“I’m okay,” she said but took a step further into the room.
He looked at her for several long moments; then he sat in his chair and typed something into his computer. “Are you afraid he’ll physically assault you?”
“Not really. He’s never touched me, but he used to threaten me with a tombstone.”
He glanced up.
“It’s a wresting move.”
“I know.” He read something off the screen, then lifted his gaze to her once again. “By following you to Gospel, he has violated the terms of the restraining order,” he explained. “Of course, he can always say he’s here for some other reason, but I doubt a judge will believe him.”
“What happens now?”
“I’ll bring him in, and depending on what time he’s actually booked into jail, he’ll go before the magistrate either today or in the morning. Bail will be set as well as a court date.”
“I’ll have to go to court again?” Hope didn’t want to go through another hearing.
“That depends on his plea. He might plead guilty, pay his fine, and leave town.”
Hope doubted it. “Can’t you just talk to him? He’s easy to spot in a crowd. He’s not even four feet tall and he looks a bit like Patrick Swayze. Maybe you could just scare him into leaving?” But she doubted fear of Dylan would send Myron running. Dealing with him had never been that easy.
Dylan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “If that’s what you want, but you still need to swear out a complaint. Just in case we need something to take to the prosecutor.”
Hope raised her hands to her face and rubbed her forehead. She was sorry she’d come here. Myron would pay a fine, and then be free to hassle her by morning. She’d accomplished nothing by talking to Dylan, and ultimately, she would pay for it more than Myron. Myron would pay in cash, but looking at Dylan, hearing his voice, and loving him cost Hope another chunk of her heart.
She dropped her hands and shook her head. “Just forget it,” she said. “I guess that little weasel is free to harass me.” The tears which had stung the backs of her eyes since she’d walked into the room collected on her bottom lids and blurred her vision. She wasn’t sure if she was crying out of frustration with Myron or because the man she desperately loved didn’t feel anything for her. “The restraining order means nothing to him, so just forget it.”
As if he could no longer stand the sight of her, Dylan turned his attention to his computer monitor and seemed to become instantly absorbed in whatever he read there. One appalling tear slid over her lower lashes and down her cheek.
“Just forget I was here,” she said and practically ran from the room before she embarrassed herself further.
Dylan watched Hope leave his office and rose from his chair. He started to go after her but stopped. If he caught up with her, he wasn’t certain what he’d do. He wasn’t certain he wouldn’t pull her against his chest and bury his nose in her hair. The second he’d heard she was in the building, his body had responded to her. His chest got tight and that was before she’d even walked into his office, looking incredible in a simple white shirt and jeans just tight enough to hug the curve of her sweet behind.
Thankfully, he’d been able to ignore his body. He’d been in control and handling the situation as if she were just another citizen off the street. Until she cried. Seeing her tears, he’d about jumped out of his chair and gone to her. Even after everything, she still tore him up inside. He still wanted her.
He leaned his behind against his desk and stared at the framed accommodations and service awards hanging on the wall. He remembered the day he and Hope had hiked to Sawtooth Lake and she’d joked about coming to his office and filing a complaint just in case she got lonely for him.
Ten minutes ago, when Hazel had buzzed to say Hope was in the reception area, the memory of that day had popped into his head with the subtlety of a lightning bolt. The memory of her hand on the zipper of his Levi’s and her tongue in his mouth had had him holding his breath, wondering if she’d made up an excuse just to see him. When he realized she hadn’t, there was a part of him that was disappointed as hell.
He missed Hope, or rather the Hope he thought he knew. He missed talking to her. He missed the sound of her voice and the scent of her skin. He missed making love to her and waking up seeing her head on the next pillow. But perhaps most of all, he missed looking across his dinner table and seeing her face.
He crossed one foot over the other and studied the razor crease running down the leg of his pants. As much as he missed her, and as much as he wanted her, he distrusted her that much more. Although he couldn’t reconcile the Hope he knew with the Hope who worked for a sleazy tabloid, he knew she was one and the same person. She’d put her loyalty for her job over him. She’d had two choices: her desire to report a big juicy story, or her desire for him. She hadn?
??t chosen him.
Dylan walked to the corner of the room and grabbed his hat from the coat rack. Now he had no choice but to forget about her. And he would. Just as soon as he took care of her problem with Myron the Masher.
At three o’clock that afternoon, Myron Lambardo sat on a stool at the Cozy Corner, munching on French fries and polishing off a BLT. He’d eaten in worse dives, he supposed. Wrestled in them, too.
Some kind of shitty country-and-western music poured from an old jukebox, and he wondered if they had any head-banging music, like Metallica. The place was deserted except for the cook, who’d gone on a break in the back, and a waitress with a long braid. Paris; he’d read her name off her tag and thought it sounded exotic. She had big hands, big bones, and big breasts. Just the sort of woman he loved to wrestle. There was a lot to grab. She brought him a refill on his Coke and didn’t stare at him like he was a freak.
“Thanks, Paris,” he said and decided to strike up a conversation and maybe get information. “Are you named after Paris, France, or Paris, Texas?”
“Neither. My mom just liked the name.”
“So do I. It sounds exotic.” He took a drink of his Coke, then asked, “How long have you lived here?”
“All of my life. Where are you from?”