Loving the Lawman

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. And that’s what I’m praying for. That God mends this chasm to bring you peace of mind and a healed heart.”

Seth accepted the blessing, but he couldn’t wrap his head around such a thing. Peace of mind would only come if he could keep Tori safe. And a healed heart?

His heart was doing okay. It had healed enough to know he wouldn’t chance getting it broken again. And that was a promise he could make.

* * *

“Good morning!” Gram’s welcome meant the boys in blue had arrived. Gianna took a deep breath, put a pleasant and somewhat blank expression on her face and stepped into the sewing area at the back of the shop. She tried not to stare as Seth settled an armload of tools and boxed braces along the front wall.

“You’ll still be able to do this today?” she asked. She pointed to the equipment he’d brought in. “I was afraid we messed you up with the fitting appointment.”

“Lotta day left,” he told her, then winked.

Her heart did a theatrical spin—most unprofessional. Her face refused to let the attraction show. “That’s wonderful. If you’ll—”

“Zach, come in, thank you for helping your friend. So nice!” Carmen bustled forward as if on cue, which made Gianna figure she’d been watching for Zach’s entrance from the doorway leading to the apartment. “Set those down right here and I’ll take you over by my area.”

“And I’ll send Seth right behind him,” Gianna added. She sent her grandmother an I-know-what-you’re-doing look as Seth organized the equipment into some kind of order.

“If we both measure, we get done in half the time.” Carmen tossed a tape measure across the room.

Gianna caught it in one hand, met her grandmother’s grin and decided to stay mum. There would be no arguing in front of the two policemen, but later?

Gram would get an earful.

“Where would you like me?” Seth faced her with the look of a man doomed, and despite her internal efforts, she had to smile.

“I promise it won’t hurt. Much.”

“The last time I heard that was when the doctor had to reset my broken arm. And just so you know? It did hurt. A lot.”

“Aw.” She made a face of sympathy up at him and touched his arm. “I’m actually sorry you had to go through that.”

“I was, too. But we got the bad guy and he’s doing time, so justice prevailed.”

Her heart longed to protest his easy take on an uneasy topic. He’d gotten one bad guy and a broken arm. But there were bad guys everywhere. And not all the good guys walked away with just a cast. Some never walked away at all.

“What do we do first?” He tipped his gaze down to her and for just a moment she let herself get lost in those clear blue eyes. His hair was rumpled from wearing a hat, but the tight Scottish curl didn’t allow hats to crush his hair, so she found herself looking up at a modern-day Celtic warrior with a great smile.

Focus. You’ve got a job to do. So does he. And that’s it.

“All you have to do is stand there for a minute today.”

“Can do.”

She unwound her measuring tape as her grandmother chatted with Zach about his family and farming and all the innocent things Gianna could discuss if she was doing the state trooper’s measurements.

But no, she was measuring the single sheriff’s deputy with the great chin, and for the life of her, she couldn’t find a thing to say that didn’t seem flirtatious or mention his job. And she refused to do that. She reached up and measured from his neck to where his wrist met strong, broad hands.

Do not think about his hands. Their strength. That scar on the back of his left hand that looks fairly new. Eyes on the tape measure. Got it?

Oh, she got it, but it was impossible when she had to go eye to eye with him to measure his neck. The scent of fresh outdoors mingled with guy soap, a combination that made her long to draw closer for one more whiff....

So she stood back, jotted 17.5 in her notes and moved to measuring his chest. While doing so she decided that life was not fair, men shouldn’t be so amazingly well built and she’d probably have to resort to bodily harm of her conniving grandmother for putting her in this situation. At least she was experienced enough to be able to discern his measurements without needing him to remove his shirt. Ten years ago, she wouldn’t have known how to adjust for the slight difference.

Now she did, although seeing Seth in a T-shirt couldn’t be considered punishment.

Waist...a trim thirty-two.

She finished her task in a matter-of-fact manner, jotted numbers into her sizing notepad, then closed the small notebook. Done.

“No hip measurement?” he wondered.

“Not for men.” She shook her head as she looked up, and the gleam in his eye said he was kidding.

“Jerk.”

He laughed and tugged a lock of her hair as he stepped back into his shoes. “Couldn’t resist. I’ve been measured for monkey suits for way too many weddings. No one’s ever gotten quite this nervous about it, though. Although you hid it well.”

