The Sheriff's Christmas Surprise Part 12

All sorts of questions buzzed in her head, looking for answers. "What was her name?"

"Alycia."

"Alycia," she repeated. "That's a beautiful name."

The smile was sad. "She was a beautiful woman."

An emotion she seldom experienced reared its head. Jealous. She was jealous.

How could she be feeling jealous? Jealous of a dead woman?

Because no one had ever felt that way about her; no one had ever said her name with such sorrow echoing in his voice.

Olivia pressed her lips together, her mind ordering her to drop the subject. She didn't listen, of course. Instead, she heard herself asking, "What happened to her?" And for the life of her, she wouldn't have been able to explain why she was asking. She just needed to know.

He recited the circ.u.mstances to her the way he had to her parents, struggling to distance himself from the words. "One of those cross-country moving vans lost control and jackknifed on the highway, crus.h.i.+ng her car. Doctor said she died instantly."

How devastatingly awful for him. She felt his pain. Felt that terrible hole widening in her gut. "I don't know what to say."

He shrugged carelessly, looking away. "Nothing to say."

The ensuing silence seemed to separate them.

This would have been a good time for Bobby to wake up crying. But he didn't wake up. He continued sleeping. "Is it true?" she asked.

"Is what true?"

"That saying about it being better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." She had no idea why it was suddenly important for her to know.

"You mean if I had a choice between losing her and never having had her at all, which would I pick?" She nodded in response. "That's easy. I'm glad I had her for whatever short time we shared together."

It made her realize how empty her own life was, despite the turmoil and the breakneck pace she kept. The thought negated her tired feeling and made her restless instead.

"Let me get the dishes for you," she offered. She needed to do something with her hands.

"No need," he told her. "I usually just stack them in the sink until I run out of plates and gla.s.ses. I've got a few days to go."

"I can't sleep with dirty dishes in the sink," she said.

As she reached for his plate, he put his hand out to stop her and nearly wound up knocking over his gla.s.s. He made a grab for it and so did she. The result was that her fingers went around the gla.s.s and his went around her hand.

Something basic and raw, and very, very vulnerable telegraphed itself back and forth between them.

It was hard to pinpoint the source, whether it originated with her, or with him. The only thing that was clear was what pulsated between them. Waiting for a chance to explode.

Chapter Eleven.

For one isolated, tense moment, Olivia was almost certain that the man was going to kiss her. And, if she was being honest with herself, hoped he would kiss her.

But the moment slowly pa.s.sed and nothing happened.

Embarra.s.sed and determined not to show it, Olivia cleared her throat and nodded toward the gla.s.s that they were both keeping upright. "I think you can let go. I've got it."

"Yes," Rick agreed quietly, the timbre of his voice softly slipping along her skin, sending her body temperature up by several degrees, "you do."

The erratic electricity rus.h.i.+ng up and down her spine made her oblivious to everything else in the room.

Everything but Rick.

She couldn't help wondering if this man had a clue as to how s.e.xy he was, and that he just seemed to radiate sensual appeal simply by breathing. He couldn't be oblivious to it, but he acted as if he didn't realize that he was tall, dark and bone-meltingly handsome.

Were the women in this town blind?

One by one, his fingers left her hand. She became aware of the fact that she'd stopped breathing for the duration of the contact.

"Maybe you're right about those dishes," Olivia murmured, tearing her eyes away from his. "Maybe I'd better get to bed and get some rest. It's been a very long day and there's no telling how long Bobby's going to be asleep."

Rick nodded, as if he didn't see through the thin excuse. As if he didn't know that she was running for dear life, running from something that had flared to life. Something that, given the present situation, had absolutely no chance of longevity.

"See you in the morning," he said.

"Right."

Instantly on her feet, Olivia got out of the kitchen-and away from him-as fast as possible without running. She needed to get away before she regretted her actions and consequently had him thinking she was the kind of woman she wasn't. The kind of woman who enjoyed having casual, fleeting hookups.

She wasn't that kind of a woman.

