Paul glanced down at the little girl, who had two fingers in her mouth instead of a thumb.Her swimsuit was orange with pink dots.Her shoes were sandy, her curly hair tangled.She stared up at him with big brown eyes.
He didn’t say anything, but he got the impression that Vanessa was annoyed with the inconvenience of having to use the public facilities.The unmitigated gall of this woman.He remained silent, tamping down his exasperation.She lifted the girl off her feet and continued walking.He turned to watch her go on impulse.Her hips swayed with unconscious—or perhaps conscious—sensuality.
The little girl took her fingers out of her mouth and attempted to stick one up at him.It was an awkward, ill-formed gesture, but her intent was clear.So was the mulish expression on her miniature face.
Paul choked out a laugh, because the kid was adorably brazen.Like mother, like daughter.
Vanessa must have heard him, because she glanced over her shoulder.Then she frowned down at her daughter, who was still trying to flip him the bird.Vanessa covered the girl’s hand with her own and scolded her as they left the area.
Damn.He’d been caught looking—and laughing.
Paul tore his gaze away from the pair and found that he was being studied in turn.The cop brother had his arms crossed over his chest.Although he was in uniform, he didn’t wear a gun belt.He must have a lockbox in the truck, or he patrolled without a weapon.Paul wondered if peace officers in quiet recreation areas spent their days writing fines for fishing or boating violations, and chose not to carry.
Paul didn’t want to talk to a cop, regardless of his armed status.But avoiding him would seem cowardly, perhaps even suspicious, so he moved forward.The deputy greeted him with a friendly smile and a firm handshake.
“Jackson Nava,” he said.
“I remember,” Paul said.
“Right.”
“Did you ever find that stolen property?”
“I did,” Jackson said.
They sized each other up in seconds.Jackson’s face had a relaxed openness that invited candor, and probably served him well on the job.The family resemblance was subtle.Both Navas were good-looking, with dark hair and eyes.Vanessa’s beauty had a delicacy her brother lacked.Paul figured Jackson was the younger sibling, but not by much.Most brothers were protective of their sisters.That went double for brothers with badges.
“You’ve met my sister,” Jackson said.
“Yes.”
Jackson didn’t comment further.He just arched a brow as if to communicate the impossibility of women.“You want a beer?”
Paul shrugged, and Jackson walked toward a small cooler on the picnic table.He fished out two longnecks, brandished a bottle opener attached to his key chain, and popped the tops.Paul accepted the beer without argument.He didn’t find it odd that a small-town cop would drink in uniform, in a quaint lakeside town near the Texas border.This relaxed approach to professionalism wouldn’t fly in Houston, but this wasn’t Houston.
Paul turned his attention to the lake.The afternoon sun shimmered on its surface, beckoning swimmers.He should be taking a dip off the dock.Instead, he was stymied at his own vacation spot.
“She’s upset about her reservation,” Jackson said.
“I know.”
“She doesn’t want to leave until she speaks with the owner.”
“He’s in Jamaica.”
“She told me.”
Paul sipped the beer and said nothing.
“She’s going through a rough patch,” Jackson continued.“She’s got her heart set on staying here for the summer.”
“Why can’t she go to your place?”
“I live with my dad, and they don’t get along.”
Paul wasn’t surprised to hear she had other conflicts with men.
“Maybe we can work something out,” Jackson said.
