Stranger In His Arms Page 7

  “Come to take my patient off my hands?” she asked.

  He grinned. “You’re sharp, Miss Bessie. I can’t slide anything by you. Thought I’d drive Jennifer down to the elementary school and show her the festival site.”

  “Good idea. She’ll be manning my apple-butter booth if she’s up to it.” She gave her concoction a final stir, dropped the large spoon into the sink and wiped her hands on the front of her apron. “The insurance adjuster called this morning. Wants to know how long before my car’s retrieved from the bottom of the ravine.”

  “I talked with George Spivey, the salvager, this morning. He says he’ll have it out by Thursday. The adjuster can inspect it at Spivey’s garage anytime after that.”

  “Thanks,” Miss Bessie said. “I’ll let him know. And, Dylan?”

  “Yes?”

  “Jennifer’s had quite a shock from her ordeal. Don’t you go getting her overly excited.”

  “I doubt the festival site will stir her up that much,” he said wryly.

  “I may be older than dirt,” the elderly woman said with a sparkle in her blue eyes, “but I’m not blind. I saw the way you looked at her in the hospital, and you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Dylan shook his head. “Miss Bessie, you’ve been standing over a hot stove too long. I think it’s cooked your brain.”

  “You young scamp!” She flapped her apron at him. “Get on with your courting and leave me to my work.”

  With a wink and a nod, he left Miss Bessie in her kitchen and returned to Jennifer on the porch. He’d have to be careful. If his feelings were so apparent to Miss Bessie, they might be equally obvious to Jennifer, and he had no intention of making a fool of himself over any woman.

  But his good intentions dissipated when Jennifer stood to accompany him, and her knees gave way. With a fluid movement, he swept her into his arms. “I’ll carry you to the car.”

  She flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry—”

  “Staying in bed too long ruins your muscle tone,” he said breezily, trying not to show how powerfully her proximity affected him. Her honeysuckle fragrance tickled his nose, her breath warmed his cheek and her body felt feather-light in his arms. “You’ll regain it soon enough.”

  The walk to the pickup seemed too short, and he regretted having to release her when he placed her in the passenger seat. He climbed into the driver’s seat and eased the truck down the steep drive.

  “Need anything here?” he asked as they passed the guest house.

  “Not now. Maybe we could stop on the way back.”

  He continued down the mountain and glanced over to find her staring at him, eyes clouded with worry. “Something on your mind?”

  “Those boys, the ones who hit me. What will happen to them?”

  “They’ve been arraigned, and they’re free on bail for now. I suppose they’re back in class at the university.”

  “Will I have to be a witness at their trial?” Apprehension edged her voice, but he didn’t find that unusual. Even innocent people were often intimidated by the awesome workings of the court system.

  “Unless the prosecutor works out a plea bargain. They could spend years in prison for their carelessness.”

  “Years?”

  “Ten to twenty. They’re lucky they’re not charged with vehicular homicide.” Bitterness laced his voice, but he couldn’t help it. He had no use for people who endangered the lives of others. And only by the grace of God and incredible luck had Jennifer survived that crash. He’d been glad the Jackson County deputies, not he, had been the arresting officers. He didn’t believe in police brutality, but he would have had a hard time remaining objective in this case.

  Realization suddenly stung him. He was beginning to care for Jennifer Reid. She was no longer a boyhood infatuation, but a flesh-and-blood woman, more vivacious and interesting than any other woman he’d met.

  He glanced at her quickly, certain she could read his thoughts, but she was gazing out the window at the fall colors mirrored in the still waters of Lake Casey.

  “Will I have to be there?” she asked suddenly.

  “Where?” With his daydreaming, he’d lost track of their conversation.

  “At the trial for those teenage boys.”

  “Probably. Why?”

  “There’s nothing I could say.” She sounded distraught. “I didn’t see them.”

  “Ben Morgan saw them,” he assured her. “He’s all the witness the prosecution needs.”

  He turned up the hill behind the police station and took the road toward the elementary school. Classes had been dismissed hours earlier, but the playground and athletic field were crowded with cars, trucks and people.

