“I’m doing good, honey. My Harry is taking me on a cruise next month for our anniversary. We’re going to see Puerta Vallarta. That’s why I got my hair dyed—I thought it would make me feel like one of those girls in the Elvis movies,” she laughed.
“Ann-Margaret was a redhead like me,” I said, “you can always go that route if you change your mind.” She smiled.
“I think the red suits you and your brother just fine. I’ve always wanted to be a blonde bombshell though. Pauline says it’s silly at my age.”
“Nana has her own ideas, always has. Mom says that’s where I get it,” I said fondly. “And don’t forget the time she tried to do box color on her hair to hide the grays and ended up all brassy.”
“That’s why she said it. She doesn’t want me to look ridiculous, she says. I don’t know why she was so traumatized over some glitzy hairdo that happened ten years ago,” Mrs. Rook said. “What brings you in here today?”
“I’m here to see Chief Peters. I have an interview.”
“Oh, how nice! It sure would be good to have that pretty face around here for a change,” she said sweetly. “Your nana told me you were back in town to help with your daddy. Is he getting on any better?”
“We’re getting everything settled to where he’s going to have an easier time and so is my mom. It’s just a lot to take on, and I wanted to be back here to help. Family is family, you know,” I said with a shrug, hoping she wasn’t going to go on about what a good daughter I was or something. I didn’t want attention for this. I was doing what felt right, not doing it for praise.
“That’s so wonderful! You always were the—”
Thankfully, Brody popped his head out the office door and interrupted before Mrs. Rook could clasp her hands and cast her eyes up to heaven while singing my praises. I was a little uncomfortable with how a lot of people around here thought I was a saint to move back.
“I heard y’all talking. Go ahead and send her back,” he said.
“It was really good to see you. I’ll give your love to my nana,” I said, patting her shoulder as I walked by.
I opened the wooden door to his small office. There was Brody Peters sitting behind a messy desk, wearing a short-sleeved button-down and a tie that he was tightening as I entered. He fastened the collar button with a slight grimace. He was obviously a weightlifter, broad shoulders and a thick neck. He looked like he could Hulk right out of that shirt-drawn taut across his chest. I blinked, reminded myself why I was there—and that ogling the widower/brother’s friend/potential boss was off the menu.
He held out his hand, his forearm thick and muscular, dark hair dusting his tanned skin. I reached for his hand. He gave me a perfunctory shake. An electric current seemed to jolt right from his palm to mine and all the way down my spine. A purple sizzle, that’s what it felt like. I swallowed and flexed my fingers to try to dull the sensation that still tingled in my fingers. That was so weird. My hand felt like it was made of pins and needles now, like the limb had fallen asleep, except I felt completely awake. Wildly alive even. I knew I had blushed when he touched me. I hadn’t accounted for feeling girlish around him.
Brody was six feet four, easily, with big broad shoulders, a toned body that seemed to fill the small room we were in. His dark hair was going salt and pepper at the temples and his dark eyes were even more serious than I remembered, with a faint tracing of lines at the corners. He’d had a hard life, and he’d been chief seven years from what Damon told me. Life hadn’t been easy on him, and it looked like that had made him harder, more uncompromising. He watched me looking him over, not sure what to make of me—looking like I was a little bit crazy maybe. The muscle in his jaw ticked and he indicated a chair to me. I squared my shoulders and took a seat across from his desk.
“Glad you could come in on short notice, Ms. Vance,” he said.
“Ms. Vance? Really?” I smirked. “I used to eat supper in my bathing suit across from you when I was a kid. I think we’re past Mr. and Ms.”
“All right, then no calling me Chief Peters,” he said. “I mean to be professional is all I’m saying. Even though you used to sneak your green beans onto my plate when I stayed for dinner at your folks’ house.”
I grinned at the memory, “You ate them for me,” I remembered, “far as I know you didn’t tell on me for it.”