Olivia couldn't remember the last time she'd been alone with a man who wasn't engaged in giving her a deposition.

Get a grip, she silently lectured, leaning against the bedroom door she'd just closed.

Lectures not withstanding, it took a while for her heart to settle down and stop pounding.

RICK HAD ALWAYS THOUGHT of himself as a light sleeper. But apparently, there was light and then there was light. Although he thought he'd been listening for the baby's cries, when morning broke he hadn't heard any sounds coming from his miniature houseguest-or the baby's aunt.

There was no other reason why, when he made his way to the kitchen, Rick was caught by surprise when he found her in the room ahead of him.

But there she was, in the center of a homey scene that looked straight out of some Family Channel Christmas celebration. She was making breakfast with the scent of fresh brewed coffee-strong, just the way he liked it-filling the air, along with other delicious aromas.

What really completed the picture for him was Olivia, standing there with her hair down about her shoulders. She looked younger, softer. Approachable. And d.a.m.n embraceable.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Rick masked his surprise. "You cook?" It turned out he wasn't the only one who was surprised that morning.

When Olivia glanced over her shoulder at him, about to confirm his query, she almost dropped the spatula. She did drop her jaw. Last night, she hadn't thought it was humanly possible for Sheriff Enrique Santiago to look any s.e.xier than he did.

But she was wrong.

Barefoot and with his hair tousled, he was s.e.xier than any living creature had a right to be. Especially since he'd neglected to b.u.t.ton the s.h.i.+rt he'd carelessly thrown on. It hung open, testifying to the fact that the good sheriff was either the recipient of some incredibly fantastic genes from his family tree, or that he worked out religiously. She could count all his rigidly displayed abdominal muscles.

It took her too long to find her tongue, although she congratulated herself for not swallowing it.

"I cook," she finally replied in a voice that was only a shade less than breathless.

Turning away because she was afraid of melting on the spot, Olivia drew in a long breath and tried to access her brain.

Her first attempt failed.

This would have been a good time for Bobby to start crying, rescuing her from an awkward moment. She glanced over to where she'd relocated the playpen. But the little boy had suddenly developed an overwhelming fascination with his hands, which he held up in the air and twisted in every conceivable direction, obviously marveling at their dexterity by cooing and gurgling.

With no small relief, Olivia could feel her brain function again. "I thought that making you breakfast was the very least I could do to say thank you for putting us up like this." She hadn't cooked in years, not once there'd been enough money for takeout from one of the better Dallas restaurants, but, like riding a bike, it had come back to her.

"Nothing to thank me for," Rick a.s.sured her, taking a seat. She placed a steaming cup of black coffee before him. He smiled appreciatively. The aroma was enough to kick-start his day and get him going. "The room was there whether or not you used it." He took a slow sip, letting the inky liquid wind its way through him, waking up every cell it came in contact with. "You sleep well?" he asked her.

She had slept like a woman antic.i.p.ating an earthquake, but no way could she have admitted that and not had him asking embarra.s.sing questions. "I have a lot on my mind and Bobby was restless, but under the circ.u.mstances, yes, I think I slept pretty well."

The sheriff's deep green eyes held hers for a moment and she had the impression that she hadn't fooled him at all, but that could have been her own paranoia.

Turning back to the stove, Olivia quickly slid the omelet and the warm slice of Texas toast from the griddle onto a plate and placed the latter before him next to his coffee cup.

He sampled the omelet first. The next moment, he was smiling and nodding his approval. "This is really good. I didn't think you knew how to cook," he confessed. She hadn't struck him as the type who would have taken the time to learn.

They were both guilty of typecasting each other, she thought, amused.

"Had to," she told him. "It's a lot cheaper than takeout and when you're on a tight budget, every penny counts." That he seemed to understand. "These days I don't have to worry about living from paycheck to paycheck. But that doesn't mean I can't whip something up if I have to. I actually like cooking."

"Lucky for me I got to be around when you started whipping," Rick commented, doing justice to the serving she'd given him. He was almost half finished. "This is really good."