  He parked in the lot nearest the field, hopped out and opened the door for Jennifer. He lifted her out onto the packed red earth, but held onto her arm. “Can you walk okay?”

  She clung to his arm, apparently unsure of her stamina. “I’ll give it a try.”

  She had taken only a few wobbly steps when he caught a blur of red and blue out of the corner of his eye and felt its impact as Jennifer staggered against him.

  “Miss Jenny! You’re back!” Sissy McGinnis, carroty curls flying, denim overalls thick with red dust, clung to Jennifer’s legs.

  Jennifer knelt beside the girl, and Sissy threw her short, chubby arms around Jennifer’s neck.

  “I missed you,” the little girl cried.

  Millie McGinnis arrived, out of breath. “Sorry. I tried to stop her. You okay?”

  Jennifer nodded and returned Sissy’s hug with a fierceness Dylan envied, wishing she’d hug him like that.

  “Need help putting up your booth?” Dylan, tugging his thoughts on a less dangerous heading, asked Millie.

  “Gary Patterson’s giving us a hand.” Millie jerked her thumb in the direction from which she’d come and blushed when she mentioned the paramedic’s name.

  Dylan wondered if Gary’s single days were numbered.

  “Tell me about your booth.” Jennifer, holding Sissy’s hand with one hand, stood and brushed dust from the knees of her jeans with the other.

  “It’s for the church sewing circle,” Millie explained. “We sell handmade quilts, afghans, place mats and pot holders.”

  “Sandy Griffin, our dispatcher, has been crocheting like crazy all summer,” Dylan said. “The ladies should make a tidy sum at the festival.”

  “We’ll donate it to the County Rescue Squad for new equipment,” Millie said.

  “I could use a quilt,” Jennifer said. “I’ll be sure to stop by during the festival—if I can get away from the apple butter long enough.”

  Millie turned and gazed behind her. “I should see if Gary needs my help. C’mon, Sissy.”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow at day care,” Jennifer promised the girl.

  Dylan could tell from her voice that Jennifer was tiring. He scrounged up an empty apple crate, turned it upside down and offered her a seat. From their vantage point, he identified the various booths and attractions that would be featured in the festival.

  While they sat, several townsfolk approached to wish Jennifer well, including Raylene and Grover from the café, Ben Morgan and his teenaged daughter Megan and Pastor Falls from the Baptist church. Jennifer glowed beneath their warm attention, and Dylan couldn’t help marveling at the effect she had on people.

  Folks in Casey’s Cove were friendly enough, he knew, but they tended to keep their distance from outsiders. Dylan recalled families who’d moved to the cove over ten years ago whom the townsfolk treated politely but as if they were still strangers. But Jennifer with her effervescent personality, and now her notoriety in surviving what could have been a fatal accident, had won everybody’s heart.

  Including his own.

  TWO DAYS LATER, as he cruised through town on his Thursday shift, Dylan was still marveling at how enthusiastically Jennifer had been accepted by his town. With such a reception, maybe she’d like Casey’s Cove well enough to remain
permanently, in spite of her acclaimed wanderlust.

  The direction of his thoughts stunned him. If he wasn’t careful, his single days, like Gary Patterson’s, might be numbered, too. Before he’d met Jennifer, the idea of marriage would have sent him running in the opposite direction, but today he found himself smiling at the idea. Jennifer was just a friend, he assured himself, but you never knew where friendship might lead. For the first time in years, he was whistling as he made his rounds.

  “Car Three?”

  At the dispatcher’s call, he jerked his thoughts back to his work and keyed the mike on his radio. “Ten-four.”

  “George Spivey just called. Needs you to stop by the salvage yard.”

  “Emergency?”

  “No, but he says it’s important that he speak to you ASAP.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Dylan turned the patrol car toward the main road and paralleled the lake for a few miles before turning into Spivey’s salvage yard.

  George’s battered tow truck sat out front, and when Dylan pulled up, George, wiping oily hands on a rag, came out of his office.

  “You got a problem, Officer Blackburn.”

  Dylan stepped out of the car and walked to meet him. “What kind of problem?”

