Worth The Wait

Violet winced. “Just that once.” Her heart thundered so hard, she didn’t know if that’s what hurt her chest, or if it was the pneumonia. “It was stupid, for both of us, and it never meant anything. For a while there I was afraid it would ruin our friendship, maybe make things awkward. But Jason was no more interested in a repeat performance than I was.”

The seconds ticked by, then Hogan teased, “Should I be insulted on my brother’s behalf?”

Knowing he believed her, Violet relaxed. “No. The chemistry just wasn’t there.” Not like the chemistry I have with you. Because it was uppermost in her mind, and here, now, in the dark discussing such intimate things, seemed like a good time to bring it up, she asked, “What about you? Am I likely to run into one of your...” She didn’t want to insult other women, so she settled on, “Flings?”

“No idea. Would you mind?”

If he’d let her go, she’d punch him again. He seemed to know it and held her snug even as she felt the laughter rumbling in his chest beneath her cheek. “Jerk.”

“I’ve never claimed otherwise.”

He didn’t have to. Anyone who knew him saw right away that he was, overall, a really terrific guy. Definitely a great dad. A good brother, a friendly neighbor.

Gorgeous, and sexy and—

“If you need anything during the night, let me know, okay?”

What if she needed him? No, bad thought. Bad, bad thought.

The quiet settled around them.

When she squirmed, getting more comfortable against him, he whispered, “For the record, I’m not proud of my temporary stint as a hound dog.”

Heat, scented by his body, wafted around her, making her warm and sleepy. “No?”

His fingertips trailed up and down her bare arm. “It was stupid and immature.”

“I didn’t realize.”

He squeezed her. “Are you laughing at me?”

“No.” She surprised herself when she kissed his chest. Just a quick kiss, but still... “Do you know why you became a hound dog?”

“Yeah, I do. Now go to sleep.”

“Okay.” She was too lethargic to argue with him.

Even as she drifted off, she stayed very aware of Hogan against her—and she knew he was still awake.

* * *

The knock on the door woke Hogan and he opened his eyes before realizing that Violet sprawled half over him. He lifted his head, awareness hitting him hard.

Her slender thigh draped his lap, a warm, soft weight against his morning erection. Her hair spilled over his chest and shoulder, her hand in a loose fist over his right nipple.

The knock came again.

Well, hell.

He didn’t want to move, definitely didn’t want to disturb her, but he glanced at the clock and saw it was after nine. He came up to an elbow, and she awakened.

He watched her dark brown lashes flicker before her eyes slowly opened. She looked at his chest, down his body—then shot her gaze to his face.

“Good morning.” Jesus, she was beautiful in the morning. He opened his hands on her back and resisted the urge to fondle her bottom.

Her eyes flared.

She hadn’t yet caught on, obviously. “Someone’s at your door.”

As if she expected to see someone standing outside the bedroom, she scrambled up and pulled the sheet to her chin.

Hogan laughed. “The front door.” Ready to be gallant, he stood.

Her interest went directly to his lap and stayed there.

“Keep that up,” he warned her, while pulling on his shorts, “and it’ll be an R-rated greeting I give to your visitor.” Already he had more than usual morning wood, but then, given how he’d awakened, it made sense.

When she stayed silent, he sighed. “Clearly, you’re not a morning person. Stay put and I’ll do the honors.”

Hoping it wasn’t a boyfriend of some sort coming to call on her, Hogan opened the door.

Honor and Jason stood there.

“You didn’t hear the door?” Jason asked, looking past him at the couch—where clearly no one had slept. His expression changed. “Damn, sorry. Maybe we can just—”

“Come in.” Brain scrambling, Hogan stepped back to allow them entrance. What might have happened if his brother and sister-in-law hadn’t intruded?

Nothing, you ass. The woman is sick. Still, conversations from the night before flooded back on him. He wanted to dissect everything that had been said, the assurances she’d given him, the subtle ways she’d started to soften toward him.

Instead he had to entertain.

“I thought you’d be up.” Jason barely kept his humor in check. “I know it was a late night, but you’ll be opening the diner today, right?”

“Yes.” He didn’t bother explaining that he’d still been in bed, Violet half atop him, their legs entwined. He could still feel the softness of her, the cushion of her breasts against his chest, her silky hair tangled over him—

Honor looked around, then whispered, “Violet is still sleeping?”

