Page 30 of Too Hot to Sleep
Still, Rob's loss was his gain, at least until Sunday when the fertilizer would hit the fan. For the next couple of days, he would try to win over Georgia. Maybe with the double whammy of finding out Rob wasn't the man she'd been talking to, and with Ken's unflagging attention, she would break it off with the guy.
Ken scratched his temple with the screwdriver he'd used to install a box fan in the window of his bedroom. On the other hand, was that the way he wanted to win over Georgia—through embarrassment and by default?
Besides, what the heck would he do with her if he got her? A woman like Georgia probably bought potpourri by the truckload. And the most important thing to him right now was being the best cop he could be. Darn it, the woman barely tolerated him, and she was already treading on his concentration. How bad would it be if he had unlimited access to her? Bad. Very bad.
Thankfully, Georgia would have no way of tying the phone calls to him even after she discovered she'd been dialing the wrong number. His phone machine featured a mechanical voice with a generic message. As a police officer, his number was unlisted and protected, so it wouldn't show up on caller ID screens or work with those newfangled call-back features.
He sighed. And, as a police officer, his conduct was supposed to be of a higher standard than mere civilians. His own loneliness was no excuse for deceiving an innocent woman, even if at first he'd thought her to be not so innocent. Sometime, somehow this afternoon he would find a way to tell her the truth.
Georgia (big grin), want to hear something funny?
Georgia (shaking head), you're going to laugh when I tell you this.
Georgia (stepping out of striking distance), you're not going to believe this, but...
Who was he kidding? He'd be lucky if the woman didn't filet him. He hadn't broken any written statutes, but it didn't take a mental giant to recognize he'd tread upon severalunwritten laws.
Geez, Louise, what was he going to do now?
He could simply forget about her, he decided, seeing as how she wasn't keen on him anyway.He's not my type,she'd said to her friend. If she called him again accidentally, he could just tell her she had the wrong number and hang up. End of story.
He pulled his hand down his face, trying to erase the image of her little smile, bantering with him last night at the blood drive, maintaining that stern facade. Was he the only man who knew how uninhibited she could be?
From his bed on the floor, Crash barked, reminding Ken that there were more pressing matters than his infatuation with Nurse Georgia Adams. Since he'd pulled an early morning shift for an ill fellow officer, Ken had the rest of the day offto anticipate and dread his afternoon meeting with Georgia. She clocked out at three, so they were scheduled to meet at Herrington Park around three-thirty. He glanced at the clock. An hour from now.
"How about some fresh air?" he asked the dog.
Crash barked twice.
Ken gave the screws on the fan box mount a few more turns, then repacked his toolbox. "Okay, give me a minute to figure out how I can make you mobile, and we'll go to the park. Maybe I'll think of a way to come clean once she gets there." He stopped and appraised the bandaged dog as an idea popped into his head. "And maybe she won't kill me if I look impossibly cute."
* * *
"OH, HOWcute," Georgia murmured despite herself when she saw Ken coming toward her on the sidewalk. Nothim,although he did look less intimidating in jeans and a navy T-shirt, but the bandaged dog he pulled behind him in the little red wagon. What did Ken say he'd named him—Crash?
"Hi," Ken said as they strolled up. "I brought some company, hope you don't mind."
"Not at all," she said, stooping to stroke the dog's fur. "He's a handsome fellow, isn't he?"
"He takes after me," Ken said with a big grin.
She gave him a crooked smile, trying her best to resist his charm. Darn the big man, and his energy pulling at her. In her weakened state, after a night of tossing and turning and a hectic eight-hour shift, she was susceptible. Her immunity to him was lowered, and it scared her. Plus her friend Toni hadn't helped matters by teasing her all day about her "date."
"I was afraid you'd changed your mind," he said.
Georgia gave the dog one last scratch on the head before standing. "No. Last-minute emergency." Of course, she couldn't very well admit the emergency had been her appearance—her hair was flattened by a sterile cap she'd worn most of the day. Her makeup had worn off long ago, and she hadn't brought replacements with her, nor was she about to ask Toni for spares. She'd brought khaki shorts and sandals to change into, but theplain pink shirt she'd hoped to leave on had been compromised by a teenager with food poisoning. Desperate, she'd bought a yellow T-shirt in the gift shop that read "Laughter is the Best Medicine." A nice sentiment, but hardly worth twenty-four dollars.
Ken rubbed his flat stomach, the muscles in his forearm bunching. "Just gave me more time to work up an appetite."
And she'd bet the man could eat. From her nutrition classes, she estimated his weight, then took into account his probable activity level, and came up with an astronomical amount of calories he needed every day to maintain his build.Onehot dog? The man could probably eat a dozen.
But he settled for two, loaded with relish, and a plain one for Crash. Georgia ordered another one with relish for herself, but was still rifling for cash when she realized Ken had already paid the vendor for their food and sodas. "It was supposed to be my treat," she protested.
"The treat's all mine," he assured her, gathering their food in his arms. "Will you pull Crash?"
Feeling a little foolish, she picked up the handle of the wagon and followed Ken to a picnic table under a sprawling hardwood tree.
"Is this okay?" he asked.