  George twitched his head toward the garage behind him. “I pulled in Miss Bessie’s Mercedes this afternoon.”

  “And?” Getting information out of the close-mouthed Spivey was like pulling teeth.

  “It’s not what you thought,” George said. “Better take a look.”

  With a feeling of impending trouble, Dylan followed George into the garage.

  Chapter Five

  Jennifer stared into the bathroom mirror and applied fade cream to the persistent freckles across the bridge of her nose. The welt on her head was receding and was easily concealed by pulling her blond curls into bangs. The dark bruise on her jaw had yellowed and was well hidden by a light application of makeup.

  But the damage to her heart couldn’t be so easily repaired.

  “You’re really into this up to your neck,” she scolded her scowling image. “You’re falling in love. And with a policeman, for Pete’s sake! Have you lost your mind?”

  Her reflection didn’t answer.

  Jennifer rubbed harder at her freckles. “And besides being a lawman, he hates liars. What will you do when he finds out the whoppers you’ve told?”

  She washed the cream off her hands and tugged at her bangs with a comb in a effort to hide the welt on her forehead. “Do you do the smart thing and avoid the man?” She shook the comb at the mirror. “Oh, no! You agree to go to the Apple Festival dance with him tonight!”

  Her image smiled back at her like a lovestruck teenager.

  “You’re cow-eyed, joining the herd, just like Raylene said! Next thing you know, Grover will be adding your name to the pool at the café and taking wagers.”

  She flung down the comb, hurried into the bedroom, and tugged on her tennis shoes. She was due to pick up Miss Bessie in a few minutes. Her employer had been firm about not missing the opening of the festival.

  Before Jennifer was halfway up the mountain, she’d decided to tell Dylan she’d changed her mind about going to the dance. She couldn’t spend much more time with him without giving herself away, and coming clean with anyone, much less a policeman, was just too dangerous.

  At the mansion, Miss Bessie climbed into the rental car the insurance adjustor had provided, while Jennifer and Estelle loaded boxes filled with jars of apple butter into the trunk and back seat.

  “It’s going to be a beautiful day,” Miss Bessie said when Jennifer climbed into the driver’s seat.

  Jennifer peered through the windshield at the thick early-morning mist that limited her vision to a few feet in front of her. “How can you tell?”

  Miss Bessie laughed. “I watch the Weather Channel. Besides, in as many of my ninety-five years as I can remember, we’ve never had bad weather for the opening of the festival. You wait. By ten o’clock, the mist will lift and there won’t be a cloud in the sky.”

  Jennifer inched the car through the thick haze and scowled at the lack of visibility. “At this rate, it’ll be ten o’clock before we get there.”

  “Just as well you’re going slow,” Miss Bessie said contentedly. “Wouldn’t want to break any of my jars of apple butter.”

  As they descended the mountain, the mist remained above them, graying the morning sky. At seven forty-five when they reached the elementary school, the field was already jammed with people. Teenagers from the high school were operating a parking concession on a lower field, and hordes of tourists were ascending to the festival area.

  Dylan Blackburn was directing traffic.

  Jennifer took a deep breath to stop her heart from racing at the sight of him. His broad shoulders enticingly filled the dark green windbreaker of his uniform. His police cap set at a jaunty angle, he looked more handsome than ever, radiating competence and authority with every move.

  He motioned Jennifer to a stop, and she rolled down her window. Along with the clean, brisk mountain air, she caught a whiff of leather, sunshine and his distinctive cologne, a provocative scent that sent her pulses racing and almost made her forget her earlier resolution to avoid the good-looking officer.

  “Good morning, Miss Bessie, Jennifer.” He tipped his fingertips to the brim of his hat and leaned into the window. He looked so cheerful, so pleasant, so absolutely delicious, the nearness of him made her dizzy. How was she going to tell this paragon of a man she wasn’t going to the dance with him?

  “Morning,” she managed to mumble, her senses overwhelmed.

  “You can park the car behind your booth for unloading,” he said. “Visitors have to park in the lower lot.”

