Wolfe Wedding Page 9

  “And toast bread.”

  “And toast.” Silent laughter laced his voice.

  “And a cinnamon bun.”

  Eric lost it; his laughter brightened the stormdimmed room.

  Thunder growled in the distance, rumbling a warning of the approach of the third storm in the clustered front moving rapidly from west to east.

  A bemused smile tilting his lips, Jake Wolfe hung up the phone. He had been minutes away from leaving the split-level house he and Sarah had made settlement on two weeks ago, and into which he had moved the very next day, when the call came in from his brother Eric.

  Imagine that, Jake mused, staring at the now silent instrument. Eric and Tina requesting they make the upcoming nuptials a double affair.

  And Tina was also pregnant.

  What a hoot! He couldn’t wait to tell Sarah.

  Sarah! Jake shot a glance at his watch, then shot down the three steps into the family room, then through the door connecting the house to the garage; if he didn’t get his rump in gear, he’d be late.

  He was supposed to pick up Sarah to deliver her to Sprucewood College in time to conduct her first class, and he had exactly five minutes to get there.

  Fortunately, Sprucewood was a small town, and even more fortunately, the worst of the morning rush was over. Raindrops began pattering on the car roof as he turned onto Sarah’s street.

  She was waiting for him on the apartment’s front steps, huddled beneath a small umbrella, the toe of one foot beating an impatient tattoo on the cement. She made a dash for the car as he glided to a stop alongside the curb.

  “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming, and that I’d be late to class,” she gently scolded, sliding onto the seat beside him. “What kept you?”

  “Wait till you hear,” he said, breaking off for a moment to allow the laughter tickling his throat to escape. “You’re gonna love it.”

  As usually happened, the rich, full sound of his laughter brought a delighted smile to her eyes and mouth. “I can’t wait,” she said in a teasing voice. “So, suppose you tell me.”

  “I had a phone call from Eric, that’s what kept me,” he began, pausing for another chuckle. “Damned if the clown doesn’t want to get married with us.”

  Sarah blinked. Then she frowned her incomprehension. “What?”

  “Do you remember I mentioned that Mom told me Eric had brought a young woman home to meet her, not just once, but twice?” he asked, then rushed on without giving her time to respond. “And that her name was Tina, and she was very nice, and that she baked lemon meringue pie almost as good as Mom’s own?”

  “Yes, of course I remember,” Sarah answered when he finally paused to breathe. “How could I forget, when you made such a big deal out of it?”

  “Knowing Eric, it was a big deal.” Jake grinned. “Well, seems the ol’ love bug’s taken a big bite outta Eric’s heart, and he and Tina wanted to know if you and I would consider a double wedding ceremony.”

  “Why, that’s a wonderful idea!” Sarah exclaimed. “I hope you agreed.”

  “No.” Jake gave a quick shake of his head.

  “Why not?” Sarah frowned, and sent a quick glance to her watch.

  “I wouldn’t agree without talking to you first,” he said. “You should know that.”

  “Thank you.” Her smile was gentle, but fleeting. “I’ve got to go, or I’ll be late.” She groped for the release and swung the door open.

  “But I didn’t tell you the best part,” he objected. “Eric and—”

  She silenced him with a kiss, and then she slid across the seat and out of the car.

  “It’ll have to wait until lunchtime,” she said, pressing the button to open the umbrella. “And if you don’t get moving, you’ll be late. Bye. Love you.” She took off at a near-run along the campus walk.”

  “Sarah, slow down!” Jake called after her in sharp concern.

  She flashed a grin at him over her shoulder, adjusting her pace to a brisk, striding gait.

  Jake anxiously watched her until she entered the building. Then he set the car in motion to wend his way to the station.

  After reporting in, he got behind the wheel of his black-and-white police cruiser and began his regular routine of patrol.

