He Loves Lucy Read online

  “You smell like strawberry shortcake.”

  His hard lips twisted into a crooked smile. “That’s what comes of sharing a bathroom with a small female. Not very masculine, is it?”

  She could have told him his masculinity wouldn’t suffer even if he wore ballet shoes with bells on the toes but she knew he wouldn’t want to hear a compliment from her. She was just a kid.

  “Maybe not masculine but delicious. You smell good enough to eat.”

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. She’d irritated him. Again. Shoot-a-mile. She just couldn’t say anything right around this man. Suddenly a bolt of lightning creased the sky and illuminated his face. She noted the deep grooves in his lean cheeks and the lines of fatigue that radiated from his eyes and sympathy flooded her. It wasn’t easy being a single parent, especially one with a brand new career. And a very trying, temporary nanny.

  “You’re tired,” she said, softly.

  His gaze held hers. “Just old.”

  She wondered if he really felt old. He had enough experience to lend a hard edge to his carved features but there was so much gentleness in him. She’d seen it with the kids.

  Thunder growled and lightning slapped at the sky. The first drops of rain plopped on their faces.

  “So much for stargazing,” Jake said. “Let’s go inside.”

  Lucy hesitated. Somehow it was harder to be near him in the confines of the house where they’d eaten together and played Chutes ‘n Ladders, where they’d coordinated their plans for each day just as if they were both parents to Sam and Lillie—just as if they were husband and wife.

  Another bolt of lightning shot out of the sky and hit the horizon between the houses behind them on Second Street.

  Jake grabbed her hand. “Come on.”

  His grip was strong and warm and it sent lightning streaking through her system. It clearly had the opposite effect on the sheriff. The instant they were inside he dropped her hand as if it were radioactive.

  “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink. Brandy?”

  He’d never offered her anything alcoholic before. She spoke before she thought. “What’s up with that? Have you finally figured out I’m over twenty-one?”

  “I can make it milk.”

  There was that sarcasm she never heard him use with anyone else. She told herself to ignore it.

  One more night.

  “Brandy’s fine,” she said, quietly. “I was just teasing because you always seem to think of me as a kid.”

  “You’re wrong, Lucy.” His green eyes gleamed. “I want to think of you as a kid. I’ve tried my damnedest to think of you as a kid. It’s getting harder and harder.” He turned away from her and headed for the liquor cabinet while she stared after him. What did he mean? Did he feel the chemistry, too?

  A rising sense of excitement gripped her. She had to remind herself it didn’t mean anything. Jake Langley was far too responsible and disciplined, far too sure of what he really wanted to get thrown off the track by a few hormones. But the idea that he found her desirable at all made her insides feel like an amusement park. She needed oxygen and cracked the door. Too late she glimpsed a gray shadow as it brushed her ankles and raced out into the night. Wiggles. Dang. He paused on the top step of the porch. Thunder exploded and the cat shot into the yard and up the tree. Horizontal rain slammed into the house as the lightning snapped and crackled.

  Lucy knew the cat, paralyzed with fear, wouldn’t come down until morning. Dang, dang, and double dang. She had no choice. She dashed into the yard.

  ****

  Jake ignored the pricking of his conscience as he located the bottle of brandy in the liquor cabinet in the dining room. He filled a pair of balloon-shaped snifters. They’d have one farewell drink then go to bed. His fingers tightened on the thin stems of the glasses. Separate beds. He paused for a moment and shut his eyes remembering how she’d looked out on the porch—her short, black curls bouncing, her eyes closed, her slim figure pressed against the wind as if it were a lover. Jake’s zipper tightened. It was a frustrating phenomenon that happened all too often around Lucy Outlaw.

  At first he’d thought the attraction was that restless energy, the same flash and sparkle, the same butterfly magic that had drawn him to Ariel, but it was more than that. During their evenings alone together he’d discovered he was even more turned on by Lucy’s stillness.