Get it together. “Yes, she’s—”

“Right here,” Violet mumbled, coming down the hall in her thick housecoat, the comforter once again dragging in her wake. She glanced at Hogan, then away, in her sluggish beeline for the couch.

Honor immediately went after her. “You’re still so sick. I’m sorry.”

“She’s a little better,” Hogan said. “But she’s lousy in the mornings.”

Jason said, “Antibiotics are an amazing thing.”

“I don’t know,” Honor mused. “Could be your brother’s good nursing skills that are doing the trick.”

“Maybe.” Arching a brow, Jason grinned at Hogan. “Colt’s on his way.” He nodded at Hogan’s lap. “You, ah, might want to get on some pants. Denim maybe. Something sturdy.”

“Shut the hell up.” But he went down the hall, taking deep breaths with each step, and found his pants. Behave, he told his dick. Now, with the house full, it should be easier to do.

On his way to the bathroom, he heard Violet say, “You guys, this isn’t—”

“Any of our business,” Honor happily finished for her.

Hogan could almost see Honor smiling. Such a caring person, and not a snide bone in her body.

He wondered if she woke up grouchy. Didn’t seem likely; Honor was always a sweetheart.

In rapid order, Hogan dressed, brushed his teeth and finger-combed his hair. He would have liked to shave, but he’d just made it back to the small living room when Colt arrived.

For his son, nothing seemed amiss.

Jason had coffee going and Honor pulled a bag of homemade chocolate chip cookies from her tote.

They gathered in the kitchen. Hogan saw to it that Violet took her medicine, and to everyone else’s amusement, she let him. It didn’t occur to him that it might seem uncommon for him to feel her head for fever, or to suggest ibuprofen. At least, it didn’t until he realized they were all gawking.

Honor quickly said, “The cookies aren’t really homemade. All I do is bake them, but Colt likes them.”

“I do,” Colt agreed, putting three on his plate and then serving Violet.

She smiled at Colt, thanked him and said, “I’m not dying, people. I don’t have to be coddled.”

Except that she’d wanted to be coddled last night—by him.

“I can help again today,” Colt offered. “I’m cutting grass this morning, but then I’m free.”

“You don’t mind? You don’t have a date or something else you’d rather be doing?”

“The date was last night—sort of. She hung out at the diner with some of our friends. I got to visit on breaks, and I’ll see her Monday at school. You’ll be well soon, so it’s not a problem.” He grinned. “You’ve slipped me enough free refills and always give me double orders of fries. I’m glad to pay it back a little.”

That was news to Hogan. So Violet had been pampering his son? Nice.

Violet turned to Hogan. “You can fill out a time card for him?”

Hogan and Colt protested at the same time.

She held up a hand. “For once, you two look alike.” She frowned at Colt. “You are the nicest young man ever, but you can’t work for free. I wouldn’t want you to, and I won’t let you. And you,” she said to Hogan, “shouldn’t let him.”

Jason laughed. “Well, he is saving up for college, so...be gracious, Colt, and thank the lady.”

“Thank you.”

As the cookies and coffee were consumed, Hogan stewed. Yes, his son was saving for college—because his college fund had been robbed, wasted. And he, Hogan, had been blind to it, never once suspecting. It still made him ill. God, he’d been such a fool.

Violet’s bare foot thumped his calf under the table.

He looked up and saw her glowering at him. “What?”

Rolling her eyes, coughing briefly, she said, “Your brother asked you a question.”

“Oh.” He gave his attention to Jason. “What was it?”

“I asked if you wanted us to stay with Violet so you could go home and do whatever for a while.”

“And I,” Violet said, “told him I didn’t need a babysitter.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Hogan agreed. He stood. “And yes, I’ll be heading home now.” He waited until the others caught his not-so-subtle hint and abandoned their chairs.

“I need to get started on a new gazebo today,” Jason said.

Honor hooked her arm through her husband’s. “And I have to be at the salon in an hour.”

Glad to get them on their way, Hogan nodded. “I’ll walk you guys out.”

“You’re leaving now, too?”

Violet looked small and vulnerable and as far from “sweet” as a woman could get. “We’ll talk first,” he promised her. “Then I’ll go.”

