Loving the Lawman. Ruth Herne Logan
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Right now all he could think of was his empty house. No school books strewn here and there. No inane, overacted tween shows on cable. And no one to urge to eat meat loaf...or try broccoli...or teach how to tie flies for stream fishing, or take out in Dad’s boat, watching for nesting water birds. There was just him and eight yawning rooms, a house that felt so empty he could cry. But big, strong men didn’t cry, so he parked the car, grabbed a shovel and spent two hours cleaning out his driveway and then Gianna’s. By the time he completed the job he was tired enough to fall into bed and sleep.
And that was a scenario he’d been practicing for over two years. Work himself so hard that he couldn’t help but sleep, and while he was awake, pray that God watched over the girl he loved as a daughter. Wherever she might be.
* * *
“Police officer uniforms?” Gianna scolded as she grabbed a snowbrush from the trunk after the lengthy meeting. Two hours in lake-effect snowfall had left the car buried. “Really, Gram?”
“I can’t think of a better way to show off tailoring skills than on those two,” Carmen quipped back as she reached for the second brush. “Everyone will notice, guaranteed. Those men are seriously good-looking.”
The thought of Seth in an old-style sheriff’s uniform wasn’t unappealing.
The idea of working with him was, but only because she could deny the attraction when he wasn’t around. In person?
She sighed, swept the snow aside with more vigor than necessary and took out her aggravation on innocent frozen precipitation. By the time she climbed into the driver’s seat, the car had begun to warm. She sent a sidelong look to her grandmother, who waved off her concerns with practiced nonchalance. “We’re here to do a job. A new start. Doing what we do best and having people’s gratitude and awareness is huge, Gianna. You know that.”
“I get that part.” Gianna thrust the car into gear and moved forward carefully, eyeing the thickening snow. “But I wasn’t expecting police uniforms in the deal. Fitting uniforms is a pain in the neck.”
“I found patterns online. They won’t be any more trouble than the long, tucked skirts we’re doing for the ladies.”
Gianna disagreed silently. She’d have no problem working with the ladies. Nipping the waists, adding tucks for proper ease over the hips.
Working with Seth?
That was a problem in itself. Her fault, she knew, so she’d just have to deal with it. Right now she had other things to think about, though. Like how to get the car into the snow-clogged driveway so the overnight plows wouldn’t hit her small SUV and send it into the nearby lake. She turned onto Main Street, put on her signal, then smiled.
He’d cleared the driveway. From side to side and end to end, black asphalt with just a little clinging snow called to her. The crunch beneath the tires said he’d sprinkled salt, too.
Quick tears stung the backs of her eyes.
Mike had taken care of her like this. Always thinking ahead, thinking of others. That warmth and bravery had led to his death. If trouble loomed, he jumped in, wanting to help. Serving and protecting, all of his days.
Maybe Seth wasn’t like that. She hadn’t known him long enough to know. But they shared the caregiver’s urge, the guardian. Looking out for others.
Was she selfish to avoid a repeat of those qualities? To resent what was taken from her? Maybe.
But better selfish than heartbroken again.
As she stepped out onto the firm surface, she reached back to grab her purse and notebook.
Light streamed through Seth’s side window, one single beam from within. Outside, his porch lights glowed all night, a policeman’s first line of defense, she knew. Overnight lights made it tough if not impossible for anyone to creep up on a house. But somehow Seth’s lights didn’t look protective. They looked welcoming. Waiting. As if he turned them on to guide someone home, like that old George Strait song.
But that was silly female imaginings. She closed the car door and followed her grandmother inside, worried and excited about Saturday. And the fact that she was excited to work with Seth worried her even more.
Chapter Three
“I’m not sure where we are, Dad, I just wanted to call and say I love you.” A tiny sound that could have been a choked sob broke through Tori’s whispered phone message. “I miss you so much.”
Seth’s heart ground to a halt as he listened to her plaintive words again on Saturday morning.
Tori was reaching out to him. She’d done this before, but not in a while, and he’d hoped—no, he’d prayed—that the interim silence meant things were going better. The pain in her childlike voice said that wasn’t the case.
The phone call had no return number. She’d blocked it so he couldn’t call her back. That meant she’d be in big trouble if her mother knew she’d contacted him.
A harsh pain in his chest said his heart had started beating again. How could he help her? How could he reach her?
He’d exhausted legal means early on. Because of his nonparent status, he had no recourse. His fault. He should have insisted on the adoption first thing after they’d married. At least then he’d be her legal father. He’d have rights. As it was he had nothing, and when Jasmine had left, she’d taken the most precious thing she’d brought to their ill-fated marriage. Her child.
“Seth, good morning.” Reverend Smith stopped at the road’s edge, his half-grown pup straining at the leash. “Titus. Leave it.”
The dog paused, sighed then sat, obedient, but his expression said he wondered why they were stopping on the cold, wet street when there was a perfectly good rectory a block away.
“Titus is doing well.” Seth leaned down and rubbed the pup’s neck with gentle hands. “Zach’s sister took one of the pups for her boys, and he’s more rambunctious.”
“Living with boys will do that.” The reverend laughed. “I saw your face as I approached. I know that look. You’re troubled about Tori, I’m guessing.”
“She called me.”
“Ah.” Reverend Smith’s gaze shadowed. “And did her phone call leave you a way to reach her or her mother?”
“No.”
“And so your heart was just retorn.”
Seth stared beyond the minister’s shoulder to the flat edge of ice inching across the lake as winter’s cold thickened. “Not like it ever really mended, Reverend.”
“A wound reopened tends to fester.”
“Yes.”
“And winter is a long, cold, dark season sometimes. Not the best for healing.”
Seth eyed the growing snowpack along the lake’s edge and lifted one shoulder. “I don’t mind it. And no, I’m not making excuses,” he added when the reverend arched a brow. He breathed deep and swept his gaze across the lakeside village, quiet and still on a snow-filled weekend morning. “Winter’s peaceful. I like the snow. And I love seeing storms come in, watching them recede. I’ve got a great vantage point up there.” He pointed to his hillside home. “The hard part is that I can see the edge of the interstate as it cuts across the water below the ‘point.’ And when I see that, I think of Tori. There are days when I have to fight the urge to jump in the car and go after her. Find her. Bring her home. I know I can’t do that, but that stretch of road calls to me. And after hearing the sadness in her voice—” he tapped the belt pouch that held his phone “—I’m tempted more than ever.”
The pastor reached out and clapped a hand on each of Seth’s shoulders. “You have a good heart and a strong mind, and I can’t believe God won’t fix this somehow, someway.