Where Their Hearts Collide: Wardham Book #2 (6 page)

Night.
Not a weekend. Susan had smoothly talked him into taking his daughter back to the city that afternoon instead of the next day, as per their custody agreement. Her family had an annual picnic and she had pressed home the point that Meg didn’t have any family on his side. As if that was somehow in his domain of control.

Whose fault is it that you’re
an island of one?

A question he’d been asked by Susan, the department psychiatrist, and, when he was being honest, himself more than once.

He never had an answer, and tonight wasn’t any different. Tonight he just wanted to kick back and relax. Maybe be a bit social.
Just a bit.
It was all he had in him.

The pub was long, narrow and surprisingly busy given how few cars had been parked outside. As a law enforcement officer, he was grateful
for that fact. He’d been on the scene of too many devastating accidents caused by impaired drivers.

“Paul!”

He turned, half expecting the greeting to be directed at someone else—but really, how many people in Wardham knew his name? The obvious answer thudded into his brain at the same moment he found her face in the crowd. Karen stepped closer, dragging a smaller blond woman behind her.

“Hey,
neighbour,” she breathed, then flashed a wide smile. He felt the words as if she’d pressed close and whispered them against his skin, but her expression was straight up friendly, no undercurrent of sexual tension. If anything, she seemed eager to put her friend between them. She pushed the petite blond forward another step.  “This is Evie. She’s got two kids a bit younger than Megan.”

Evie
grimaced at him, then laughed. “And therefore we are going to be the best of friends. Single parents unite.”

“We can do the secret handshake when she’s not looking,” he said, and chuckled.

“I didn’t mean it like that! Jeez. Give a girl a break, eh?” Karen blushed and again Paul would swear he could actually feel her flush warm against his own skin. Shared visceral reactions, that was a damn neat trick. He stepped back and shook it off.

Evie
gave him a quizzical look, then invited him to join them at their table. “No pressure, but I don’t think you’re going to find a table all to yourself right now.”

“Yeah, I see that. Is it usually this busy?”

She shook her head. “Wing special tonight. It’ll empty out in an hour. People have evening chores.”

Two hours later, the pub had indeed emptied out. Karen had made sure he’d been introduced to half the patrons, which he could have done without, and he’d thought about heading out a half dozen times. He’d made it as far as
the door once, but a tall blond man who looked like he spent most of his days tossing hay bales and herding cattle had chosen that moment to wrap his arms around Karen from behind and nuzzle his face into her neck. Something ugly and mean twisted in Paul’s gut and he’d drifted back toward the bar. She’d pushed the muscle bound farmer off with a playful grin, but her personal space kept getting invaded. He signaled for another beer after deciding to wait until he could walk her home.

He had absolutely no right to care about who she socialized with. But he did care, a lot. And the gentle way she flirted, with kindness and without promise, brought their private encounters into sharp contrast. This wasn’t
his
Karen. This woman was lovely to everyone who approached her, but there was no sexual innuendo, no game.

She’d made a brief conversation about muffins mean something important, she’d given him that, and he couldn’t walk away from her tonight.

When he’d gotten back to work that morning, he’d eyed the brown paper bag, shiny with grease spots, and wondered what exactly was in a Morning Glory muffin. It had, in fact, tasted amazing, but in an “extra-long run required to make this worthwhile” kind of way.

She’d told him to get a raisin bran muffin. She was right. That would have been his choice. Maybe should have been. But he'd gotten the distinct impression that she wasn't just talking about a muffin, and he didn't want her to think for a second that she wasn't wanted.

Yeah, she was wanted.

Her hair had been up in some sort of thick, twisty bun
that morning. He'd stood behind her trying to figure out how many bobby pins he'd have to pull out before her curls tumbled loose. The thought of her hair spilling into his hands, over her shoulders, maybe over
his
shoulders if he was close enough...had made him instantly hard.

And just like that, the memory had the same effect on him again in Danny’s. Watching her
have fun. With other men, who meant nothing, but were free to fill the space around her.

Fuck
. He wanted to be free to tuck her close to him, sit wide on the barstool and tug her between his thighs. Pull her back against his chest and declare to all comers that she was taken. And he was pretty sure she’d let him.

Because Karen wasn’t playing a game.
Games, maybe, for fun, but when it came to a relationship, she’d be straight up. Why hadn’t he found her sooner? Before he was bitter and broken?

“Hey, is this stool taken?” He glanced up from his beer.
The redhead from work.

“Carrie, hi.
Sure, have a seat.”

“
Uhm.” She shifted in place, biting her lip. “It’s Stella, actually.”

“Shit, really? Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. How long have I been calling you Carrie?”

She let out a watery laugh. “Like, a month.”

“I’m an idiot.”

“You were probably thinking of my cousin’s wife, Carrie Nixon. Well, she’s a Nixon by marriage, but still, it’s close.”

“Is she the one at the coffee shop?”

She nodded.

“Right.
Well, I’ve been calling her Stella.”

She laughed again, this time with more confidence. The bartender heard her and skipped over with a raised eyebrow.
“Hey, Stel. Usual?”

“
Yep, thanks, Mari.”

He waited until the brunette behind the bar drifted away before broaching the subject. “
Uhm, Stella...should she have carded you?”

Another laugh, this one dissolving into a giggle.
“No. We went to high school together. She knows I’m twenty two.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I might not have remembered your name, but I know that you’re in your first year of college.”

