She relaxed her shoulders at his neutral question, and a soft smile curved her lips. “He’s big and gruff, and on the outside he looks like your typical old-time, don’t-mess-with-me kind of cop. But on the inside he’s a big softie.”
They obviously had a good relationship. “You said he raised you after your mother left?”
She settled back into a chair at the table. “He did. The house went from constant yelling and battles to easy silence. Dad isn’t a big talker, but when he has something to say, it’s usually important.” She leaned her elbow on the table, relaxing as she gathered her thoughts. “I think he taught me the value of silence,” she mused.
“It’s an important asset for a cop.”
She nodded. “Of course I was the opposite. I chattered nonstop, talking about anything and everything. I’d come home from school and tell him about my day, from schoolwork to girl issues and then boys. He learned pretty quick that he had to pay attention or I’d call him on it.” She laughed. “Eventually we began to balance each other out.” She stared into space, obviously thinking, remembering.
Wanting to hear more, he took his cues from her and kept quiet.
“I’d have thought my father would have been sad after my mom left, but he wasn’t. He was happier, came out of his shell more. And I think, by seeing that, I came to associate being alone with being happy.” She blinked hard and suddenly focused on him, looking a little wary, as if she’d revealed too much.
He wanted more. “What about relationships? Did your father date?”
She nodded. “He’d get involved with someone, I’d hear her name for a while, then suddenly he’d stop mentioning them. I’d ask, and he’d say it had been time to move on.” She shrugged, as if things had been that simple. “Eventually he’d find someone else, and things would follow the same pattern. His women never interfered in my life, never even made a dent in our everyday pattern of living. To me, it seemed like an ideal life for a cop.”
To Rafe, it sounded lonely as hell. Never allowing for intimacy or feelings to come into play, always moving on before you got too close.
She’d dug deep and shared her memories, giving him more insight than he’d hoped for. He now understood how Sara’s views on marriage and relationships had been formed. Grounded in her childhood experience, marriage equaled misery; short and sweet relationships sufficed.
He could no longer blame her for wanting to keep things simple between them and, when she started to feel things, panicking and building walls. But instead of discouraging him, the fact that she was feeling things gave him hope. If they were back in New York, she could break things off, return to her apartment and her solitary life. But she was stuck here until the threat was over or it was time to testify at the trial. Which meant she had nowhere to run and hide from her feelings.
Rafe had one shot to get through to her. He needed to make her feel things over and over until it was time for her to leave.
Then, when she returned home to her life in New York, he had to pray the loneliness sent her running back into his arms.
Good luck, he thought wryly.
RAFE HAD SPENT many hours alone in his house, enjoying the peace and quiet that came with the cabin. But Sunday was the longest day of his life, thanks to Sara’s mere presence. She curled up on the couch with a book, pulled a light blanket over her legs, and read silently. She shouldn’t have been a distraction, but she was.
She’d showered and smelled like a combination of Sara and his shampoo, so every inhale left him more aware. Each time she shifted positions, he looked up from the newspaper he was trying to read. He then ended up staring at the way the light from the windows bounced off her blond hair, which led to thoughts of running his fingers through the strands, and of course taking her to bed.
By the time the phone rang and his mother reminded him they were expected at Sunday night dinner, he almost viewed the obligation as a relief.
“Let me talk to Sara and get back to you,” he said to his mother and hung up before she could cite all the reasons Sara would want to share a meal with his family.
Mostly because his mother would probably be right. Sara had taken a liking to his family that surpassed being polite. She enjoyed each and every one of them, from his mother and father, who had surprisingly given her space and not pressured her about her relationship with their son, to his sisters, whom he’d seen her talking to during the festival the other day. He supposed it was easy for an outsider to view his large family as a novelty to enjoy. Although he had to admit, he wasn’t as bothered by them as much as he used to be.
With age came understanding, he thought wryly.
“Talk to me about what?” Sara asked, placing her book on her lap.
“Mom called to invite us to dinner.”
Her eyes lit up. “Ooh, I’d love to go. Do you think it’s safe?”
“Whoever’s after you just wants you not to testify. I don’t think there’s a problem going to a family dinner where we know everyone.”
She nodded. “I agree. So, what can I bring?”
“Yourself. My mother doesn’t expect you to show up with anything.”
Sara flung the blanket off her legs and stood up. Rafe hadn’t realized she was wearing shorts.
Short shorts. Cutoff, fringed, f**k-me shorts.
And he wanted to do just that.
“After I showed up uninvited last time, I want to bring something. Mind if I go through your kitchen cabinets?” she asked.
“Knock yourself out. What are you looking for?”
“Basic cake-making supplies,” she said, already poking around the cabinets, pulling out assorted things like flour and sugar before moving on to the refrigerator for milk and eggs. “You have everything I need.” She sounded surprised.
“My mother keeps this place stocked, and if I tell her I’m coming, she brings in the perishable things, too.”
“Lucky you!”
She opened another cabinet and shut it again, then repeated the process a few more times, obviously not finding what she was searching for.
“What are you looking for?”
“I need cake tins.” She called over her shoulder.
He raised an eyebrow. “Umm…I have disposable tins like these.” He opened a high cabinet and pulled out aluminum pans he used when he marinated steak to make on the outdoor barbeque.
“That’ll do. Thanks!”
If he thought he was distracted before, he was nearly crazed by the time she was finished baking a cake in his kitchen, making herself at home with his things, humming as if she’d done this a hundred times before.