Just a Memory (3 page)

Mac was certain Hines would ditch the wet uniform before he did another thing. After years of working in plain clothes, he never would get used to wearing it and took any excuse to avoid following the Lakehaven council's directive that he wear it all the time he was on duty.

Hell, Mac hoped neither of them would have to wear the uniforms much longer. If only he could remember all that had happened the night he was shot, then he and Hines could get back to what they did best: work for the police special task force.

Skirting the puddles, Mac lingered on the walk and studied the Costume Nook's rear entrance area. A narrow barred window was set in above the flimsy broken door in the otherwise solid brick wall.

Finding no doorbell to ring, Mac knocked on the door. With the force of each knock, it jumped open a few inches. He looked in and saw the cardboard box holding it. Some security, he thought.

He heard music playing loudly inside and leaned into the storeroom to call out, "Mrs. Blake?"

Getting no response, he stepped in and closed the door. He shoved the box against it again before he walked in the direction of the lively music. He tried again to announce his presence, but his shouts were no competition for the crescendo in the brass section of the orchestral recording.

At the sixties-style beaded archway, Mac stopped. A few feet into the showroom, a woman with her back to him was gathering up an armful of gaudy-colored wigs from the mess on the floor. She wasn't quite dancing to the classical music, but her body was definitely swaying and moving in time with it. He couldn't help but admire the slender curves of her hips.

Mac cleared his throat and stepped forward, letting the plastic beads fall behind him. He tried once more to shout over the music.

She must have heard him this time because the woman jerked upright and screamed. The wigs she held shot in all directions. She spun around toward him, her arms bent protectively. Mac had no time to step back before her elbow jammed into his wounded shoulder hard enough to make him wince with real pain. The rebuilt joint felt as if it had just been shot again. When he saw her fist heading toward him next, he was forced into action.

He knew a dozen ways to immobilize her, but he couldn't imagine using any of them. Instead, he captured her raised wrist and put his other arm around her, pinning her against his chest in an intimate slow-dancing position.

"Mrs. Blake, it's all right. I'm a cop," he shouted. She still twisted, struggling to free herself. Mac didn't want to hurt her, but he kept his hold on her until his words apparently sank in. "I'm a cop. Don't worry. You're safe with me."

He watched her head tilt up. Her tousled auburn curls fell away from her face. Her long lashes fluttered over the palest blue eyes he'd ever seen. He was glad to see the panic of a moment ago slowly disappear.

She clutched a handful of his lapel to steady herself as he loosened his hold on her wrist and lowered his arm to relieve the ache in his shoulder. He felt the warmth of her body against his as he slid his hand from her back to her shoulder, but he didn't step away. "I'm Acting Chief of Police MacDonald," he said loudly enough to be certain she could hear and understand him.

He watched those amazing eyes scan his face with frank appraisal. He wondered what she'd concluded–and then wondered why the hell it mattered to him. "I'm sorry I startled you. Are you all right now?"

She nodded but didn't try to talk over the music.

Mac felt her tense muscles relax. He released his grip on her wrist. For some crazy reason he wanted to continue holding her. To protect her. Hines had referred to her as 'Mrs.' Blake. Where was her husband? Damn, if she were Mac's wife....

His wife? What the
hell
was he thinking?

Duty in this backwater burg was turning his mind to mush. There was no place in his normally dangerous life for a wife. Especially not a sweet-smelling, defenseless lady like this one.

Just then a strange smile came over her face and made her amazing eyes sparkle. Mac wished like hell the 'Mrs.' part of her name hadn't been in Hines's report.

Chapter Two

Slowly, Carolyn began to escape the panic that had trapped her for the second time that morning. She raised her gaze from the chest she was pressed against to the man's full lips and up farther to his gray eyes. They looked warm and friendly, but she didn't doubt they could look cold as steel under different circumstances. The dark color of his rain-soaked hair was softened by a little gray in the loose strands falling across his forehead in a sexy casualness she was shocked to notice in such detail.

Even from her five-foot-ten viewpoint, she found herself looking up to meet his gaze. Having such a big man suddenly appear behind her had frightened her. Now she realized he wasn't a threat to her, but she knew he could be to anyone who crossed him.

When he released her, she pressed her palms across the lapels she'd grabbed to smooth them. Surprisingly aware of how hard his chest felt beneath her hands, she worried her action appeared far too familiar and withdrew her hands immediately.

She glanced back at his face and Judy's funny prediction of meeting a man replayed in her mind. This man was tall, dark-haired, and handsome, strong and virile-looking, too–a rare combination in Lakehaven.
Wait until I tell Judy.
An amused smile curled her lips.

Carolyn inhaled deeply and finally got her legs to work so she could concentrate on walking the few steps to turn the music volume down. That gave her a few moments to get herself under control. She turned back to see his hands, wonderfully warm when he'd held her, were now buried deep in his coat pockets.

"I'm fine now, Chief MacDonald, but I'll admit you frightened me. I didn't hear you come in, and I couldn't see your uniform under the trench coat."