Maybe it had something to do with having all her nerve endings so close to the surface. Whatever the reason, Olivia hadn't thought a simple compliment could please her so much. But it did.

"Thank you."

"Aren't you going to have any?"

"I never seem to be able to eat anything I make, at least, not until it reaches the leftover stage." She'd always cooked for Tina and wound up nibbling a little of the meal later on.

"That would explain the killer figure," he observed, "but you really should have something."

She barely heard the second part of his statement. The first had caught her up short, even though he'd uttered it as if it was just a throwaway line. And telling herself that he probably handed out kind words a lot more than he handed out tickets didn't temper the effect the compliment had on her. For a moment, she reveled in the words, smiling, Olivia had no doubt, like some village idiot.

"I'll have some coffee," she said, taking down another cup from the cupboard and filling it three-quarters of the way up.

"That'll put meat on your bones," he quipped.

She didn't have to look at Rick to know that he was grinning. She could hear it in his voice. Was he teasing her, or being sarcastic? And why should it matter either way? Once Tina was conscious, she was out of here. More than likely, she'd never see Santiago again.

Even so, she couldn't let his comment go. "Do I look that skinny to you?"

She wasn't fis.h.i.+ng for another compliment, but it had been a long while since she'd actually looked at her reflection and maybe she'd lost touch with the woman she had become. Her life, in the past year, had been one great big blur of briefs, trials-and coming to grips with Tina getting pregnant and giving birth to Bobby. Having Don in the mix hadn't exactly helped with clarity, either.

"No," Rick replied honestly. "You don't. But you will if you just run on liquids. You really should eat something. Didn't your mother ever tell you that breakfast was the most important meal of the day?"

"I vaguely recall something like that," she admitted. "Point noted." She nodded her head as she held the steaming cup of black coffee with both hands, drawing in comfort from the heat.

Olivia glanced over his shoulder and out the window. The world outside hadn't lightened up any and, at this hour, it should have. Instead, it was growing progressively darker.

"Looks like rain," she observed.

There was concern in her voice. He knew what she was thinking. That if it rained, he might use that as an excuse not to take her back to the hospital. She needn't have worried. He'd never seen rain as a deterrent.

"The crops could do with some rain," he told her. "Ground's been getting parched."

She took a breath, inching toward her subject slowly. She needed him so she was careful not to be too blunt. "Do you have flash floods around here?"

"Don't worry, I'll take you back up. Barring a daring bank robbery taking place here, of course."

Rick sounded so serious, it took her a moment to realize he was kidding.

And then she smiled. "I take it you don't have robberies out here."

"Oh, every once in a while, theft does rear its head. Usually it's some school kid being threatened by the cla.s.s bully for his lunch money or something along those lines. Most of the time, though, Forever's pretty much safe as safe can be." He was rather proud of that, even though Forever's tranquility added to his general boredom and ultimately had caused him to apply to the Dallas PD.

Can't have it both ways, Santiago, he silently lectured. Either be content with the peace or go where the action is.

The baby began to fuss. Her rest period over, Olivia was on her feet in an instant. "He wants his bottle," she said.

In antic.i.p.ation of Bobby's next feeding-she'd already updated a schedule for the infant-she'd prepared the bottle just before Rick had walked into the kitchen. After taking Bobby out of the playpen, she sat down and fed him.

Rick was surprised that watching her with the baby could stir such warm feelings within him. After all, neither one was anything to him. There was no reason for him to be experiencing this kind of a reaction.

And yet, he was.

Further proof, he decided, that he really did need a change. To move on and find a new place for himself. A new, rewarding place. Who knew what that would bring with it?

MICK HENLEY CUT his long weekend short and returned a day early, grumbling to anyone within earshot that it was raining "cats and dogs" at his favorite fis.h.i.+ng hole some fifty miles southeast of Forever. Being soaked to the skin clearly took away some of the pleasure generated by pitting himself against nature.

On his stop by the diner for some much needed hot coffee, Mick was informed by Miss Joan that the "chewed up, overpriced piece of machinery sittin' outside" her place was in desperate need of his skills.