The Sheriff's Little Matchmaker Page 13

  “Yeah.” He grabbed a slice of pizza and took a bite, burning his tongue. This wasn’t his night for catching breaks.

  She hugged herself. “I take it you knew exactly what was happening? All they did was mention a location, but you seemed to know what they were talking about.”

  He set the slice down and used chewing his food to gather his thoughts. “Yeah, you get to know certain people and situations, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”

  “We’re not talking about me right now. I want to know why you didn’t tell me you’d been hurt on the job.”

  “Because I knew you’d make a big deal of it when it’s nothing.” He wiped his hands on a napkin.

  “Who stabbed you?”

  He rubbed his hands along her upper arms and sighed. You should’ve handled this entire situation better. Have you learned nothing? “Sasha, I wasn’t stabbed. Not like you mean, anyway.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “How do you know what I mean?”

  He squeezed her arms and tried to guide her to a chair. “Because I can see it in your face, hear it in your voice. Sit down and I’ll tell you what happened.”

  “First it’s nothing and now it’s a ‘let’s sit down before I tell you’ thing?” Her tone was accusatory, but she sank onto the chair.

  He sat across from her, his knees touching hers. “Please, cher, let me explain, and you’ll see it’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be.”

  She nodded but brought a hand up to cover her mouth. He blew his breath out. So this was how it was gonna be. She looked like a rabbit ready to bolt at any moment.

  “I responded to a domestic disturbance and— Sasha?” He captured her hands in his. “Bon Dieu, your hands are like ice.”

  How could I have been so stupid? “Does this have to do with your husband?”

  “That’s how…” She shivered, and her teeth began to chatter.

  He swore and pulled her onto his lap. He held her tight, feeling the tremors running through her. Damn. He’d never really thought much about what being involved with a widow might mean or what fears Sasha might carry because of it. He’d known she was wary, but now he realized why.

  He rubbed her hands to warm them and gradually worked his way up her arms. “Do you want some silverware or folders to arrange?”

  She huffed out a little laugh and shook her head against his chest. “I’m okay. Just needed a minute to collect myself. I honestly didn’t mean to fall apart. It’s been over five years since his death, but seeing that wound and when you said ‘domestic disturbance,’ it…it brought a lot of it back. I’m sorry for freaking out on you.”

  “It’s okay. Look.” He pulled the bandaging off. “See? It honestly was just a flesh wound. And I apologize for not telling you. The guy was drunk and waving a kitchen knife around. Granted, I should have been more careful, but it wasn’t a life-threatening situation. Just a little slowing of my reflexes.”

  She exhaled. “This time, but what if he’d had a gun?”

  “Cher.” He pulled her close and tucked her head under his chin. She smelled like the wildflowers from their auction date. “If he’d had a gun, I would’ve handled everything differently. I’m trained for these situations, and I always wear my Kevlar. I know what I’m doing. But I do apologize. I should have told you. I didn’t do it on purpose. The wound was just a detail of my day.”

  “Stitches are more than a detail. When you called and said you were going to be late, you never mentioned a trip to the emergency room.”

  He winced at her accusatory tone, because she was correct. The thought had crossed his mind, but he hadn’t wanted to deal with the fallout—at least not over the phone. “You’re right. I should have said something at the time, but I have to confess I was a bit…uh…grumpy for having to go to the ER at all. I didn’t want to take out my frustration on you. I’m sorry.”

  That was partly the truth. Guilt stabbed at him. The other reason he hadn’t wanted to say anything was because of exactly what happened. Of course, telling her rather than letting her find out by seeing the wound wasn’t the best way to handle things, either. His plan to keep things easy and uncomplicated was starting to unravel. It was that damn picnic. How could he have made such a miscalculation?

  “It might have been just a detail to you, but details like that matter.”

  He smoothed the hair back from her face. “How so?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind. You’re right, I’m making a big deal out of nothing. Eat your pizza before it gets cold again.”