The fact that he recognized her nervousness meant she hadn’t hidden it well. The blush she’d tried to control steamrolled her cheeks, but she made a concerted effort to keep this exchange strictly business. “Measure twice, cut once. I expect you employ a similar ethic when working with wood.”

“I do. And just like good fabric, certain grains give me more trouble than others.” He arched an innocent brow, but she was fairly sure he lumped her in the “certain grains” category. “We’re done for now?”

“Yes. I will turn this—” she patted a bolt of tan cotton “—into this.” She held up a pattern of an old-style sheriff’s uniform and grinned when Seth looked reassured.

“That’s actually kind of cool.” He touched the fabric lightly, and there was no mistaking the relief in his tone. “I like that Andy Griffith look. I was afraid we’d have to wear some overblown thing with ugly brass buttons.”

Gianna sent Zach a look of sympathy. “That would be his.”

“Ha.” Seth laughed and clapped Zach on the back. “You’ll look like a band leader in a parade. Perfect.”

“I’ll still be carrying a gun,” Zach warned, and Seth laughed again.

“I’m going to leave off some of the braid,” Carmen told Zach. “The state police dropped the braid and the tails on the coat fairly early, so I’ll do the same. I promise you will not be a laughingstock.” She reached up and patted his cheek. “My husband gave decades to the troopers. I treat his counterparts with utmost love and respect.”

“Thank you.” Zach smiled down at her as he lifted his leather jacket from a hook behind her work area. “I’m going to head back home and help my wife and my father compute how many cows are too many.”

Seth offered a quick retort as Zach moved toward the door. “Knowing your wife and father, I don’t think there is such a thing.”

“I can’t disagree.” Zach sent him a rueful look. “And with the new barn nearly complete, I see a busy season ahead of us. But truth be told, I couldn’t be happier, so bring on the cows. Ladies.” He turned and tipped his cap in their direction. “Thank you for making this relatively painless.”

“You’re welcome.” Gianna smiled at him, then turned toward Seth. “Is it easier for you to work on the clothing racks if we’re not here? If it is, Gram and I can make ourselves scarce. I know we said we’d be gone today, and sometimes it’s a pain to have people underfoot while you work.”

* * *

Would it be easier to work if she disappeared behind that long, rippled curtain?

Definitely.

Then he wouldn’t have to pretend she wasn’t there. Breathe her amazing perfume that was nothing like anything he’d ever smelled before. But they were neighbors. Moreover, he was her landlord, so he had to get used to working with her. Or at least working near her. And while he hadn’t thought he was in the market for anything romantically inclined, when Gianna drew close, it wasn’t close enough. And he was old enough and mature enough to know that meant his interest extended beyond a friendly handshake.

Hers didn’t. Correction: she was tempted, but determined to remain off-limits, and he’d had enough of difficult women with Jasmine, so he was all right with maintaining distance. He respected lines drawn in the sand. So be it. He set up his saw at the north end of the building and flexed a shrug. “I can ignore you if you can ignore me.”

Her eyes went wide, then narrowed, and Seth was pretty sure the thought of being ignored didn’t sit well with the Italian princess at the opposite end of the room. He didn’t like it all that much either, so he’d wait and see what she’d do. Eyeing the long expanse of walls, he had plenty of work to keep him busy. And at least they weren’t playing that horrible, boring—

Orchestral strains broke into his train of thought, deep strings with a slow, haunting percussive backbeat. He could bang his head against the wall right now, or man up and pretend he didn’t notice, but when some guy began belting out all the angst of the world in some foreign language, he reached for the earplugs he’d brought along and almost hugged the packaging. Some guys used earplugs for the most minute sawing jobs. Not Seth, but Gianna and Carmen didn’t know that.

Let them think he was protecting fragile eardrums. And he was, in a way. Because his eardrums would be okay if he never listened to opera again.

* * *

She’d redone the side seam twice, a ridiculous novice mistake because it was a simple seam, straight and thin.

Easy when there isn’t a wonderful man working ten yards away, wearing well-washed Wranglers and a perfectly fitted dark knit turtleneck.

He was humming something, too, something that didn’t meld with Pavarotti’s majestic tenor, and as Gianna plied her seam ripper for the second time, inspiration hit.

