“When I feel I need cheering up, I’ll let you know.” Scowling, she rose and paced away, hugging her arms over her breasts again. “How much longer before my clothes are ready?”
He bit back a smile, as he closed the screen and shut down his computer. “Twenty minutes or so. They’re in the dryer now. Would you like something to eat while we wait?”
“No, but I’d take some coffee, if you have any.”
“None made, but won’t take me a minute to brew some.”
He led the way to the kitchen, with her trailing behind.
As he measured grounds, she wandered around.
“Nice place,” she said after a minute.
He lifted a shoulder. “Works for me.” He switched on the coffeemaker, then turned, bracing his hips on the counter behind him. “The drive to work is a pain, but two steps out my back door is all the fishing and hunting a man could want.”
Rolling her eyes, she pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. “I should’ve known you’d be a hunter.”
“What’s wrong with being a hunter?”
“It’s a coward’s sport! Give the animal a weapon and I’ll bet you’d lose your fondness for hunting pretty darn fast.”
“Assuming the animal was a good shot.” Amused by the sour look she sent him, he turned and pulled two mugs from the cupboard. “But if it’ll make you feel any better, I don’t hunt for sport.”
“There’s another reason to sit in a deer blind?”
“I don’t sit in a deer blind, and yes, there’s another reason. Food.” He placed the mugs on the table between them, then sat opposite her and stretched out his legs. “Have you ever had a venison steak?”
She snorted a breath. “No, and I’m not interested in trying one.”
“You’re missing a treat. Venison sausage is good, too. As for fishing,” he went on, “I don’t do that for the sport of it, either. I eat what I catch. There’s a lake on the property, which keeps me supplied with fresh fish year round. Usually catfish and bass.”
“Do you grow your own vegetables, too?”
Ignoring the sarcasm in her voice, he rose to fetch the carafe of coffee. “Some, though I don’t have a garden per se. Just a few pots of tomatoes and peppers on the deck.” He filled the mugs, then used one to gesture at the plants lining the sill above the kitchen sink. “And I keep a few herbs handy for cooking.”
She stared, as if he’d just confessed to being a cross-dresser.
He set a mug opposite her and sat down. “What?”
She shook her head, as if to clear it. “Nothing. I just can’t imagine you puttering around plants.”
He rested his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “What do you imagine me doing?”
She huffed and looked away. “I don’t think about you at all.”
He lifted his mug to hide his smile. “What about you? Do you have any hobbies?”
“If you’re asking if I have any interests other than my work, yes, I do.”
“What?”
“I happen to enjoy gardening myself.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she clamped her lips together, as if she’d just blurted out a closely guarded secret, which in effect she had, since he had no idea what she did when she wasn’t on duty.
“What do you grow?” he asked, hoping to keep her talking.
Grimacing, she dropped her gaze and pushed her fingertip through a drop of coffee that had dripped onto the table. “Nothing fancy,” she mumbled, smearing it around. “Tomatoes, onions, a few varieties of squash.”
“A friend gave me some seeds for a hybrid beefsteak tomato. Lots of meat, fewer seeds. I’ll give you some, if you want.”
He saw the spark of interest in her eyes, before she masked it by folding her arms over her breasts and looking away. “No thanks. It’s too late in the season to plant anything now.”
He searched his mind for another topic, something she might be open to discuss that would give him insight into her private life. “So how’s Leo doing?”
Her expression softened immediately at the mention of her partner. “Grouchy as ever. The doctor put him on a low-cholesterol, low-fat diet. He swears they’re trying to starve him to death.”
“It wouldn’t hurt him to miss a few meals. He’s got to be a good fifty or sixty pounds overweight.”
“Closer to seventy,” she said, then shrugged. “His wife’s been hounding him for years to lose some weight. His doctor, too. But Leo loves to eat.”
“Y’all seem to be pretty tight.”
She shrugged again. “We’ve been partners since I joined the force. Leo may have his faults, but he’s a good detective. Nose like a bloodhound. Tenacity of a bulldog. Eyes like a hawk. I’ve learned more from him than I ever did in a classroom.”
“Maybe when he gets back from his medical leave, I’ll have a chance to work with him.”
“When Leo returns,” she informed him, “you’ll be going back to your regular duties as an officer. Remember? This is only a temporary assignment.”
Though every muscle in his body stiffened in denial at the reminder, Gabe managed to keep the emotion from his face.
Lifting his coffee cup, he took a long drink, then replied with a vague, “Maybe.”
Two
When Andi strode into the patrol room the next morning, Gabe wondered if she had a funeral to attend. Black skirt, black unstructured jacket, black closed-toe shoes. The only relief to her outfit was the stark white tailored blouse she wore tucked neatly into the waist of her skirt. Nothing in her choice of attire hinted at her femininity, yet she all but screamed sex as she crossed to her desk, drawing the eye of every male on duty, Gabe’s included.
Rather than the all-too-familiar ponytail, on this particular morning she’d twisted her hair up into a loose knot on the crown of her head. A pencil, honed dagger-sharp, pierced the knot’s center, holding it in place. He imagined himself sliding the pencil out and letting her hair tumble down around her slim shoulders. It was an intriguing image and one he’d mentally played through several times since the previous day when he’d seen her fresh from his shower, her hair down and dripping water onto her shoulders.
Frowning, he forced his gaze to the file he’d been reading before she’d arrived. He had no business indulging in sexual fantasies about Andi. Not when she stood between him and his chance of making detective. A bad word from her to Chief Prater could negatively impact his chance of promotion.
And why waste his time on her, anyway? he asked himself in frustration. She wasn’t his type. She was outspoken and bossy. What his oldest brother Zeb would call a ballbuster.
But, damn, if his blood didn’t run hot every time he so much as looked at her.
“Thunderhawk!”
He jumped, his carnal thoughts shattered by the chief’s bellowing roar.
“Yes, sir?” he said, rising.
“In my office.” The chief snatched the unlit cigar from his mouth, and added in a kinder voice, “You, too, Andi.”
Accustomed to the chief’s preferential treatment toward his partner, Gabe closed the file he’d been reading and headed across the room. He reached the chief’s door at the same