Page 8 of Deputy Brand Gets Her Man
“This was the last place my old man spent time before he went to prison,” he said. “I was just a kid, not even in kindergarten yet when he was locked up. I was hoping being out here, I could…understand him better.” He ran a hand across his chin, where there was stubble.
“I get that,” she said. “I don’t really know much about that time, bein’ that I wasn’t born yet. But I could ask Uncle Garrett about it, if you want.”
“I should man up and ask him myself,” he said. “It’s just awkward, bein’ that he’s the one who arrested him.”
She nodded. “I get it. And I really don’t mind. Just know my uncle ain’t one to blame the son for the sins of the father. Hell, he adopted your brother.”
Willow pushed away from the table and took her empty plate to the sink. “Should I look around for some dessert?”
“I’d settle for a nightcap,” he said.
He took his plate over there, too. She was rinsing hers under the faucet, stacking it in the drainer. Then she walked away and he heard her pouring while he rinsed his.
She handed him a glass with three fingers of whiskey in it, crossing back into the living room, but not sitting back down. She was standing near the front door, his signal that it was time to drink up and leave.
He walked over there and stood facing her, then slugged the whiskey back, swallowing it in a single gulp. She did likewise. He set his empty glass on the stand beside the door, where she’d dropped her keys. Then he took her glass from her and set it there, too. And then, moving real slow, he put his hands on her upper arms, tipped his head down, and kissed her. She didn’t turn away; he’d given her plenty of time. She watched his mouth as he lowered it to hers, then her brown eyes fell closed just before touchdown.
He kissed like a man who loved kissing, drinking her in. She didn’t know why she kissed him back, or when her arms had twisted around his neck, or how their bodies had mashed up against each other like they were trying to meld. He was running his hands around her back and shoulders, and her butt like he was committing her to memory. And she was riding his thigh like it was her horse. The signals her body was sending drowned out the desperate shouts from her brain.
He’s an ex-con.
The way he moves his lips over mine, with just enough suction.
He nipped a little, and her lady parts tingled. She threaded her fingers up into his hair and nipped back, and he turned her, and they bumped against the wall.
Knock-knock-knock. “Willow?”
The sound of her mother’s voice and the knowledge that she’d open the door in the next heartbeat was the douse of ice water Willow needed. She pulled away only slightly and Jeremiah’s arms fell to his sides.
They each took a step apart from each other, but their eyes clung. Willow was breathing like an Olympic gymnast after a dismount.
The front door opened.
Willow’s mom looked at her, and the slightest frown bent her eyebrows, and then she saw Jeremiah, and they rose up high.
“I had a flat on the way home,” Willow said. “Jeremiah stopped to help me change the tire, and I offered to share Aunt Chelsea’s lasagna with him to thank him.” She was talking way too fast, she realized too late.
Her mother listened with care and didn’t interject, just tilted her head a little further at the less-than-honest parts. Like she knew.
“Well, actually, he offered to help, and I yelled at him for it. The lasagna’s more a peace offering.”
“Huh,” her mom said, then she glanced Jeremiah’s way.
He smiled at her, and Willow saw the moment those dimples made impact. Her mother actually blinked.
Then she looked down at the bundle in her arms and shrugging, returned her attention to her daughter. “I saw your lights on and I was too excited to wait. I got this today—for the cradle.”
Willow took the bundle unfolded it. It was a hand-quilted cradle liner with blue lions, pink bears, green elephants, and yellow donkeys.
“It’s for Lily and Ethan,” Taylor said, “for the baby. Garrett’s going to re-finish your cradle. But don’t worry. He won’t change it too much, and your name will remain carved into the headboard.”
Taylor’s eyes shifted to Jeremiah’s as she explained. “The cradles are heirlooms, made for us by a Comanche shaman who fills them with blessings.”
“Cradle, she means.” Willow put emphasis on the singular. “We only have the one.”
“Right. Gosh, I need to remember to get it out of the attic for Garrett before we leave. He’s eager to work on it.”
“You’re going away?” Jeremiah asked.
