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“You should go home,” he said curtly. “I’ve been drinking. A lot.”
She noticed the fumes on his breath, but he didn’t seem dangerous. Anguished. Miserable. Worn. Torn.
“I’m so sorry, Cody,” she said, and the sympathy was in her eyes as well as her voice.
“I stayed with her, while...”
“I stayed with our old cat at my brother’s house when she died. I would never do it again.” She shook her head. “It tears the heart right out of you.”
He nodded. His face showed every year of his age. His dark eyes were already bloodshot and he was wobbly. She closed the door and went back to him.
“I’ve got nobody now,” he ground out.
She didn’t even think. She put her arms around him and held him close, her head on his broad chest where the soft material of his shirt covered it. He smelled of soap and leather and cologne. It was a good smell.
He hesitated, but only for seconds. His arms went around her and tightened. His face went down against her throat, where her hair was thick and soft. She felt wetness there. Her fingers spread into his thick, blond-streaked brown hair and she rocked him in her arms. She didn’t say a word. She just held him.
The comfort was unexpected. He wasn’t sure he liked the feeling of helplessness that went with it, but it was nice, being held, being comforted. He couldn’t remember anyone caring about him when he was hurt. Certainly not Debby, who just told him to pull himself together when he came home sick at heart and anguished because he’d had to shoot a man. He didn’t kill the perpetrator, but it was a man he knew. The bullet went into his hip and shattered bone. He was transferred to Denver to have the damage repaired. Then he sued the county and the sheriff’s office as well. It only added to the misery. Debby had come home for the weekend, but she left for Denver early the next morning after she had a phone call. She’d taken her cell phone into the bathroom to talk to whoever it was. Cody had been so traumatized that he was barely lucid. Debby had said that the man was obviously a criminal, he got what was coming to him. And Cody was an idiot to let himself get into such a state over a shooting that wasn’t even a fatal one. She’d left Cody behind with a vague promise to come back within a month or so. She hadn’t even kissed him goodbye.
And here was Abby, who’d been afraid of him, rocking him in her soft arms because he’d lost his pet. Debby wouldn’t have done that. She was truly remote from any tragedy. He’d wondered sometimes what sort of doctor she was. He loved her dearly, but she was lukewarm with him, even in bed. She looked upon intimacy as her duty, but she was meticulous about taking her birth control pill every day. She didn’t seem to enjoy Cody, ever. He loved being with her, because he loved her, but he knew she wasn’t enjoying it. She’d mentioned once that he was too conventional and frankly boring when it came to intimacy. She let him do what he liked. But it was like making love to a pillow. He hated that memory.
It was the only really uncomfortable thing about their marriage. Well, that, and her insistence that she had to live in Denver to get her studies done. It was a long drive from Catelow. Cody offered to make the trip any time she was free, but Debby always had an excuse. She seemed to feel that Cody belonged in a small town, not in a hospital in the city.
Why hadn’t he ever noticed that? She’d never wanted him near her apartment in Denver. Now he was curious. She let him come to her apartment in Denver one time, only one time, and she was with him the whole time. She was visibly relieved when he left, and she only showed him the living room.
She was always looking around even when Cody came to visit her at the hospital, as he had a few times, when the loneliness got the worst. He hadn’t thought about that, either. He hadn’t thought about a lot of odd things that Deborah did. Like the night she wanted to go to a friend’s house for drinks. That doctor, Craig Stern, who’d been at her funeral and insisted that she’d asked to be buried in Denver if anything happened to her. Cody had been uncomfortable, but the doctor had been even more uncomfortable. Debby had stayed right beside Cody and Dr. Stern had managed to avoid him the whole time they were there. Afterward, Debby had grown quiet and withdrawn. She seemed relieved when Cody said he’d have to get back to Catelow and didn’t have time to spend the night.
His mind was too busy to hold the thought in very long. Besides, the soft body pressed up against his so trustingly made him feel protective. Abby was fiercely independent, but she had a good heart.
“Come here,” she said after a minute. She took his big hand and led him to the kitchen table. “Sit down. You need to eat something.”
He took a deep breath. His head was swimming. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” he asked quietly.
“I phoned and said I had to take the afternoon off,” she said, turning to the stove. She opened the fridge. There was bacon, some eggs and butter. She pulled them out, found a skillet, and proceeded to make bacon and eggs with buttered toast. She made a pot of coffee while she was at it.
Cody sat and watched her, fascinated. It had been years since he’d watched a woman cook. Debby couldn’t. She bought TV dinners and heated them up, or went to get takeout in Catelow. Abby was a woman of many talents, he was learning. She could ride a horse, work at a job, cook, and manage a huge ranch—with some help from Don Blalock—and she had a big heart. The care she took of her niece was proof of that. Now here she was, out of the blue, taking care of him. He felt better. Her very presence was comforting.
He wasn’t going to say that, of course. He wasn’t an overly emotional man. He was a lawman with a responsible job. Except that right now, he couldn’t do his job, because he was stinking drunk.
He made a sound deep in his throat and weaved a little in his chair.
“Here you go,” she said, putting everything on the table. “You’ll feel better if you eat something.”
“It looks good,” he said.
She smiled. “Lucy and I have breakfast for lunch or supper sometimes, especially if I have to work late.”
He frowned as he watched her pour coffee into two mugs. “You live on a lonely stretch of road. The ranch is two miles from the main highway. It’s dangerous at night.”
“I keep my doors locked,” she assured him.
“If you’ll let me know when you have to work late, I’ll have one of my deputies follow you home.”
She put cream in her coffee and tried to adjust to this new and very different friendship that was developing between them.
“You aren’t afraid of me anymore?” he asked and seemed to mind.
“No,” she replied softly. “Of course not.” She smiled. “You’re not a mean drunk.”
