A Texas Christmas: True Blue / A Lawman's Christmas: A McKettricks of Texas Novel

He studied her through narrowed eyes. “Wyoming. But you’re from Atlanta?”

“Not originally.”

He waited.

She cleared her throat. “My people are from Montana, originally.”

“You’re a long way from home.”

“Yes, well, my parents moved to Maryland when I was small.”

“I guess you miss the ocean.”

She nodded. “A lot. It wasn’t a long drive from our house. But I go where they send me. I’ve worked a lot of places—” She stopped dead, and could have bitten her tongue.

His eyebrows were arching already. “The Atlanta P.D. moves you around the country?”

“I mean, I’ve worked a lot of places around Atlanta.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I didn’t always work for Atlanta P.D.,” she muttered, trying to backpedal. “I worked for a risk organization for a year or two, in the insurance business, and they sent me around the country on jobs.”

“A risk organization? What sort of work did you do?”

“I was a sort of security consultant.” It wasn’t quite the truth, but it wasn’t quite a lie, either. She glanced at her watch as a diversion. “Oh, goodness, I’ll miss my television show!”

“God forbid,” he said dryly. “Okay. We’re done here.”

“It didn’t take as long as I expected,” she commented on the way out. “Usually stakeouts last for hours if not days.”

“Tell me about it,” he said drolly. “Is your car close by?”

She turned at the foot of the steps. “It’s across the street, thanks,” she said, because she knew he was offering to walk her to it. He was a gentleman, in the nicest sort of way.

He nodded. “I’ll see you Monday, then.”

She smiled. “Yes, sir.”

She turned and walked away. Her heart was pounding and she was cursing herself mentally. She’d almost blown the whole thing sky-high!

Barbara was her usual, smiling self, but her eyes were sad when Rick showed up at the door the night before he was due home.

“You said tomorrow?” she murmured.

He stepped into the house and hugged her, hard, rocking her in his arms. He heard a muffled sob. “I felt bad,” he said at her ear. “I upset you.”

“Hey,” she murmured, drawing away to dab at her eyes, “that’s what kids are supposed to do.”

He smiled. “No, it’s not.”

“Want some coffee?”

“Yes!” he said at once, pulling off his suit coat and loosening his tie as he followed her to the kitchen. He swung the coat around one of the high-back kitchen chairs at the table and sat down. “I’ve been on stakeout, with convenience-store coffee.” He made a face. “I think they keep it in the pot all day to make sure it doesn’t pass for hot brown water.”

She laughed as she made a fresh pot. “There’s that profit margin to consider,” she mused.

“I guess.”

“Did you catch a crook?”

“We did, actually. That new face recognition software we use is awesome. Pegged the guy almost immediately.”

“New technology.” She shook her head. “Cameras everywhere, face recognition software, pat downs at the airport …” She turned and looked at him. “Isn’t all that supposed to make us feel safer?”

“No, it’s supposed to actually make you safer,” he corrected. “It makes it harder for the bad guys to hide from the law.”

“I guess so.” She got out cups and saucers. “I made apple pie.”

“You don’t even need to ask. I had a hamburger earlier.”

“You live on fast food.”

“I work at a fast job,” he replied. “No time for proper meals, now that I’m in a position of responsibility.”

She turned and smiled at him. “I was so proud of you for that promotion. You studied hard.”

“I might have studied less if I’d realized how much paperwork would be involved,” he quipped. “I have eight detectives under me, and I’m responsible for all the major decisions that involve them. Plus I have to coordinate them with other services, work around court dates and emergency assignments … Life was a lot easier when I was just a plain detective.”

“You love your job, though. That’s a bonus.”

“It is,” he had to agree.

She cut the pie, topped it with a scoop of homemade ice cream and served it to him with his black coffee. She sat down across from him and watched him eat it with real enjoyment, her hands propping up her chin, elbows on the tablecloth.

“You love to cook,” he responded.

She nodded. “It isn’t an independent woman thing, I know,” she said. “I should be designing buildings or running a corporation and yelling at subordinates.”

“You should be doing what you want to do,” he replied.

“In that case, I am.”

“Good cooks are thin on the ground.” He finished the pie and leaned back with his coffee cup in his hand, smiling. “Wonderful food!”

“Thanks.”

He sipped coffee. “And the best coffee anywhere.”