She shifted again, a faint flush colouring her cheeks. “It took me a while to get there.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

She nodded, and he was glad he hadn’t asked more. They sat together in companionable silence for a moment, picking through the pretzel bowl.

“How are you liking Wardham so far?”

He shrugged. “Everyone seems nice.
Pretty town, not a lot of a crime.”

“Is that good, or boring?”

“Boring is good. I’ve had enough of hunting bad guys every day.”

She smiled at that, and he couldn’t help but return the grin. Even if he hadn’t remembered her name, this girl was a prime example of just how nice the people of Wardham could be. That made him think of the nicest member of the Chamber of Commerce, and he spun on his stool to look for Karen. He found her quickly.
Too quickly. She was leaning against the back wall, being talked at by the blond farmer, but her gaze was firmly pinned on Paul, and she didn’t look pleased.

He wrinkled his brow, asking the obvious question. Her sweeping look at
Stella, then back to him, made the disapproval obvious. He chuckled. Oh, she was too cute. The warmth of a few beers had eased his usual tight rein, and after watching her flirt all night, he was done with being restrained.

“
I’m heading out.” He left his beer bottle on the bar and tapped the intern on her shoulder. “See you next week.”

He took his time standing up, enjoying the play of emotions dance across Karen’s face. Without breaking eye contact, he strolled across the pub. When he reached her, he stretched his hand out to the farmer with a terse introduction, but kept his attention focused on his
neighbour. His beautiful, jealous neighbour.

“I thought I’d head home, wanted to see if you’d like some company for the walk.” His voice was low, meant for her ears only, and the rich timbre rubbed into her heart like a soothing balm.

A balm she’d do her best to resist. What on earth was he thinking, chatting up a woman a dozen years his junior? When he’d made it crystal clear that he wasn’t interested in dating.

Unless that was a lie, and it was just
her
he didn’t want to date. The thought slipped out of her mind and wrapped itself around her throat. He wouldn’t do that. Would he? She really didn’t know him. Frankly, she was pretty sure she knew his daughter better. Megan wouldn’t deceive someone to spare their feelings. God love ten year olds and their straightforward approach to life.

“You’re doing that thing again, thinking on your face.” He ducked his head, bringing his lips to her ears. “I’d love to see what that looks like when you’re turned on.”

She jerked away, bumping into the wall behind her. “You’re drunk.”

“Little bit. Will you be my safety walk home?” He glanced to the man at her left. She’d dated Blake for five minutes a decade earlier, before he moved on to Portia Wilkins. He was still fun to hang out with at Danny’s, but there was zero chemistry.
In both directions, which was the story of her life. Paul didn’t need to know that, though.

“I don’t know if I can, we were just...” Crap on a stick. She couldn’t play that game. “You know what? Yes. I’d like to walk home with you.”

Blake headed to a table at the back with a shrug and she grabbed her sweater.

They were almost to the end of the main drag before either of them spoke. The silence was nice, and Karen wasn’t sure how much talking she wanted a tipsy Paul to do. On the one hand, she really wanted him to whisper more in her ear about sex. On the other, he would regret it in the morning, and go back to pretending he liked being celibate.

“You don’t have anything to be jealous about,” he said, as they turned the corner to their street. The entire town was quiet. It wasn’t late, probably only nine o’clock, but there was enough of a nip in the air that anyone who could be was inside, curled up on a couch.

“I wasn’t
—”

“
—yeah, you were. Your face, remember?” She would have argued again, but the words stilled on the tip of her tongue as he slipped his hand around hers. Good lord, holding hands with him made her twitchy with want.

“
Stella’s quite young. And you work with her.”

“I know. And I know. I wasn’t flirting with her, I promise. She’s one of the few people I kn
ow here, that’s all.”

“You don’t need to promise me anything.” It sounded false even as she said it. He didn’t owe her explanations, but she wasn’t going to be okay with him dating someone else. It was odd to feel so possessive of someone
who had never been hers.

“I want to.” He squeezed his fingers around hers, his grip warm and comfortable
.

It felt reassuring. She wanted it to be reassuring. Crap.

“Karen? I. Want. To.” He tugged her to a stop and turned to face her full on. “If I’m going to flirt with anyone, it’s going to be you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You’re kinda cute.”

“I’m not twenty.”

He shrugged. “Neither am I.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Nerves pushed her face into a wide, slightly unnatural smile.

He chuckled. “Thirty-seven.”

“Wow, you’re old. Der. Older, I mean!” She grimaced. “
Than I thought you were. Thirty-seven is...nice.”

“Nice.”

She nodded.

“Is nice a euphemism for boring?”

She shook her head. “Experienced.”

Paul closed the gap between their bodies and trailed his lips along her jaw. As far as first kisses went, that was quick and unexpected. And it blew her socks off.
A peck on the cheek. Good grief. She lifted her hand and pressed her fingers to the spot, still feeling remnant tingles.

“If we weren’t on the street right now, that would have been on your mouth. And your neck, and maybe your chest
—”

She didn’t give him a chance to finish the list before she wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her own chaste kiss on his throat. A growl beneath her lips told her that it had the same effect as his kiss had on her.

“Then let’s get inside,” she murmured in his ear.

He spun on his heel, linking his fingers into hers and taking off down the b
lock, covering the last few steps at a trot. “Your house or mine?”

“Mine’s fine,” she breathed.

“Deal,” he muttered, and turned abruptly onto her walk. “Keys?”