Stranger In His Arms

“If you’ll wait a few minutes, I’ll iron it for you.”

He shook his head. “I have a fresh one in my locker at the station. I’ll change when I get there.”

She retrieved his shirts from the kitchen and stood quietly while he donned them, still warm from the dryer. He headed for the door, then stopped. “Hope you’ll enjoy your time in Casey’s Cove, Ms. Reid.”

She had followed him to the door and held out one slender, well-shaped hand. “Thank you.”

He clasped her small hand in his own large one, enjoying the warm, soft sensation of her skin against his.

“And I’m sorry about your nose,” she added with obvious sincerity.

He dropped her hand and rubbed his aching nose ruefully. “Guess that comes with the territory.”

“Territory?” She cocked her head to one side in puzzlement, an appealing gesture that made him reluctant to leave.

“That’s what I get,” he said with a laugh, “for sticking my nose in other people’s business—even if it is my job.”

She smiled again, and before he changed his mind and lingered, he hurried out the door to his patrol car.

AT THE SOUND of the police car disappearing down the drive, Jennifer collapsed in the chair where Officer Dylan Blackburn had been sitting. She hadn’t counted on a run-in with the law, not on her first day in town.

She tried without success to will her knees to stop shaking. He’d scared her senseless, touching her shoulder when she’d thought she was alone in the house. It was a wonder her panicked scream hadn’t carried all the way up the mountain to Miss Bessie’s place.

And the sight of him had unnerved her as much as his touch. First, his uniform. Since last June, her defenses went on instant alert at the presence of any law-enforcement officer. Some might call it guilty conscience.

She called it self-preservation.

After the uniform, she had focused on the man. How could she not, when he’d been so big, six-foot-two at least, and muscled in a whipcord-lean way that left no question of his strength? Those deep brown eyes, like heat-seeking missiles, seemed to miss nothing, and she’d felt he could read every secret ever written on her soul, just by looking at her. The feeling wasn’t pleasant, not with the secrets she had to keep.

His face was too rugged to call handsome, but the strong lines of his forehead and jaw, the straight perfection of his nose—well, perfect before she’d bashed it with her head—combined to make him as appealing a man as she’d ever met.

And when he’d stripped to the skin, she’d been glad the bloodstained shirts had given her an excuse to leave the room or she might have stood gawking like an idiot in admiration of his powerful biceps and the well-formed muscles of his deeply tanned chest.

Yes, indeed, Officer Dylan Blackburn was one amazingly attractive man, and he had laughing eyes and a sense of humor to boot.

She sprang to her feet. What the devil was she thinking? The last thing she needed was involvement with a policeman, for Pete’s sake. She grabbed the Hoover attachment from where she’d dropped it earlier and was about to restart the cacophonous machine when a car pulled into her driveway.

Her heart thudded with alarm. Had Officer Blackburn returned with more probing questions?

“Yoo-hoo, Jennifer?” Miss Bessie’s soft, drawling voice floated up from the bottom of the front steps.

With a sigh of relief, Jennifer stepped onto the porch to greet her new employer. “Hi, Miss Bessie.”

“Mind if I come up?”

Jennifer descended the steps and assisted the older woman up the steep stairs. For a woman in her mid-nineties, Miss Bessie was extremely agile. She plopped into a wicker chair on the porch, placed her feet, shod in neon-laced sneakers, onto a footstool, and waved Jennifer into a chair opposite.

“It’s warming up.” The little woman, with bones fragile as a bird’s, fanned herself with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. “Indian summer.”

“Would you like something cool to drink?”

“No, child, I just came by to chat. Figured since you’re going to be in Casey’s Cove for a while, you ought to know something about the place.” Bessie studied her with bright blue eyes. “How much do you remember?”

Jennifer shook her head. She wished people would stop asking her questions she couldn’t answer. “Not much. My visits here were a long time ago.”

The old woman settled back in her chair, and the wicker creaked beneath her slight weight. She pointed to the panorama that stretched below them like a topographical map. “See how the town hugs the west shore of the lake?”

Jennifer nodded.

“When my daddy came to Casey’s Cove over a hundred years ago as the town’s first doctor, that area was several hundred feet up the mountain from Casey’s Creek.”

“Where was the lake?”