Seth was wearing earplugs. For the drill’s noise?

Or the opera?

Chagrined, she realized that just because she was a huge fan of the singing stage, a guy like Seth might want to tear his hair out rather than hear the deep operatic tones and strings repeatedly. She moved to the apartment, spotted her grandmother catching a midday catnap in the living room overlooking the snow-swept frozen water and turned off the music feed to the shop. When she came back through the curtained door, the only noise was his slightly off-key rendition of “Fields of Gold.”

Seth liked Sting.

So did she.

She retook her seat in the well-lit sewing corner and hummed along with him. The new quiet bathed her in peace, the melding of her voice with his soft and unassuming. The duet was broken from time to time as he mounted the bars high enough to avoid street-length dresses grazing the floor. Just before he turned on the drill to set bracket holes in the next section, he turned, frowned, then smiled.

Oh, that smile.

Her heart melted. Her fingers stuttered and the business end of a pin bit the tip of her thumb. She jumped back, not wanting to taint the gauzy fabric with a prick of blood, and Seth moved to her side instantly. Concern erased the smile, and he grabbed for her hand. “Are you hurt?”

“No, just silly.”

He looked puzzled momentarily, then awareness dawned. He snatched the earplugs from his ears and pocketed them. He examined her hand, seemed to decide she’d most likely live and dropped it back into her lap. “Sorry. You just looked scared there for a minute.”

“Only because blood won’t wash out of dry-clean-only fabric,” she told him. She pressed a small pad of white cotton to the tip of her finger and nodded toward the far wall. “The brackets look good. I love that stressed bronze color.”

“It fit.”

“Yes.”

He started to turn back to his work, then swung around again. “You turned off the music. You can listen if you want. This is your place now.”

Add considerate and self-sacrificial to the list of attributes she liked about this man. She shrugged, checked her finger, then reapplied the pad to make sure she’d stanched the tiny cut. “Compromise is a good thing when people work together. You’re not an opera fan, I take it.”

His face said more than his reply. “No.”

She laughed. “Well, did you know that Pavarotti and Sting have sung together?”

“I’m not sure I believe it, but I’ll ask—when?”

“On Pavarotti & Friends,” she explained. “The producers arranged for all kinds of musicians to perform with him. Rockers. Jazz. Classical. My father was highly insulted, but I loved it.” She sent him a pointed look and added, “Pavarotti and Sting sang ‘Panis angelicus.’”

“I love that hymn,” Seth admitted. “It’s majestic.” He drew up a chair, pretended to check a nonexistent watch and said, “Break time. Is it a rule that if you’re Italian you must love opera?”

“It should be,” she teased. “I love the rise and fall of voices, and I don’t care if it’s opera, a barbershop quartet or a strong choir. The synchronized timing of music and voice calls to me.” Memories swept her. Made her smile. Broadway. The Met. Concerts in Central Park. “I worked in New York after college, and I had the opportunity to see all kinds of things, a multitude of cultures. An amazing experience.”

“Will you go back?”

The question hung between them, suspended in midair, as if her answer meant a great deal, as if their casual conversation could lead to something stronger. More permanent. But that was silly. “Just to visit,” she told him. “My home is here now.”

He smiled again, but it wasn’t the amused smile of moments ago when he’d realized she’d switched the music off. This smile held the warmth of hope and the promise of spring. “Well.” He stood, brushed his hands against the sides of his thighs and squared his shoulders. “The finger’s okay?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“Then I’ll get back to work.”

“Me, too.”

Everyday words, simple and sweet. But as she watched him cross the room, his gait relaxed, she knew she hadn’t shared easy conversation with an attractive man in a long time.

She’d dated occasionally after losing Michael. And she’d had fun from time to time, but she’d worked to have fun, putting forth concerted effort so her dates wouldn’t think she was a total waste of time.

Enjoying moments with Seth required no work. That slow, comforting gaze. The big, blue eyes. The firm chin with the tiniest cleft when he smiled.

He didn’t need her to impress him. She liked that. Too much, most likely, but since there was nothing to come of it, she’d enjoy the opportunity to have a new friend, as long as that was all it was.

* * *

Old-world beauty.

