Midsummer Sweetheart (5 page)

“Nothing lasts forever, Ing. Look at Kat.”

“Hope
you’re
not looking at her.”

He caught the edge in Ingrid’s tone. For an instant Erik remembered asking Ingrid to the prom while they were in high school. She’d said no, telling him he was like a brother to her, and although it had smarted for a moment, he agreed with her and turned his romantic eyes to another pretty girl. He’d been hopeful then, a different person, who had still believed in true love and forever and all sorts of wishful nonsense, like husbands who stood by their wives to the bitter end, even when the end was unbelievably heartbreaking. Things had changed. He knew better now. True love only existed in books and movies and if you didn’t want your heart broken, you needed to keep a clear head on your shoulders.

“I know you, Erik. Slam, bam, thank you, ma’am.” Erik flinched as she sighed into the phone. “Leave her be, okay? She’s been through enough. She’s not a fling, Erik. She’s a good girl. The marrying kind.”

“And I’m not.”

“By your own admission.”

Her words hit him strangely, but he didn’t want to linger on it. He didn’t want to think about why it bothered him.

He leaned around and looked through the window again, catching a glimpse of Katrin Svenson moving around her apartment. Her light blonde hair was pulled back in a damp, but bouncy, ponytail. She wore blue jeans that cupped her perfect ass, a light-blue fleece sweatshirt, and sneakers. She looked a lot more like a teenage ballerina running away from home than a fully grown woman about to change the course of her life.
Poor Katrin. Poor Katrin. Poor Katrin.
He ignored his sweating palms and looked away from her.

“I don’t have any designs on her, Ing. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

The door opened and Kat popped her face out of the door, blue eyes wide. “I worried you’d gone.”

Don’t look at her cornflower eyes. Look somewhere else.

“Just talking to your princess of a sister-in-law.” He handed her the phone. “Say good-bye. I’ll get your bags.”

He pushed past her into the apartment and picked up the pink floral duffle bag and rolling suitcase, heading back down the stairs to find room for them in his overstuffed car.

When he looked back up, Katrin was making her way slowly down the stairs, still on his phone. Her face was wet and she swiped at it with the back of her hand, nodding at whatever Ingrid was saying.

Her family sure was invested in this plan and regardless of the inconvenience, or any distractions, like deep, adorable dimples, he committed—then and there—to take his role as protector seriously. Looking at her, so small and sad, made his chest swell. He’d check out the clinic this afternoon and swing down to Skidoo once a week to look in on her, help her settle in. She swiped at her nose with the sleeve of her fleece.

Poor thing needs
someone
to look after her.

As she got to the flagstone at the bottom of the stairs, she lifted her face, and her eyes—watery and bright, bright blue—slammed into his, making it very hard for him to remember what he was thinking the moment before. He felt his lips turn up and when hers did the same, returning the gesture despite her tears, his heart hammered so hard it made him momentarily dizzy. She was the prettiest little thing he’d ever seen in his entire life and if he hadn’t been so busy trying to catch his breath, it would have scared the snot out of him.

“Okay,” she said. “You too. You too, Ing. I know. I know it. I’m grateful. Uh-huh. Who? Oh, yeah, he’s right here.”

She sniffed once, delicately, as she held out his phone.

Erik took it from her and put it up to his ear, trying like hell to ignore how warm it was from being pressed against her skin.

“Thank you again, Erik,” said Ingrid in a wavering voice. “You may not realize it, but you’re rescuing her today. I’m so grateful to you.”

Erik looked over to see Katrin open the passenger door and sit down, pulling sunglasses from her purse and fastening her seatbelt. In an instant he saw Ingrid and Jenny at three years old, at ten years old, at seventeen years old. He certainly wouldn’t have let anyone ever hurt either of them. He would have gone down fighting before anyone touched a hair on their heads.

“I’ll keep her safe, Ing.”

“Thank you,
Minste
. I’m trusting you.”

“I won’t let you down.”

CHAPTER 4

“What does Ingrid call you?”

Erik turned to her with a start, surprised to hear her voice after riding in silence for a good half hour. “What do you mean?”

