The Marriage Beat

“Jackson,” Richard Stewart said, folding his hands across his protruding stomach, “I understand that young lady out there wishes to take lessons in self-defense.”

Tyler nodded, wondering where this surprising statement was leading. “I told her the classes were full.”

“So I heard.” The captain leaned back in his chair and surveyed the ceiling. “She seems like a very independent young woman.”

Tyler twisted his mouth in a wry grimace before answering, “Yes, sir. Very.”

“In which case, I think she might well benefit from the lessons. Independent women have a habit of running into trouble.”

“Don’t I know it,” Tyler muttered. “I suggested she take the classes in the fall.”

“Ah.” Captain Stewart appeared to think that over. “In this case, Jackson, I think it might be wise to make special arrangements for that young lady.”

Tyler frowned, watching his captain with growing suspicion. “What kind of special arrangements?”

The captain lowered his chin and leaned forward. Fixing his piercing gaze on Tyler’s face, he said clearly, “I think she should have the lessons now.”

Tyler stared at him in bewilderment. “But the classes are full. Plus they’ve already started. It would throw the instructor off if Ms. Summers came in at this late date.”

“Exactly, which is why I think she should have private lessons.”

“Private lessons? But—”

“And you should give them to her.”

Tyler’s feet hit the floor as he bounced off his chair. “What? Why me? Are you nuts?”

The captain’s eyes narrowed and Tyler hastily added, “Sir?”

“I’m not nuts, as you so succinctly put it,” Stewart said mildly. “I happen to think that young lady would be a great deal safer if she knew how to protect herself in an emergency.”

“No doubt, but surely it can wait until the fall?”

“I don’t think so.”

Tyler had the distinct impression that something was brewing behind the captain’s stern expression, but he couldn’t for the life of him think what it might be. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Captain. I’d like to oblige, but my quota is full. I don’t have time to give self-defense lessons to anyone right now. Maybe later on....”

Captain Stewart could look almost murderous at times. This was one of those times.

“I said now, Jackson. I suggest you find time.”

Tyler made one last, desperate attempt. “But—”

“And that’s an order.”

Tyler clamped his lips tight shut before the curse slipped out. He waited a second or two, then muttered a quiet, “Yes, sir,” before turning on his heel to head for the door.

“Jackson.”

Tyler waited, his hand on the doorknob.

“This week, Jackson. No later.”

This time Tyler’s muttered, “Yes, sir,” was delivered through gritted teeth. On his way out he shut the door with a decisive thud. The old man was losing his marbles. Private lessons in self-defense? Where in the hell was he going to find the time? Who the hell wanted to spend what little spare time he had wrestling with a smart-mouthed woman who looked as if she’d break in two if he so much as touched her?

The thought of having to throw Megan Summers down on the floor was bad enough. The idea of teaching Megan Summers to throw him down on the floor was intolerable.

What was really intolerable, Tyler reluctantly admitted as he strode grimly back to the office, was that for a brief instant, when Megan Summers was scrambling to climb off him earlier, he had felt a distinct response in a place that hadn’t had a whole lot of action lately.

Now he knew where trouble number three was coming from. That, as far as Tyler was concerned, was the worst trouble of alL If he had to spend the next six to eight weeks wrestling with a woman who could turn him on that easily, he was heading for total disaster.

Inside the office, Megan looked up expectantly as the door swung open. Officer Jackson walked in, looking as if he would like to mow down everyone in his path. Obviously the news had not been good. She wisely decided to keep a still tongue as he sat down heavily at the desk.

He stared down at the notepad for so long she wondered uneasily if the bad news was connected to her encounter with the purse snatcher. She was about to ask him when he tore a sheet from the notepad, and looked up with a formidable expression that made her forget what she was going to ask.

“Read this over and sign here,” he said curtly, flipping the page across the desk.

She scanned the lines without comprehending what she was reading. She knew he was watching her, with a strange brooding expression that stirred up all kinds of unrest inside her. Her hand shook slightly as she picked up the pen he’d pushed across to her. Quickly she scrawled her signature and thrust the paper back at him. “Now am I free to go?”