  “Thank you, Dylan,” Miss Bessie said. “I’ll save a jar of apple butter for you.”

  He straightened with a killer smile and motioned the car forward.

  Grateful to get away, Jennifer accidentally gunned the motor, spinning her tires and throwing gravel in her wake. She glanced in the rearview mirror. Dylan stood with his hands on his hips, watching her.

  He probably thinks I’m an idiot who doesn’t know how to drive, she muttered to herself. After all, I did manage to pitch my last car off a mountain.

  “Why should I care what he thinks of me?” she grumbled aloud.

  “Why, indeed,” Miss Bessie agreed with a twinkle in her eyes. “He’s only the best catch in the whole county.”

  “I’m not fishing,” Jennifer insisted, making an effort to smile.

  “Sometimes the best things come along when we’re not looking for them,” Miss Bessie said cryptically.

  “Like being pushed off a cliff?” She immediately regretted her sarcasm. Miss Bessie was a dear, sweet lady who had no idea why Jennifer had to evade Dylan Blackburn. “Sorry. You’re right. Working for you has certainly turned out to be serendipitous.”

  “And I’m lucky to have you, my dear.”

  Jennifer parked the car behind the booth and began unloading boxes. As soon as Miss Bessie had unpacked the first batch of apple butter and stacked it on the counter, a crowd gathered and a line formed.

  For Jennifer, the rest of the morning passed in a blur of selling apple butter and making change. Shortly before noon, Estelle arrived with another carload of the popular condiment. As soon as it was unpacked, the housekeeper drove Miss Bessie home for lunch and a much-needed nap. Estelle offered to return and bring Jennifer’s lunch, but Jennifer declined.

  “I’ll be fine. Plenty of booths are selling food I’d like to sample. Just see that Miss Bessie gets a good rest.”

  Estelle’s car pulled away, and Jennifer noticed with surprise that Miss Bessie’s weather prediction had come true. The gray clouds had dissipated, and the clear sky was a heavenly Carolina blue.

  “Hungry?” a familiar voice sounded at her elbow.

  She turned to find Dylan standing beside her, holding a large basket covered with
a red-checkered napkin.

  “I thought you were on duty.” How could she avoid the attractive officer if he kept popping up every time she turned around?

  “Even a cop has to eat.” He hefted the basket with a grin that made her legs feel as if they were made of Miss Bessie’s apple butter. “I’ve brought Grover’s barbecue sandwiches, Erica Gunther’s apple strudel and Sally Houston’s peach iced tea.”

  “Thanks,” she said weakly.

  She couldn’t send him away, not when he’d been so thoughtful. Besides, the mountain air had made her ravenous, and the odors wafting from his basket made her taste buds tingle.

  He turned a couple of apple crates into a table, upended two bushel baskets for seats and spread out the feast.

  “Busy morning?” he asked.

  She nodded, glad for an impersonal topic. “People have come from South Carolina, Georgia, Tennessee and Virginia just to buy Miss Bessie’s apple butter.”

  “That’s good for the day-care center.” He unwrapped a sandwich and handed it to her. “Except for a small federal grant, Miss Bessie pays all the expenses, and a good portion comes from her apple-butter profits.”

  “Hey, Dylan.” A couple of young women paused at the booth and cast hopeful smiles at the officer. The tweak of jealousy Jennifer felt at their attention startled her. Dylan wasn’t hers, not by a long shot. The best thing that could happen would be for some local girl to lead him down the matrimonial path and out of her life.

  Then why does that thought make you sad? an inner voice taunted her.

  Dylan returned the girls’ greetings casually, then focused his attention on his lunch. “Our traffic counter at Bottleneck Curve shows over four thousand people have come into town just this morning. There’ll be thousands more before the weekend’s over.”

  “With all those visitors, doesn’t the department need you to work tonight?” She hoped he’d say yes. Then she wouldn’t be the one to break their date.

  He shook his head. “Jackson County reserve deputies fill in for the festival. Gives us locals a chance to enjoy the fun.” His dark brown eyes held hers in a heated gaze. “And I’m really looking forward to the dance this evening.”