Troublemaker (19 page)

Tricks gobbled down the offered treat and immediately looked for more. Bo said, “You can have your chew bone while we have our treats.”
She produced what looked like an antler from her desk and gave it to Tricks, who pounced on it and immediately took it to her bed, where she lay down and started some serious gnawing.

Everyone—except Tricks—seemed to be waiting for Morgan to make his selection, given that the platter had been brought in his honor. He wasn't much of a cupcake guy; they seemed kind of sissy to him. He wanted one of those pies. But the lumpy brown thing was interesting. “What's monkey bread?” he asked.

“It's like a bunch of little cinnamon rolls stuck together,” Bo replied.

All right! He liked cinnamon rolls. Miss Doris pulled off a few of the lumps and put them on a paper plate that she'd been thoughtful enough to also provide. Miss Doris was rapidly becoming his favorite person in the town.

Coffee was poured for those who wanted it—that would be him and Loretta—and they all made their choices. For a few minutes the only sounds in the office were chewing and a few little
mmm
s of appreciation. Jesse went for the pies, Bo for a cupcake, Loretta for the monkey bread, while Miss Doris looked on with a beaming smile.

For a few minutes Morgan was too taken up with the melt-in-your-mouth cinnamon-y lumps of monkey bread to notice anything else, but when he did look around it was to see Bo delicately licking the icing off her cupcake.

A savage kick of lust almost paralyzed him. He froze, every muscle locked on target. He managed to look away and pretend he was concentrating on his monkey bread, but fuck, all he could see in his mind was the pink tip of her tongue licking almost gently at the icing. His skin was too hot and tight, his breathing restricted. Holy shit. Just like that, he had a hard-on like iron, and he needed to sit down before someone noticed, if he could only fucking move.

He did, somehow. He all but collapsed in the visitor's chair, which was the best he could do because his hard-on made it impossible for him to sit down normally without making some major adjustments in his pants, which he wasn't about to do in front of the ladies. Loretta and Bo might take it in stride, but Miss Doris might faint.

“Are you okay?” Bo asked, her attention snapping to him.

“Yeah, fine,” he muttered. Maybe they'd think he was embarrassed by how weak he was. He set his paper plate on his lap to cover the evidence, and prayed a sudden throb didn't knock the plate sideways. Damn it, didn't women know better than to lick things in front of a man?

There followed a flurry of attention from Miss Doris and even from Loretta, who volunteered her brothers to help him with some workouts when he felt better, to rebuild his strength. He had to verbally appreciate Loretta's offer and fend off Miss Doris's intention of slapping a cold wet cloth over his face. He was sweating, but not from sickness. At least all that took his attention off Bo's tongue and gave his hard-on time to give up and start subsiding.

Miss Doris had to get back to the bakery, and she left in a flurry of thank-yous. Jesse had another pie, though he did slant a look at Morgan that made him think maybe the officer had seen enough that he had a good idea about the true cause of Morgan's “weakness.” Probably every man alive had had the same thing happen to him. Unruly body parts in your pants just came with the territory.

Thank God, Bo didn't want to lick a second cupcake; she didn't even eat the cake part of the first one. A call came in about a four-year-old stuck in a tree, and Jesse left to go do some tree-climbing. Bo began wading through all the paperwork on her desk, and Tricks napped, worn out from her antler-gnawing.

A pretty blonde, who was introduced as Bo's friend Daina, dropped by with slushies for them all as an afternoon treat. Morgan began to feel as if he was going to die from sugar overload. Daina was there purely out of curiosity, of course. She didn't stay long, but long enough to get in a little impersonal flirting.

Then a bunch of vehicles pulled to the curb outside, several pickup trucks and cars. A gaggle of high school kids exited; the door opened and the whole gaggle poured in, all of them talking at once. “Chief Bo! Mr. Cummins said we needed to practice driving Tricks around.”

On the face of it that didn't make sense because he doubted Bo would let them practice their driving with Tricks on board. But she seemed to know exactly what they meant, because she said, “What do you have?”

