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Still scrambling to cover my Freudian slip, I said, “No. I mean, can I go with you while you patrol?”
“Well,” he mused, turning and lifting his hat from another hook by the door. He fixed the Stetson on his head. “Technically, I ain’t on duty, so I s’pose I wouldn’t be breakin’ any laws if I let you tag along. It’ll be dull though. Lots of sittin’ around, doin’ nothin’ but watchin’ cars go by.”
“Okay,” I said a little too eagerly. That did sound like it had the potential to be boring, but not with him around. He may’ve been way too old for me, but dull was one thing Frank Sims was not. Even without saying a word, he was the most interesting person I’d met, maybe ever. I was kind of looking forward to spending the time talking to him. Maybe we could get to know each other better.
He arched a graying brow under his hat. “Thought you said you and me wouldn’t work.”
“I did say that.” I twisted my lips, trying to think of a way I could admit to the truth but not bury myself at the same time, because, you know, women’s lib and all that. “But I also said I like talking to you. We can be friends, right? There’s nothing wrong with that.”
“Nothin’ wrong with the alternative either.” He narrowed his eyes. Was he scrutinizing me? It felt like it, like I was a teenager and he the firm-handed—oh. And now I understood where the “miniskirt/spank me, daddy” thing came from I’d read so much about. I made a mental note to read more age-gap romance. Maybe I could find one for book club.
Already, and despite my feministic nature, it seemed my subconscious was warming to the idea as I pictured myself bent over his couch while he ran his hands between my naked thighs and his tongue—
“Alright then,” he said, interrupting my sudden and depraved fantasies, “but if there’s an accident out there, you stay in my truck unless I tell you different. Is that understood?”
Before I could stop myself, I saluted him with my pink knitted mitten. “Yes, sir.”
His mouth twitched again, and I swore I felt a trickle of moisture between my legs.
“You can’t wear that,” he said, motioning to my skirt and boots. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”
He disappeared down the dark hallway. I couldn’t see him anymore, so I backed into his kitchen, turning when I got to his stainless fridge. When I opened the door and peered in—which wasn’t rude; it was research—I was surprised. It was hospital clean and full of little Tupperware containers stacked on top of each other, with color-coded lids and organized by size, a half of a gallon of organic skim milk, and some kind of meat wrapped in white paper packaging, like it had come from a proper butcher, not the Food Mart. There were twelve brown eggs in an open egg carton, a blender pitcher halfway full of some kind of green liquid, and one crisper was filled to the brim with apples and oranges, the other with fresh veggies.
I spun on one foot, letting the fridge door close quietly, and inspected the rest of his kitchen. On the gray granite countertop next to a stainless steel stove sat a bunch of bananas, a line of vitamin bottles, two metal water bottles, and one made of plastic that had a colorful Cade Ranch logo on it.
And on the other side of the stove was a freaking bread maker and a loaf of some kind of dark bread wrapped in a white cloth.
Frank may’ve been a tough nut, but he was a healthy nut.
No wonder he looked so good. He took care of himself, and that was sexy.
He bellowed behind me, “Grum! No!” and then I was knocked forward when Grumbly jumped on my back.
My stomach hit the rough-edged counter, nearly knocking the breath out of me. “Oof! Where’d he come from?”
“This damn dog. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s okay.” I turned, and Grumbly settled his front paws on my shoulders, jumping on his hind legs and trying to bathe my face with his tongue. “He still has puppy breath, but it feels out of place since he’s the size of a small car.”
“I keep him in a big crate in the back room when I’m not home. The vet says it makes him feel more secure, at least when he doesn’t break out of it. I have to padlock it closed. It also stops him from eatin’ my house when I’m on duty, but when I let him out, he goes nuts. I just walked in the door before you got here. Barely had a chance to work up a sweat.”
Oh, I so begged to differ.
Wetting a paper towel at the sink, he grabbed Grumbly’s collar and pulled him down, then handed me the towel, and I wiped the slobber from my face. “I dunno what to do about this ornery dog. He ain’t got a lick of manners in him.”
He took the towel from my fingers, wadded it into a ball, and tossed it into the garbage can behind me.
Motioning to the navy snow pants he’d draped over a dining chair, I asked, “Are those for me?” I bent, scratching behind Grumbly’s ears before he trotted to his food bowl by the refrigerator. He took a bite of the dry kibble Frank dumped in there and wandered to the living room window, where he peered out, watching the snow fall and yipping quietly. Frank looked at the trail of kibble sprinkled from the kitchen to the window and shook his head. The mess clearly irritated him.
“They might be a little big, but they’ll do,” he said. “I have some boots here, too, and another pair of socks for you. Your feet will freeze if you wear the boots you got on. They ain’t made for real winter weather.”
I thought Doc Marten might have something to say about that, but I didn’t argue. I wasn’t looking forward to freezing toes.
Stepping closer to me, he unzipped my coat, then moved behind me, adjusting my arms out to the sides and removing it slowly. Somehow, this small, quiet kindness spoke loudly about him, and it was sexy too. Did he do anything that wasn’t? My heart raced, and that pool of heat formed low in my stomach again as I listened to him breathing evenly behind me.
He pulled a chair out at his kitchen table, and I sat as he handed me the boots and a pair of white long johns tall enough to fit him.
Unlacing my own boots, I kicked them off, then pulled the long johns on under my skirt, rolling the waistband a few times so they’d fit better. When I took my skirt off, Frank lifted my boots and set them very neatly by his front door. He stayed turned away from me while I changed, which was chivalrous, but it wasn’t like my legs were bare.