  She pulled out of his embrace and went to the sink and busied herself with cleaning the fry pan and spatula. He ate his pizza slices, contemplating her stiff back. Was she still angry with him or embarrassed by breaking down like that in front of him? Her tears made him ache worse than the knife wound. Sasha’s tears were nothing like the ones his ex used to try to manipulate him.

  Randi had decided she hated being married to a cop, but she’d rarely expressed worry over his personal safety. She had nagged him about getting called out to murder scenes on holidays or when she wanted to do something else. She’d complained if he came home grumpy but hassle him if he went for a drink with the guys to decompress after a grueling shift.

  Even if it meant Evie getting to have a mother in her life, did he want to walk through that minefield again?

  Sighing, he watched Sasha putter around the kitchen. His emotions were more involved than he’d prefer, but she was worth it. And it wasn’t as if he’d lost control completely. Not too late to get everything back on track.

  Chapter Twelve

  Without removing the rubber glove she wore, Sasha used the back of her wrist to brush the hair off her forehead. After last night, she’d needed a project to work on with her hands, so she’d stopped at the resale shop next to the café where Remy had taken her for lunch. They still had the end table she’d noticed in the window that day.

  Once she got the old finish stripped and sanded, she planned to paint the small square table in black for the top and oatmeal-colored paint and glaze for distressing the bottom and drawer. She’d seen a similar one in a magazine. This little table would have a fresh start. Just like her.

  Her cell phone chirped, and she pulled off a glove to reach into the pocket of her jeans. Remy. She stared at the phone. It had been two days since the night he’d gotten hurt on the job. Forty-eight hours since she’d last seen him.

  Oh God, she was counting the hours. So not good.

  The phone chirped again. She stuck it back in her pocket while she tugged off the other glove. It chimed again, and she pulled it out and swiped her thumb across the screen.

  Inhaling deeply, she did her best to sound casual, glad he couldn’t see how her fingers had shook when she swiped the screen. “Hey.”

  “Hey yourself. Bon Dieu, but I’ve missed you, cher.”

  She agreed but said, “It’s only been two days.”

  “So you’ve been counting, too.”

  Well, that backfired. Yeah, and the longing in his voice didn’t cause your toes to curl.

  “Sasha? You still there?”

  “Of course.” She glanced at the table she’d been working on. Would slapping old paint on make it new? “Did…did you need something?”

  “To hear your voice. I wanted to call before this, but things have been crazy around here.” As if to prove his point, a phone rang in the background.

  “That’s okay…it’s not like you’re obligated to call me.” But, okay, she couldn’t deny it would have been nice to hear his voice.

  “Have you had supper yet?”

  “Not yet, but I was thinking about making myself a salad.” And eating it alone.

  “That’s not a meal, cher.”

  “I was going to put some hard-boiled eggs on top,” she said and smiled. Whenever she’d opted for a salad, Jimmy used to say a man needed protein and scoff when she’d point to the slices of hard-boiled egg. She had a feeling Remy’s reaction would
be the same…only when he commented, he’d call her cher in that deep sexy drawl of his, a combination of Texas and southern Louisiana in his speech patterns.

  Damn. Her hormones were in overdrive.

  “Tut, tut. An egg doesn’t make it a meal. I wanted to stop by to talk with you. How about if I bring some real nourishment?”

  She swallowed. What did he want to talk about? It was usually the woman who suggested the dreaded “we need to talk” conversation. Was he not interested because she was no longer throwing up roadblocks? Or because she’d freaked out on him?

  “Sasha?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry. Yes, that sounds fine.”

  “See you in about half an hour. Should I bring my own hot sauce?”

  “No, I…I bought some last time I went shopping.” She’d made a note of which kind he used and made sure to buy that one. She’d told herself at the time it was because he knew which brand was best, but she knew she’d bought it for him.

  He made a sexy sound. “Now that sounds promising. See you in thirty.”

