A Cop's Honor. Emilie Rose

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      “I meant in your downtime.” She paused briefly before her next question. “So, is Brandon attractive?”

      Hannah’s ears burned. She shot her friend an end-of-my-patience glare that would have silenced her children.

      “That blush answers my question, but FYI, I meant for me, not you. I’m in the relationship Sahara right now. Invite me over after dance tonight. Introduce us.”

      “No!” Hannah spoke so loudly that the other mothers looked up from their gadgets. She didn’t know why she felt so strongly against the introduction. “He’s not your type. He doesn’t go dancing or hang out in bars.”

      At least he hadn’t back when he and Rick had been friends.

      “He’s a desk jockey?”

      With that body? Not likely. “He’s a cop who worked with Rick, remember?”

      “Then he’s my type. And who are we kidding? I’ll consider any man who is relatively intelligent, gainfully employed and in decent shape.”

      The problem was, Lucy might do more than date Brandon. And then Hannah would have to hear about the physical side of their relationship in excruciating detail. No, thanks. She turned away from Lucy. “Oh look. They’re practicing pirouettes. Aren’t they adorable?”

      She could feel Lucy watching her, but she didn’t turn or do anything else to encourage the conversation. This class couldn’t end soon enough. But once it did, she’d be going home to Brandon. To Mason, she hastily corrected. To Mason. Brandon was just a temporary affliction she must endure until she figured out what was going on with her son.

      * * *

      THE STORM THAT the day’s humidity had promised broke loose on the drive home. As if she wasn’t stressed enough about seeing Brandon again, Hannah had to fight through almost zero visibility and pounding water on the roads, grabbing and pulling her tires. She needed new wiper blades and tires. Pushing that worry aside, she pulled into the garage, heaved a sigh of relief and wiggled her fingers. They were cramped from having a death grip on the wheel.

      Belle sprang from the car and sprinted into the house. Her daughter ran everywhere. Where did she find the energy? Hannah followed more slowly, pausing a moment to register the lack of water falling over the open door before she pushed the button to close it. She passed through the laundry room and dropped her purse on the kitchen counter.

      The aroma of Italian food assailed her, making her wish she’d eaten more than a salad after dance class. She hustled to the den where Belle was chattering nonstop and demonstrating the new steps she’d learned tonight for Mason and Brandon. Both males reclined on the couch with an open, empty pizza box on the coffee table. Mason was wearing different clothes now and looked like he’d had a shower.

      Brandon’s smiling gaze transferred from Belle to Hannah, and a surge of...something...shot through her. Relief that Mason looked relaxed and content instead of combative. That was all it was.

      Brandon rose. “She’s quite a talented ballerina.”

      “Yes,” was the only thing Hannah could squeeze out through her tight throat. Why did his smile and gentlemanly manners make it hard to breathe? Then she realized it was because his jeans were damp and clinging to his—Ahem.

      “We saved some garlic knots for you. They’re keeping warm in the oven,” he said.

      She looked at the box and recognized the familiar logo. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation and her mouth watered. “From Giuseppe’s? I haven’t eaten there in years.”

      He turned to Mason. “Your mom was bloodthirsty. She used to threaten me with bodily harm if I ate the last garlic knot.”

      The pressure in her chest increased. “That was a long time ago.”

      He shrugged. “They’re as good as they used to be.”

      Mason perked up. “Brandon said we had to save the rest for you. But if you don’t want ’em...” He started to rise.

      “I do.”

      “Dang.” Her son flopped back down, a picture of total dejection.

      Brandon cut him a look. “How can you have room for more food?”

      Mason grinned, looking so much like the sweet child she loved that it choked Hannah up all over again. “I’m a growing boy. And man, you worked me hard.”

      Which reminded her... “I see my gutter is fixed and draining properly.”

      “You should have been here, Mom. Right after we finished, a big bolt of lightning lit up the sky, then it thundered so loud it sounded like a bomb went off. The ladders rattled. We barely got the tools into Brandon’s truck before the bottom fell out. We got soaked!”

      That explained the shower and clean clothes. Her son’s sullen attitude was gone. Brandon had managed a miracle. “Thank you for your work. Both of you.”

      “I put the wet towels in the washer,” Brandon added. “Added to the stuff you already had in there, it was enough to run a load. So we did.”

      “The machine’s pretty easy to work,” her son, who had never done a load of laundry in his life, volunteered. “Brandon showed me how. And he says I can help him with more stuff if you’ll give him a project list.”

      It took a moment for her brain to recover from the shock of her son being eager to do chores. “Um... I’ll work on that.”

      She didn’t want to be beholden to Brandon or have him hanging around her house or washing her clothes. Asking for help with Mason had been hard enough. And that was all she wanted from him. But how could she refuse when her son sounded so happy about being included? And then the guilt kicked in again. He needed a man’s influence. And she couldn’t give him that.

      “Did you finish your homework?”

      Mason’s crestfallen expression revealed his answer before he mumbled, “Most of it. All I have left is math.”

      “Get to it.”

      He slouched out of the room. Thunder shook the house, drowning out the sound of Mason’s heavy footsteps tromping up the stairs. The lights flickered.

      Then because she couldn’t handle more of Brandon’s silent smiles she turned to her daughter. “Belle, you need to have your bath and get ready for bed. Go on up. I’ll be there right after I see out our guest.”

      “But, Mom, can’t Occifer Brandon tuck me in?”

      “No.”

      “Sure,” he replied simultaneously.

      Hannah shook her head. She needed him gone. “You don’t have to do that. I know you need to get ready for work tomorrow.”

      “I can stick around until after you give Belle her bath. A few more minutes won’t kill me. It might even give the worst of the storm time to pass.”

      Suddenly, she felt mean for wanting to throw СКАЧАТЬ