Harlequin Superromance September 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: This Good Man\Promises Under the Peach Tree\Husband by Choice (12 page)

“I suppose,” he said after a moment, “all I wanted was to hear you're aware it happens and fight for those kids.”

“You mean, you wanted to know whether I really care.”

“No.” Now she could tell he was troubled. “I already knew that.”

She gave a little nod.

It was probably just as well that they talked about other things for the rest of their lunch.

And that a busy street only two blocks from the public safety building where he worked wasn't a place where he could do more than kiss her lightly and say, “I'll call, Anna.”

Getting into her car, it occurred to her that this might be the first time he'd left her with a promise that she would actually hear from him again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

R
EID
WOULD
HAVE
given
a lot to be able to introduce Anna to Caleb. Paula and Roger, too. To get Anna's take on everything that had him roiling.

Yeah, he thought with black humor—everything except his feelings for
her.

It was the crack of dawn Tuesday morning, and he was running. Despite the exertion, he was cold. He'd never in his life had to wear gloves and Polartec to run, but spring in central Oregon made new demands. For God's sake, this was the first of April.

And I moved here
why?

Oh, yeah—for the kid who apparently detested him.

With each stride, his feet crunched rhythmically on the sidewalk, where leftover slush had frozen overnight. The resulting ice would make the morning commute a bitch, the cop in him thought. Pity the patrol officers.

He'd chosen a route that took him toward the butte that sat, so oddly, within the city limits. Because it was there, it set up a challenge in his psyche. He didn't run to the top every day, but he did at least two or three times a week. The more disturbed his night, the more likely he was to feel compelled to push himself come morning. A road spiraled up the red cinder volcanic cone to the crater rim, where the huge marble angel sat on her pedestal gazing blindly out over the town at her feet.

His muscles loosened as he picked up the pace. He was breathing easily, but knew his lungs would burn by the time he reached the top of Angel Butte.

With little traffic to watch out for, and having met no other runners, Reid found his thoughts reverting to Anna.

He should have stayed away from her. Those first instincts had been dead-on. Her profession alone should have been as good as a flashing red light.
Do not go here.

He wanted her. God, he wanted her. If that was all it was, he might have been able to manage a casual, sexual relationship with her—a woman who supervised foster homes for a living.

As it was... Shit. He didn't know.

What would she do if she found out about the shelter? He had a bad feeling he knew. She might even be legally obligated to report it.

He'd already known his life was split in two: Caleb, the shelter and its problems, and his job and what little else remained. But by becoming involved with Anna, he had made matters worse. He had let himself be tempted into talking to her about Caleb, and now Paula and Roger. Even the threats. His job, present and past. With her and only her, he'd woven the separate parts of his life together. Which meant he had to do more than maintain silence about too much—he had to lie to her.

Reid didn't like to lie. He liked even less the idea of lying to Anna, with her clear-seeing eyes that held such pain.

He turned past the city-parks sign that said Angel Butte—Elevation Gain 474 Feet and felt the increased stress on his muscles as the climb began.

He should
not
call her. Not meet her again for lunch, or go skiing with her, or bring her back to the house he was renting for now, until he determined whether Caleb would settle in with the Hales and therefore whether he would be staying on with the ABPD. If he did any of those things, it could only be with the full knowledge he couldn't take their relationship any further than that. Sex was fine. Much of anything else wasn't.

He frowned, wondering why he was even having this talk with himself. He had sex. He didn't “take” relationships anywhere. He didn't
have
relationships. Friendships, sure, but even those had limitations. And he didn't combine real friendship with sex. His instincts said that would be dangerous.

He'd already gone too far down that road with Anna, which meant she should be off-limits for sex. As his lungs and muscles burned, he brooded about that even as he pushed harder, faster.

Then, for the first time that morning, he heard a thud of footsteps, these coming up behind him.

Knowing there was no reason to be competitive, still he shifted up a gear. The hell he'd let anyone gain on him, much less pass him. Not knowing who was behind him gave Reid an uneasy prickle between his shoulder blades. He resisted the impulse to look over his shoulder, though. That suggested he felt threatened. Anybody who was a real threat wouldn't be chasing him down on foot at seven-thirty on a bloody cold morning.