  Jake loved being a cop, enjoyed waving to and exchanging friendly gibes with kids of incremental ages as he patrolled the area around the elementary, middle and high school. From there, his route took him around the outer boundaries of the college.

  But even after seven months he still could not drive the college perimeters without recalling the events of the previous autumn.

  That was when Jake had first met, and been immediately attracted to, Sarah Cummings.

  Now he could reflect gratefully on the incident, for it had inadvertently brought him and Sarah together. But at the time, the mystery of Sarah had nearly driven him to distraction.

  The incident had involved the crime of car theft, or more precisely car-parts theft, undertaken by three upper-middle-class college students on a whim, just to see if they could get away with it.

  And they might have, Jake conceded, had it not been for the threat posed by Sarah to the three of them, because she had accidentally overheard them discussing their nefarious activities, and his subsequent interest in her.

  Oh, it had stumped him for a while, the glaring fact that she shied away from being seen in public with him, especially when he was in uniform.

  But Jake had eventually worked it all out, then set about catching the young men with the goods—with Sarah’s help, he admitted, smiling at the memory of her wielding a stout branch to knock a tire iron meant for his head out of the hand of the self-appointed leader of the three.

  Savoring the warm memory of his beautiful Sarah rushing to his defense, Jake happily continued his patrol, stopping occasionally, chatting with friends and acquaintances, until it was time to meet Sarah for lunch.

  She was waiting for him in their usual back booth in the off-campus hamburger joint where he had first spotted her seven months ago. She was wearing the same big round tortoiseshell glasses that gave her a wide-eyed, owlish appearance.

  The sight of her softened and hardened Jake at one and the same time.

  “Hi,” he murmured, sliding onto the bench opposite her in the booth, slightly awed and amazed at the ever-deepening love he felt for her.

  “Hi.” Sarah returned his greeting, the glow in her eyes proof that she returned his love in equal measure.

  “Got time to hear about Eric now?”

  “I’m all yours for exactly fifty-five minutes,” she said brightly.

  “You better be—for fifty-five minutes, and forever,” he growled.

  “Eric?” She laughed and arched her eyebrows.

  “Yeah.” He grinned. “He and Tina are pregnant, just like you and me.”

  “I think it’s wonderful.”

  “So do they.” He laughed and shook his head. “And you really don’t mind making it a double wedding?”

  “Not at all. It’ll be fun.” Her eyes danced with amusement. “And your mother will love it.”

  “According to Eric, she already does.” Jake erupted in laughter as another consideration sprang to mind. “And I can’t wait to hear what Cameron will have to say. Two weddings and two babies! He’ll freak.”

  Eight

  Cameron woke to the sound of running water, both inside and outside the house. Frowning, he pried his eyes open to a slit and peered at the face of his watch. The position of the hands brought his eyes wide open.

  Twelve-fourteen! He never slept so late—except on days when he didn’t get to sleep until dawn. And this was, had been, one of those days, or nights, or whatever.

  The sound of water running inside the house ceased abruptly. The running outside continued, but sounded faint and distant. But, as faint and distant as the sound was, it activated a sudden realization in the sleep-fogged depths of his mind.

  The ice was melting, which
could only mean that the capricious spring weather had once again turned seasonally mild. Which, in turn, meant that he and Sandra were no longer confined to the cabin.

  Which also meant it was time, past time, to haul his carcass off the sofa.

  Stifling a groan at a protest of his stiff and cramped muscles, aching from his six-foot-fourinch frame being confined to a six-foot area of space, Cameron levered himself into a sitting position.

  Upright, and almost fully conscious, Cameron inhaled, and stifled another groan, this time in appreciation of the aroma of fresh coffee wafting. from the kitchen, which explained the source of the previous sound of running water inside the house.

  His nose twitched and his mouth watered as the aroma got stronger, seemed nearer.

  “Good morning.” Sandra’s voice was utterly devoid of inflection, good, bad or indifferent.