The phrase struck Seth when he pictured her, tucked in the corner behind him, the whir of the pricey sewing machine a soft hum beneath her hands. A cloud of delicate fabric covered her lap, and she’d clipped her hair back, away from her face. The combination of the curls and the puffs of gray fabric were a Renaissance painting come to life.

He kept his eyes on the wall and the drill, his gaze focused on the sturdy brackets needed to brace the movement and weight of hanging garments.

But his thoughts? Those were ten yards back, on the pretty girl sitting at the pale blue machine, the motorized pause and go of intricate work keeping her in his mind.

The scent of something amazingly delicious captured his attention midday, about the same time as a knock came at the street-side door. Gianna started to stand, but Seth waved her back down. “I’ll get it. You keep working.”

He didn’t wait to see if she obeyed him, but when he opened the door, his mother stood on the snow-crusted sidewalk. “Mom.”

“Hello.” She breezed in, flashed him a smile, then held a basket high. “Gianna?”

“Yes.” Gianna stood, settled the fabric onto the chair and rounded the sewing table. “I’m Gianna Costanza.” She put out her hand in welcome. “You’re Seth’s mother.”

“Jenny Campbell.” Jenny handed off the basket and waved toward the kitchen in the apartment beyond. “I wanted to welcome you and your grandmother to town. I’d have been here sooner but one of our grandsons was sick and I took over with him the past few days so his parents could work.”

“Is he doing better?” Gianna asked, and it didn’t surprise Seth to see genuine concern in her eyes. “I hope so.”

“Much,” Jenny told her. “He had fifth disease, nothing major, but I wanted to keep him away from Piper if possible because she’s quietly expecting.”

“Not so quiet if half the town knows,” Seth scolded.

“This isn’t half the town. It’s you and Gianna. And Zach was in here earlier and I expect he said something.”

“Nope.”

“Oops.”

His mother looked chagrined. Seth laughed and looped an arm around her shoulders. “We won’t tell. Will we?” He shifted his gaze to Gianna. She shook her head, but a hint of worry glazed her eyes. “You okay?”

“Fine. Yes.”

Carmen bustled in from the apartment side of the building. “Hello! You’re Seth’s mother?”

Jenny introduced herself. Gianna handed Carmen the overflowing basket and watched as her grandmother led Jenny into the kitchen. But when she turned, worry creased her brow.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Tired, I think.” She made a face at the chair. “Too much sitting work makes me sleepy. I think I’ll take a quick walk.”

“Sleepy equates walk?” Seth stepped closer. “Usually the way to conquer tiredness is to nap.”

“Fresh air works, too.” She grabbed a thick jacket from a hook around the corner and donned it quickly. “I’ll be back soon.”

She was out the door in a flash, and when Carmen poked her head through the connecting door, Seth just shrugged. “She went for a walk.”

Carmen waved it off as if it wasn’t outrageously rude behavior. “She can’t sit too long working. She’s an action-motivated girl.”

“Who sews for a living.” Seth hiked a brow in Carmen’s direction. “Odd, right?”

“Not at all,” Carmen answered smoothly. “Come on in here, I’ve got chicken soup, and your mother brought homemade bread. We’ll have a quick lunch before we get back to work.”

He shouldn’t, even though Gianna had left. He’d promised himself he’d keep their relationship professional. Distanced. Being caught in the shop with Gianna so close showed him the unlikelihood of that. Just knowing she was there, sewing, humming now and again, made him feel at home.

He couldn’t afford to feel at home here.

Why not? His conscience scoffed. She’s nice, funny, talented and creative. Did I mention drop-dead gorgeous?

Seth got all that. What he didn’t get was the vibe she emitted, keeping him at bay. He’d obey his instincts—his other instincts—and maintain degrees of separation, no matter how much his heart softened in her presence. Soft hearts led to one thing: soft heads. And he’d been in the fire too much of late. He had no desire to get burned again.

* * *

Fifth disease.

Gianna hurried across the road, turned left at the first of two traffic lights and climbed the steps to the library. Warmth greeted her.

She barely felt it.

Children laughed in a semicircle off to her right as the librarian held up a funny-looking puppet and squawked, “Hi! I’m Skippy Jon Jones!”

The children giggled as the librarian continued the story. The puppet interrupted regularly, his raucous voice teaching on a kid-friendly level. Their joy of learning without knowing they were learning flooded Gianna with anticipation, but the thought of this childhood disease concerned her.