“Didn’t exist. Not until several decades later when one of FDR’s work projects dammed the creek and created Lake Casey. Underneath all that water,” Bessie waved her arm to take in the thousands of acres the immense lake covered, “are the ruins of several farms, homesteads, even a church, all condemned when the creek was dammed for the hydroelectric plant at the eastern end of the lake.”

Jennifer shivered at the thought of the ancient buildings rotting beneath the lake’s surface. Her peaceful retreat had suddenly acquired a sinister aura.

“What happened to all the folks who lived there?” she asked.

“They moved out of the valley or farther up the mountains,” Miss Bessie said. “Casey’s Cove hasn’t changed since then. The population remains pretty much the same. Sparse in winter and spring with just us locals. A few hundred extra summer and fall residents. Halfbacks, we call ’em—”

“Football players?”

Miss Bessie giggled like a young girl. “Yankees. Folks who moved down to Florida from the North then came halfway back, as far as North Carolina. And we also get the occasional passing-through tourists.”

“If there’re only a few hundred year-round residents, how many children are in your day-care center?” Jennifer asked.

“About twenty.”

“That’s a lot for such a small town.”

“Times are hard,” Bessie said, “and the women in Casey’s Cove have to work. Some clean and cook at the inns and hotels around the lake. Others commute to Sylva to work in the shops in town or at the university.” She stared over the lake without looking at Jennifer. “I have a special assignment for you at the center.”

“Bookkeeping?” Jennifer said, remembering her employment interview.

“There’s that, of course,” Bessie said. “But there’s more. There’s a little girl who needs you.”

“I don’t have any experience with children,” Jennifer admitted. “I told you that in my interview.”

“You have a kind heart,” Bessie said. “That’s all you’ll need. And you’ll fall in love with Sissy McGinnis the minute you lay eyes on her.”

“Sissy—?”

“She’s four years old. Her mother is in the hospital, undergoing chemotherapy for cancer. Sissy’s living with her aunt while her mother’s away. I figured since you were orphaned young and raised by your aunt, you’d have something in common with the girl.”

“What about her father?” Jennifer said.

Miss Bessie grimaced. “Low-down worthless skunk took off as soon as he learned Sissy was on the way. Nobody’s seen him since.”

At a loss as to how she could help the girl, Jennifer asked, “What do you want me to do?”

“Her aunt works days and is bone-tired at night. Sissy needs a grown-up who can help her through this trying time. I figure you’ll do just fine.”

“You’re giving me more credit than I deserve,” Jennifer protested. “I don’t even know how to start.”

“When you go to work on the books tomorrow,” Bessie said, “have Sissy help you.”

“But you said she’s only four.”

“You’ll think of something,” Miss Bessie said breezily and pushed to her feet. “Now, drive me back to the house. You can keep the car for running errands and driving back and forth to the day-care center.”

Jennifer went inside and grabbed her purse. As she stepped back onto the porch and was closing the front door, her gaze fell on the empty mug beside the large chair in the living room, reminding her of Dylan Blackburn’s visit. With the policeman’s prying questions and the responsibility of a four-year-old, Jennifer’s arrival in Casey’s Cove had quickly gone from serene to unsettled.

DYLAN ENTERED the tiny brick building that served as Casey’s Cove’s police station and jail. At the front desk Sandy Griffin, the dispatcher, lifted her eyebrows at the sight of his wrinkled shirt. Her fingers flew over a skein of yarn and a crochet needle as she worked a new afghan between radio calls.

The plump, middle-aged woman appraised him with gray eyes that matched her hair. “How’s your stomach?”

“Fine,” he said with a grin. “Miss Bessie was so excited about her new assistant she forgot to offer cinnamon buns.”

“Lucky you. Did you meet the new arrival?”

“Yeah.”

Sandy dropped her crochet needle and yarn to her lap. “Is that all you’re going to tell me?”

“What else is there?” Dylan answered evasively. He took a seat at his desk and called up a screen on his computer.

“What does she look like, for starters?” Sandy, like every other resident of Casey’s Cove, had an insatiable curiosity where outsiders were concerned.

“Pretty,” Dylan answered.

“And?” Sandy prodded. “What aren’t you telling me, Dylan Blackburn?”

“I don’t know.” He scratched his head in confusion. “Something about her isn’t right.”

Sandy’s eyes widened. “Miss Bessie didn’t hire a crazy woman?”