“We thought we'd start off with a pickup,” one of the boys said. “Get her used to riding in the open. If you get in back too, we know she'll stay.”

Tricks had jumped up when the kids entered and was in the middle of the group, getting her required petting. One of the girls said, “We even have a tiara and a feather boa for her.”

“She'll do okay with the boa, but I don't know about the tiara,” Bo said, not blinking an eye. “I tried putting a cap on her once and she wouldn't have it. But she did like the Christmas bow I stuck on her head.”

Morgan kept his mouth shut. The conversation was getting weirder by the minute. What the hell were they doing?

“Let's get her loaded up and see what she'll do,” the boy said. “I'll drive really slow, Chief.”

Bo and Tricks and the whole group went outside. Loretta left her cubicle to stand on the sidewalk and watch, so Morgan joined her. The boy lowered the tailgate of his truck and tried to get Tricks to jump up in the bed, but she was too busy with the petting. Bo said, “Tricks, up,” and patted the tailgate. Tricks obediently jumped up, then immediately jumped down again.

“Tricks, up.”

Same result.

Sighing, Bo climbed into the bed of the pickup, sat down, and said, “Tricks, up.”

With the center of her life sitting there, Tricks jumped up and covered Bo's face with a mad flurry of licking. A couple of the girls climbed in the back with them. One had the aforementioned tiara and boa. She looped the pink boa around Tricks's neck, and carefully set the tiara on her head. With one shake, Tricks had the tiara off. It was tried again, with the same result.

“I think there's a sticky bow in the break room,” Loretta said, and went inside to see if she remembered right. She didn't bother explaining why a sticky bow might be in a police station.

She returned with a slightly crushed and mangled glittery green bow. The backing was peeled off and the bow carefully stuck on top of Tricks's head.

The boy closed the tailgate and got into the cab. Bo scooted against the back of the truck bed, and the two girls flanked Tricks in the middle, each with an arm around her. “Go!” the boa girl said, and all the vehicles slowly pulled into the street like a parade, their lights on, and blowing their horns.

Morgan looked around to make sure he was still on Earth. Or maybe this was just some weird small-town custom; his small-town experience was thin, so he had to allow for that. “What the hell is going on?” he asked Loretta.

“They're practicing for the Heritage Parade,” she explained. “The junior and senior classes get to each decorate a float for the parade. The seniors this year want Tricks to ride on their float, but the chief said she probably wouldn't unless they got her used to it first, so they're practicing with her. The real floats aren't ready yet, not that they'd show them ahead of time anyway. My guess is the next time they'll use a hay-hauling trailer, get her used to the size.”

Well, that explained the tiara and boa.

The sidewalks began filling as shopkeepers and customers came outside to watch the little parade. People began bellowing, “Tricks!” and waving. The two girls flanking Tricks waved, practicing their parts. Tricks woofed left and right, her doggy face beaming.

“She looks like a homecoming queen,” Loretta said happily, stepping into the street so she could continue watching. Bemused, Morgan went to stand beside her.

A few blocks down, at the traffic light, some man stepped into the middle of the intersection and stopped traffic coming from all four directions, not that there was that much, but still. Waving, he directed the little procession to make a U-turn so they could head back toward
the police station. The kids, driving carefully with their precious cargo of police chief and dog, sedately swung around in the intersection to reverse course.

As they neared, he could hear the happy “Woof! Woof!” and see the golden head adorned with a bedraggled green bow turning from side to side with each woof, as Tricks accepted the applause and cheers of an entire town.

Somehow, Morgan thought, getting shot had thrown him into the fucking Twilight Zone.

What the hell. Might as well fit in.

He began waving and clapping too.

W
HEN THEY GOT HOME, BO LET TRICKS OUT OF THE
Tahoe while Morgan followed more slowly. He hated to admit it, and he'd certainly enjoyed the trip to town, but the unaccustomed activity had tired him. Normally he still napped during the day, or whenever he got tired, but today he hadn't had that luxury and it was telling on him. He thought of the sofa with longing, wanting nothing more than to stretch out and close his eyes.

