Her Secret Wish (5 page)

The little piece of paper with her number on it sat on the coffee table in front of him, but he didn’t need it. He’d long ago memorized what was on it. The note was just comforting to have.

As he punched the numbers in to his cell phone, he had to pause to clench his quaking hand. Forcing his fingers to move, he finished the sequence then waited, breath held, for her to answer.

But she didn’t answer.

Disappointment swamped him and he had to shake it off. Even as he debated calling her again, the cell phone rang in his hand. Heaving a breath, he swiped a finger across the screen. “Hello?”

“Hello. Is this Dean?” The voice was tentative.

“Yes! Rachel?”

“Yes,” she chuckled. “Sorry I missed you the first time. I couldn’t move as fast as I needed to grab the phone.”

“No big deal. Really. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I’m up. Achy. Trying not to take the pain pills they gave me.”

Dean could totally sympathize. “I was in a motorcycle wreck a few years ago. Destroyed my right ankle and messed up my knee. I can understand not wanting to take the pills. They knocked my butt out and made me dizzy. And nauseous.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what they do. And I’m bored out of my mind. When I get like this I usually go work out but the doctor said I have to lay off that for a week.”

That sounded like an opening if he’d ever heard one. “Can I bring over some takeout? We can play cards or I can stop and rent a couple movies.”

“Oh,” she sighed, and he could tell she was thinking. “Yeah, that might be okay.”

Though it wasn’t the rousing ‘hell, yeah’ he’d hoped for he’d take it. “Okay, I’ll be over in about an hour.”

“Sounds perfect. Later!”

‡

A
n hour. Okay.
What did she need to do in an hour?

Settle her nerves, first off.

With that thought in mind, Rachel went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. Grunt, her feline roommate, looked at her with mild reproach as she moved around. Though his food bowl was mostly full, enough had been eaten that he feared starvation, apparently. Crossing to the cupboard with his dry cat food, Rachel very carefully leaned over, back straight, and drew it out of the depths. Pain shafted through her spine as she raised herself up. She decided then to leave the canister on the counter.

Rachel looked around the house. Though she wasn’t a messy person there were a few things she needed to pick up. She went to the bedroom closet and reached up to the top shelf, searching. There it was. She pulled down the long aluminum stick of the gripper tool. It was only about three feet long, but it kept her from having to bend over.

Moving slowly through the house she picked up the items she needed to and lit a candle. Though she couldn’t decorate worth a damn she loved to have candles around. Maybe the yummy smell would make up for sitting on the plain brown furniture.

Glancing at the clock, she winced. Dean would be here within forty minutes. The thought of having a man she didn’t work with in her space was very strange, but a tingle of feminine excitement ran through her. It had been months since she’d been out on a date, and she certainly hadn’t been excited before, during, or after that disaster.

Rachel showered and cleaned up, then took the time to add just a bit of makeup to her eyes. She’d never been one to use a lot. As she looked at the bruising and small line of black stitches at her temple, she wished she’d have listened to one of her girlfriends when they’d tried to teach her. There was a bottle of foundation in the basket beneath the counter, but when she opened the lid she realized it had dried out. Grrr…

Moving to the bedroom, she stood in front of her closet doors. If he was just bringing over some pizza or something, she didn’t need to go all out but maybe more than jeans and a T-shirt. Dragging the hangers along the rod, she debated what to wear. Her hand hovered over a nice apricot colored button down shirt, a little more feminine than what she normally wore. Mentally shrugging, she slipped it on. It would have to do.

Running some pink gloss over her lips and scraping her hair back into a ponytail she moved back out to the living room to stare at the clock. Anxiety hit her then. Was this a date? Kind of?

Dean arrived right on the dot of seven, knocking firmly on the door. Rachel’s heartbeat took off and she blinked at the sudden tension in her body. Deliberately taking a deep breath she moved to pull open the door.

Dean grinned as soon as he saw her, his vivid aquamarine eyes crinkling with emotion. “Hello, Rachel.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Lifting his pale brows, he ran his gaze over her face. The man got brownie points for not looking at her chest. But then she kind of wished he would because his direct, drawn-out examination was making her a little uncomfortable.

“You look amazing. I hope this didn’t stress you out too soon after the accident.”

Rachel made a face and gave a slow shake of her head. “No, I’m fine. Believe me, I’ve dealt with more stress than this. Come on in.”

She stepped back to let him cross the doorjamb and into the room. There was a brown paper take-out bag in his huge right hand. “I hope you like Mexican. I’ve got this great place down the block from my apartment that I go to way too often.”

Rachel was surprised. “No, Mexican sounds delicious, actually. Not what I expected.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “I didn’t want to take the easy route, you know, like a pizza.”

Grinning, he crossed to her dining room table and started unpacking Styrofoam containers. He set a second brown paper bag aside then set a foam clamshell at one place setting, and a second at the other.

Rachel watched the heavy muscles of his shoulders flex and extend as he unpacked the food. She was around men every day, had been her entire life. She had always been a better guy friend than girl friend because she didn’t get into all the girl stuff. If asked whether she’d like to shoot or shop, shooting would get her vote, hands down, every time.

But as she looked at the way Dean moved, lean back elongating as he reached across the table, she decided she didn’t want to be his buddy. At least, not
just
his buddy.
God, he had a great ass.
She jerked her attention back to what he was doing, barely escaping notice as he turned to her.

“What can I get you to drink? Beer, pop, water?” she asked, hoping it covered the blush on her face.

“I’ll take a water, please.”