Dylan smiled and shook his head. “Her mental state is fine, for all I can tell. But I get the strangest feeling she’s hiding something.”

“You ought to know. You’ve got the best nose for trouble in town.”

“In all those be-on-the-lookout flyers you process every day,” Dylan said, “have you ever seen a reference to a Jennifer Reid?”

“Jennifer Reid.” Sandy scrunched her plump face in concentration and accessed her phenomenal memory. “I’ve seen that name before.”

Dylan’s heart sank. He had hoped his hunch was wrong, that Jennifer Reid wasn’t in some kind of trouble.

“It was last June,” Sandy said. “A missing person’s report. Came with a picture and complete description.”

“Is it in the file?”

The dispatcher shook her head. “A couple weeks later a bulletin came through that the woman had been found, so I tossed both papers.”

The missing person’s report didn’t correspond with Jennifer Reid’s story—not unless she’d left Memphis for Nashville without telling anyone. But why would she have done that?

Sandy’s memory of every paper that came across her desk was exceptional, so he pressed for more information, dreading what he might hear. “Did the missing person’s report hint that Jennifer was in any kind of trouble?”

Sandy shook her head and picked up her crocheting again. “Was she wanted for a crime, you mean? No, it was a straightforward missing person’s report. She had disappeared from home. You met the woman. You think she’s trouble?”

Dylan remembered the pixie face, dancing green eyes, and take-charge attitude. “I hope not. But there’s only one sure way to find out.”

He turned to his computer keyboard, checked his clipboard, and typed Jennifer Reid’s name, description, Social Security and driver’s license numbers into the national crime computer search engine. The inner workings of the machine clicked and whirred.

He leaned back in his chair and waited. If she was wanted by the authorities, he’d know soon enough.

Chapter Two

Jennifer parked Miss Bessie’s new Mercedes at the end of Main Street, climbed out, and surveyed the tiny lakeside community. She had been in Casey’s Cove only a week, but already it felt like home.

Better yet, it felt safe.

The town was practically deserted this Saturday morning with just a few residents and even fewer tourists on the street. Jennifer wasn’t surprised, however, because Miss Bessie had explained the lull between the end of the heavy summer tourist trade and the beginning of crowds of leaf-watchers when the mountain leaves reached their prime fall color.

Content with the freedom of her first day off, she strolled past the farmers’ market with its stacks of bright pumpkins, baskets of ripe apples, shocks of Indian corn, and pots of brilliant chrysanthemums. Next door, in Ben Morgan’s real-estate office, color snapshots of seasonal rentals lined the picture window.

Across the street, the wide doors of the Artisans’ Hall were flung open, and Jennifer could see the potters working inside, wet clay up to their elbows as they threw ceramic mugs and vases on their wheels. In another section of the open building, people were fashioning baskets from wild vines and furniture from willow twigs and branches.

Next to the Artisans’ Hall stood the police station, and she wondered if Dylan Blackburn was working the weekend shift. She hadn’t seen or heard from him since his initial visit, which she supposed was good news. If his crime computers had spat out any surprises, surely he would have told her by now.

She paused for a last look at the marina on the lake’s edge, where pontoons and paddle boats were moored for renting by sightseers. The morning mist steamed off the cold water, and the rising sun backlit the peaks of the surrounding mountains like a Thomas Kincaid painting. Despite her initial scare by Dylan Blackburn, she had decided Casey’s Cove was the perfect place to hide.

With a light heart, she stepped inside Raylene’s Lakeside Café to the accompaniment of a tiny bell over the door. Ben Morgan sat at the counter, chatting with Grover, the short-order cook, and a couple of farmers from the market occupied a corner table.

Jennifer returned Grover’s wave and slipped into a window booth with a view of the lake.

“Morning, Jennifer. What can I getcha?”

Raylene, the café’s owner and waitress appeared at Jennifer’s elbow. A pretty woman whose face was beginning to show its age and who walked as if her feet hurt constantly, Raylene had befriended Jennifer during her first visit a week ago. Since then, Jennifer had eaten at least one meal a day at the café, partly because of the company, but also because of the food. She didn’t know if the mountain air made everything taste better or if Grover had the talent of a gourmet chef, but she looked forward to her daily visit’s to Raylene’s.