Bo unlocked the door, and the dog darted inside. She looked back at him. “Today was more of an effort than you thought it would be, wasn't it?”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“You can put your feet up and relax while I'm throwing supper together.” She stepped aside and waited for him to enter, then closed the door behind them. Morgan headed for the sofa, then stopped dead in the middle of the floor.

Tricks sat in the middle of the sofa, the extravagant, long white feathery strands of her tail draped over the cushion like a fringed shawl. She was looking off, as if she had no idea they were on the premises.

“Or not,” Bo said, standing as still as he was. “Oh, dear. You got her seat, so now she's got yours. I'm not getting into the middle of this. You have to handle it, make it up to her somehow. I'm warning you, she holds a grudge.”

Evidently. On the other hand, she was a dog. Morgan said, “Is it all right with you if I give her a treat?”

Tricks's eyes flicked toward him at the word “treat,” but she didn't abandon her post.

“Bribing her isn't a good idea. She remembers, and then you'll have to bribe her every time.”

“Okay, no bribery. I won't try to get her down. I'll just give her the treat, and go sit somewhere else. Will that work?”

“Maybe. It'll go a long way toward getting back in her good graces. Also, you should probably apologize.”

The idea was so outlandish that he laughed out loud. “C'mon, that's carrying things too far. She understands food. What's she going to understand about an apology?”

“You'd be surprised. You can take my advice or not.”

Bo went to the refrigerator and got out a slice of sandwich turkey. “Here you go,” she said, giving it to him. “Hope it works.”

He rolled up the slice and went to sit beside the dog. As soon as the cushion compressed under his weight she glanced at him, alerted by the smell of the turkey, then looked away again. “Good girl,” he crooned. He tore off a piece of turkey and offered it to her. “You were a champion, riding in that pickup today.”

She looked at the turkey, and delicately took the offering from his fingers.

“That bow on your head suited you.” Another piece of turkey, another acceptance. Figuring that was enough buttering up, he gave her the rest of the turkey and let her sit there. He'd definitely have liked to lie down but instead turned on the TV and stretched out his legs while he let his head rest on the back of the sofa. It wasn't lying down, but it would do.

Tricks didn't get down, but after a minute she too lay down, and put her head on his thigh. He let his hand rest on her side, feeling the plush silkiness of her fur, her warm body, and the strong beating of her heart. Good enough.

Though
the trip to town had been amusing as hell, Morgan elected to
spend the rest of the week at what he'd started thinking of as “home.” Once Bo was gone for the day, he worked on his endurance. He walked around the yard, even ventured into the woods a short distance as his legs got stronger. Being outside felt good. The belated arrival of spring had brought with it an abundance of good weather, warm without being hot, everything turning green almost overnight. He'd always been a man who preferred being outdoors, so though the circumstances were far from ideal, at least he was outside and he was moving under his own steam.

Late Friday afternoon when Bo got home, she said, “Mayor Buddy has called an emergency town council meeting tomorrow morning. Something's come up with the Gooding situation. I have to be there.”

“What's he done?”

“I don't know, but this is the first time Mayor Buddy's ever called an emergency meeting, so it must be serious.”

“Can he do anything to hurt the town?”

“Several townspeople work for him, and if he fired them or laid them off, it would sure hurt their families.”

“Is he threatening to do that?”

“I guess I'll find out tomorrow.”

Morgan was a little disappointed because he'd been looking forward to having her at home the entire weekend, but what the hell, he'd use the opportunity to push himself a little more. He'd been working on those stairs. He could make it to the twelfth step now before his legs got shaky. He didn't push the stairs; the last thing he needed was to pass out and fall down them. But in just a week he was feeling more human instead of a physical wreck. The soreness in his chest, while still there, was better. His legs were stronger. He was eating more. No way to tell, but he figured he'd gained a good five pounds this week.

