Page 24 of Fatal Deception
He dropped her hands. Sidestepped her block of the porch. “Well,I’mgoing to use my sense and go get some sleep. Don’t forget to lock up.” Then he marched his frozen ass inside, determined that he wasn’t doing any chores tomorrow.
He was finding a shooter.
Chapter Eight
Audra considered it lucky that she slept. Exhaustion won out over anger.
And all the other things storming around inside of her.
The problem was, when she woke up to her trilling alarm the next morning, they were all still right there. Anger less than before, but the other things…
She shut off the alarm, then lied back in bed and stared at the ceiling and scowled. It grated that she found him attractive, that she had aphysicalreaction to him. She didn’t want that.
But it had shimmered through her, twining with frustration, last night on the porch. She didn’t know what had come over her. She’d just…needed to act out. Give him a little shove. Not tohurt. She wasn’t a violent person. She just wanted to prove a point.
Instead, he’d stopped her, put his big, rough hands around hers, and then held them there. In the frigid night with starlight dancing around them.
And her body had felt too many things at once—a warmth that shouldn’t have existed on a cold winter night, a shudder deep inside that seemed to awaken old desires she’d pushed way, way,waydown under responsibility, and the thrill of something she didn’t want at all.
Unpredictability. Surprise. Uneven footing.
No matter what her body thought of that, her brain knew better.Thatwas a recipe for heartbreak and disaster.
She’d love to live in denial, but that didn’t get her anywhere. She was attracted to Copeland, and that was annoying with him underfoot. Because she wasn’t about to do anything about that attraction. She didn’t want anything to do with the man, even if he was hot.
Her perfect guy was kind and quiet. The stoic rancher type with a squishy heart of gold. They’d take care of the ranch together. He’d know how to cook. She’d bake. They’d have kids and a dog and a nice, quiet, happy,predictablelife. She hadn’t met him yet, and maybe she never would, but she definitely didn’t want a grumpy, arrogantdetectivefrom the city who’d probably never been predictable a day in his life.
So why did she find herself reliving that moment like it was some kind of romantic overture from one of the romance books or movies she loved?
He’d stopped her from pushing him. The end.
She rolled onto her stomach, groaned into her pillow. It was five seconds of indulgence, and now she had to get up and get moving. She still needed to do something about her truck…at some point.
She didn’t know where the money was going to come from. She might actually have to accept some help from Rosalie, which left her feeling grumpier than being attracted to Copeland did.
She got dressed and trudged downstairs, but she stopped short halfway across the living room. She smelled…coffee. Even when Rosalie and Franny were here, she was always the one to get up and make coffee. Except on the rare occasions Franny pulled an all-nighter to meet a deadline, but even then, the coffee was usually old and bitter.
She gave a fleeting thought to retreating, but that was cowardly, and more than that, she couldn’t skip breakfast. Notwhen she had so many chores to doandfigure out how she was going to get up to the hospital once Vi had the baby.
Maybe her truck was drivable. Sure, it didn’t have windows, but she could bundle up. Maybe.
That was a problem for later. First, she needed coffee and breakfast. So she powered forward, into the kitchen, where Copeland already was.
He stood at her sink, his back to her. He was looking out the window. Beyond his silhouette, the sun was starting to make the mountains glow gold, even as the immediate world around the house remained dark.
For a moment, she had the strangest sensation of déjà vu. Like she’d seen this exact moment before, maybe in a dream.
But that was ridiculous. It was just weird because a man hadn’t stood in this kitchen first thing in the morning in well over four years. Thomas and Duncan came over for dinner sometimes, but they never spent the night. So it was just weird because the last guy who did this was her dad, and she kind of hated him, even if it was wrong to hate dead parents.
She didn’t think she made any noise, but Copeland looked over his shoulder at her. He hadn’t shaved, and the dark stubble gave him an even more dangerous look. Not that hewasdangerous, in the sense that someone shooting out her windows was dangerous.
But she felt…a strange kind of threatened when he looked at her like that. A fluttery kind of threatened, torn between running away and…
Well, she didn’t want to consider theand.
He gestured at the coffeepot. “I can assure you, it’s cop coffee, so it’s not any good, but it’ll get the job done.”
She nodded, still feeling weird and shaken. So wordlessly she went over to the cabinet and got out her favorite mug andpoured herself a very…thick semblance of coffee. She choked down the first sip on a grimace.