  But there wasn’t a thing indifferent about the sensations that ripped through him when he glanced up at her. She appeared so feminine, so soft and sleek in her robe and slippers, that he longed to reach out and draw her into his arms, bear her down with him, onto the couch, and make love to her, with her, until they both forgot what had caused the friction between them.

  Prudence cautioned him against fulfilling the longing; prudence, and the closed look of her.

  “Good morning,” he returned, wrapping his hands around the heated mug. “And thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” She didn’t smile; she turned away. “I’m poaching eggs. They’ll be done in a few minutes. if you want some.”

  “Yes, I want some,” he said to her retreating back, careful not to slosh the coffee as he stood up.

  “Then come butter the toast.”

  Her tone—or rather the lack of it—didn’t bode well for a comfortable, congenial meal, Cameron reflected dejectedly, trailing her into the kitchen.

  His reflection proved correct.

  Seated opposite her at the table, Cameron acknowledged that the three or so feet of space separating them was as good as a mile.

  Sandra wasn’t picky, or argumentative, or downright bitchy. What she was, in his view, was much worse. She was remote, withdrawn and—he shuddered at the thought—lost to him.

  She deflected with a look, a frown, a raised eyebrow, every attempt he made, hapless as he knew it to be, to ease the tension between them.

  He was beginning to feel desperate by the time he finished the two perfectly cooked poached eggs she had silently served him.

  The very last thing Cameron needed at that point was the intrusive sound of his beeper.

  So, of course, the way his luck had been running lately, that was exactly what he got.

  Sandra briefly lost her rigidly controlled expression to a cynical smile.

  Cameron had to quash an urgent impulse to hurl the blasted beeper through the window.

  But the very fact that he had felt the impulse was both startling and edifying.

  Cameron identified the root cause of his uncharacteristic feeling as he dutifully responded to the call of duty; in simple terms, Sandra had become more important to him than his life’s work.

  From the unreachable depths of her silent withdrawal, she monitored his every reluctant step to the kitchen wall phone. Then, as he reached for the receiver, she stood and walked out of the room.

  “When you’re finished on the phone, you can clear the table.” Her remote voice floated back to him. “I’m going to dress.”

  Damn.

  Fighting the desire to desert his post and go after her, Cameron punched in the designated number.

  “Wolfe. What’s up?” he snapped, the instant the receiver was lifted at the other end.

  “It appears our quarry slipped through the net,” Steve’s familiar voice replied, in unfamiliar tones of heavy disgust.

  “How?” Cameron literally growled the demand for a plausible answer.

  “He’s a cunning son of a bitch,” Steve said. “He kept moving in circles, then doubling back. Then he changed direction and made a run south. The local law lost him near the New Mexico state line. Seems friend Slim is heading home to Taos.”

  A conflicting wave combined of equal parts an ger and relief washed over Cameron. Anger at the officers who had let Slim slip through their fingers, and relief at the realization that their carelessness had, in effect, freed him to pursue his personal agenda.

  “Okay, Steve,” he replied wearily, made tired by the inner conflict. “Keep me informed.”

  “Will do.”

  For long moments after the connection was severed, Cameron stood staring sightlessly at the instrument, examining possible approaches to take in bridging the widening chasm between him and Sandra.

  How had it all started, anyway?

  He shook his head, a frown knitting his brows, and glared at the innocent white instrument.

  Oh, yeah, he had accused her, first of being childish, then of extreme militancy.

  Dumb, Wolfe. Real dumb, because now he had to come up with a way to undo the damage.

  As he turned from the phone, his glance collided with the kitchen table.

  Telling himself that the first step in damage control had better start right there, he got busy cleaning up the breakfast dishes.

  Some fifteen or so minutes later, Cameron found Sandra in the living room, staring out the window at the overcast but obviously milder day. He cleared his throat to draw her attention.

  “More bad news?” she asked, not even bothering to turn and face him.