  After ending the call, she gathered up her painting supplies and put them away before going inside. In the bathroom she applied lip gloss, then she took her hair down from the tight bun and brushed it so the waves lay loose around her shoulders.

  Tires crunching on the gravel driveway announced a visitor, and she went to the front door. Remy was driving his official SUV.

  He got out and smiled, holding up a plain white paper bag. “Po’ boys and sweet potato fries.”

  “I gotta admit that is way more appealing than a salad.” Maybe not the best for her waistline, but it sure beat eating a tossed salad all alone at the table with the sound of ice cubes falling into the tray for company.

  He stopped for a moment and studied her with a sexily hooded gaze. “I see something even more appealing than supper.”

  She rolled her eyes, but her stomach fluttered and not from hunger.

  Ignoring the steps, he jumped onto the porch and stalked toward her. “Have I told you how much I enjoy seeing you blush?”

  “Seeing or making me blush?”

  “Since I notice it only when I’m around I’d say it was both.”

  “If you’re not around, you wouldn’t know if I was blushing or not.” Gotcha. One point, Sasha.

  The paper bag in his hand crinkled, and he slowly shook his head. “I don’t like to think about that.”

  Welcome to the club.

  Sasha stepped aside to let him in. “Whatever is in that bag smells delicious, but what couldn’t you tell me over the phone?”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I just wanted to tell you in person.” He leaned close to her and inhaled. “Over the phone, I can’t smell you or catch that look in your eyes or see that smile. Bon Dieu, even that eye roll is sexy.”

  His confession drove her heartbeat into her throat. Her lips parted in anticipation at the predatory gleam in his dark eyes.

  “And I can’t do this over the phone.” He cupped his long slender fingers of one hand around her cheek as his mouth gently covered hers.

  The kiss wasn’t rushed or demanding but coaxing, and held a promise of things to come if she was willing. Was she?

  “Oh,” she said as the air rushed from her lungs when he pulled away. All the points, Remy.

  He glanced around. “Maybe we should take this inside.”

  “I…I…”

  He flicked the end of her nose. “Unless you want to eat the po’ boys out here.”

  “No. I mean, I— Come into the kitchen. I’ll get some plates. I wasn’t sure what you’d be bringing so I didn’t set the table or anything.” She turned and started toward the kitchen at the back of the house, trying to calm her clamoring nerves. The kiss they’d shared in New Orleans was much hotter, more frantic, and yet, this gentle one had her flustered. Was it because she now knew him? Had feelings for him? Oh God, how had she allowed herself to fall for him?

  He wore boots, so footsteps echoed on the hardwood floor as he followed her down the hall. “I’m sorry I can’t stay long. As soon as we eat, I need to get back to the station.”

  “Oh, did something happen?” Something he hadn’t told her. She turned her head to look over her shoulder.

  “You could say that.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Looks like I’m going to be working double shifts for a while.”

  “Why? What’s going on?” Her fingers itched to smooth the lock of hair that had flopped over his forehead.

  “Both my guys are sick with some sort of nasty stomach bug, and Rachel is confined to desk duty unless we can find a Kevlar vest designed to fit over her growing baby bump. Frankly, I worry about her being out there right now.” He shook his head and frowned. “I know she’s a trained professional, but she’s carrying precious cargo at the moment. And don’t fuss at me for being sexist.”

  “I don’t fuss,” she protested, but warmth spread through her at his comments. Sexist or not, she enjoyed knowing he was concerned for his deputy and her unborn baby.

  “You fuss, cher, but it’s part of your charm.”

  In the kitchen, Remy set the bag on the table, and she got plates and glasses from the cabinet. He was pulling out the wrapped sandwiches. He placed a po’ boy on each plate and put the Styrofoam container of fries between the plates. Before she sat, Sasha got the hot sauce from the cabinet.

  She set the small bottle on the table with a grin. “I hope this one is okay. I noticed it’s the same brand you had on the picnic.”

  “Perfect. Now sit. I’ll get the drinks,” he said and opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of soda.

