Talk Me Down

Ben pushed his body up the steep incline where the road ended, then turned left onto a worn trail. The trail just happened to follow the ridge that ran behind Molly’s house, but it was his favorite route and he wasn’t going to change it just to avoid her. And if he happened to glance down into her back windows as he passed, that was only natural. Of course he was curious. They’d been friends, or at least he’d been around her all the time in their youth. And sure, he’d thought her utterly cute as a teenager, but she’d also been his best friend’s underage little sister. Completely off-limits. Now she was twenty-seven…and still completely off-limits.

He didn’t date women who lived in Tumble Creek. Too much talk, too many complications. If there was anything worse than being lovers in a very small town, it was being ex-lovers. The definition of messy. So Ben pretty much confined himself to women outside the town, and since half the roads were closed in winter, whatever affairs he did have were seasonal.

Molly would be here year-round. Or maybe not. Maybe she was just here for the winter. Maybe she’d stay for a few months and then leave for another ten years.

That decade in Denver had been good to her. She was slim without being skinny, curvy and firm in just the right places. And her sparkling green eyes were livelier than he’d remembered. More confident. Knowledgeable even.

Ben shook off the dangerous thought and ran higher up the path. The trail forked here, one path cutting back to the street, the other toward a ridgeline that eventually curved out to look over the wide valley west of town. The sun shone bright and warm, the air just crisp enough to cool his sweat but not nearly cold enough to numb his roiling emotions.

Breathing in the scent of turning aspen, he headed toward the ridge and did his best to breathe out the memories of Molly that insisted on flitting through his mind.

He was still in the thick of the trees when his phone beeped. “Lawson,” he said into the phone.

“Chief,” the voice of his secretary/receptionist/dispatcher answered. “It’s Brenda. Are you home?”

“Not quite, why?”

“Oh, we’ve got a small problem. Andrew’s over to the Blackmound place, helping round up some cattle that broke through the fence. Now there’s a big moving truck taking up half of Main Street and it can’t get through. Jess Germaine’s car is in the way and he’s not answering his door.”

Ben grunted and slowed his pace. The situation would probably resolve itself by the time he got back down the ridge, but then again, if Jess was sleeping off a few drinks…

“All right. Give me twenty minutes. Call if Jess shows up.”

“Right. Say, what’s a moving truck doing here?”

He felt his jaw jump with tension. Thank God no one knew about his brief, inadvertent history with Molly or there’d be delighted whispering all around town. “Molly Jennings is back,” he made himself say calmly.

And damned if she wasn’t causing him trouble already. It was going to be a hell of a long winter.

EVEN AFTER WEEKS of vacancy, Aunt Gertie’s house still looked spotless. Only the faintest sheen of dust dared to disturb the wood floors. No dust bunnies skittered when she moved.

And it’d likely never be this clean again. Molly took a good look around before she unpacked the computer and set it up on a desk in the dining room.

She didn’t have a big table and chairs; though her loft in Denver had been everything she’d wanted, it had also been small. So Aunt Gertie’s dining room was no more. It was now Molly’s office. Wouldn’t the old woman have been horrified?

I leave my home to my grandniece, Molly Jennings, in the hope that she will abandon her unsavory city life and move back to the bosom of God’s country where she belongs.

Molly grinned and shook her head. Oh, she’d moved back all right, but she’d brought her unsavory life right along with her.

One push of a button and the computer hummed to life, prompting her grin to widen. Her work had ground to a halt in Denver thanks to the stress of living with constant anxiety, but here…here she was already finding inspiration.

The mystery of what she did for a living would take on a whole new life here in Tumble Creek, but she’d braced herself for that. And all the gossip and speculation would be worth it if Ben Lawson proved as wonderful a muse as he had been ten years before. Yes, indeedy.

She moved a few things around her desktop, and even opened a new, blank document. The tingly feeling that started in her stomach reminded her of the joy she’d taken in her work up until six months ago. Not as good as sex, but very close to being turned on.

Her blossoming good mood popped like a bubble when a familiar tune sang from her purse. Molly dug around until she found her phone, then groaned at the sight of the caller ID. “Wonderful.”

She could just ignore it, but he’d call back. And then another one would call. Then the big kahuna himself. Cameron.

Not bothering to hide her impatience, Molly answered the call. “What?”

“Hey, Molly! It’s Pete!”

“I know.”

“How are you?”

She clicked around on her computer screen, opening random documents, wondering how many CornNuts were left in the bag in her purse. “Great.”

“Are you really living in the mountains? I hope you’re not planning on staying there. That’s dangerous driving during the winter.”

“I’ve moved here, Pete. It’s done.”

“We’ll see what you think after a long, cold winter.”

Molly groaned. “I know I’m a helpless, stupid female, but I did grow up here. Some knowledge of my surroundings managed to sink in over those eighteen years.”

“Hey, you inherited a house, and that’s exciting! I’m sure you want to try it out. But your condo hasn’t sold yet. There’s no need to make any decisions—”

“Did Cameron ask you to call?” she finally snapped.

“What? No. We’re all concerned about you, Molly—”

“Who? Cameron and his band of merry men?”

“Molly, come on. We’re friends. I just—”

“No, Pete,” she interrupted. “No, we are not friends. If we were friends I would have made you a bracelet and painted your toenails. We would have laughed about how small my first boyfriend’s penis was. We would have flirted with men over appletinis. We are not friends, we were dating, Pete. Until someone else swooped in and stole your little heart away.”

“Huh?” She could almost hear him crinkling his forehead. “No one stole my heart. We both decided it wasn’t working out.”

“By ‘both,’ I assume you mean you and Cameron?”

“Hey, what are you implying?”

“I’m implying that Cameron seduced you away from me. Just like he’s seduced every man I’ve dated since he and I broke up.”

“That’s sick!” Pete yelped.

“Yes, it is sick. Not that you or Michael or Devon seems to mind. You’re all so eager to hang out with Mr. Wonderful Personality! Jesus.”

“Cameron’s right,” Pete muttered. “You’ve got problems.”

“Yes! Yes, I have problems!” she screamed into the phone just before it went dead in her hand. Molly stared at it, panting in rage. They’d followed her to Tumble Creek. Cameron and his boy band of Molly’s former potential sex partners.

She really couldn’t allow that. She’d have to ditch the cell phone. She’d keep her aunt’s local number. Her brother had it. Her editor had it. Plus her parents, and they’d finally gotten over their addiction to Cameron.

Cameron Kasten—Supervising Sergeant Cameron Kasten—was the star hostage negotiator for the Denver Police Department. His job was to manipulate, coerce, seduce and negotiate. And he was damn good at it. Everybody loved him. His friends, her friends, the whole darn police department. Paramedics, firefighters, district attorneys and any damn male of the species that Molly dared to date.