“When she asked for you, she didn’t call you Erik. She called you…
Mint
?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s nothing. Just a stupid nickname from when I was a kid.”

She lowered her sunglasses just enough to peek at him over the rims. “Your childhood nickname is ‘Mint’?”

“Will you take off the sunglasses?”

“And show you my big, puffy, bloodshot bug-eyes? No chance. You’ll regret it.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“I look like a gargoyle when I cry. I don’t think so.”

“I bet I’ve seen worse. I studied criminal justice so I could go into law enforcement. That’s a lot of pretty scary photos. Come on. We’ve still got a few hours to go. It’s unnerving to sit next to someone that long when you can’t see their eyes.”

She seemed to consider this and then slowly pulled the sunglasses off her face, folding them neatly in her lap and looking at him squarely.

Erik glanced over at her and grimaced cartoonishly in mock horror, making a hissing sound, and then quickly looked back with a regular grin.

“You don’t look like a gargoyle. You look fine.” He realized she hadn’t swapped the sunglasses for the prescription glasses she’d been wearing earlier. “Where’d your other glasses go?”

“Contacts.”

“Huh.”
What a difference contacts can make.

“
Huh
what?”

“
Huh
, you look nice without glasses.”

She stared straight ahead, but he thought he might have seen the very beginnings of one of those dimples in the cheek closest to him. “The nickname?”

Oh, shoot. That.
“It’s Norwegian. It means ‘littlest’ or ‘smallest.’ I’m the youngest of three brothers, and my mother called Nils—he’s my oldest brother—
Største
, which means biggest, and she called Lars, my middle brother,
Midten
, which means middle, and she called me
Minste
.”

“So that’s what Ingrid called you?
Minste
?”

Erik nodded. “I’ve known Ing since she was a baby. Since
I
was a baby.”

“Since you were
Minste
.”

He chuckled.
She’s quick.
When he glanced over at her, she was looking out the window ahead, cheek closest to him mildly dented.

“You have a dimple.”

“A matched pair.”

“I like them.”

“Thanks,” she said in barely a whisper. She cleared her throat, crossed and uncrossed her legs, then turned to him. He wondered if he had made her uncomfortable with his compliment. “But, isn’t your sister Jenny actually the littlest?”

“Yes. But, she had a different name.
Lillesøster.
”

“Little sister. Kristian calls me
lillesøster
sometimes too.”

“You know Norwegian?”

She shrugged noncommittally. “Swedish. From when I was little. You know. Parents. Grandparents. You pick it up.”

“Same here. My Dad’s Swedish. My Mom was Norwegian. I know a bit of both, not that they’re very different.”

“It bothers you?” she asked.

“The Norwegian?”

“The nickname.”

“What do you think? What man likes to be called ‘smallest’? Maybe the
most
embarrassing nickname ever. Is there a more humiliating nickname?”

“Believe me, I know a little bit about humiliation. It’s not that bad.”

He chose to ignore her comment, and tried to keep up the banter between them. “Says a small girl. It’s cute if
you’re
small.”

“Cute, huh?”

Smiling, Erik flicked his glance to see her face and she cracked a modest grin, making a deep crevasse in her cheek.

“Well, you’re hardly small now,” she said. “Anyway, it’s in Norwegian. You could lie and say it means ‘handsome’ or ‘virile’ or ‘strong’ or something.”

“Handsome or virile or strong, huh?”

She cringed and then grinned nervously, biting her lip as she realized what she’d implied. “Well, I mean. You could
say
that.” She paused again and he could hear the mix of awkwardness and humor in her voice when she mumbled, “I don’t mean
I
think you’re…not that I
don’t
think you’re…”

Erik was having the best time hearing her squirm and tried not to laugh.

She covered her eyes and shook her head in embarrassment. “Oh, gosh. Just, um, put it this way: All evidence to the contrary,
Minste
.”

“No! No, no, no! You’re not calling me that. Jenny and Ing are bad enough! Not you too!”

She giggled then. Briefly, yes, but it
was
a giggle, and Erik decided she could call him whatever she wanted, as long as he got to hear that giggle again.

