Lynnette Kent - Expecting the Best

Jimmy had been Zach’s first partner on the police force. Three years ago, they’d been caught in the middle of a gang fight that had left Jimmy with a shattered leg and a stalled career. “We appreciate your support, though. Those shirts are great.”

“Hey, these games get me out of bed on Saturday morning. What’s the record now?”

Zach picked up bats and helmets. “We’re three and four. This was the team to beat from last year. I’m hoping for an easy win next week against the Terminators.”

They talked baseball on the walk to Zach’s Trans Am to load equipment into the trunk. Parents stopped to shake a hand and commiserate. Cinda ran by, waving.

“See you at practice Monday,” Zach called.

“Right, Coach!”

“So what’s the rest of the your weekend like?” Jimmy leaned against the side of the car. “I’ve got a hot new group at the club tonight. I’m betting they’ll be a name before the year’s out.”

Jimmy’s jazz and blues club, Indigo, was well known in Denver music circles. “I might just show up.” Zach used the tail of his sweatshirt to wipe a bug splat off the trunk’s glossy black finish. “I’ve got a dinner date first.”

“Bring her along.”

“Maybe.” He knew a lot about what Shelley liked... in bed. But what kind of music did she listen to? “I’ll ask the lady.”

“I’ll save you a table. You missed one.” Jimmy grinned and pointed to an even bigger bug blotch on the hood.

“Thanks, pal. Don’t do me any favors.”

An afternoon spent washing the car didn’t provide much mental distraction. Zach waxed and buffed and thought about the woman he’d see tonight. The woman he hadn’t seen in three months, because...?

Working the night shift made dating in the evenings a real challenge.

Still, even cops got time off.

His basketball league took up a lot of spring nights.

But not all of them.

Coaching the Falcons kept him occupied in the late afternoon on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, with Saturday-morning games.

So what about the rest of the week?

No answers. “Okay,” he muttered, crouching down to clean a hubcap. “Why did I call her now?”

After that incredible weekend with Shelley, he’d waited an agonizing month to hear from her, and managed to survive sixty restless days after that. He’d kept the memories at bay, most of the time, and tried to take a stoical view of the situation. If they happened to run into each other, he’d figured, he’d be able to tell whether he should see her again. If not, well, they didn’t move in the same circles, really. And they’d already gone too far to be “just friends.”

So why be surprised when she didn’t call? She’d probably dropped his number in the first trash can she came to. The lady wasn’t interested. Pure and simple.

Zach gave the rear fender a final swipe and stepped back. The car looked good. He, on the other hand, smelled like a car wash. Time to hit the shower.

A few minutes later, facing himself in the mirror as he shaved, he asked the question again. “So why call her now?”

The answer shamed him. Wanting to forget one woman was absolutely the worst excuse for seeing another. But he couldn’t deny the truth.

Claire Hightower had called. She wanted Zach to know she was pregnant.

The news hit him like a truck without brakes on a steep mountain downgrade. He’d never imagined Claire pregnant. Dance partner, debate opponent, movie critic and dinner companion, sure. Dynamite lawyer and advocate for women’s and children’s rights, of course. She made a great stepmother for Allyson Hightower.

But pregnant?

Yes. He had heard the contentment in her voice. Loving and living with Dex Hightower made Claire happy. She’d confided that carrying Dex’s baby was the best achievement of her life. Zach sincerely wished her well, even as he wondered why the news shook him up so much.

The reason wasn’t buried too deep. Shelley’s accusations came damn close—Zach had loved Claire, easily and lightly, because she wanted it that way. He’d had hopes of getting her to change her mind, until Dex Hightower showed up in their lives. And now Claire was married and happy and Zach was...

Free, as usual. Alone, a state he’d looked forward to for eighteen years at home, four years at college, and ten more in the army. Just what the hell was wrong with his life, anyway? What more did he want?

Those questions buzzed at him for a couple of days after Claire’s call, breaking up his sleep, interfering with his work and play. He needed a distraction and thought about Shelley. She made him laugh, she made him ache, she made him crazy. What better way to spend an evening?

His first glimpse of her at the door that Saturday night brought his brain functions to a screeching halt. Zach gave a long, low whistle. “You’re gonna stop traffic, lady.”

She wore a sunny yellow dress, long and straight, with tiny straps and a big splash of red over one hip. Her skin glowed with a light tan, her hair was a little shorter than he remembered, her nails and sandals matched the splotch on the dress. For a diversion, he couldn’t have picked better—she might well be the sexiest woman he’d ever seen.

She smiled. “Good thing I’ll have a cop with me, isn’t it? Want to come in for a drink?”

“Sure.” He followed her inside and waited close by while she shut the door. Then, he put his palms on her shoulders and kissed her hello.

The intense jolt of desire took him by surprise. Her taste and her scent were familiar, the feel of her mouth against his welcome and right. Her small sigh, as he shifted his head to deepen the kiss, was a sound out of his dreams.

Before he was ready, Shelley drew back. Her gaze was soft, vulnerable, as she stared at him while they both recovered their breath.

But in the next second he lost her. Her face changed, almost hardened. She stepped away from him. Not even her fingertips lingered. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Disappointment flooded him, but he managed a casual nod: “Beer?”

“You’ve got it. Come to the kitchen. What have you been doing lately?”

From another woman, the comment might have demanded an explanation of his absence. But either Shelley was a damn good actress, or she didn’t care—her face showed nothing but mild interest as she brought him a bottle and a chilled mug.

He sat at the breakfast bar, fighting down his injured masculine pride. “Keeping Denver safe for women and children, mostly. I played department intramural basketball this spring and now I’m coaching Little League. How about you?”

She took the chair next to his. “Work, of course. My spring house sales are just starting to close.” She sipped from a glass of bottled water. “Getting some of these buyers and sellers to the table takes real effort.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve had to break up closings that got violent.”

“You don’t have to tell me. One of my clients tried to walk out recently, because the buyer wanted to change the terms of the contract. The buyer jumped up to stop him, and the next thing I know, they’re crashing though the glass window of the conference room, rolling all over the floor, making ugly noises and swearing a blue streak. We managed to stop them without the cops, though.”

“Takes skill, ending fights. You could get yourself hurt.”

“I let the lawyer do it—I figured if anyone deserved a punch, it was him.”

Zach laughed. “Good thinking. Are you hungry?” Her wrists, in red bracelets, were sparrow-small, her collarbones a little obvious. He wondered if she’d been working too hard and forgetting to eat.

She slipped off the chair. “I’m always hungry. Where shall we go?”