd assume she was trying
to
find out if Colton and I had had sex. Wait, I am the suspicious type,
and that's exactly what she was trying to do. She'd also be wondering
if I had managed to rest any but, just then, her main concern would be
finding out what my former fiancé was doing answering my phone at seven
on a Sunday morning.

Come to think of it, I was wondering the same thing. Not that
I'd ever tell her that.

"I did get some rest. In fact, I slept better than I
expected." That
was the truth. I'd expected nightmares to haunt me all night long but
they hadn't. Amazing what really good drugs will do for you.

"As for Colton, he came by after Dad dropped me off. He wanted
to
ask some more questions about what happened." Memory once more intruded
and I pushed it down. "Mama, I'll be honest. I wasn't coping very well
so Colton stayed the might on the couch in case I needed anything."

"But you're all right now?" Concern filled her voice.

"I'm fine, Mom. Really." There was no need to tell her how
scared
I'd been. She'd only worry and insist I move home, and that was most
definitely something I wanted to avoid.

"Are you going to feel up to going to Mass with us? Or do you
want us to pick you up afterwards for lunch?"

"I want to go to Mass, Mom." If for no other reason than to
thank
God for sparing me and to ask Him to look after Manny's soul and to
grant his family some peace and comfort.

"Are you sure?"

Now she sounded worried. I couldn't help
wondering if she was afraid I was just putting on a brave front, or if
she was afraid of what the other members of the parish would think when
they saw my battered face. Well, screw them all.

"I'm fine, Mom. Really."

"If you're sure, your father and I will be by at half past."

"I'll be ready. Thanks."

"And be sure to tell Colton he's more than welcome to join us."

I didn't groan, at least not loud enough for either of them to
hear
me. But I did grind my teeth and my fingers closed around the receiver
so tightly it wouldn't have surprised me if it had shattered in my
hand. Damn Colton! Now his inconsiderate - or at least unthinking - act
of answering the phone would put my mother on the path to getting us
married and she'd be going at a full gallop.

Which was exactly the last thing I needed or wanted.

The moment she rang off, I rounded on Colton. The fact that he
looked good enough to eat didn't take the edge off my growing anger.
Neither did the fact he held a mug of coffee out to me. Although, to be
honest, that did make me pause long enough to snatch the mug from him
and take a swallow. And that, in turn, gave me a moment to gather my
thoughts, something not easily done before that first mug of coffee in
the morning, even under the best of conditions.

"Would you kindly tell me what the hell you thought you were
doing?"
I stood there, one hand on a hip, coffee mug clutched in the other
hand. I stared at him, my anger growing as he looked at me as if he
didn't have a clue one what I was talking about.

"I thought I was fixing you breakfast." For a moment he looked
confused. Then that macho pride of his took over and he leaned almost
insolently against the counter, arms crossed over his chest as he tried
to stare me down. "Sorry for trying to be considerate."

"Don't," I snarled. "You know damned well what I'm talking
about,
Colton. Why did you answer the phone? More importantly, why did you
answer the phone when you knew it was my mother? You know what she's
like."

"Again, I thought I was being nice by answering the phone on
the
first ring so you could get some more sleep. Besides, how in God's name
was I supposed to know it was your mother? I'm not clairvoyant."

"You're a cop, Colton. Surely, you've heard of this great
little
invention called Caller ID. All you had to do was look at the readout
on the receiver."

For a moment he didn't say anything. His face had that same
hard
expression I remembered from our time together. The expression that
always meant he was so angry he was about to turn around and walk out
so he wouldn't say something he'd regret. So I waited, convinced he was
about to do exactly that.

Instead he fooled me. He rubbed his face with his right hand,
his
eyes no longer bright with emotion, but tired and I wondered again if
he'd managed to get any sleep.

"Jess, I'm sorry. I didn't think." He lifted his mug of coffee
and
drank. "I really was trying to answer the phone before it woke you.
Then, when I heard your mother's voice, I didn't know what to do. I
sure couldn't hang up…even though I considered it."

That I could believe, and I couldn't blame him. It was just
too bad
he hadn't followed his first instinct. My life would be much easier if
he had.

"Well." I couldn't help it. I really couldn't. "She did say to
tell
you that you're more than welcome to come to church with us this
morning."