“In just a moment.” He stared down at the page in his hand as if he’d never seen it before.

He was making her nervous. Something was obviously bothering him and somehow she just knew it had something to do with her. She couldn’t just sit there and wait all afternoon for him to tell her what it was.

“Officer Jackson—”

“Ms. Summers—”

They’d both spoken at once, and Megan waited, holding her breath.

“Ms. Summers,” Tyler Jackson said, a little more quietly, “I have been authorized to offer you private lessons in self-defense. Starting immediately.”

Of all the things she’d been expecting him to say, it certainly wasn’t that. She stared at him, forgetting to close her mouth.

Tyler gave her a look filled with desperation. “Of course, you are quite at liberty to refuse—”

She said the first thing that came into her head. “Who will be giving the lessons?”

She knew by his hunted expression what the answer would be long before he blurted out, “I’ve been appointed your instructor.”

Obviously under protest. She sat back, thinking furiously. She had no idea who had instigated this turn of events or why, but her first instinct was to refuse. Much as she would like to have the security of knowing how to protect herself, the mere thought of wrestling on a mat with the imposing, antagonistic cop was enough to turn her insides to jelly.

The fact that she felt a distinct thrill at the prospect only intensified the problem. She didn’t need any more complications in her life right now.

On the other hand, living alone did have distinct disadvantages. One of them was the feeling of vulnerability, brought home even more potently by Tyler Jackson’s observations on the criminal element in Portland. It was a feeling that did not sit well with Megan.

“I accept,” she said, before she could change her mind and chicken out.

Officer Jackson looked as if he were about to throw up. “Do you know Captain Stewart personally, by any chance?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

“No. Not that I’m aware of, anyway. Why?”

He shook his head. “Forget it.” He stared at the calendar, looked back at her, then back at the calendar again. “How does Thursday night sit with you?”

“Thursday night’s just fine. Where?”

“The gym.” He scribbled down an address on a small yellow notepad. “Can you make it by six? We’ll have an hour before the volleyball team takes over.”

“I’ll be there.” She took the note and glanced at it. “Thank you, Officer Jackson.”

He passed a hand across his brow, sweeping back his hair. “Look...Megan, it will make things a lot easier if you just call me Tyler.”

He’d called her Megan earlier, she remembered. Then he’d changed it to Ms. Summers. Now he was back to calling her Megan again. She liked that a whole lot better. “Thank you, Tyler. You’ll let me know if you find my purse?”

He started, as if he’d forgotten why she was there in the first place. “Of course. Though I wouldn’t hold out too much hope if I were you. We rarely recover snatched purses, and even if we do, they are generally empty.”

He was just a little ray of sunshine, Megan thought, as she walked out of the office and down the hallway to the main doors. Whatever happened to positive thinking? But then, being a cop in today’s violent world probably didn’t allow much room for positive thoughts. More than likely, Tyler Jackson was just too busy trying to stay alive.

She walked slowly back along the six blocks to her office, aware that particular thought bothered her a great deal more than it should have. Already she was beginning to have a protective attitude toward him. This was not good.

She thought about calling him and canceling the lessons. Then she reminded herself that she was a grown woman and well able to take care of herself. If she couldn’t stay indifferent to a surly cop with an attitude, then she wasn’t her mother’s daughter.

With that thought squarely in mind, she marched back to her office and did her best to forget the steely eyes of Officer Tyler Jackson.

Chapter Two

Tyler sat for a long time at his desk after Megan Summers had left, wondering what on earth had possessed his captain to order such a dumb assignment. Maybe he was being punished for something he didn’t know about. More likely Captain Stewart was trying to prove something, though heaven knew what that was.

Tyler sighed, and slipped the report he’d just filled out into the file. He hadn’t joined the force to give self-defense lessons. In fact, there were some days when he wondered why he’d ever wanted to become a cop. It certainly wasn’t the glamorous, exciting life he’d imagined when he’d first started as a rookie.