  She sat and unwrapped her sandwich. The hoagie roll was split down the middle and piled high with battered and fried crawfish tails, shredded lettuce, diced fresh tomatoes, and pickle slices. “Wow, this looks delicious.”

  “Best in town,” he said as he drizzled the hot sauce over his. He held up the bottle toward her and laughed when she shuddered and shook her head.

  She picked up one of the pieces of fried crawfish, popped it in her mouth, and made a sound of pleasure deep in her throat as she chewed.

  “You’re killin’ me, cher. You know I can’t stay.” He tilted his head and pressed his lips together as he watched her.

  “Sorry, but this is heavenly. You’ll have to tell where you—” She cut off abruptly. “On second thought, you’d better not. I won’t fit into my clothes.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes.

  A thought occurred to her and she set her half-eaten sandwich down. “If you’re working all this overtime, what about Evie? Will Theresa be able to watch her?”

  “Not as much as I need her. That’s why I’m here, cher. I hate to ask, but could you help me out? Ethan’s out of town. My only option is to send Evie to New Orleans with Charlotte for a bit.”

  “Oh no, if you send her to New Orleans, she’d miss her end of the year school trip. She’d be devastated.”

  “I know, but what can I do? Unless you could see your way clear to help.”

  “Help?”

  “Come and stay at our place.”

  Her stomach dropped like a barrel over Niagara Falls at the thought of living—even temporarily—in Remy’s home. Being there when he came home at night, got up in the morning. Could she stay and then leave as if nothing had changed? Because in her heart, she knew everything would change.

  “It would be easier if Evie stayed here with me…if that’s okay with both of you. I’d hate to leave Henry here alone or drag him to another strange place. He’s just gotten settled here. I don’t want him spending another week hiding under the bed.”

  Remy nodded. “Henry is welcome at our house, but I understand your concern, and I’m sure Evie will be thrilled staying here with you and Henry.”

  She’d expected some resistance, but he had agreed with her. Did he, too, want to make sure their lives were kept separate? And if that was what she wanted, then why did she feel so disappoi
nted?

  …

  Sasha eased her foot off the gas pedal as she caught sight of Remy’s home. The house was beautiful. A white-painted Acadian-style that was both elegant and friendly. The kind of home Sasha could imagine both dinner parties and kids and dogs running in the front yard. Just looking at it made her yearn for the boisterous family life she’d never had.

  She parked her car and got out, admiring the hanging baskets of flowers along the porch.

  The front door opened and Evie came dashing out. “Papá called and told me I’m gonna stay at your house with you and Henry so he can work lots more. I’m so happy.”

  She twirled around in a circle but stopped and put her arms down. “I’m not really happy that Papá’s got to work a lot, but I am happy I get to stay at your house with you and Henry.”

  “Yes, I’m sure Henry will be very pleased to see you.” Sasha couldn’t help but grin in reaction to the little girl’s exuberance.

  Evie’s eyes widened. “Do you really think so?”

  “I’m sure of it, sweetie.” Sasha laughed and gave Evie a hug. Her heart squeezed. What would it be like to have father and daughter a permanent part of her life?

  “Too bad Papá can’t come, too…then we’d be like a real family,” Evie said and gave her a look full of longing.

  Sasha schooled her features into what she hoped was a neutral expression. Yeah, it’s not like you were just picturing kids—your kids—and dogs running around in the front yard.

  Sasha put her arm around Evie’s shoulder. “Sweetie, you know I’m just babysitting while your daddy works.”

  “But Theresa is my babysitter.”

  Sasha nodded. “Yes, but she can’t stay late every night. She has to go to school, too.”

  “Yeah, and Theresa’s not old enough to be a mommy.” Evie pulled her mouth in on one side.

  Oh dear. She needed to steer this conversation in another direction. “Is Theresa here now?”

  Evie rolled her eyes. “She’s texting on her phone. Probably her boyfriend, Mark. Another reason she wouldn’t make a good mom.”