“Honor, thank you for the cookies. Jason, thank you for the coffee. And, Colt, thank you for helping out at the diner.”

Colt slung his arm around her. “Thank you for the temporary job.” He gave her a squeeze, said, “Let me know if you need anything, all right?” and followed his uncle out.

Hogan gave her a long look. “I’ll be right back.”

After a few minutes spent chatting with Jason and Honor, Hogan watched them drive away. He turned to his son. “So, how’s everything going?”

“What do you mean?”

“New girl? Odd jobs? School?”

“Everything’s great, Dad. No worries.” He rattled the keys to his old pickup in his hand, anxious to be on his way.

Hogan settled against the fender. “You like the girl?”

The slow smile reminded him way too much of himself, and his uncle. “Yeah. She’s shy, but really nice.”

“Pretty, too, I noticed.”

Colt gave one nod. “Definitely pretty.”

“Working at the diner won’t put a crimp in things?” Colt carried a lot of AP classes, worked nights and weekends cutting grass and doing yard work, plus odds and ends jobs for neighbors, and still fit in time for girls and his friends.

“No, it’ll be fine.”

He didn’t often feel uncomfortable with his son, but over a touchy subject like college, he couldn’t help but frown. “I’m setting up another college fund—”

“It’s fine.” Colt opened the truck door in a rush. “I should get going. I’ve got five lawns to finish up before the diner opens.”

“Five?”

“They’re the size of postage stamps, Dad. Won’t take me long.”

Clearly Colt didn’t want to talk about it, either. Hogan let out a long breath. “I’ll see you at noon?”

“Probably quarter till. I’ll help you open.” He put the key in the ignition, but didn’t start it. “What’ll happen tomorrow?”

Hogan shook his head. “She’ll insist on coming in. She’s still got five days of meds to take, and she’s still running on empty, but there’s no way I can stop her.”

“I guess not.” Colt gave it some thought. “Tell the others to step up as much as they can.”

“Good idea. I’ll do that.” He clasped his son by the shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Be safe.”

Colt grinned. “You, too, Dad.”

Hogan closed the door, then turned to go back up the walk. He saw Violet standing at the window.

4

NATHAN SAT ON his front porch early Monday morning, drinking coffee, thinking about the day and, admittedly, waiting for his neighbor to show herself.

He’d learned her pattern by observation.

Lights out at ten each night. Her porch light stayed on.

No visitors, but she ventured out to her porch early evening to read.

And each morning, between seven and seven thirty, she exited her front door, went down the walk putting in earbuds, her iPod attached to the waistband of yoga pants, and she jogged.

It was now seven fifteen.

When he heard her door open, he didn’t look her way. Just set aside his coffee cup and flexed his arms.

He was ready. More than ready.

Today she wore running shoes, black compression shorts, a yellow tank top, and if he was any judge of breasts—and he was—a sports bra. She had her thick dark blond hair in a fat braid down her back. Instead of sunglasses, she wore a visor that cast a shadow over her amazing eyes.

Without looking his way, she picked up her pace and fell into a light jog, her braid bouncing behind her.

Nathan watched her go, flexed again, then headed down the walk. His legs were longer, he was stronger and he’d catch up easily enough. But first he wanted to do more observing.

Why was she so aloof?

Trailing a good distance behind her, he watched the movement of her toned, shapely legs, the swing of her slim arms and the gentle sway of her round ass. She turned the corner.

Knowing she wouldn’t hear him, not over the rhythmic thwap-thwap-thwap of her sneakers, he picked up his pace.

Did his scar bother her? Sure as hell bothered him, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Well, he’d retired from his position in one of the largest SWAT teams in the country and taken a much less demanding position in southern Ohio. That was something, he supposed. Wouldn’t rid him of the scar, but maybe it’d keep him from getting more.

Thinking about that day and the changes he made always left him hyperaware of the memory, the people who had died—and the people who had lived.

He touched his face where the scar cut across his cheek from his temple to the corner of his mouth.

Stopping suddenly, she turned and looked right at him.

Nathan dropped his hand and continued jogging.

So did she, but not for long.

She paused at the stop sign to a cross street and turned to face him.

Anticipation crackling, Nathan slowed as he reached her.

The second he was close enough, she demanded, “Are you following me?”