He was bored with his own company, yeah, but he had another reason for not going with her to work every day: he didn't want to wear out his welcome, which was tenuous to begin with. Bo wouldn't want him
around every minute of every day. She was becoming easier with him—not that she'd acted overtly uncomfortable, but not many people would be completely at ease with having a stranger dumped on them. Any discomfort she'd felt had been hidden behind her inner walls, but he figured it had to be there. She was too private, too emotionally shielded, to not feel stressed by his presence.

If she'd had any idea he'd got a raging hard-on from watching her lick the icing off her cupcake, she'd stay as far away from him as possible, maybe even put him on the road despite her agreement with Axel. As far as he knew, she hadn't spent any of the money Axel had deposited in her account, and though she could definitely use it, she didn't
have
to have it. She was free to get rid of him and wouldn't worry about hurting his feelings by doing so.

He didn't want to leave. Not yet, anyway. He wanted the mystery of who had tried to kill him solved, yeah, but that was in the future and he couldn't do anything about it. What he could do something about was his physical condition, and his growing attraction to Bo. She was a challenge, and he liked that but it wasn't
just
that. He couldn't nail down exactly what it was about her that interested him so. She seemed to be content with who she was, how she looked, her life in general. It was nice being around a woman who didn't need to be reassured about anything.

After breakfast on Saturday, she took Tricks for a long walk, then went upstairs to get ready. When she came down again, Morgan had to fight to keep from staring. She was wearing a simple skirt and blouse, nothing fancy, but the skirt was just tight enough to cup her curvy ass, and my God, her legs went on forever, and he broke out in a sweat as he pictured them hooked over his shoulders.
Down, boy,
he silently ordered his dick.
Don't point
.

He sat down because the fool was pointing anyway. To distract himself he said, “It's a dress-up type of thing?”

She looked down at her skirt. “Not dress-up, exactly, but I don't want to show up wearing jeans or anything like that. Jeans are fine when I'm on the job, because I never know what I'll need to do, but a town council meeting is different.”

Instead of wearing her thick dark hair in its usual low ponytail, she'd twisted it up so the nape of her neck was bare. If he hadn't already been sitting down he'd have gotten weak-kneed at the sight of the delicate furrow. What the hell? He'd never even noticed a woman's neck before, but the sight of Bo's, with wisps of dark hair framing the slenderness of it, made the bottom drop out of his stomach. So much for distracting himself.

Tricks was dancing around Bo, delighted they were going for a ride. The dog was delighted about everything: going, coming, mealtime, her walks, playing ball, and life in general. The only thing she hadn't greeted with joy was the sight of him in “her” seat, and even with the offering of turkey it had taken a couple of days before she'd forgiven him enough to let him throw her ball. He was back in her good graces, though, so he said, “Why not leave Tricks with me? Do you take her into the council meetings?”

Bo glanced worriedly at Tricks. “Usually, but the normal meetings don't last over an hour. I don't know about this one.”

“Then leave her here. I can take her out and throw the ball for her, and feed her lunch if you aren't back by then.”

She still looked undecided. He said, “I can handle her. Is she likely to run off?”

“No. She won't be happy that I left without her, though.”

“So what will she do? Throw a temper tantrum?”

She smiled at that. “No, but—once she stops pouting, just explain to her that I had to go to town and I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?”

He must have looked incredulous—this was a
dog
they were talking about, not a kid, and this was taking things pretty far even for her—because she said, “I know it sounds silly, but you know how they say a dog is about as smart as a two-year-old? She's as smart as a four-year-old. She understands a lot of what you say.”

She understood the speaker's tone of voice, yeah, but most dogs did learn and respond to that. “She'll understand she hasn't been abandoned, and she knows time?”

“Yes, she knows time.” Now Bo scowled at him. “Never mind. I'll take her with me.”

“Fine,” he said testily. “I'll explain it to her. I promise. Now go, before you're late.”

