Mint Juleps and Justice (19 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

B
rooke shielded her eyes from the harsh hospital lighting. Her forehead had received three stitches. It took ten to close the gash on her leg where she’d fallen on that branch. They’d dug so deep to extract pieces of the stick, she wondered if they’d mistaken the bone for foreign matter.

Her ankle wasn’t broken, just sprained. The snap she’d heard must have been the leather strap on her shoe and that had left a nice slice across the front of her ankle. She thought she might prefer a broken ankle to ruining those brand-new shoes. At least insurance would cover the broken ankle. Those shoes had been a total splurge—a waste in a small town like Adams Grove where no one could appreciate them but her. It wasn’t likely she could replace those.

Brooke pulled the thin hospital blanket up to her chin. It felt like she’d already been here for hours, and all she really wanted was to get home into her own bed. She closed her eyes, but the room was so bright she couldn’t sleep.

She opened her eyes and repositioned herself on the pillow, closing her eyes until she heard someone clear his throat at the doorway.

When she looked up, the blue-eyed man in the black ball cap filled the doorway like he could have stepped right off a movie screen.

“Come to play doctor?” she asked.

Mike broke into a broad smile. “Hardly.”

“Darn. I was hoping you could sign me out of this place. I just want to go home.” She pulled herself up and grappled with the gown. “Thank you
so
much for being there tonight.”

Mike stepped into the room. “Just doin’ my job, ma’am.” He was overplaying the Southern gentleman, but it was cute.

“Yeah. I know, the whole big bucks thing, but I’m pretty sure what you did tonight far exceeded what I was paying for.”

“You scared me.”

“I was pretty scared too.”

Mike looked away for a second. “Are they letting you out of here tonight?”

“I’m sure they will,” Brooke said. “I got a few stitches, and the ankle is just a sprain. I did ruin a brand-new pair of shoes. That’s kind of heartbreaking, but other than that, I’m fine. Thanks to you. How did you know? I thought you were still out of town.”

“I got back last night. I wanted to see you so badly.” Mike shifted from one leg to the other. “When I saw your car at the gas station, I was excited to bump into you because giving you space was the hardest thing I’ve had to do in a long time. Then I saw Keith. I had a bad feeling. That’s why I followed you. You know the rest. You won’t need to worry about Keith again.”

“He’s not…”

“Oh, no. Very much alive, but very much in custody and up the creek without a paddle.” His brow arched. “So, would you mind if I stopped by your house, and checked on you?”

“Not at all.” She felt the sides of her mouth tug at the thought.
Be cool.

“Good. I’ll do that then.” He leaned back, looking toward the hall. “Brooke. I really am sorry that my fears have messed things up. I hate that I did that, but I can’t change it. God, how I wish I could take back that part of that night.”

“I know.”

“Let me give you a ride home.”

“Thank you, but I have no idea when they’ll be back. I don’t want you to get stuck waiting around if they decide to not let me go.”

“I don’t mind. I can wait.”

Was he talking about tonight at the hospital, or something more?
“No. Really. I’m fine.”

“Well, then I guess I’ll be on my way. Call me if you need me.”

“I will,” she said as he walked away.
Who said good guys don’t wear black hats?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

B
rooke sipped a cup of coffee in her office reviewing her proposal for changes to the annual Farm Day in Adams Grove. She was excited to raise the bar on the well-attended event with some of the ideas she’d used in Virginia Beach. Hopefully, her boss would like the recommendations and approve the budget and plan so she could get to work on it. Setting up a function like that took time.

Victoria poked her head in the office. “You have a visitor.”

“I’m not expecting anyone,” Brooke said.

Her assistant slipped into the office and said quietly, “It’s Mike—”

Before Victoria could finish her sentence, Mike strolled in.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I wanted to see where you work. I couldn’t picture you behind a desk.”

“Uh-huh, maybe you’re really here checking on me.” Brooke rolled her eyes and slumped forward on her desk.

“I told you I was going to check on you.”

“I know. Sorry, it’s just that everyone is checking on me. People I haven’t spoken to in years are calling. I’m not so
fragile that I’m going to have some kind of meltdown or something.” She lifted her head and shook back her bangs.

“Want to grab something to eat?”

“I can’t. I have too much to get through here.” Brooke patted the top of three stacks of folders neatly piled across her desk. “Can I get a rain check?”

“Of course.”

Brooke’s phone rang. “Sorry. I’ve got to get that.”

“I’ll let you get back to work.” He turned and headed out the door.

She watched as he left, then picked up the phone, but to her delight it wasn’t the auctioneer she was expecting, it was Jenny.

Jenny’s voice was frantic. “I can’t believe you didn’t call me. Are you okay?”

“How did you hear about it?”
News sure traveled fast around here, but across state lines was a new one.

“I just talked to Rick. I can’t believe I heard about something that was a matter of life and death from him and not you!”