A direct attack. He hadn’t expected that, not when she’d been so cagey previously. Lying, he said, “Just out for a jog.”

She eyed him like she didn’t believe him.

Smart lady. “Do you jog every day?”

“Yes.” She unbent enough to ask, “You?”

He lied again. “Sometimes.” These days he did most of his cardio in the gym in his basement. But he’d always enjoyed jogging, so why not? “What did you say your name is?”

Giving him “the look,” she shook her head. “I never said. And you don’t strike me as the obtuse type, so I’m guessing you already knew that.”

Of course he did, and the curiosity drove him nuts. Hell, he’d thought about her all night. “Is it a secret?”

“No, I just...” Hands on her hips, she looked across the street.

Was she thinking about running? Away from him? Nathan took a step back, ensuring he didn’t crowd her.

She surprised him by holding out a hand. “Brooklin Sweet.”

Warmth uncurled inside him. Trying not to rush her, he gently took her hand. “Nathan Hawley.”

“I remember.” She pulled away. “Your friend introduced you.”

“Hogan.”

“Yes.”

Clipped answers. Trying to get rid of him quickly? Too bad, because he wasn’t in a mood to accommodate her. Perversely, the more remote she acted, the more he dug in. “I’m pleased to meet you, Brooklin.”

Her beautiful eyes stared into his. “Did I have a choice in the matter?”

“I don’t know,” he said, pretending to think about it. “I was pretty determined.”

A smile cracked, but she controlled it. “Nathan.” She spoke gently, as if to a half-wit. “You’re a very handsome man. And clearly successful. Being sheriff, I imagine people fall into line pretty quickly for you.”

Not really. Not in Clearbrook. He could debate the successful part, but he stayed quiet, anxious to hear what else she’d say. He thought it would be just as surprising as the rest of this meeting had so far been.

“Please don’t take it personally. But I really value my privacy right now.”

He lifted a brow.

“I’m not interested in dating.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t recall asking you.”

She almost flinched. “No, you didn’t, did you? That’s good.” She rallied together a look of optimism. “Saves us both the awkwardness—”

“But now that you’ve mentioned it,” he said, cutting her off. He smiled over her groan. “How about a no-pressure, meet-your-neighbor visit? Screwy Louie’s would do. Lunch, or maybe dinner?”

“Has a woman ever told you no?”

“Often. It’s never as much fun as yes.”

Her mouth twitched. “You’re dangerous.”

Hands up, he denied that. “Swear I’m not. I’m the sheriff, you know. I have to be on the up-and-up.” When she looked ready to bolt again, he said, “Odd. Your eyes look much darker with the sun behind you.” Almost like whiskey, instead of topaz. But that sounded absurdly poetic, so he kept the description to himself.

“How tall are you?” Staring up at him, she said, “I’m five-eight, not exactly petite, but you still tower over me. I’m thinking six-two?”

Wondering at that observation, he shrugged. “About that.” In case she wanted all his stats, he added, “I’m thirty-four, a hundred and eighty pounds.”

“What? No credit report? Marital status? Financial statement?”

Nathan laughed. “Never been married, no kids, and I’m financially comfortable. Not rich, so don’t get greedy. But I don’t struggle.”

Brooklin blew out a breath. “I never asked for any of that. My point, if I can remember it now, was that I don’t like men towering over me.”

“You’re into shorter guys, huh?” Maybe he should stoop down a little.

“I’m not into guys at all.”

That brought both his brows up. “Gay?”

Rolling her eyes, she said, “No. Just very uninterested in...” She waved a hand between them. “This.”

“Me?”

“Anyone. For crying out loud, pay attention.”

“Yes, teacher.”

She backstepped, breathed a little faster and said, “I need to go.”

Nathan gestured. “Lead the way.”

“No...” Hand to her temple, she groaned. “Alone. I want you to go away now.”

He would.

For now.

But first... “Just in case you think you can dodge me by jogging in the opposite direction tomorrow—”

The look on her face assured him he’d nailed it.

“—you should know that it’s going to be a nice day, which means Mr. Westbrook will be cutting his grass early. In his Speedo.” He watched her face. “He’s sixty-eight and let’s say he’s on the stocky side.” Very stocky.

Thick lashes lifted. “You’re joking.”