The job had its moments, of course...the feeling of satisfaction of a job well done when he’d seen a criminal locked away. Watching a thug get what he deserved—those were the moments that made his job worthwhile.

There was also the downside. The innocent people hurt, maimed or killed by a lawbreaker—children on drugs, wives beaten half to death, families crushed in a car hit by a drunk driver—these were the nightmares that haunted him.

In comparison, he thought, as he scanned the information Megan Summers had given him, wrestling a defenseless woman to the mat seemed like a picnic. Even so, he wished he’d never mentioned the lessons. A little learning could be dangerous.

He could just imagine Megan Summers taking on the entire criminal population of Portland if she thought she could overpower them. He’d have to make darn sure she understood that her ability would be limited. He’d have to warn her not to start something she wasn’t sure she could finish.

Tyler closed the file and dropped it into the out bin. He could understand her frustration, of course. She was a helpless victim, and she wanted to hit back. He knew that feeling very well. He’d watched his own brother struggle with his inadequacies.

Tyler had fought many a battle for Mason, defending his brother against the ignorant bullies who taunted him. It was Tyler who had been suspended from school for fighting, and it was Tyler who had been grounded for two weeks for blacking both eyes of the kid next door. He’d considered it a small price to pay for the satisfaction of teaching his brother’s tormentors a lesson.

Tyler shook his head as he got wearily to his feet. That was him, the almighty protector. He’d done it so much for his brother it had become a way of life for him. And it was still getting him into trouble.

He closed his mind to the vision of a delicate face and beautiful green eyes. Megan Summers’s looks were deceptive. There was nothing fragile about that lady. He was worrying over nothing. Might as well accept the situation and get it over with as quickly as possible.

He tried to keep that thought firmly in mind as he watched Megan walk across the floor toward him on Thursday evening. She was wearing black tights and a bright pink leotard that hugged her body as close as a second skin. The tiny sleeves left most of her arms bare and the scooped neckline hovered just above the line of decency. The second he saw her he knew he was in deep trouble.

He lowered his gaze to the floor and massaged the back of his neck, giving himself time to reconstruct his shattered composure. He was glad he’d put on shorts and tank top. He was going to need all the help he could get to keep his cool.

He had to force himself to look up when she reached him. If it was any comfort, she looked as nervous as he felt. She’d tied her hair back with a pale pink scarf, and wore no makeup, save for a dash of color on her lips. The effect made her look much younger than the twenty-nine years she’d stated on the report.

He was just seven years older than her, but right then the gap seemed much wider. It helped. A little. “I’m glad to see you’re on time,” he said, his uneasiness making his voice sound harsh.

She lifted her chin. “I’m always on time.”

Her cool voice made him think of a creek trickling through the forest on a hot summer afternoon. Unnerved by his poetic thoughts, he turned away from her and waved his hand at the mat. “Okay, let’s get started.”

He made her stand on the very edge of the mat, as far away from him as possible, as he went through the usual routine of explaining some of the easier ways she could defend herself. She seemed uncomfortable at his demonstration of poking fingers into an assailant’s eyes or throat, and looked sick when he told her that if she thrust the heel of her hand hard enough up under an attacker’s nose she could drive the bone through his brain.

That one usually got to the more squeamish students, but Megan seemed to recover fast enough to ask questions. In fact, by the time he’d finished his initial briefing of what the lessons would entail, she seemed anxious and eager to get on with them.

A glance at the clock told him he still had thirty minutes. Half an hour of pure torture, if his body was any indication of what to expect.

“Before we start the first moves,” he announced, hoping his dry throat wouldn’t affect his voice, “we’ll do a warm-up session to relax your muscles.”

“My muscles are perfectly relaxed,” Megan announced, doing a swift knee-bend to prove it. “I work out every morning.”

Her muscles might be perfectly relaxed, Tyler thought grimly, but his were as tight as a drum. “I don’t care what you do in the mornings. When you’re in my class you do warm-ups. I don’t need a pulled muscle on my conscience.”

Her magnificent eyes sparkled with resentment. “I’m not likely to pull a muscle, but if you insist—”

“I do insist.”