Whoever was following him was no longer gaining, so he relaxed, letting himself slow when he reached the top, breathe in the cold, sharp air. Rolling his shoulders, he temporarily slowed to a walk as he circled to start back down.

Somehow he wasn't surprised to find himself face-to-face with Noah Chandler, mayor of the city of Angel Butte. Aside from their couple of games of racquetball, they had also passed each other coming and going on their morning runs, exchanging nods.

This time, Chandler slowed to a walk himself and nodded, then bent over with his hands braced on his knees. “Sawyer,” he gasped between breaths.

Reid grunted a greeting. Were they going to have an actual conversation?

Chandler was at least Reid's height and built on the scale of a Mack truck. Not the usual physique for a runner. Reid had noticed before that Chandler's stride was powerful, but not smooth. Too many muscles got in his way.

“Hell of a view,” the mayor said, straightening. Despite the cold, sweat dampened his jersey and spiked his hair.

Reid spared the vista a glance. “Can't argue.”

“Glad to see you like to stay in shape even if you are stuck behind a desk these days.”

“I believe in setting an example.”

“I do, too.”

Feeling compelled to make conversation as they circled the angel at a walk then started back, Reid said, “Your wife not a runner?”

“She's a fair-weather runner.” Chandler flashed a grin. “She's also been heard to remark on the idiots who want to run straight uphill.”

His own laugh hit Reid by surprise. “I have to admit, I was thinking something of the same on the way up this morning.”

“But you're here anyway.”

“Yep.” He threw a glance of friendly challenge at the mayor, who was, ultimately, his boss. “And not alone.”

“Nope.”

Without another word, they simultaneously broke into a trot, then lengthened their strides in unison. Reid made no effort to outpace Chandler. Running in unison felt strangely...companionable, he decided. He might even like this man.

They stayed together when they reached the flat, earning some glances from passing motorists who were more likely to have recognized the mayor than Reid.
Or not,
he realized belatedly, remembering that damn newspaper article complete with photo. He and the mayor didn't separate until he was only two blocks from his rental, which meant Chandler, too, lived in the old part of town along the Deschutes River. In fact, after lifting a hand in farewell, he continued straight on toward the river. As owner of three Chandler's Brewpubs in central Oregon before he went into local politics, he might even live in one of the handsome old houses built along the riverbank. Reid had coveted those houses when, as a boy, he had ridden his bike into town. He had a vague memory of seeing them as symbols of the kind of family and life he wished existed. Now he wondered if Noah Chandler might actually have that life. There had been something on his face when he talked about his wife.

Grunting in irritation at himself, Reid slowed to a walk for his cooldown. His rental was far more modest than the riverfront homes built by the wealthy early residents of Angel Butte, but it dated from not much later—1920s, at a guess. Two-bedroom, one bath, minimally furnished, it suited him for now.

Half an hour later, he'd showered and dressed for his day, eaten a quick breakfast and downed a cup of coffee. At eight-thirty, he stepped off the elevator on the second floor of the public safety building and strode down the hall to his office. Partway, he stopped to talk to Brian Cooper, his counterpart on the patrol side of the department. Brian wanted to meet with him later to discuss some issues with the new generation of patrol cars. Reid promised to have his PA check his calendar. Good excuse—it gave him time to research the Dodge Chargers that had been replacing the classic Ford Crown Victorias in the fleet. The department had gone in big in the past few years for Chevy Tahoe SUVs, too, something he had his doubts about. The hauling capability was impressive and the four-wheel drive was a plus in harsh winter conditions, but Reid had his doubts there was justification for the vastly larger and more expensive vehicles in a city this size—the SUVs didn't get comparable mileage to the standard patrol car. It would be interesting to see what Cooper thought.

Hey, maybe he'd already learned more than he realized.

The instant he opened the door leading into his outer office, he froze between one stride and the next. He was looking at a man's back, but that was all he needed to see. He knew this man. His response was visceral—a bowel-loosening moment of fear that he controlled after no more than a microsecond.

He saw his father turning and made sure his face had gone so blank it expressed utter indifference. He wanted to call a couple of underlings—rookies would be good, to achieve maximum humiliation—and have them escort Sergeant Dean Sawyer out of the building. Unfortunately, that would not only cause talk, it would give this contemptible man more weight in Reid's life than he deserved.

