Saved By The Baby. Linda Goodnight
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or how peaceful and pleasant Blackwood seemed after the crowded stress of L.A. “How about you? How’s the family?”
“Good. Good. Shelly’s a counselor over at the high school now and got two little ones, Zack and Amy. I’m a granddaddy.”
A counselor. Julee’s sense of worth dropped another notch. While she was flashing her legs for a camera, Tate’s wife helped young people find direction and guidance.
And Tate had other children now. She glanced at him, but his green eyes were as hard and unreadable as marbles.
“I’m glad, Mr. Atkins. Tell her hello for me.”
“You can tell her yourself. She’ll be here the day of your big blood drive. I guess half the county will be.”
“I hope so. That’s what I needed to see the sheriff about.”
“Well, sit down then.” The older man hopped up and pulled out a chair. “You two go on and talk while I find me a cup of coffee.” He glanced at Tate with a grin. “Guess Mildred isn’t planning to bring me one.”
Though she had no idea what he meant, Julee smiled in response and accepted the chair as Bert moved away, leaving her alone with Tate. For some reason, her legs grew weak every time she encountered Sheriff Congeniality. Scooting up to the table her knee bumped his, sending a warm awareness straight to her midsection. The contact had the opposite effect on Tate. He jerked as though she’d stabbed him.
Julee felt a trickle of remorse as realization struck. “Is it your knee?”
The question caught him by surprise. He blinked, reflexively reaching for the old injury. “No. The knee’s fine.”
“Oh. Good.” An uncomfortable silence hung between them. After their initial encounter Julianna wasn’t sure how to begin. What else could she possibly say to this familiar stranger that would change his mind?
“Could we declare a truce? Start all over?”
His right eyebrow shot up. “Start over?”
Closing her eyes momentarily she bit back a sigh. Once she’d been able to tell him anything, but now time and heartache had built a wall between them. “The hospital administrator tells me you’re the man to see about traffic control.”
He shifted sideways, away from her. The fluorescent lights cast a glare along his square jawline, highlighting a narrow white scar. With a shock, she remembered the night he’d gotten that scar…because of her.
“Why would a blood drive require traffic control?”
Julee forced the memory away, though looking into his moss-green eyes proved just as tumultuous. “Because the high-school band has volunteered to drum up interest, if you’ll pardon the pun, by marching down Main Street Saturday morning. People will hear the band and be reminded that the drive has begun.”
A gaggle of ladies, all carrying bags of yarn, twittered past, poking each other as they cast knowing looks at the handsome sheriff. Tate nodded politely, trying to cover an expression of amused exasperation.
“Look, Julee,” he said, leaning near enough that she caught a whiff of peppermint and some wonderfully warm male scent. “I’m the sheriff, not a parade marshal. Can’t the city police take care of that sort of thing?”
Julianna’s pulse stumbled. From this close she could count the black spiky lashes framing Tate’s green eyes. He had such beautiful eyes, deep and fathomless, and as full of mystery as the man himself.
Hands in her lap, she nervously twisted them together. Why was she thinking of Tate and that scar and his gorgeous eyes? Hadn’t she had enough bad experiences with men? And why was she suddenly hub-deep in memories of the two of them jouncing along in that old beat-up Chevy truck, its heater barely keeping the fog off the wind-shield while they listened to Pearl Jam on their way to a football game? It was in that pickup that they’d first… Julianna mentally slammed on the brakes. Do not go there.
“The city police are helping,” she said, amazed to sound so normal when her thoughts were anything but. “But they suggested your office was needed to erect detour barriers for through traffic and such things as that. In fact, Chief Little suggested the two of you coordinate efforts.”
On an exhale Tate leaned back in his chair and glanced down at his watch. Light reflected off the handsome copper band with turquoise insets. “I’ll talk to him.”
Relieved, Julianna pressed clammy hands to the table-top. With any luck, she and the enthusiastic townspeople would wear down his resistance. Come Saturday, Tate would stretch out that dark, sinewy arm and give their daughter a new chance at life. “I appreciate this. I really do.”
With an accepting tilt of his head, Tate’s gaze fell to her hand. “That’s quite a ring.”
“Thank you.” Nervously, she clasped the ringed hand to her chest, twisting the sapphire that matched her eyes.
“Engagement ring?”
“No.”
He arched that black eyebrow again and she wished he’d stop it. The movement of that one little eyebrow had the power to reduce her to nothing. Embarrassed by her completely aberrant thoughts as well as the ostentatious sapphire, which had been a gift from a former beau, heat rushed to her cheeks. The cut and size of the stone weren’t all that unusual in L.A. but here in Blackwood the ring seemed out of place. And so did she.
“So you’re not married?” Behind the unfathomable eyes lurked an emotion Julee couldn’t identify.
Uncomfortable with the personal turn of conversation, she gestured vaguely. “Not at the moment. My life is far too busy.”
She didn’t want to admit the truth, especially to Tate, but the last man she’d dated had lost all interest when Megan’s cancer returned. Though Julianna was too occupied with saving her daughter to mourn his loss, his disappearance had cemented her belief that she was only an ornament, a decoration.
“Too busy,” he said softly, the words a reminder of how their own busy lives had pulled them in different directions.
The double doors leading into the center flapped open and a slight breeze swirled around their legs, bringing with it the scent of coffee and the remnants of the Chamber luncheon. A rattle of voices, the words incomprehensible, drifted around the room, but Julee felt isolated, captured in the aura of Tate McIntyre. An odd lump of longing filled her throat.
For a nanosecond the air vibrated with memory. Julee studied the remains of an interrupted checker game, making every attempt not to look at Tate.
Breaking the mood, Tate scraped back from the table and rose. “Sorry to run out on you again, but duty calls.”
She looked up at him, grateful for the tiny crack in the fence between them. For one entire minute there had been a feeling, a something hovering around that table, that gave her hope. “Your job seems very important to you.”
“It’s my life.” His wonderfully angled jaw clenched. “And I’m good at it, Julee. I’m good at it.”
He turned to move away, his muscular legs long and fluid in the creased uniform pants.
“Tate,” she called.
He turned back, waiting.
“I’m glad you’ve made a good life, that you’re happy.”
A flash of something—pain?—quickly masked, flared as he held her gaze. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to feel the magnetism of Tate and the old memories, but she couldn’t seem to tear her attention away. And truly she was pleased that the hurting boy she’d loved had found fulfillment.
“What about you?” he asked, his words intense, almost harsh. “Are you happy?”
“I…I…” Julee stuttered. “Of course.”
“Good.”