To Love a Cop

Right now, Ethan doubted even Jake knew what he wanted to do with that gun once he had it. Why would he admire that, she’d asked, given what happened because his father carried a gun?

Who said admiration was what Jake felt? He’d been abandoned by his father in the most devastating way possible, shunned by his father’s family. Self-loathing struck Ethan as a likelier possibility. And teenage suicide was all too common.

Ethan finished his hamburger and started in on the French fries, hardly tasting them. He was frustrated by his inability to get through to Laura, yet painfully aware he had no moral high ground here.

When he’d expressed anger at Matt’s buddies on the job, she’d been polite enough not to say, So where were you? Ethan had almost opened his mouth to defend himself anyway, to say, We weren’t really friends. Damn it, he had friends. But the truth is, at the funeral Ethan had looked at Matt’s widow and small, bewildered son, and resolved to check up on them, be sure they were all right. Half the officers there had probably thought the same thing. He’d also vaguely assumed Matt Vennetti’s closer friends would step in to help her out, but that was no excuse.

She’d have been right to paint him with the same brush.

Pushing his empty plate away, Ethan pictured her face. Not when she blazed with anger, but when she had looked at him with such vulnerability and bewilderment. The expression wasn’t so different from the one he’d seen on her boy’s face when he said with such despair, “Mom is going to be so mad.”

Ethan sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, then reached for his wallet when he saw the waitress bearing down on his table with his tab, a flirtatious smile on her face and a swing to her hips. Okay, he hadn’t misread the tone of voice. She had plenty of curves, and he felt...nothing.

He was pleasant as he signed his credit card slip, then slid out of the booth and walked from the restaurant, noting faces, aware of people in the parking lot, passing vehicles.

Behind the wheel of his Yukon, he inserted the key but, still brooding, didn’t immediately turn it.

He hoped Laura would think twice and call him—but if she didn’t, he’d call her. Just to make sure she and Jake were okay. To let her know he’d meant it. And then he’d let a couple of weeks go by and call again.

This time, he wouldn’t forget. She might not like it, but she needed someone, and he had a feeling there wasn’t anyone else.

And damned if he was going to worry about the subterranean reasons behind the determination he felt to look out for this woman and boy.

* * *

“I’LL PROBABLY GET DETENTION,” Jake grumbled.

Laura poured pancake batter onto the griddle. “You probably will.” She refrained from adding, And you deserve to.

After she woke him up, he’d dragged himself into the kitchen this morning wearing pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips and carrying a T-shirt he pulled over his head as she watched. His chest and rib cage were ridiculously pale and skinny. Anyone looking at him would think she was starving him.

“Get the juice out of the fridge, will you?” she asked.

His bare feet were silent on the vinyl floor. Not until she turned her head did she see he had the orange juice carton tipped up and was drinking right out of it.

“Jacob Vennetti!” With her free hand, she grabbed a dish towel and snapped it at him.

He dodged it effortlessly. His grin made her heart hurt. He couldn’t smile like that if he was really troubled, could he?

She flipped pancakes. “Grab the margarine and syrup, too.”

He complied. He was enthusiastic about meals.

And guns.

How could that be?

She plopped a plate holding the first stack in front of him before turning back to make more.

Behind her, he whined, “If I have to stay home this weekend, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’m sure I can think of something.” They’d been talking about scraping the several coats of peeling paint off the back deck and repainting. This was day three of dry weather, and they ought to take advantage of it, she reflected. April was a rainy month in Portland. As were...well, most months. Even in July, you took a chance planning something like an outdoor wedding around here.

Unfortunately, she was working today, as she did one or two Saturdays a month, and didn’t have time to find what he’d need to start and give him instructions.

He stuffed his mouth full as she set down a platter with more pancakes in the middle of the table and pulled out a chair herself.

“I wish I was playing Little League,” he grumbled.

“In February, you didn’t want to sign up.”

He shrugged discontentedly. She’d supported his decision, mostly because neither of them liked his coach last year and he’d have been on the same team this year. Maybe that was part of his problem, she thought, buttering her pancakes and adding a dollop of maple syrup. Maybe he had too much time on his hands. A couple of his better friends were playing baseball, which ate up a lot of their spare time.

“There are summer camps,” she pointed out. “Baseball and basketball.”

“I could do both,” he said hopefully.

Laura barely hesitated. She’d worry about the money later. Camps weren’t cheap, and she knew he’d need new basketball shoes and new cleats for baseball. All those calories he was packing in were being used for growing. “I don’t know why not,” she said. “See what Ron and Justin plan to do.”

He bent his head and didn’t say anything. Laura’s eyes narrowed. He hadn’t mentioned Ron recently. And...when had either boy last called? She ached to ask if something was wrong, but wanted to preserve this morning’s tentative peace.

“How come you won’t tell me what Detective Winter said about me?” he burst out.

She swallowed a bite. Pancakes would go straight to her butt and she shouldn’t be eating them at all, but it was really hard to cook stuff like this and not eat it.

“You’re ignoring me,” he declared indignantly.

She met his eyes. “I’m refusing to repeat myself, that’s all. But since you insist, one more time—I doubt he said anything to me that he didn’t to you.”

He looked sulky. “You talked to him for ages.”

She didn’t even want to think about her conversation with Detective Ethan Winter. Not when it included them holding hands. Not when she had imagined what it would feel like to have his arms around her. To lean against him, lay her head on his very broad shoulder. Feel his lips—

No, she hadn’t imagined that until later, after Jake was in bed and she was alone. That fleeting fantasy had been especially vivid. It had horrified her to the point where she’d resolved not to think about him at all. If she ever got involved with a man again, he wouldn’t be in law enforcement. He wouldn’t carry a gun as casually as she did her purse.

Ethan Winter was off-limits, even assuming he’d been interested and not just...kind. Concerned about Jake. If his gaze had drifted from her face to her breasts, it was probably because he wasn’t being straight with her and didn’t want to meet her eyes.

Only, she didn’t quite believe that, either.

“He said I could call him if I ever need him,” her son said.

Jolted from her silent lecture to herself, she gaped at Jake. “He asked you to call?”

His face was set in stubborn lines. “He said I could if I want.”

“Why did he think you’d want to?”

He shrugged.