Deadline (Sandra Brown)

curious.”
    “They’re kids.” He shrugged philosophically. “To them, two days is a long time. They’ve been distracted.”
    “By you being here.”
    “I filled a gap.”
    “And then some.”
    As she plugged in an electric kettle, she gave him a sidelong glance, possibly noting how ill at ease he felt in the homey kitchen. There was a bear-shaped cookie jar on the counter. The boys’ artwork was stuck to the refrigerator door with Disney-character magnets. The cookbooks lined up on the open shelf looked well used, not for show.
    By comparison, his apartment’s galley was sterile.
    She motioned him toward the dining table. “Have a seat. I cleared out the pantry today, but I found tea bags and cocoa mix in a canister. That’s all I have to offer.”
    “No apology necessary. My cupboard in Alexandria stays as bare as Old Mother Hubbard’s.”
    “You know nursery rhymes?”
    “My mom recited them all the time. I remember that one.”
    “Do your parents live in Virginia?”
    He told her about the fatal accident. “You know parents, always telling you to be careful anytime you get the behind the wheel. More than anything, mine worried about me being in a car wreck. Which turned out to be ironic, since that’s what killed them. They were driving home from a movie, on a weeknight, on a street they’d driven a million times. The driver of an oncoming car swerved to miss a squirrel crossing the street, lost control, hit them head-on.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said softly.
    “The driver of the other car walked away from it. Devastated, of course. The Headlys took the loss of my parents almost as hard as I did. Headly and my dad had been friends since grade school.”
    “So it wasn’t just a figure of speech. He really is your godfather?”
    “He is. He held me at my baptism, which he often says didn’t take.”
    She gave a soft laugh. “You’re obviously very close.”
    “He’s a pain in the ass.”
    “My dad could be one, too, but his admonitions usually proved to be wise.”
    Seeing the recurring sadness creep over her, he said, “Hey,” and reached behind him for the jacket he’d hung on the back of the stool earlier. He pulled a Hershey’s bar from the pocket and produced it with a flourish. “I got this out of the minibar in my hotel room earlier today. Forgot about it till now. Want to flip for it?”
    “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”
    “When did you last eat?” When she had to stop and think about it, he said, “That’s what I thought. This is good energy. I’ll split it with you.”
    The kettle began to whistle. He chose cocoa over tea. When she set it down in front of him, she said, “I’m sorry I don’t have anything stronger. Not even a bottle of wine.”
    “Doesn’t matter. You jinxed it for me.”
    “Drinking?”
    He tilted his head up and met her eyes. “You told me the booze and pills wouldn’t help my problem. After that, they stopped working for me.”
    “I don’t think it was anything I said. You came to your senses.”
    “Maybe. Or maybe the night spent in jail turned me around. But don’t expect me to send Tucker a thank-you bouquet.”
    “What is it between you two?”
    “He hated me on sight. Don’t know why.”
    “You’re a head and a half taller.”
    “Ohhh. Is that it?” Seriously, he added, “I wanted to deck him for embarrassing you.”
    “Doesn’t matter. Around the sheriff’s office I’m sure it’s well known by now that we were together in your house at dawn when they notified me about Stef.”
    She went back to the counter for her tea, then sat down across from him. He unwrapped the candy bar, broke it in two, and passed a half to her.
    She nibbled at it as she thoughtfully regarded him. “Dawson, what are you doing here?”
    “Having some cocoa.”
    She gave him a look.
    Unsure how to answer, he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. Finally, in a quiet voice, he asked, “Do you want me to go?”
    She dunked her tea bag in the hot water several times, but left it steeping. “We’ve known each other for less than a week. I’m in a crisis situation. I don’t get why you’re hanging around, or why…” She looked at him wryly. “Or why I’m comfortable with it.”
    “Beats the hell out of me, too.” He could tell that his response surprised her. “Believe me, I didn’t plan on this.”
    “This…?”
    “You, Hunter and Grant, bedtime stories.” He glanced toward the smiling-bear face on the cookie jar. “It’s a