At least she wasn’t so jumpy now. “He claims it keeps his boys healthy, like maybe they need the fresh air, too.”

“His boys?”

“Balls.”

“Oh.” She snickered.

“A few neighbors have complained, but I figured at least he’s wearing the Speedo, right? Even though he somewhat overflows them.” Nathan touched a hand to his own trim middle. “He’s a beer drinker you know, and has the gut to go with it.”

“If I jog your way, will you follow me again?”

Once more direct and to the point. Nathan looked up at a bird on the lamppost near them. “Possibly.” Definitely. He met her worried gaze. “Has this little chat been so painful?”

Brooklin shook her head. “I guess as long as it’s only chatting, it’s okay.”

Headway. He crossed his heart. “Only chatting.” Until she relaxed enough for him to push for more.

* * *

Joni Jeffers was every bit as annoying on Monday as she’d been on Friday. Without an ounce of encouragement from Hogan, she’d set her mind to furthering their association beyond the professional.

She hovered around his desk until Hogan knew he wouldn’t get anything done.

Her continued interruptions for intimate, too-close chitchat, along with his preoccupation worrying over Violet, added to a lack of sleep over the weekend, and he could barely see the numbers in the columns.

He turned his chair to face Joni, ignored the few coworkers around them and said, “I was thinking of working from home the rest of the week.”

The way she smiled, you’d think he’d invited her over. “If that’s what you need to do...”

“I’ll get more done there.” And it’d give him time to check on Violet. “I’m missing a few returns, but I’ve already emailed the client. I’ve got the basics down on the restructuring and modernizing of the system used. Everything is online now and I should be able to present it by the end of the week, or next Monday.”

“Did you see any savings?”

“Plenty, actually.”

“Perfect.” She smiled down at him while trailing a finger up and down her cleavage.

Thank God her back was to everyone else.

“You know, Hogan, I might stop by middle of the week just so you can show me everything.”

“I can come back in Friday,” he said quickly. Then, to shore that up—because he seriously didn’t want a surprise visitor—he said, “My son has friends over a lot.” A lot, meaning occasionally. “You know how loud boys can be.”

Her gaze became assessing. “How old did you say he is?”

“Almost eighteen.”

“Closer to a man than a boy now.”

“No.” Hogan didn’t trust Joni, not at all, and he wanted those thoughts out of her head real quick. “He’s still in high school.”

“You weren’t much older than him when you became his father.”

“True. Colt is a hell of a lot smarter than I was.” As he spoke, Hogan gathered up his papers, saved his files and stood.

Joni didn’t back up.

Jesus, half the office—all of five other employees—were watching this farce play out. “I’ll check my email first thing every morning. Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“I’ll walk you out,” she said.

Short of telling her to go to hell, what could he do? Is this how women felt when being sexually harassed? No, for a woman it’d probably be worse. After all, Joni didn’t physically threaten him.

She just annoyed the hell out of him.

* * *

Violet wanted to crumble. She wanted to sink down to the floor and put her head on her knees and give in to the need to sleep. Thanks to the meds, her chest didn’t feel quite so tight and the coughing was now at a minimum, but the awful exhaustion remained.

Where had her usual energy gone? After being a complete slug all weekend, having Hogan wait on her—even hold her while she slept—she should have had a little more pep.

To everyone she saw, she explained that she wasn’t contagious, but still, she tried to avoid direct contact with the food and the customers, just so no one would worry.

In a diner, there was always something else to do, and she stayed busy doing it. Too busy.

Once the lunch-hour traffic died down, she decided she could finally head to her office and tackle some paperwork. She was just leaving the seating area when Hogan stepped in.

Doing a double take, she watched him talk with Colt for a bit.

Damn, he was a good dad. Very hands-on and available. So what if he’d had a temporary lapse while chasing tail? Most men she knew made it a lifelong profession, not a temporary anything. And even then, he’d been with Colt a lot.

Just not in the evenings, when he’d spent time in other women’s beds.

She’d bet her last biscuit that he hadn’t slept chastely with any of them, not the way he had with her.

After his private talk with Colt, Hogan looked around, searching, she knew, for her.

Violet didn’t move from her position near the farthest corner booth where she’d been collecting dirty dishes. She’d planned to deposit them to the washer on her way to her office.