  “No, just the opposite.” Suddenly determined to have her look at him, he offered nothing more. His ploy worked; she turned to level a skeptical look at him.

  The sight of her caused a strange and unfamiliar sensation inside him. For a moment, he simply stared at her, the look of her, feeling scared, deep in the pit of his stomach.

  Except for Saturday evening, when they had both spruced up a bit for dinner, Sandra had dressed casually in old jeans and what looked like even older pullovers and shirts. She also had not bothered with makeup, except for a light application of protective moisturizer.

  Now, the coolly composed woman facing him projected the image of a highly efficient professional lawyer—which, in fact, she was.

  Though she was wearing jeans, they were neither old nor worn, but a slim-legged designer creation, with sharp, ironed-in creases. And, while she was wearing a shirt, it was silk, expensive, and tucked neatly into the belted jeans, the bottoms of which were tucked just as neatly into equally expensive black leather boots.

  But that wasn’t even the worst of it. Sandra’s glowing, artifice-free appearance was gone, hidden behind a mask of expertly applied makeup.

  She was breathtakingly beautiful, and appeared as removed from him, and the intimacy they had shared, as the sun appeared removed from the earth by the clouds.

  “Let’s not play silent games, Cameron.” Her voice was as remote as her exquisite appearance. “If you have anything to say, say it.”

  Cameron tried a cajoling smile. “I thought, believed, we were both having a good time up until yesterday—playing games, I mean.”

  “That was then, and this is now.” Not only did she not return his smile, her expression grew more severe. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d get on with it.”

  So much for cajolery, Cameron told himself derisively.

  “Right,” he said, shrugging in defeat. “From all indications, you are no longer in danger by remaining here in the cabin.”

  “The escaped criminal has been apprehended?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “It appears that Slim decided it was more to his advantage to make a run for it, instead of tracking me down to get even.”

  “But the manhunt is still on for him?”

  “Of course.”

  “And you’re free to go.” Now she did smile, but it had hopeless finality in it, and he despaired when he saw it. “Go ahead.” She waved a hand. “Go join the hunt.”

  “Sandra—” he began, but that
was as far as she allowed him to go.

  “Get going,” she insisted. “It’s not only your job, it’s what you want to do. So, go do it.”

  “They don’t need me.” He raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Dammit! You know the only reason I felt I should remain here alone was that there was reason to believe he was tracking me. I don’t want to leave here. I don’t want to leave you.”

  “I think, in effect, you already have.” She shrugged. “I believe we parted company yesterday.”

  “Sandra.” he began again, feeling like an idiot, standing in the middle of the room. “Can’t we at least sit down. talk about it?” She hesitated, a tiny frown marring the perfection of her face, giving him an assessing once-over. “I don’t see how talking will—”

  He interrupted her with a hoarse plea. “Please.”

  She sighed, then shrugged, then nodded—much to his fervent relief.

  Springing into action, Cameron whipped around to yank the bunched-up comforter from the sofa.

  Sandra chose to sit down in the chair farthest from his makeshift bed.

  Cameron ground his teeth, but accepted her choice without a murmur. or a whimper.

  “All right, we’re seated,” she said, pointing out the obvious. “Talk.”

  Talk.

  Right.

  Damn.

  Cameron felt as tongue-tied as a teenager on a first date, and about as graceless. Nevertheless, desperate, he launched into speech.

  “I don’t suppose you’d allow me a few minutes to shave, shower and get into clean clothes?” he said, keenly aware of his grungy appearance in comparison to her perfection. “Or at least brush my teeth?”

  She moved to get up.

  “Okay, forget it,” he said, motioning to her to remain where she was. “I’ll do it later.”

  She sat back and crossed her legs, reminding him of the day, a mere two weeks ago, but seemingly a lifetime, when she had come to his office to inform him that she was taking a leave of absence from her work.

  Only then, Sandra had been friendly.

  Now, while she was not openly hostile, she wasn’t exactly friendly, either.