  There was just something about her that he found irresistible, some combination of warmth and innocence and intrepidity. He wanted to be part of that, part of her. It was a hunger he had to ignore. She was too young for him, too young to settle down. He knew the danger. Last time he’d chosen someone too young, he’d wound up alone with two infants. Now he had Sam and Lillie to think about and he couldn’t afford to make that kind of mistake again.

  Jake sucked in what he hoped was a calming breath as he shouldered his way through the swinging door that connected the dining room to the kitchen. The empty kitchen. Cold air swept in through the half-opened door. Had she gone back out on the porch? In this storm? He set the glasses down hard enough for the brandy to slosh in the snifters and he strode out into the downpour. Hard needles of rain scored his face and drenched his clothing. His better-than-average night vision was useless tonight. He shielded his eyes with one hand and bellowed into the gale.

  “Lucy!”

  “Up here.”

  Her voice was faint in the cacophony of the storm but Jake’s hearing was exceptional, too. His heightened senses and uncanny awareness of danger had helped him stay alive on the streets of L.A. So far they hadn’t been of much use in rural Maine. He squinted into the apple tree that had been one of his primary reasons for buying the house. It had looked so all-American, so normal, like something Beaver Cleaver might like to climb.

  “What the devil are you doing?”

  “Wiggles is stuck up here.”

  “What?”

  “The cat. He’s in a panic.”

  Lightning exploded in front of him and fear crowded his throat. “The tree’s a lightning rod, Lucy!” He used the voice that had struck terror into the hearts of recruits and criminals alike during his years with the L.A.P.D. “Get down from there. Now.”

  “I can’t. I need both hands to hold onto Wiggles.” She sounded scared but determined.

  Jake waded into the tempest and started the wet, miserable climb. His booted foot slid on the soaked bark and the leafless branches ripped into the thin cotton of his uniform shirt. Dammit. He’d get Lucy safely out of the tree and into the house and then he’d kill her.

  He finally reached her branch. Her dark hair was plastered against her cheeks and her eyes were huge dark bruises in her pale face. The hysterical cat arched and yowled. Lucy held onto him with both hands, relying on the tree trunk to keep her balance.

  “Don’t you ever think?”

  “I didn’t want Sam and Lillie to wake up to find their cat fried,” she explained.

  He glared at her. “It would be better to find you that way?”

  She attempted a smile. “I’m leaving tomorrow anyway.”

  Fury raked through him and he didn’t trust himself to answer her.

  “Give me the cat.”

  “But then you won’t be able to climb down.”

  It was the last straw. “Give me the damned cat.”

  She stuck out her chin in a mutinous gesture but straightened her arms. Jake clamped the wet creature under his arm and started back down the tree.

  As soon as they were inside the house with the door closed he set the animal on its feet.

  “Wait. I should make sure he’s okay.”

  Wiggles tore across the living room and down the hall. Lucy started to follow him. Jake knew he should let her go. Tension coursed through his veins and his muscles bunched with adrenalin and frustrated desire. He grabbed her upper arm and realized, too late, that his control was fractured. He loosened his grip immediately but, instead of jerking away from him she curled into his body like a child se
eking shelter. Only she wasn’t a child and he wasn’t any kind of shelter. She buried her face in his neck and he could feel her warm breath against his damp skin. The scent of honeysuckle wafted in the air and he felt her soft, yielding curves against his hard chest.

  “Lucy.”

  His protest was pathetically weak and she ignored it. She slid her arms around his waist and he felt himself pulse against her soft stomach. Jesus. This was madness. He told himself to pull away but she felt so good, so right. He realized she was shivering and he splayed his fingers against her back. She arched against him and he felt the hardened nipples through her wet dress and his uniform shirt. His blood surged and he groaned as she slid her arms around his neck.

  “Hold me,” she whispered. “Just this once.”

  The words calmed him. She was a kid reacting to a thunderstorm. She needed comfort. That’s all. He opened his mouth, intending to whisper the right words but suddenly her lips were under his and they were moist and wet and welcoming. She made a little gasping sound of need and he felt himself going over some invisible edge. He parted her lips with his own and plunged his tongue down her throat.