His look of horror, coupled with the way he all but crawled
onto the
counter as though he was trying to escape the invitation brought a
painful smile to my lips. At least he hadn't forgotten what my mother
could be like. Maybe that would keep him from doing anything so foolish
again.

Assuming there was an again, something I very much doubted.

"No way." He shook his head emphatically. Then he glared as he
saw
my smile. "Sit down and eat." He jabbed a finger at one of the chairs
at the kitchen table.

"Only if you do the same and answer a few questions."

He stood there, head cocked to one side as he considered. Then
he
shrugged and turned to the counter. A moment later he slid a plate in
front of me before reaching for his own plate and sliding onto the
chair opposite mine.

"What do you want to know?"

I didn't reply right away. Instead, I tried the eggs,
surprised by
how good they were - and by how hungry I suddenly was. Then, realizing
he was waiting for me to say something, I swallowed and leaned back,
wondering where to begin.

"Okay. First question, why did you stay the night?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned back and
closed his
eyes. Watching him, I frowned. He really did look as though he hadn't
managed to get much sleep. Concern sparked, at first just a little
flicker, but it quickly flared into something close to fear. Colton
might be a number of things but, first and foremost, he's a cop. Being
a cop is what brought him here last night. Is that also why he spent
the night after putting me to bed?

Dear God, was he afraid Manny's killers would come after me?

"Colton?" I prompted, my voice choked.

"Jessie, you weren't in the best of shape last night and I was
worried," he finally said. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Is that the only reason? You're not holding out on me, are
you?"

"What?" He looked truly perplexed by that and my fear eased a
bit.
"Of course, that's the only reason. Surely you know me well enough to
know I wouldn't have tried anything with you all but passed out on
meds."

"What? No. That's not what I mean."

Of course, he didn't hear me. Instead, all righteous
indignation, he
pushed away from the table and got to his feet. Damn it, he'd
misunderstood and now there'd be no dealing with him, at least not
until he got his precious ego under control.

"I thought I was being considerate. But obviously you still
think
I'm without self-control or any sense of decency." He all but tossed
his plate and silverware into the sink and I cringed, hoping nothing
chipped. "I thought you might feel better if you woke during the night
and weren't alone. But I forgot you're superwoman and don't need anyone
or anything."

"Colton!"

Damn it! This was why I'd done my best to avoid him whenever
possible. We simply couldn't be in the same room for more than ten
minutes without things disintegrating into open warfare. Well, to hell
with it. This time he was wrong and I wasn't going to apologize.

"One day, you're going to realize just how wrong you are…about
a lot of things."

With that, he turned and stalked out of the kitchen. For a
moment, I
considered letting him leave. But I couldn't. Not when that spark of
fear still flickered deep inside me. Not when I still didn't know if
they had any new leads into who shot Manny. That meant I had to stop
him before he left and try to get him to calm down enough to talk.

Great. Talk about the impossible mission.

I found him in the living room, his back to me - that seemed
to be
his normal pose these days - as he pulled on his tee shirt. A quick
look confirmed this was where he'd spent the night. My grandmother's
afghan, one she'd crocheted for my tenth birthday, was inexpertly
folded and then tossed across the back of the sofa. His running shoes,
socks tucked into them, had been kicked under the coffee table. His
wallet and gun rested on the coffee table, within easy reach when he'd
been sleeping.

He turned, his eyes flashing angrily, his jaw tight. Without a
word,
he reached for his wallet and slid it into his hip pocket. Then his
hand closed over his gun and the pancake holster it rested in. The way
he almost absently positioned the holster at the small of his back told
me how long he'd been doing just that. It was as if the movement was
instinctual now - which it probably was. Then he dropped onto the sofa
to pull on his shoes.

Well, if he wasn't going to talk, I'd have to.

"Colton, that wasn't what I meant." Damn, I really didn't want
to
have to apologize when he's the one who overreacted. "I simply wanted
to know if you stayed because you thought those bastards might try
something else." I couldn't bring myself to say anything more, afraid
if I gave voice to my fears, they might come true.

He stopped in the middle of tying his right shoe. Even though
he
didn't look up, I saw the tension in the line of his shoulders ease
slightly. Still, he said nothing and I wondered what else I needed to
do to get him to answer my question.