She looked put out, but followed him through the warm-up routine, making it all look so effortless his normally active body felt sluggish.

When he couldn’t put it off any longer, he braced himself for the hands-on procedures. “The first thing you have to remember when attempting to use a defensive move is to act with aggression. Yell, scream or swear, but make as much noise as possible. It will unnerve your opponent.” He took a stance, jabbed at the air and let out a bellow that made Megan jump backward off the mat.

Pleased that he’d got his point across, he braced himself. “Now come and take a shot at me.”

She blinked, took a hesitant step forward, then stopped. “I beg your pardon?”

He pounded his chest. “Here. Come and hit me here. Use as much force as you can.”

She gave her head a slight shake, poised herself on her toes, then rushed at him with a yell that would have scared Geronimo. He was so taken with her effort that he almost forgot to sidestep. Pivoting on his heel, he caught her raised arm, pulled her forward, tucked his shoulder into her armpit and bent double, flipping her neatly over his shoulder.

At least, it was supposed to be neatly. The sudden shock of her lithe body slithering over his made him check for an instant, enough to make him lose the momentum. He had to grab her to prevent her from falling awkwardly.

Luckily she didn’t seem to notice as she sprawled safely and somehow elegantly onto the mat. “Wow!” she said, sitting up. “That was great. It looks so easy. Can I do that?”

Tyler was still trying to get his wits back after suffering the exquisite agony of grasping her slim waist with both hands. “Only if you pay attention to what I tell you,” he barked hoarsely.

She looked taken aback at his tone, and he pulled in a deep breath. Get it under control, Jackson, he warned himself. This was serious stuff. He needed his concentration.

He forced himself to speak more naturally. “What I did was use your momentum to pull you off balance. I pulled you in the direction you were already going, and the rest was leverage. It’s not as easy as it looks. Here.”

He grabbed her arm, frowning in the effort to think of her as a cloth dummy instead of a warm, vibrant, sweet-smelling woman.

The next ten minutes were pure hell. The more moves he showed her, and the more contact he had with her firm body, the more irritable he became. He was furious with himself, furious at his weakness, and even more furious at her for having the power to do this to him. In an effort to disguise his problem, he rapped out his orders, sounding like a sergeant major with a bad hangover.

Megan was having just as much trouble paying attention. From the moment she’d seen him standing on the mat, legs braced apart in black gym shorts and a large portion of his chest bared by a blue tank top, she’d had trouble concentrating.

Every time he came near her she jumped, and whenever he put his hands on her, she just about curled up inside. To make matters worse, he kept snapping out orders at her, making her even more nervous.

In fact her nerves were strung up so tight she just knew if he didn’t quit yelling at her like that she’d explode, and tell him to forget the darn lessons. She should report him for being the worst instructor she’d ever encountered. Period.

He’d shown her how to grab his arm and pull him forward, but when it came to getting her shoulder beneath him to flip him over, she kept forgetting to bend over at the right time.

She was getting tired, and her muscles were sore. She just couldn’t wait until the lesson was over so she could go home and soak in the tub.

“All right,” Tyler said, mopping his brow with the back of his hand, “we’ll try it one more time then call it quits for tonight.”

Wondering if he’d read her mind, she gathered up the last of her energy. This time she’d do it. Just once she’d like to see him flat on his back with her foot in his neck. She faced him, muscles tensed, ready for the attack.

He scowled at her, in his role of attacker. “Remember to yell.”

He started toward her and she yelled, raising her hands to reach for his outstretched arm.

“Grab and pull,” he shouted. “Get under, under, bend, bend...no bend!”

She bent. This time, for the first time, his feet left the floor. For one glorious moment she felt his weight shifting over her shoulder. In her delight she started to straighten up, then gasped as her arm twisted awkwardly under his weight. She hadn’t quite got the hang of it yet, she realized in alarm.

He crashed to the mat on his back, dragging her with him. She cried out as his full weight landed on her forearm. He rolled off her in an instant, but the pain brought tears to her eyes. She sank onto the mat, cradling her arm against her body.