  ****

  Shoot-a-mile. Holy Beelzebub. Dang. Double Dang. Triple Dang. She was finally in his arms and it was even more exciting than her fantasies. It was the Fourth of July, the Kentucky Derby and Mardi Gras all mixed together. She was as warm and malleable as melted butter coating the hard planes of his body. She felt like part of him but still struggled to get closer. He felt so danged good, so warm, so right.

  And then he parted her lips and she felt his tongue stab into her mouth and her world exploded into a kaleidoscope of pixilated color. What was wrong with her? She’d been kissed before. Not like this, though. And not by Jake. He was as hot and melt-in-your-mouth as warm maple syrup on Asia’s johnnycakes. He shifted, instantly drawing her attention from his mouth to the hard jut of need that jabbed into her stomach. Holy Moly! She reached behind him to hold his slim hips and she felt him shudder then helplessly grind against her. A harsh groan hit the air. She slid her fingers into his waistband, eager to touch and stroke that enticing male mystery. It was new territory for her but she felt no reluctance. This was Jake and he belonged to her. Her fingers brushed the hot, hard erection. His harsh gasp was quickly followed by a high, reedy voice.

  “Daddy?”

  At the same moment Jake’s cell rang. He fumbled for his zipper and his phone.

  “Langley.” He sounded hoarse.

  Lucy could hear his deputy on the other end. Homer Winslow’s drawl was slow and distinctive.

  “Sorry to bother you sheriff,” he said, “but we got an anonymous phone call. Seems like someone’s left a body out near the rez.”

  Chapter Two

  Jake’s fingers dug into her arm hard enough to leave nail marks in the skin. Hard enough to hurt. She winced and stared into the glazed-over emerald eyes. The man needed a moment. He’d answered the phone on autopilot.

  Lucy stepped away from him, crossed the room and crouched by Sam.

  “What’s the matter, sweetie? Did the storm wake you up?” She thought she sounded remarkably normal.

  “Your voice sounds all shaky.”

  “Does it?” She touched his pajama jacket. It was wet. “An accident?”

  “Wiggles got in my bed. He’s all wet.” The green eyes were so familiar, only Sam’s were clear. “You’re all wet, too, Lucy.”

  She laughed. “That’s ’cause Wiggles got out in the storm and your dad and I went to get him.” She stood and took his hand. “C’mon. Let’s get you some dry sheets.”

  Sam glanced over his shoulder at his father who’d remained on the other side of the room facing away from them.

  “Lucy, what’s wrong with Daddy?”

  Unfortunately, nothing.

  “He just got a call from Deputy Winslow,” she explained.

  “Why is Daddy just standing there?” Lillie had just wandered out to the living room but even half asleep, she missed nothing. Lucy couldn’t blame Jake for failing to turn around.

  “He’s thinking,” Lucy said.

  “About what?”

  She smiled at the inquisitive child. “About being all wet from rescuing Wiggles and needing a hot shower.” Or a cold one.

  Lillie peered at Lucy.

  “What happened to Wiggles? Did you let him out?”

  Lucy laughed. Jake’s children were just too darned smart. Lillie had jumped to the obvious—and right—conclusion.

  It took about ten minutes to re-make Sam’s bed and to re-settle both children. Lucy closed the bedroom door and headed back for the living room. Her heart pounded against her ribs even though she knew it was unlikely that Jake would kiss her again. The spell was broken and he would tell himself it had been a mistake. And, anyway, there was that call from Homer.

  Someone’s left a body out by the rez.

  It had to be an accident. People in Eden County, Maine, simply didn’t kill each other. She found Jake in the kitchen with car keys in his hand.

  “Look, I know you’re planning to leave in the morning but I don’t know how long I’ll be. Can you stick around to get the kids off to school?”

  “Of course.”

  He nodded his thanks. “If I don’t see you again, thanks for standing in for Mrs. Peach.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He was out the door and halfway to his white Chevy Blazer when she remembered. She rushed out into the rain.