She didn't want to, he could tell, but it was concern for Tricks if the meeting ran long that settled the matter. She bent down to nuzzle the top of Tricks's head. “You stay here this time, sweetie. You'll be a lot more comfortable here than you will be in an old meeting room. I'll be back as soon as I can.”

She straightened and left without looking back, though he could tell she wanted to. He and Tricks stood at the window watching as she left, he because he got a glimpse of her long legs when she got into the Jeep, and Tricks because she probably couldn't believe she was being left behind.

As the Jeep went down the driveway, Tricks whined plaintively. “It's okay, girl,” Morgan said, bending down to stroke her. “She'll be back before you know it.” Then, because he'd promised even though he felt like a fool for doing it, he added, “She's got a meeting to go to that could last a long time, and she didn't want you to have to wait if you need to take a leak, or whatever. She'll be back, probably by lunch. I can't imagine any of their meetings taking much time even when they're talking about assholes.”

Tricks whined again, then licked his cheek and trotted off to find a toy.

He checked the news and played a game or two on the laptop before restlessly putting it aside. It was good to feel restless; when he'd been in such bad shape, he hadn't had any interest in doing anything other than lying right where he was, but now he wanted to move.

He did the stairs, and this time made it to number fifteen, almost to the top. He rested a bit—damn that fifteen steps could make him tired—then decided to do some light calisthenics. Stretching and gently getting his heart rate up would be a good thing. He got down on the floor and stretched, cautiously testing the limits of his stiff muscles.

Of course the dog bounded over, thinking it was a game because he was on the floor and all but danced on top of him. He told her no a couple of times, told her to move a couple of times, then gave up. So
much for her understanding almost everything that was said to her. Everyone tended to act like she was the second coming of Air Bud, but when all was said and done, she was a dog. A pretty one, he had to admit, and smart enough, but still a dog.

He gave up on floor stretching, got to his feet, and tried putting his palms flat on the floor to stretch his hamstrings. His hamstrings did fine. His lower back, though, seized in a spasm that almost put him on his knees.

Spitting out curses between his teeth, he managed to straighten. Shit! The muscle spasm eased, and he stood there for a minute while he got his breath back, furious at this new reminder of the sad shape he was in. Six weeks ago he'd been in top physical form, able to run and swim for miles, carry a hundred pounds on his back while trekking through all kinds of miserable shit, and still kick ass in a firefight.

He might never be in that kind of shape again. He had to face the fact that he could be looking at a new reality. The docs had repaired him, but the human body wasn't like a car, you couldn't slap a new piece of sheet metal in place and call it done. His heart might never be as strong again. He wouldn't know unless he worked his ass off trying to get to that point. What if he couldn't do it, though?

He'd quit the GO-Teams, then what. All the guys' lives depended on each man being able to do his job. He wouldn't jeopardize any of them because of his ego, because he couldn't let go. He could probably still be involved, maybe in training, maybe logistics, but if he wasn't a hundred percent he wouldn't go back out on a job.

Tricks got her tennis ball and came to stand in front of him. She put a paw on his knee, then looked at the door.

“Time for a pee break, huh? Okay, let's go.”

She pranced to the door. She never just
walked
anywhere, like normal dogs. It was as if she knew how pretty she was, and that the world as Bo Maran had structured it revolved around her. “Spoiled brat,” he muttered, but then he smiled because yeah, he remembered her riding in the back of the pickup with a green bow stuck on her head, woofing like a homecoming queen—if homecoming queens woofed, that is.

They stepped outside and she dropped the ball at his feet, then took off running. Morgan bent to pick up the ball, and the muscle spasm knifed him in the back again. He cussed and groaned and gradually managed to get upright again, though sweat was running down his temples. Fuck, that hurt! It wasn't the all-consuming pain of being shot and the following surgery, but it was sharp and paralyzing in its intensity. He wasn't sure he could even walk right now. He took a few deep breaths, willing the pain away.