Taking Aim At The Sheriff. Delores Fossen
Читать онлайн книгу.
insisted.
Laurel didn’t do that, though. She kept dabbing at the cut. And more. Now that she was this close to him, Jericho could see her bottom lip tremble a little. He could also see that the whites of her eyes had some red in them.
Had she been crying?
“Your hair’s longer,” she said, her breath hitting against his neck right next to the hair she was apparently noticing. “It suits you.”
That earned her a flat stare, and to end the little touching session, Jericho snatched the paper towels from her. “Are you really here to chat about my infrequent trips to the barbershop?”
“No.” She moved away from him, repeated her answer and tucked a strand of her own loose hair behind her ear. “But we need to talk.”
“So you’ve said. Well, start talking. Jax is waiting on me to come back to the station so we can go after the guy who hit my truck.”
Jericho made sure he sounded impatient enough. Because he was. But Laurel didn’t seem to be in a hurry to start this conversation that he didn’t exactly want to have. So, Jericho started it for her.
“If you’re here on your father’s behalf—to try to make some kind of truce or deliver a threat—I’m not in a truce-making or threat-listening kind of mood.”
“It’s not anything like that.” Laurel paused, pulled in her breath. “It’s about...marriage.”
Jericho went still. The woman sure knew how to keep him surprised. After all, Laurel was already married. Or at least she was supposed to be. But now that he had a better look at her left hand, she wasn’t sporting a flashy diamond or a wedding band.
She followed his gaze to her ring finger and shook her head. “I didn’t go through with the wedding. I called it off.” Laurel looked up at him, clearly waiting, as if she expected him to ask why.
He’d rather eat a magazine of bullets first. But if the gossip was right, Laurel was supposed to be married to one of her father’s rich lackey lawyers. Considering that she, too, was an equally rich lackey lawyer, it was no doubt a match made in some place other than heaven.
“Look, Laurel, like I keep saying, this isn’t a good time—”
The rest of what he was about to remind her just stopped there in his throat when she opened her hand, and Jericho saw the small blue stone. She’d obviously been holding it for a while, because there was a mark on her palm.
“You remember what this is?” she asked.
Yeah, he did. And while it would seem petty to deny that, Jericho nearly went with petty.
Nearly.
“It’s the rock we found on the banks of Mercy Creek twenty years ago,” he supplied.
“We went walking there after we, well, afterward.” Laurel tipped her head toward the bedroom, to the very place where she’d lost her virginity to him. “We found the two rocks. They were almost identical in size, shape and color. We’d never seen rocks that color before, so we decided it was some kind of sign, maybe even good-luck charms.”
Jericho couldn’t remember if he’d paid his electric bill this month, but he remembered that twenty-year-old conversation with Laurel. Every blasted word of it. And he knew that silly teenage notions of signs and charms like that came with a price tag attached.
“You said we’d each keep one, and that this rock could be a marker of sorts. Payment for any favor down the road. Anything,” Laurel added. “In all these years, I’ve never used it because we said it should be for something very important. And we’d know just how important it was because we’d used this marker.”
Jericho nodded. “I figured that’d come more in the form of a favor, like buying you a horse or something. Or if you needed me to whip somebody’s butt for messing with you.”
And then it hit him. What this visit might really be about. “You don’t think we’re going to make the same mistake again of having sex?” he asked.
“A mistake,” she said under her breath. Not exactly an agreement, but Jericho couldn’t quite put his finger on the tone in her voice. And he certainly didn’t see a let’s-have-sex look in her eyes.
Not exactly, anyway. Of course, when it came to Laurel and him, there was always heat. Unwanted heat. But heat nonetheless.
“No. I’m not here for that,” she verified.
“Good.”
His body didn’t exactly agree with that. Never did when it came to Laurel, but after that last fiasco together, Jericho had learned his lesson. Play with fire. Get burned. Or in their case, get burned bad, because for a couple of hours, it had made him forget her scummy family.
And Jericho had paid for it.
Hell, he was still paying.
It was a good reminder because it made Jericho realize it was time for Laurel to leave. However, before he could even point to the door again, Laurel took his hand and put the rock in it.
“I do need a favor. A big one.” She swallowed hard. “Jericho, I need you to marry me. Tonight.”
Laurel wished she’d been able to come up with a better way to do this. Hard to come up with anything, though, with the tornado of emotions going on in her head. Of course, Jericho now had some emotions, too.
Bad ones, obviously.
Because the look he gave her let Laurel know that he thought she’d lost her mind. Maybe she had. But she didn’t exactly have a lot of options here, and Jericho was still her best bet.
Even if he didn’t believe that right now.
“Marry you?” Jericho repeated.
He was no doubt remembering the bad history between them. And he probably included their last one-nighter in that heap of bad history.
“It’ll take more than a rock to make that happen.” He cursed, dropped it on the table. “What’s going on here?”
Laurel had figured that would be his first response—anger and demands. It was certainly hers when this idea had first come to her. Still, she was hoping the blue rock and the promise that had gone along with it would buy her enough time so she could explain things before Jericho kicked her out.
No such luck.
He turned as if he was about to show her to the door, but then stopped. And studied her with those cop’s eyes. The warm amber-brown color wasn’t so warm right now, but Laurel had firsthand knowledge that they could be.
Every part of Jericho could be warm.
Again, it was firsthand knowledge fed by years of experience of kissing him. Touching him, wanting him. And then having that warmth vanish and cool to iceberg temperatures like those outside right now.
Well, except for that night over two years ago.
Those two years seemed like a lifetime. For her, anyway. Jericho looked the same except for the slightly longer brown hair. In other words, he still looked like the hot cowboy he’d always been. Maybe it was his DNA, those eyes or the fit of his jeans, but when a woman saw Jericho Crockett, she noticed.
Laurel had been no different.
“I need an explanation,” he pressed. “Like right now.”
Where to start?
She doubted Jericho would want her to get into the little details. Not just yet, anyway. Judging from the impatient stare, he was looking for the condensed version of why she’d called in a very old marker that to him was probably worthless.
Laurel