"Sorry about that." He flipped the coat open with his hands in the pockets to expose the uniform. "I haven't got a regulation coat that stops the rain, so I wear this tan one. Anything to avoid the smell of these old wool uniforms when they're wet."

"There must be something better available."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm not going to be around long enough to buy a new one that wouldn't smell." He flipped the front panels of his coat closed and absently rubbed the front of one shoulder.

"I hope I didn't hurt you." He shook his head and slipped his hand back into his pocket. "I guess the break-in has me on edge and ready to attack." She tried to laugh, but it sounded hollow even to her own ears and reflected just how nervous she felt standing near him.

"Like a lioness protecting her territory?" he responded with a smile. "You okay now?"

She tried to nod as the reality of what she was feeling hit her with a jolt. The burglary was not all that affected her right then. Her legs felt about as strong as the makeup sponges she sold, but she thought they would strengthen considerably if she would quit looking at the man's gorgeous smile.

"Isn't there someone who can help you clean up?" Mac asked, looking around at the jumbled heaps.

"No, I'll take care of it. Since my husband passed away, I've been forced to learn not to rely on anyone but myself."

Carolyn wondered at the sudden, surprised look he gave her. He shook his head once and shrugged off his wet coat. "Mind if I look around?"

"Not at all." Despite his assurance it wasn't necessary, Carolyn took his coat and hung it up on one of the empty racks.

Turning back to the big man, she couldn't remember her shop ever feeling so small. She shivered and, for a second, wished his warm arms were back around her. Her cheeks warmed just thinking about him touching her again. She ducked her head, thankful he wasn't looking her way.

As he examined the scene, she liked the way he carefully picked his way between the piles of costumes so he wouldn't step on any of them. She answered all his questions, but there wasn't anything she could add to what she'd told Officer Hines. "I just can't believe I've been robbed."

"This wasn't a robbery," he explained conversationally. "A robbery can only be done to your person. If anything's been taken, your store's been burglarized." He shrugged. "Or if nothing is missing and they just messed up the place, it might be vandalism–malicious mischief."

"Semantics. What difference does it make what you call it?" She waved a hand and sighed. "All my time and money invested in this shop and now I can't even open for business today. I'll be lucky if I can open tomorrow."

Carolyn wanted to blink and have the mess disappear. This wasn't really happening. That couldn't be her hundred-year-old showcase with the original glass broken, but it was, and the village's Police Chief stood ten feet away examining it.

"Chief MacDonald, can you tell me what kind of person would do such a thing? Lakehaven is such a nice little town. Nobody who lives here would do this."

"If you watch the evening news, you know towns like this aren't as safe as they used to be. Nobody expects crime to happen on their own street, but it does. I'm afraid we don't have much to go on here, but we'll do our best to find the perpetrator," he assured her as he took his coat from the hanger and threw it over his forearm. "I think that's everything, Mrs. Blake. I hope it doesn't take you too long to set things right."

Hearing her formal name again, she extended him the same small-town courtesy she would to anyone she'd met for the first time. "Thank you for being concerned. And please, call me Carolyn," she urged with a neighborly but nervous smile that quivered just a little. To Mac's momentary hesitation, she responded with more ease, "I know you're new here. Maybe you haven't lived among us long enough to realize that everyone in Lakehaven is on a first name basis."

She watched her proffered hand disappear in his. She welcomed the warmth, but it didn't confine itself to her palm and fingers. His touch seemed to warm her all over. Her gaze locked with his and she had to force Judy's prediction out of her mind once more.

"Unfortunately," she added with a grin, "being on a first-name basis also means everyone knows everyone else's business, but you'll get used to it. The rest of us have."

"That would take some getting used to. You can call me-"

"Yoo-hoo!" A familiar voice from the storeroom cut Mac off.

Carolyn pulled her hand from his and walked toward the arch leading to the storage room. "Come on in," she called out to her landlord's repairman.

Charlie Hanlon, a serious-minded senior citizen who was a whiz with carpentry tools, appeared between the strings of beads. White hair fell across his forehead from beneath a well-worn baseball cap.

"Hi, Charlie. I knew I could depend on you to come right over."

"I'll finally be able to get you that new door like you wanted. That one's too smashed to repair." Charlie glanced over to discover Mac standing across the room and his eyes widened with surprise. "Who's he?"

Carolyn made the introductions only to have Charlie just nod and immediately start to leave.

Mac's question stopped the old man. "You the handyman for the whole town, Charlie?"

"Just for White's Properties, but he never has me do much," he answered over his shoulder. "He's too cheap." His disapproval of the landlord's policy was obvious in Charlie's voice. "I'll be back with a new door this afternoon," Charlie promised Carolyn, tapping the bill of his cap. "I'll have time to help you pick up the glass from the broken display case then. I'm real sorry about all that," he added, shaking his head.

"Thanks, Charlie. No fuss about the glass. I should have it cleaned up by the time you get back."

Charlie glanced at Mac who'd been watching him the whole time, touched his cap again to Carolyn, then turned and left. Carolyn felt a bit embarrassed for the curt way he'd treated the new Police Chief, but MacDonald didn't seem to be bothered by it.