Dust Up With The Detective. Danica Winters
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as she forced herself to look away from his naked hand.
Even if he wasn’t married, he wouldn’t want her. No man would want to take on a single mom who lived with her mother and was struggling to make it in a small-town sheriff’s department—unless he was a glutton for punishment.
“Things are a little rough. You know...family drama.”
Her mother perked up. “What’s going on?”
“It’s just my brother. He’s going through a hard time.”
“Is that right,” her mother chimed. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Thanks, Mrs. W, but it’ll be all right.” Jeremy sent her a grateful but guarded smile. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to pass on the chicken—but it smells great,” he added, as her mother’s face fell.
“Oh, okay,” she said, her voice specked with disappointment, the kind that always moved Blake into doing whatever it was Gemma truly wanted.
Jeremy’s body tensed, his biceps pressing hard against his cotton T-shirt. Apparently, Gemma West’s shaming worked on someone besides her. Why did her mother have to put everyone under her spell?
Megan thumped down in the chair by the dining table. “Mom, I’m hungry.”
“Thank you, Jeremy, for helping us out,” Blake said, motioning toward her daughter.
He glanced at her and smiled again. The way he looked at her made her temperature rise. No one had looked at her like that, like she really existed as something more than a mother or a sheriff’s deputy, in a long time.
She turned away as she scolded herself. He was just looking at her. It didn’t mean anything. She was lonely. She needed to get a handle on her emotions. Crushes were for those who had a chance—which she didn’t.
He needed to go. She simply could not be around a man like him.
“I need to get back to work. After you?” She walked to the door and opened it, motioning for him to leave.
He turned to walk out.
“I hope everything goes well with your brother. By the way, which brother is it?” her mother called behind him, throwing a speed bump into Blake’s plans.
Jeremy looked back over his shoulder. “Robert.”
“Where’s Casper these days?” her mother continued.
Blake’s sweaty hand slipped on the open door.
“He’s working up north with Border Patrol.”
“That’s wonderful,” her mom said, turning to her with a raise of the eyebrow. She flashed a glance back at Jeremy, like she was trying to coach Blake on how to get him to stay. “Isn’t that nice, Blake?”
“Yes, that’s great, Mother.”
Jeremy chuckled. “If you need me again, Mrs. W, I’ll be in town for a couple of days.” He brushed against Blake as he made his way out the door. His touch magnified the need she was trying her best to ignore. “Hey, if you need a break, maybe we could meet up sometime,” he whispered so low that only she could hear.
In a flash, she was back in high school, and they were planning to sneak out of the house. The thrill of being caught and the excitement that came with breaking the rules filled her. Just as quickly as the feelings rose, she stomped them out. She wasn’t sixteen. She was a mother. And her daughter came first—no matter how badly she wanted to take Jeremy up on his offer.
“Thanks, but maybe next time you’re in town.”
He nodded, but there was a faint look of hurt deep in his eyes as he turned away. She couldn’t help taking one last look as he walked away. His jeans were the kind with the fancy stitching on the back pockets, the kind that always drew a person’s eye to them and, in this case, to his perfectly round behind.
Clearly the man worked out.
Dang it.
She forced herself to look away. What was wrong with her today?
She could feel her mother’s eyes boring into her back. She needed to leave, to get to work, but she let the door close as she turned back to her family.
“That right there is why you don’t have a man in your life,” her mother said with a tsk as she flurried around the kitchen, getting the potato salad out of the fridge.
“Maybe I don’t have a man in my life because I don’t want one,” Blake retorted. Instantly she wished she hadn’t, because it would only allow her mother to continue on her soapbox.
“That Jeremy, he’s got a good head on his shoulders. You need a man like him. You would get one, if you weren’t so hard to please.”
That was the pot calling the kettle black.
“Here you go, sweetie.” Her mother set a plate of fried chicken and potato salad in front of Megan and went back to the can of beans.
“Thanks, Grandma.”
Blake glanced down at her watch. “I need to go.” She gave Megan a kiss on the top of the head while her daughter chomped away. “Please don’t get into any more of my things.”
“Wait,” her mother said. “Why don’t you eat first?”
There was a rumble in her stomach, but she had to escape the mess that was her personal life. Work was so much easier. “I’m good, Mom.”
“Fine then.” Her mother’s disdain was palpable. “At least take the rest of this food over to Jeremy and his family as a thank-you. You know, he didn’t have to come over here to help us. It was just lucky he was even around. We could have been all day if we had to wait for you.”
The sharp edge of her mother’s words deepened her wounds. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be closer to her family, but she had to work. She had to support the people she loved most, even if they sometimes forgot how much pressure she was under.
Her mother covered the plate of chicken with plastic wrap, then shoved it into Blake’s hands. “Now run along. And don’t get lost with my chicken.” Her mother pushed her out the door. “And make sure you let his mother know that I’d like my plate back.”
It was like she was eight years old again, her mother moving her along in her pursuit toward her own means. She would never be exactly what Gemma wanted her to be, would always be a disappointment, constantly seeking her mother’s approval and trying to make her proud. No matter how badly she wanted them to, some things would never change.
Splitting the blanket. Trimming away the deadweight. Losing one’s other half. Detective Jeremy Lawrence had heard them all, but they all meant one thing: he was divorced.
He thumbed the empty place on his ring finger where his wedding band used to be.
Genevieve had made such a big deal about the ring when they were first together. She hadn’t wanted him to wear yellow gold, claiming it would clash with her engagement ring—a ring she’d also picked out—and he couldn’t get silver as it would tarnish. He’d felt like an idiot standing there in the jewelry store getting told that tungsten was really the best option for him, but at twenty-two he’d been young and dumb and willing to put up with anything if it meant he got to marry her. Heck, he’d thought himself lucky. She’d been the cheerleader, the girl who could light up a room with a smile and, better yet, make him burn with want with the mere trailing of her fingertips.
Everything, all the way down to her name, had to be classy.
The marriage had been over the minute she had figured out he was just a regular guy, not the idealized version she must have had in her mind.
He