Everything She's Ever Wanted

He reached for the metal clipboard, scanned the day’s jobs. Put the truck in gear, fool. Get the hell out of Dodge.

He had no business mooning over a woman running from a bad marriage. Not quite mooning, more like unable to stop dreaming about those eyes. Why hadn’t he noticed the other night? They were damn near purple, like the tiny pansies growing alongside his house. Brave things striving to stave off the approach of winter.

So, why didn’t he start the truck and drive away, instead of spying like a dumbass jock?

Did she dump the husband? Or vice versa? What about kids? So far, gossip said she’d arrived alone.

So was she divorced?

Oh, yeah. Her eyes told him before her words. “A regular carousel ride.” God help him, but he’d felt a pang in his heart at that moment. Hadn’t his own carousel sported fire-breathing dragons?

Oddly, he hoped she would make it in Misty River. Okay, she spelled Big City. Possibly old money. Elite education. Family therapist.

But her face was honest, her smile sweet.

She’d worked with Social Services.

“Find yourself a different woman to drool over, Seth,” he muttered, tossing the orders. A local woman like…

His mind blanked.

A rap on the window had him jerking around. A black-haired devil smirked through the glass. Seth rolled it down.

“Stick to trucking, bud,” his brother advised. “Surveillance isn’t your gig. She’ll make you the minute she steps out outside.”

“Go ’way.”

Jon threw back his head and laughed.

“Goof,” Seth muttered without offense as his brother sauntered down the sidewalk, the khaki police chief’s uniform impressive on his tall, rangy frame. Seth’s mouth worked up a half grin. There, with the love of a damn fine woman went a damn happy man. All the power to you, Jonny.

Rolling up the window, he contemplated the café again. Dammit. This was his town. Where he’d been born, married, had his child, divorced. Established his company. Culture and adventure he gleaned from the PBS or Discovery channels. Tending his own house, his own lifestyle was what he enjoyed.

He’d part with it all if it would give him back every missed year with Hallie.

Through the café’s windows, he saw Kat laugh with the Quinlan woman. As a Ph.D. in San Francisco, her nails would be clean and filed, even polished, her clothes fashionable, her hair styled.

Sighing, he reached for the ignition. He had to be hard up, squandering priceless time on a woman like Breena Quinlan. If he wanted a woman, why not someone like Peggy Whatshername? Or was it Kathy? No, Katie.

He couldn’t remember. Two, three years loomed as a century when it came to placing a woman he’d walked home once or twice.

For reasons he’d rather not contemplate, he knew he wouldn’t forget Breena’s face so easily.

He shoved in the clutch and maneuvered the stick shift to Reverse. She stepped through the door of Kat’s. Immediately, the sun sneaked into the blue-black curls of her hair.

Holding his breath, he watched as she slipped the receipt into the small athletic bag at her waist. She zipped it closed and lifted her head. Wide, violet eyes pinned him where he sat behind the windshield. Then she smiled.

Inside his chest, his heart did a goofy, schoolboy somersault. Ah, hell.

A brief clip of his head and he released both clutch and breath. Fast as the speed limit allowed, he fled Main.

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