Jodie Bailey - Mistaken Twin

“You said you were making me coffee. I’m going to make sure you keep your promise.” There was a rustle as he shifted position. “You might have convinced Erin she didn’t have to stay after you gave her the whole it-was-no-big-deal speech, but you’re forgetting something. I’m the one who scooped you off the floor like a wet beach towel. You are not okay.”

Wow. He had to go and remind her. That kind of arrogance was exactly what she expected of Wyatt. To be so smug as to point out her weakness and his strength. The strength she’d felt in his chest through the thick layers of his heavy uniform jacket. For a moment, she’d wanted to stay there. For a moment, she’d felt safe.

Jenna nearly rolled her eyes. Safe with Wyatt Stephens? Whether it was her issue or his, they couldn’t manage to get along.

The spoon dug into the coffee again, releasing the comforting, earthy aroma of roasted beans, but she hesitated as she held it over the filter basket. What number was she on?

“That’s five.” Wyatt’s voice was at her shoulder, and he reached around, gently taking the silver spoon from her fingers. His warmth loosened the tension in her shoulders, made her stop feeling like someone was peeking through the blinds of her second-story apartment. “Sit. You’re wobbling on your feet. I’ll finish here.”

Normally, when it came to Wyatt she’d argue, but the gelatin in place of her kneecaps was having none of it. Without lifting her head, Jenna sidestepped him and walked around the column at the end of the bar into the small living room at the front of the apartment. She curled into the corner of her gray couch and stared at the picture above the small stone fireplace, the one Erin had painted for her Christmas present. It was an almost photographic recreation of the view from Anson’s Ridge. When the days were rough or the memories too real, Jenna escaped up there to be alone. She’d head that way right now if rain wasn’t moving in.

And if she wasn’t more afraid than usual of what might lurk in the dark.

She’d probably never see Anson’s Ridge again. Her eyes burned, tears pushing to the front. Leaving El Paso had been hard, but with nothing to keep her there, her departure hadn’t ripped her heart into pieces.

This time, leaving might kill her.

Dragging her hands through her hair, she stared at the painting and wished herself into it.

A heavy pottery mug appeared in her vision, steam curling above it.

Jenna jumped, her hand over her heart. She’d have to relearn how to be vigilant.

“Sorry.” With an apologetic smile that looked well practiced, Wyatt backed away, still holding the mug out to her. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I found creamer in the fridge and assumed you’d want it in your coffee.”

His blue eyes were a startling contrast to his dark hair. She’d never noticed before, likely because she’d never been this close before. Then again, maybe without all of the tension that usually flowed between them, she could see him more clearly.

His eyes were actually kind of nice.

He held the cup a little closer, his cheeks reddening as though he could read her thoughts. “You want it or not?”

“Sorry.” Jenna wrapped both hands around the mug, careful not to brush his fingers. They’d been close enough to each other for one night already, and now she was noticing his eyes? No bueno . “Thanks.” The warmth from the ceramic seeped into her fingers, inched its way up her arms and settled into her soul. Finally, she could relax, even if it was all a temporary illusion of peace.

Before her sister, Amy, died, she had gone to a therapist and had doled out advice she received there. Best way to get rid of the ugly is to focus on the right now , Amy’s therapist had said. The whole Matthew 6 thing about tomorrow having its own troubles means you should focus now. Funny how her sister’s secondhand wisdom popped to mind tonight.

Jenna could focus on right now , on the familiar comforting warmth of a mug in her hands. On the creamy walls she’d painted with Erin when she’d first rented the apartment.

On the police officer whose presence seemed way too big for the tiny space of her living room.

Hands practically engulfing his own sapphire-blue mug, Wyatt sat in an armchair in the corner near the window and stared into his coffee. He didn’t move until his radio crackled. He listened, then spoke into the mic at his shoulder, ending with “Ten six.”

“What are those numbers?” The numbers were easier to talk about than any questions he’d have for her. “‘Ten six?’”

“Means I’m busy unless it’s urgent. I’m in the middle of something and can’t be interrupted unless the world’s about to explode.”

He was trying to be funny, but nothing about it was amusing. She was the most important thing on a police officer’s agenda.

Wyatt took a sip of coffee, then inspected the mug. “This is nice. Well made. The color’s rich. You buy them from someone around here?” He lifted the crafted piece to look for a mark on the bottom.

He wouldn’t find one. Jenna had made them herself, but she couldn’t say so. No one around town knew she threw pottery, that she’d done so since she’d learned in one of the after-school programs in El Paso. She took pleasure in the wet clay as she infused beauty into something unbelievably plain, like Jesus had done with her.

She’d love to share her work, but it was one of the things she’d had to keep in the dark, packed away to protect her safety.

Of course, none of her caution mattered now.

The room took on the kind of awkward silence that made the air heavier, as though a black hole spun over the sleek glass coffee table. All she wanted was to be alone, yet Wyatt sat and sipped his coffee, acting like this was some sort of extended social call.

Of course, she’d been the one to tell him he could have coffee, but only because he’d probably saved her life, then made sure her apartment was safe. It would have been kind of rude to kick him out after he’d been on the front lines for her.

Oh, man. He’d been in every room of her apartment. There had better not be any dirty laundry in the middle of the bedroom floor. Her cheeks heated. “You don’t have to stay.”

He met her gaze and held it. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Erin said you had to? Was that your conversation outside when she left?” Jenna’s best friend was the only female firefighter on the Mountain Springs Volunteer Fire Department. She had been the protective type even before she’d almost fallen victim to a serial killer. “You know Erin’s not your boss. You don’t have to do what she says.”

Wyatt’s laugh was quick and seemed to come from deep in his chest. In other circumstances, his mirth might have lifted her spirits. “You know you’re living in a fantasy world, right? Erin’s all about taking charge. It’s a good possibility if I don’t obey her commands, I’ll never hear the end of it. It’s easier to nod and agree, especially while she’s living in my house.” His smile slipped and the serious expression that usually resided on his face took over. “This time it’s my real boss who’s calling the shots.”

Jenna leaned forward and set her coffee mug on the table. “What?”

“As long as the guy who tried to take you is out there, I’m supposed to keep an eye on you, at least for the short term. Plus, I still have to take your statement.”

“So I’m your assignment?”

“If you want to use those words, sure.”

“And you have to stay in my home for the foreseeable future?” His constant presence was going to put a definite crimp in her plans.

But maybe...

Maybe there was hope. It fluttered in her chest, daring her to reach out and grasp it.