Family Of His Own. Catherine Lanigan

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      She shrugged, sending ripples through her iridescent silver crepe de chine gown. “I thought I’d blend in. Match the décor.”

      Scott’s lips quirked into a rascally grin. “You couldn’t blend in any more than fireworks in a midnight sky.” He pulled her closer. They were nose to nose. “You’re a knockout.”

      “I could say the same about you,” she said, glancing down at his blindingly white tuxedo shirt, black silk bow tie. He wore his immaculately cut tuxedo every New Year’s Eve.

      Scott in a tuxedo was nothing short of a woman’s dream. His wide shoulders were enhanced by the jacket, though she noticed that this year, his biceps seemed to be straining against the sleeves. But all that was eclipsed by his ease and manner when he wore his tux.

      That first New Year’s Eve when Scott had moved back to Indian Lake, she’d commented on the fact that he owned a tux. He told her then he’d bought it his first year at the Tribune and had intended to wear it when he won prizes for his journalism.

      She lingered on the gold flecks that sparkled in his eyes. Did he think about those days anymore?

      “I aim to please,” he said, holding her gaze.

      Isabelle didn’t know what was happening, but she could swear Scott wanted to kiss her. Not one of his friendly pecks on the cheek, but a real kiss. Suddenly she felt uneasy. Why was she noticing how handsome Scott was? He was just Scott. He would dance with her at midnight and she’d finish her chores like they always did on New Year’s Eve. Wouldn’t they? She looked around nervously and gave him a wide, friendly smile.

      “Scott, I have to get back to work. I was just checking the champagne glasses.”

      His eyes never left her lips. He lifted his hand to her neck and touched her tenderly. “Right. The glasses.”

      His thumb traced the line of her jaw. She was melting and she never melted. Everything about this night was orchestrated for romance, including a torchy love ballad being played by the Milo Orchestra in the background.

      “Glasses,” she repeated, trying to recover her composure and remember her job. What had she been doing before she’d slipped into this dreamy state?

      “Isabelle.”

      She’d never paid much attention to his voice before, but now, when he said her name, her stomach fluttered. Why was she reacting to him as if she had a crush on him? She didn’t need a mirror to know her cheeks were flushed.

      All she could feel was his hand on her waist. The sound of Scott saying her name echoed in her head.

      She swallowed hard. She had to snap out of this. It was this kind of romance that lured women into domesticity.

      She had to force herself to focus. “Yes, the glasses. Uh, for the midnight toast.”

      He brushed his lips against her cheek. “And I’ll find you for my kiss to ring in the New Year.”

      Isabelle hadn’t realized she’d shut her eyes, immersing herself in the moment with Scott.

      She felt a whoosh of air, the temperature dropped and she blinked, returning to the present. Scott had left her to join Luke and Sarah at their table.

      Luke had risen from his chair to slap Scott on the back. Trent Davis sat nearby, looking more like a GQ model than the Indian Lake police detective that he was. He stood to shake Scott’s hand, then Scott bent down and kissed Cate Sullivan’s cheek before going around the table to hug Sarah. The glimmering, moon-glow lighting Isabelle enhanced Scott’s good looks. Or was she seeing Scott in a new light tonight?

      Isabelle had a dozen chores to finish before midnight. There were party favors, hats, noisemakers and streamers to distribute. The servers were busily placing clean champagne glasses at everyone’s place. The soloist who would sing “Auld Lang Syne” had not yet arrived. Edgar always gave the countdown, but as she wended through the dining room, making sure guests were happy, she didn’t see him anywhere.

      At midnight, her duties would be over. The kitchen crew and extra bus boys she’d hired would handle the cleanup. Then she would have Scott all to herself and Isabelle planned to dance with him until the band’s contract was up at one in the morning. Admittedly, she felt terrible about the way she’d treated Scott over these past weeks—months, really. Immersed in her ongoing quest to get her work noticed, she’d lost sight of what a good friend he was. He’d always been fun to flirt with and she’d forgotten how much his smile lifted her spirits. Overlooking Scott had become a habit, and she was ashamed of it. She owed him thanks for so much.

      This old year was ticking away and Isabelle wanted her regrets where Scott was concerned to die with it. In the new year, she would be more conscientious toward him. She was grateful that he’d been patient with her selfishness. She intended to scrape her egocentric attitudes off her palette. Scott deserved better from her.

      The folds of her silver gown eddied around her silver, open-toed, peau de soie heels as she breezed up to his table. She greeted Sarah and Cate again with a little wave. Scott was in deep discussion with Trent.

      She placed her hand on his shoulder.

      He reached up to touch it, but he didn’t take his focus from Trent, who was now whispering.

      “Scott?” Isabelle said.

      He turned his face to her.

      Why was his expression so disturbed? Lines of worry settled around his eyes. She knew that look and she didn’t like it. “Is everything okay? It’s not your mother again, is it?”

      “No.” He cleared his throat. “No. Mom is fine. What’s up?”

      She leaned closer and smiled. “I just wanted to say that at midnight, Scott, you’re all mine.”

      He kissed her palm and smiled. “Ditto.”

      * * *

      SCOTT WAITED UNTIL Isabelle was out of sight and earshot before he said to Trent, “Why tonight?”

      “Captain Williams has given my team the nod. We want to catch Ellis in the act. Remember the ordinance plant?”

      “Yeah, sure.”

      “He’s set up a lab out there. We found it yesterday. I didn’t tell you because we were waiting on confirmation about an apartment where we thought he was living. I just got the word.”

      “Should I wait till the morning? I don’t want to get in the way,” Scott said, though he was already bursting with anticipation of another on-the-scenes story.

      “I trust you to hang back until I give you the signal. You can stay in your car, take video and photos. And stay low. Then you come in. And trust me, the chief knows you’re involved.”

      Scott nodded. He knew it was his job to be objective when covering a story. At the same time, he admired men and women in uniform who made sacrifices, risked their lives to protect others. They made the world a better place to live. And what had Scott done? He’d reported it. Written a few sentences about some brave men who should have been commemorated in bronze.

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