“I’m sorry. I’m fine. I promise.”

“I can’t believe it. No. I take that back. I totally believe it. How did you get away?”

“Mike showed up.”

“I told you he was a guy worth keeping around. Am I right? He’s not just another pretty face, that one.”

“I’m paying him for that, remember?” Sometimes Jenny’s energy was downright exhausting. “Guys. That’s all you ever think about?”

“Guilty as charged. It wouldn’t kill you to think about them once in a while. And while you’re at it, think about forgiving this one okay? No crime there, honey.” Jenny laughed so loud Brooke had to pull the phone away from her ear. “Get it?
No crime.
An investigator?”

“Yes, I got it. Not funny, and yes, maybe you were right.” She pushed the paperwork to the side, and laid her head on the desk.

“Well, don’t come crying to me when you’re lonely. I doubt a guy like Mike will be single for long. You better quit messing around. I have a class to teach, but I needed to hear your voice for myself. Don’t let anything happen to you. I’ll be home on party day. Love you.”

“Take care.” She hung up the phone, wishing she could have just one day to be like Jenny where she didn’t worry over anything. Jenny was Brooke’s complete opposite: no plans, no worries, and she let her mood or current interests lead the way. That’s how she went from banker to yoga instructor. She just up and decided one day that banking wasn’t for her and did something about it. Her outwardly chaotic appeal seemed to somehow work for her, though. She’d landed high-paying gigs at swanky resorts a few times a year. She considered them vacations, even if they were very good-paying jobs.

Brooke picked up her pen and drummed it on the desk to bring herself back to the work in front of her. The room fell out of focus for a moment. She took a deep breath. She’d been on raw nerves since the incident. The spinning room was the first indication another anxiety attack was coming on.

How would she feel safe? Usually her instincts were good, but this thing with Keith and then the feeling someone was watching her every move was making her doubt her good judgment.

T
he workday felt long and Brooke’s ankle throbbed so badly that she’d had one of the guys at work give her a ride home. She stripped out of her work attire and stepped into the tub, daydreaming about the log cabin she’d always thought she’d live in.
How could Keith grasp at that straw?
A little too damn late, but he must have been listening somewhere along the way. She had to give him that. Home never would have been with Keith. The regrets around ending the marriage and the failure of that relationship were gone. She was just thankful things hadn’t turned out worse.

She closed her eyes and let her mind wander to a more relaxing place, the one with the faceless stranger in her recurring log cabin fantasy. The shape of the house came into focus. Big logs and heavy timber made up a strong structure. Stonework, textured and glistening in hues of rust and gray climbed the side. She could always see herself so clearly. She was smiling and relaxed, but her partner was always a blur. The faceless stranger felt warm, safe, and definitely tall, and someday she hoped he’d show himself.

This time the man in her dream no longer felt like a stranger. Brown hair. Steel-blue eyes. Wide shoulders. For the first time, she recognized him. He looked just like Mike.

The sexy investigator was still having a very physical effect on her. That he invaded her private fantasy was personally disturbing, but it felt too good to push him out. She let her hands slip along her body beneath the warm, silky, bubbled water. Her thoughts lingered on the muscular arms around her that night he rescued her. Even more so, their night together. Her heart beat a little faster. Her body reacted to the memory of his kiss. His lips were strong, but soft on hers. That kiss. And in his arms. Warm. Gentle. Safe.

She opened her eyes with a start. “No. Stop. This is not going to happen.”

The water splashed as she flailed, trying to sit upright to escape the dream and get back to reality. “That was nuts,” she said to Stitches, who was sitting next to the tub. Brooke’s wet hand dripped over the side. The tiny Westie lapped droplets of water from her palm. “Stitches, what was I thinking?”

Stitches barked in response.

“I know. I’m crazy, aren’t I?”

Stitches barked again and ran to the door. Stitches wasn’t having a conversation with her, someone was knocking at the front door.

“Why won’t everyone just leave me alone?” She stepped out of the tub, grabbed for the robe on the back of the door, and did a one-footed
Flashdance
quickstep on the fluffy bath rug to shake the water from her legs.

“Coming,” she yelled. “Hang on.” She half ran, half hopped, pulling on the robe on her way to the door.

She peeked out the peephole.

Mike?

Her stomach did a flip. “I’m not dressed,” she said through the closed door. What’s he doing here?

“I won’t stay long.”

“I just got out of the tub. I look a mess. Can you wait?”

“I only have a minute. Can you open the door?”

Brooke groaned. What choice did she have? He did save her life. She ran her hand through her hair trying to give it a quick fluff, and tightened the robe around her otherwise naked and damp body. She pulled the door open with a forced smile. “Hi.”

He looked like he was searching for what to say. “So how’s the ankle?”

“Sore, like most everything else on me.” She hung on to the door, half behind it.