With her appetite piqued by her early-morning stroll, Jennifer requested a western omelet and grits and sipped coffee while Grover filled her order. In a few minutes, the waitress returned with a plate overflowing with food.

“I should have asked for half portions.” In spite of her hunger, Jennifer observed the liberal serving with skepticism. “I’ll never eat all that.”

Raylene grinned and patted her teased hair. “Grover’s decided he likes you. He always pads the plates of his favorite customers.”

Jennifer knew the routine. She took a bite of the steaming omelet and nodded her approval to Grover, who waited anxiously behind the counter. “It’s delicious.”

Satisfied with Jennifer’s praise, Grover turned back to his conversation with Ben Morgan.

Raylene poured an extra cup of coffee from the serving table and returned to the booth. Her worried expression etched fresh, fine lines around her eyes. “Can I talk to you a minute?”

Jennifer tensed at the seriousness in the older woman’s voice. “Please, sit.”

The waitress had already proved an invaluable source of information about the town. Not much happened that Raylene didn’t either witness or overhear in the café, and she seemed happy to fill Jennifer in on all the latest gossip. But the waitress’s tone this morning was somber, not gossipy.

“So—” Jennifer hoped the solemnity of Raylene’s news had nothing to do with her. “What’s up?”

Raylene took a long sip of her coffee, set down her cup, and gave Jennifer a searching look. “Do you have a sister?”

Jennifer shook her head. “I’m an only child. Why?”

“There was a man in here yesterday. With a picture.”

Sudden panic gripped her. Sweat slicked her palms, and her heart pounded so fiercely, the blood rushing in her ears momentarily blocked all other sounds.

Dear God, had he found her?

She took a drink of coffee while she pulled herself together. “What kind of picture?”

“One of them studio portrait types.” Raylene assumed a pose. “You know, a glamour shot. I always meant to have mine done over in Asheville, but shoot, now I’m too damn old.”

Jennifer gripped her coffee mug and tried to hang on to her shattered nerves. “Whose picture was it?”

Raylene shrugged. “He said a name, but I didn’t recognize it. He wanted to know if I’d ever seen the woman.”

Jennifer was having trouble breathing. “Had you?”

The waitress shook her head. “Nope. But she sure did favor you. ’Cept her hair was long, straight and red and she had a ton more freckles than you do.”

Jennifer forced herself to ask the next question. “What did you tell him?”

“Said I’d never seen the woman.”

Jennifer attempted to hide her relief. “Why was he looking for her?”

“Said she was some long-lost relative his ailing grandmother wanted to see before she died—but he was lying through his teeth.”

“How could you tell?”

“Honey, I’ve spent my whole life around men. I can spot a liar a mile off.” Raylene swirled coffee in her cup. “He was hard-looking, big and tough, with a face that never smiled. Looked like he’d as soon spit on you as speak. That kinda man don’t do no favor for his old grandma.”

“Did he show anyone else the picture?”

Raylene shook her head. “I told him I saw everyone who came and went in Casey’s Cove. If I hadn’t seen her, nobody had. He just climbed in his big ol’ black SUV and hauled buggy.”

Jennifer couldn’t swallow. Grover’s tasty omelet had turned to ashes in her mouth. She pushed her plate away.

“That wasn’t you, was it?” Raylene eyed the barely touched food, then focused on Jennifer, her heavily mascaraed eyes filled with concern. “You’re not in some kind of trouble, are you, hon?”

Jennifer pulled the plate back, picked up her fork, and compelled herself to smile. “Not me. You can ask Officer Dylan Blackburn. He ran all kinds of background checks on me when Miss Bessie hired me.”

Raylene leaned back in the booth with a sigh of relief, apparently satisfied with the explanation. She grinned. “So you’ve met our Dylan?”

Jennifer breathed easier with the change of subject. “The day I arrived.”

Raylene pursed her lips and shook her head. “He’s a heartbreaker, that one. He’s got every unmarried woman in the cove making cow-eyes over him.”

“I’m surprised a man that good-looking isn’t already taken,” Jennifer said.

“Dylan’s a real straight arrow,” Raylene said in the conspiratorial voice she used when imparting her juiciest gossip. “Has zero tolerance for liars, cheats and lawbreakers.”

Jennifer winced inwardly. Raylene’s comment hit home. “That must make him a good cop.”