“Damn! I told you to bend.” Tyler knelt in front of her. “Let me look.”

She tried to lift her arm to show him, but it hurt to move it.

“Try wiggling your fingers,” he ordered, his voice softening in sympathy.

She felt like crying as she gingerly moved her fingers. It hurt like the blazes, but they worked.

Gently, he reached for her arm and ran his warm fingers up and down it. “I don’t think it’s broken,” he said gruffly, “but I’m taking you to the hospital to get it checked out.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“Don’t argue with me. You’re going and that’s the end of it.”

She clamped her mouth shut.

She kept it shut all the way to the hospital, even though she was aware of the worried glances he kept sending her. She’d had trouble getting into her jeans, and he’d had to help her. It had been embarrassing to say the least. Right then she couldn’t think of anything she wanted to say to him.

Tyler did all the talking when they arrived at the check-in desk in Emergency. He’d pulled on a pair of black sweatpants over his shorts, and looked more like a high-school coach than a cop. Megan noticed the skeptical way the nurse looked at him when he explained who he was.

She had to sign the form with her left hand, something she hadn’t done since she was in grade school. Her effort looked unreadable, but the friendly nurse assured her it was just fine.

Told to wait in the lounge, she took a seat near the window, overlooking the parking lot. It gave her something on which to concentrate her attention.

Tyler sat down opposite her, his face creased in a worried frown. “How’s it feel?” he asked her, when she looked at him.

“Not bad,” she lied. “I’m sure it will be just fine.”

He looked guilty. “This is bad. I’ve never had a student injured before.”

“It was my fault. I didn’t bend properly.”

“No, it was mine. I should have made sure you were following my instructions.”

She shook her head at him. “No, really. Your instructions were fine. It was my fault. I forgot to stay down until you were all the way over and—”

“I’m the instructor. I’m supposed to be able to prevent you from hurting yourself.”

She sat back, knowing it was useless to argue. He was determined to take the blame. She felt miserable. She was tired, hungry, in pain and felt like a prize idiot. If she hadn’t been so distracted by Tyler Jackson’s great muscles, if she hadn’t been so conscious of his steely-blue eyes, she’d have paid more attention and this wouldn’t have happened.

It would have to be her right arm, she thought in disgust. This was not turning out to be her week. First she’d had her purse stolen, which so far hadn’t turned up, and now she’d wrecked her arm in her very first lesson in self-defense. What else could possibly go wrong?

“Megan Summers?”

She looked up to see a young nurse standing at the door, beckoning to her.

Tyler got to his feet.

Megan got up, too. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she told him.

“I’m going with you. Here, give me your purse. I’ll carry it for you.”

“I can carry it myself. I’ll be fine.”

“I want to be sure of that.”

She looked up at him, ready to argue. One look at his face told her she’d be wasting her breath. Still hanging on to her purse, she followed the nurse into the cubicle with Tyler hot on her heels.

The nurse made her sit on the bed and pulled the curtain around her. Tyler hovered in the small space, looking painfully uncomfortable. Megan wondered what he’d do if she had to disrobe. Getting out of a leotard with one arm would prove to be real challenging.

She tried to think of something to say that would release the tension, but all she could think of was that she wanted him to leave. She didn’t think that would help much.

Fortunately she wasn’t kept waiting too long before a man who looked too young to be a doctor whisked the curtain aside. “Well, what have we here?” he asked, giving Tyler a quick up and down scrutiny. “I’m Dr. Hartford. Are you the husband?”

“Friend,” Tyler said briefly.

The doctor glanced at Megan. “All right for him to stay?”

“As long as I don’t have to take anything off.” She avoided looking at Tyler, but she heard his slight cough.

“I don’t think that’s going to be necessary.” The doctor took hold of her arm in a firm grasp and gently raised it. “Does that hurt?”

She shook her head.

He probed all the way down her arm with strong fingers. “All right, grasp my hand as if you’re going to shake it.”

She slowly closed her fingers around his. The second she tried to grip his hand major pain tore through her arm all the way up to her shoulder. She let out a small yelp.