  “Jake!” He paused and turned back, the rain, now reduced to a slight drizzle, sprinkled his golden hair. “You forgot your hat.”

  He cursed and loped back up to the house while she ducked back inside to fetch it. She handed it over and the green gaze met hers.

  “That what you wanted to tell me?”

  It was hard to breathe with him standing so close.

  “Uh, no. With the recital and, well, everything I forgot to give you a message. A Maxine Slocum called. She wants you to get back to her right away.”

  The sheriff’s sculpted features twisted and his eyes darkened. “She can damn well wait until Hell freezes over.”

  Lucy stared at him. Jake was always courteous to everyone with the exception of herself. She couldn’t resist the question.

  “Who is Maxine Slocum?”

  “She’s a snake in the grass. A Judas. My ex-wife’s mother.”

  Lucy’s jaw dropped. “You mean the twins have a grandma?”

  “Not in any way that counts. The woman’s a witch. She’s got two goals in life: me in a body bag and custody of the twins.”

  A sense of disbelief swept through Lucy. “Surely not. There must be a misunderstanding.”

  He smiled, briefly, humorlessly. “You just keep living in Lucyworld. I gotta get back to reality.”

  Reality. “Do you think there’s really a body out near the rez?”

  “Homer’s there.”

  “It has to be a hunting accident.”

  “At night?”

  “Maybe he was killed during the day and nobody saw it until tonight.”

  “Dispatch got an anonymous tip.”

  A shiver ran down her spine. “You think it was the murderer?”

  He shrugged.

  “There hasn’t been a murder in Eden County since, since, well, there’s never been one.”

  Something flared in the emerald eyes and Lucy knew he was remembering their kiss.

  “Darlin’, there’s a first time for everything.”

  ****

  Jake’s high-powered flashlight revealed the entry hole just above the T-7 vertebrae. Nate Packer, a developer from Bangor, had been literally shot through the heart but the wound was not neat and round the way it would have been if caused by a bullet. The rain had washed away most of the blood but there were jagged tears in his fine wool suit jacket, almost as if he’d been clawed by a very neat, very precise animal. Jake shone the flashlight around. Almost immediately he spotted the bright fletchings on the shaft
of an arrow lodged in the thick trunk of a nearby oak. He blinked. The murder weapon? Cupid’s arrow gone wrong? Jake peered at the look of shock on the victim’s face and decided it was unlikely. The victim had been involved in the construction of a casino and resort for the Penobscot Indians on this very site. The plan had not met with universal approval. If this was murder, it probably had something to do with the project.

  Besides, it looked like a professional job. The shot had killed cleanly and quickly.

  Jake rubbed the back of his neck with his palm.

  Western Maine was full of hunters but who among them would have wanted Packer dead? Someone from the rez? God, he hoped not. Law enforcement and jurisdiction issues between the rez and the county were delicate and Jake had been careful to establish a respectful relationship with Blackbird’s sole tribal cop, Davey Tall Tree. The Penobscots were part of the Algonquian band of woodland Indians who’d welcomed the European invaders hundreds of years earlier and who, for their pains, had been stripped of their rights and relegated to a reservation.

  Jake had found them to be intelligent, wary and impossibly poor. The casino they’d agreed to let Nate Packer build would have brought in much-needed cash but the decision to build had created dissension in the tribe. There was a faction that claimed the casino and spa would increase crime in the quiet backwoods area, a claim that had suddenly proved prescient.

  Jake found it hard to believe that the gentle folks he’d met out at the rez could be behind it.

  But, if not the Penobscots, then whom?

  Had Packer been involved in a business deal gone sour?

  Jake’s hand stilled and his stomach clenched as he remembered that Nate’s partner in the Blackbird casino project was local banker Cameron Outlaw. Lucy’s brother. Jake shook his head. It couldn’t be Cam. The man had recently returned to his hometown, giving up a lucrative career as a Boston banker, so that he could raise his small daughter in the cocoon of a small town.