He let his eyebrows climb. “Strange place for you to show up,” he said without interest, then looked at his PA. “Any important messages, Miranda?”

Her alarmed gaze flicked from him to his father and back. There was no hiding this relationship. “Um...no, sir. Captain.”

He nodded. “Find time for me to sit down with Captain Cooper, will you? Give us an hour, if possible.” Then he gestured toward his inner office with a glance at his father. “I assume you have something to say to me?”

Temper simmered in those eyes that were the same color as his. “You bet I do.”

Reid didn't do him the courtesy of allowing him to go ahead. Instead he walked right by his father and into his office, going behind his desk before he so much as glanced back. The click of the door told him Dean had closed it behind him. Reid pulled out his desk chair and sat comfortably, leaving his father to stand on the other side of the desk glowering at him.

“I have a busy morning,” he said mildly. “Say what you have to say.”

“I know you have Caleb.”

Exaggerating the motion, he looked around his office. “Where?”

His father planted his hands on the desk and leaned forward, his expression ugly. “You're hiding him from me!”

Reid looked at this man he had once so feared and was relieved to discover that, once past the first shock, he felt nothing but contempt. So much, he resolved not to bother to lie.

No, you save that for Anna,
whispered a voice in his head. He ignored it.

“You know, if you'd learned any lessons at all from me, I'd never even have known you had another son. It was your dates with a judge that alerted me.”

“You're admitting you have him.” Spittle sprayed Reid.

He reached in his drawer for a paper napkin left from one of his lunches on the go and wiped his face. “I imagine you've been by my house,” he said conversationally. He saw from Dean's expression that he had. “Don't suppose you spotted a teenage boy.”

His father straightened. “You're not stupid enough to have him there. He's stashed away somewhere.”

“Think so?”

“I know so,” his father snarled.

Reid told himself not to be stupid enough to taunt this man. That would be sinking to Dean Sawyer's level. But then he thought,
What the hell.
Turned out he'd been wrong; he did feel something more than contempt. He hated this man. Not because of what he himself had endured, but on Caleb's behalf. If the son of a bitch had only stopped when he was ahead...but he hadn't. He'd wanted too much to have another whipping boy.

Reid leaned forward so suddenly Dean jerked back. “Then find him,” he said very softly. After a moment, he relaxed again in his chair and let his lips form a mocking smile. “Shall I close my eyes and count to a hundred?”

With a roar of rage, his father grabbed the chair facing the desk and flung it to one side, then stormed out of the office, slamming two doors behind him so hard glass rattled in the frames.

As his door opened again and a panicky Miranda appeared, Reid reached for his phone and called the desk sergeant. Wouldn't you know, Sergeant Shroutt answered.

“A man who looks a lot like me but older just left my office. I'd like to make sure he leaves the building.”

“You got it, Captain. Ah...” His voice changed timbre. “That would seem to be him coming out of the stairwell right now.” There was a brief pause, then, “He's gone.”

“Thank you,” Reid said and set down the phone. “It's okay, Miranda. The excitement's over.”

“Oh.” Her gaze skittered to the chair lying on its side and the new dent in the wall. “Was that—”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“I see.” She hemmed and hawed a little, finally telling him she'd conferred with Captain Cooper's assistant, and Reid and Cooper were to sit down together at ten.

He thanked her, and she left with a still-wide-eyed look over her shoulder.

Damn, he wished he could find the ideal candidate for his personal assistant.

After a moment, he picked up his mobile phone and called the Hales' number. It was Paula who answered.

“It's Reid,” he said. “My father just left my office. He's here in Angel Butte. Claims to be sure I have Caleb stashed somewhere.”

“Oh, no.” She was silent for a moment. “Should I tell Caleb?”

“No.” He squeezed the back of his neck, second-guessing himself. Was that a good decision? Bad decision? At his brother's age, would he have resented being protected from frightening news? That was a no-brainer: of course he would have. “I don't know, Paula,” he said wearily. “Maybe we do need to. We can't afford for him to decide right now to sneak into town to see if there are any hot girls around.”