He shifted in the awkward silence of the moment. “Brought you something. Can I come in?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sorry. Sure.” Probably the bill. Maybe that’s why he’d stopped by this morning, and she’d shooed him out before he could give it to her. She stepped from behind the door and opened it. “Yes, come in.”

He raised a kraft-paper bag as he stepped inside. Not just a grocery bag, though. Leather-braided handles on grocery bag paper with cattle brands along the edge.

“A present for me?”

He moved toward the couch in the living room. “Well, not really a present.”

“Oh.” Brooke tugged on the robe again. “I like the bag.”

Very aware of her own nakedness under the robe, she leaned on the arm of the couch rather than chancing sitting and giving him a peep show.

He lifted something from the bag with a smile.

“Soup?” she questioned in surprise. “You brought me a can of soup?”

He looked at the red-and-white-labeled can and then back at her. “Well, not just any soup. Chicken noodle.”

She faked a smile of appreciation. Was this really what he’d come by for? This was definitely a first.

“It has healing properties. Oh, and…” he dug back in the bag, pulled out a cobalt-blue bottle, and held it up by the neck in the same hand that palmed the soup can. “Chicken soup and water. My mom always said this combo will cure anything. You were so busy at work I thought I’d make sure you ate dinner.”

His mom? How sweet. She raised a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but the gift was kind of funny. In spite of herself, tears threatened to spill over at the sweet, goofy gesture. “Well, then I’m going to be in good shape in no time, aren’t I?” She accepted the soup and water and hobbled to the kitchen with them. This was the first time a guy had brought her soup. Flowers, sure, but soup, never. She wondered if she should eat it from a vase. “Can I get you anything?”

“No. I promised I wouldn’t stay long.”

This couldn’t have waited? “Do you always keep your promises?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She gave him a quick nod. “Me too.”

“You promise to let me know if there’s anything I can do for you?” He arched a brow, challenging her.

“Yes, but I’m okay.” His look told her she wasn’t being too convincing. “Okay, well, maybe I’m feeling a little cautious, you know…not safe. Maybe safe isn’t the word. I kind of feel like Keith’s still watching me, even though I know he can’t be.”

“He’s definitely not watching you unless it’s in his dreams. I checked in with Calvin. Keith isn’t going anywhere for a while, and when he does we’ll know.”

“Thanks. That does make me feel better.” She limped back into the living room and sat down on the couch.

“Good. What else can I do to cheer you up and put that smile back on your face?”

“I’m fine.” She forced an extra-wide grin. “See?”

“Not convinced.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t let him win. No man is worth that.”

“We aren’t all alike.” He nudged the big paper sack with the toe of his shoe. “There’s something else in there.”

“More?” After the soup and water, she had no idea what to expect. She opened the bag, and then her mouth dropped open. “My shoes? How?”

“I had the strap fixed.”

“From the accident? They’re fixed?” She pulled them to her chest and this time the smile was genuine. “How did you get them?”

Mike nodded. “I’m good.”

“No way.” She examined the straps; sure enough, they were like brand-new. “I saw one of the cops throw them in a trash bag.”

“That wasn’t a trash bag. They put all the stuff from the crime scene in paper bags.”

“Crime scene. That makes it sound worse.”

“It was pretty bad.”

She held his gaze and took in a breath. “I know.”

“I don’t have a one-rescue-per-night limit. That’s why I get paid—”

“—the big bucks,” they both said at the same time.

Brooke laughed. “I can’t believe this. How’d you get them fixed so fast? No one does anything fast in this town.”

“One of my Marine buddies comes from a long line of boot makers in Texas. He married a Virginia girl about a year ago and they opened a shop up in Richmond. It took all of about ten minutes to put them back in shape. He was done before I finished my coffee.”

“A boot maker messing around with New York designer shoes? I bet that’s a first.”

“Careful now. He’s not just any boot maker. This guy’s family has made custom boots for the last three presidents. He could probably teach that high-dollar girly shoemaker a thing or two.”

She held the snarky comments. It wasn’t the time to tease. “I don’t know how to thank you. You are too nice.”

“Well, I didn’t want you to think I didn’t understand the relationship between a girl and her shoes.”

“Your wife? She loved shoes?”

“Yeah. She probably had a hundred pairs of them I had to get rid of. Funny thing is, I never much paid attention to them, but they obviously meant something to her.”

She could almost picture the memory in his mind.

“I bet those memories are precious,” she said softly.

“It’s been a long time since I allowed myself to remember them. But it’s okay…now.”

She lifted the shoes. “Thanks for sharing that with me. That means a lot to me that you would.”

“Things are easy with you.” He shrugged modestly. “Anyway, I just hoped this might make you feel better. Something little I could do. Not business.”

“Better? Are you kidding? I’m cured!” She jumped from the couch with shoes in hand and arms splayed for a hug.