She was quiet for a few minutes then, and when he glanced back at her again, her smile was fading.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I haven’t laughed much lately.”

“Huh. Well, maybe it’s time to start again.”

“Yeah, probably.” She sighed, looking out the window at the land belonging to the Blackfeet Nation. “I’m so relieved to be leaving. It’s just hitting me now.”

“It’s for the best.”

“I’m so tired,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.

“Worry will do that to you.”

“I haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

“Why don’t you sleep a little now?”

“No, that’s okay.”

“Seriously. Take a nap. I don’t mind. You don’t have to worry anymore.”

She reached over and touched his arm, her fingers lightly brushing his arm hair, causing goose bumps to rise up underneath. “You know what? You’re kind, Erik. I know this wasn’t your idea. It wasn’t mine either, for that matter, I hope you know that. But, you’ve been—you know, really great today. Thank you.”

He barely heard what she said; he was so distracted by her fingers on his skin. What was it about this girl that every time they touched it was like an
event?
He could only imagine if he felt this way when she touched his
arm
how it would feel if she touched his—

Aw, come on. Don’t go there. Back up. No! Not up. Down. Down, boy. Come on. Think about something else, for Pete’s sake. Poor thing, poor thing, poor little thing…

His breath came out slow and low as he finally got himself under control. When he glanced over, she was leaning her head on the window, eyes closed. In a matter of a few minutes, he could see her eyeballs moving in REM motion behind almost-translucent lids. Soon her breathing got even and deep. She was sleeping soundly.

Erik turned left onto Route 2 approaching Flathead National Forest, and with a flat, straight piece of road up ahead, it was the perfect opportunity for him to slow down a little and steal glances at her as he drove along.

Her neck was tilted far over to the side so that her head rested on the window and her hands were folded lightly in her lap, on top of crossed knees. He flicked his glance back over to her neck again; it was graceful and long for someone so short, and the way she was leaning on the window caused it to stretch at an elegant angle
.
Like Audrey Hepburn in
Sabrina,
Jenny’s favorite movie
.
Only Kat had lighter, longer hair, which was pulled back behind her ear into a ponytail. He flicked his gaze to the perfect, pink shell of her ear before turning his attention back to the road.

There was something really vulnerable and trusting about her sleeping beside him that roused his protective instincts again. It’s not like she really
knew
him. Clearly she trusted Ingrid’s judgment, but for all she knew
personally
, he could be a shady character, yet she was sleeping peacefully right next to him
. What would it be like to trust people that much?
She could sure get into a lot of trouble leaving herself so unprotected.

He looked over at her again and caught the flutter of her pulse in her neck. Like a beacon demanding his attention, he couldn’t seem to help glancing over twice more in quick succession, fascinated by its strong, smooth rhythm. He had a sudden, fantastic urge to stop the car, lean over and press his lips over her throbbing skin, close his eyes, and just rest there, feeling her heart beat against the sensitive nerve endings of his lips. She’d smell sweet and clean, freshly showered, and he bet her skin would be soft and warm. He swallowed against the sudden wave of desire he felt for her, for this woman he barely knew, to whom he felt drawn, somehow connected to, like he
knew
her.

But, you don’t, Erik. You don’t
know
her. She’s little and fragile and you just feel sorry for her. She’s a winged bird, poor little thing. Stop looking at her, and stop thinking about it.

His jeans still felt tight and he shifted uncomfortably, wishing he could roll down the window for some fresh air to smack him in the face, but he didn’t want to risk waking her up. He looked away from her, concentrating on the road, and tried to turn his mind to his upcoming job instead.

Adding the Montana Law Enforcement three-month program to his course load at UGF had been challenging, but Erik was willing to do just about anything to achieve his goal of working in the Applied Technology division of the Montana Department of Justice. After three more months of on-the-job training in Kalispell, Erik would be an important part of the department responsible for the Standardized Field Sobriety and Drug Evaluation and Classification programs for Montana, training law enforcement officers, prosecutors and judges in Drug Recognition.