Rachel drew two tall glasses of ice water from the filtered jug she kept in the fridge and walked them to the table. Dean looked up at her as she entered the room and she almost stumbled. The look in his eyes… it took true strength of will to set the glasses down without spilling the water.

He actually moved to hold the chair for her. Face burning, Rachel let him scoot the chair under her butt. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Dean sat across from her and the chair actually creaked. His eyes flicked to hers and he widened his eyes theatrically. “I’ve only destroyed one chair in my life, I swear!”

Rachel laughed and looked away, entirely too charmed by him. “It’s stronger than it looks. Though you are a big dude.” She took the excuse to look him up and down.

He wore a soft blue button-down shirt, short sleeves revealing his muscular biceps and forearms. Dark blond hair covered his tan skin and her gaze could trace the length of his veins down his arms. She wanted to trace those same veins with her fingertips.

Dean leaned his head down to catch her gaze and Rachel felt her skin heat again. Shit, he’d caught her gawking at him. “Yes?”

He tipped his chin toward the white Styrofoam container in front of her. “I ordered chicken fajitas and enchiladas. Which would you prefer?”

They both sounded good. Hunger was suddenly overriding the nausea. “Can we split them?”

Dean’s perfect smile spread and he nodded, putting her request into action.

“Where are you from, Rachel?”

“I’m from a little bit of everywhere. My dad’s in the Marines, so we bounced around a lot. I’d been to more countries by the age of twelve than most people see in their lives. My dad is getting ready to retire in a couple years. He’ll probably stay in Pensacola, where he’s stationed now.”

“With your mom?”

Rachel stared at him for a moment before shaking her head. “No, my mom committed suicide when I was about ten.”

Dean cringed and reached forward to rest his hand on hers. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

The touch of his cool fingers on hers made her appreciate him all the more. “She got tired of the life, I think, though she never told Dad that. We were getting ready for another move out of the country when she swallowed a bunch of sleeping pills.”

Though she didn’t say it out loud, she had been the one to find her mother, of course; lying on her bed as if nothing were wrong. It was not unusual for mother to take a lot of naps, which when she got older Rachel realized was a symptom of her ongoing depression. But Mom had always been good about getting up to make dinner for her daughter and husband. That night she did not.

“Did you have brothers or sisters?”

“No, just Dad. But after Mom…left, he was a very different man. She had been the central support of our family and when she left things fell apart. My dad used to be a steady fixture in my life, but he couldn’t stand to be at the house without Mom in it. He got the acceptance he needed from the Marines, and I mean that literally. He was on base as much as possible.”

“I’m surprised you weren’t a little resentful of them, then.”

Rachel nodded. What an interesting insight. “No, not resentful. I graduated high school and joined the Marines myself as soon as I could. For a while I found that acceptance, too. Dad was proud of me for a while. There’s nothing like knowing the guy next to you will take a bullet for you.”

Dean lifted his brows at her as he shoved a forkful of food into his mouth.

“Oh,” she laughed. “I guess you do know. How about you? Do you come from a long line of cops?”

Dean tilted his head. “You know, I didn’t used to think so. My dad is a carpenter and all of my uncles did construction work, but a few years ago I learned from my mom that her family had been heavy into law enforcement. That must be where I got the urge.”

“And does your family live around here?”

He nodded. “My dad’s been having health issues so I moved back here to be close to them.”

“Where were you before?”

“California. I had gone to college out there, loved it, and never left. One of my workout buddies was an Anaheim cop and everything he did sounded fascinating. So, though I have a degree in computer programming, I went to the police academy and worked there for years. I loved it. I just moved here to Denver about six months ago.”

Rachel quirked an eyebrow. “Sounds like you had fun out there.”

“I did,” he told her with a grin. “But Dad’s getting older and I needed to be close for Mom.”

The food was probably as good as he’d promised, but she didn’t taste any of it. She was too busy watching him. Light brown stubble darkened his jaw but his skin was nicely tanned, obviously from being in California. It was also obvious he worked outside a lot. He had the typical cop sunglass tan, paler around his stunning eyes.

Dean moved seamlessly from one topic to the next and managed to keep her entertained throughout the meal. He had an unending supply of ‘crazy-ass suspect’ stories and she giggled more than she had in a long time. It was nice not dwelling on losing her parents. She hadn’t talked to her dad in a long time because he felt she’d taken the easy way out with the medical release. Whatever.

Dean told her a lot about himself—likes and hobbies—but she sensed there was so much more to him. Rachel wanted to ask him a million questions but didn’t feel it was exactly appropriate at that time.

She sat back in her chair, surprised at all they had in common. They each had a love of speed and riding the edge of danger. As one of the few women to fly the heavy Super Stallion helicopter in combat she wouldn’t have given that experience up for anything. It had been the most trying but rewarding thing she had ever done. Dean talked about law enforcement the same way.

The two of them also had a love of physical fitness and an eagerness to experience all life had to offer. When he mentioned the motorcycle he’d crashed she took him out to the garage to show him her bike. The black Honda 250R was a few years old but definitely suited her need for speed…occasionally.

“I had a Ninja 650R. That thing was a beast,” he sighed, face going soft with remembered enjoyment. “But it got away from me on a rainy night. I’ve been thinking about getting something new to replace it.”

There had to be several years’ difference between them, but everything he talked about she enjoyed. “How old are you, Dean?”

Again, that ornery grin. “I’m twenty-nine.”

A few years younger than her, not much, but miles apart in experiences.

Rachel wanted to act more reserved, but there was no way. She was enjoying talking with him too much.

“Tell me about the military.”