“Casey’s Cove is lucky to have him, but his strong moral principles make him tough to live up to. A woman would have to be a saint to meet Dylan’s criteria, and we’ve got more sinners than saints in this valley.”

“You make him sound harsh.” Jennifer remembered his attention to duty and detail when he interviewed her the previous week, but he’d seemed friendly enough.

Raylene shook her head. “Not harsh. Dylan has a deep love for the people he protects, and as for his strict code, he’s toughest on himself. When he finally finds the right woman, she’s going to be a very lucky girl.”

Jennifer had been impressed with the officer, had admired his good looks and friendly nature. She was grateful for the information from Raylene—but she’d keep her distance from the appealing officer with the strict moral values.

Even if she was interested in Dylan Blackburn, she was no saint. Not by a long shot. The lies she’d told would fill a bushel basket. Not to mention the laws she’d broken.

“For the last two years,” Raylene continued, “Grover’s been running a pool, and the locals are placing their bets on who’ll be the lucky woman to haul Dylan to the altar.”

Jennifer dragged her attention from her guilty thoughts to Raylene’s comments. “Any odds-on favorites?”

“Nope.” Raylene pushed to her feet as the bell jingled over the door signaling another customer. She leaned toward Jennifer and winked. “The field’s wide-open if you’re interested. I can have Grover add your name to the pool.”

Before Jennifer could decline, Raylene turned her attention to her newcomer. Jennifer gripped her coffee mug to keep her hands from trembling. The discussion of Dylan, interesting as it was, hadn’t made her forget that a menacing stranger had recently appeared in the small hamlet of Casey’s Cove searching for a woman who looked like her.

Coincidence?

She didn’t think so. But how on earth had he managed to find her in this backwoods? And, even more important, was he still out there, looking for her? Or had Raylene convinced him the woman he searched for wasn’t in the area?

She was so lost in thought, she didn’t hear the jingling bell announce another arrival, didn’t notice his approach until his tall, vast shadow fell across the table of the booth where she sat.

“Mind if I join you?”

She jumped at the question, sloshing coffee from her tightly clenched mug onto the tabletop. Fearing the worst and tensing her muscles to flee, she glanced up.

Dylan Blackburn stared down at her, looking more incredibly handsome and alarmingly dangerous than he had on his first visit several days ago.

A sigh of relief that he wasn’t Raylene’s menacing stranger whooshed involuntarily from her lungs, while her heart raced with residual fear. Afraid to speak lest fright show in her voice, she nodded and waved him to the seat Raylene had vacated.

He was staring at her too intently with that eagle-sharp gaze of his, and she wondered how many lawbreakers had cracked and confessed under that look.

“Sorry if I startled you,” he said.

“My fault. I was daydreaming.” She sopped the spilled liquid with her napkin, glad for an excuse to temporarily avoid his laser gaze. “Is this an official visit? More background checks?”

He smiled then, a slow, easy grin that warmed her insides and made her instantly understand why the cove’s single women looked at him cow-eyed.

“It’s my day off,” he said. “I’m out of uniform.”

“You were out of uniform at my place last week,” she quipped with a wobbly smile, vividly recalling his naked torso. “Didn’t stop you from asking questions then.”

“No questions, but I do have a warning.”

“A warning?” Her guilty conscience slammed into overdrive.

“We’ve had several break-ins and some vandalism in the cove this past week. Be sure to keep your doors well-locked, even in the daytime.”

“I always do. Force of habit for a city girl.” She wondered if the recent break-ins had anything to do with the stranger Raylene had seen in town. “Any idea who’s behind the trouble?”

When Dylan shrugged, she noted how broad his shoulders looked in the beige fisherman’s sweater he wore over a dark brown turtleneck that matched his eyes and burnished hair, so thick she longed to run her fingers through it.

She mentally brought herself up short. She would not join the herd of besotted ladies of Casey’s Cove, no matter how attractive Dylan Blackburn was. Besides, according to Raylene, with Jennifer’s checkered past she definitely wasn’t his type.

“Could be teenagers doing the break-ins,” he said. “Or addicts looking for valuables to sell for drug money. Whoever it was wore gloves, so we haven’t found any prints.”

Dylan’s news, coming on top of Raylene’s information about the curious stranger, made Jennifer shiver. “I thought Casey’s Cove was famous for its lack of crime.”