Hot Cop

“Well, if she’s doing all that, what are you doing?” Damon asked. “Besides making coffee and giving me hell.”

“Well, this afternoon I’m cleaning out the fridge and then I have big plans to replace the shower curtain liner with a new one because the old one is mildewed. Maybe if I’m feeling wild I’ll run the self-cleaning feature on the oven.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re already stir-crazy?” Damon asked.

“This from the man who cut off his own cast when he had a broken arm because he was bored?”

“I was fourteen. And in my defense, no one told me I wasn’t allowed to use the table saw for that.”

“I thought you were out in the garage building a bird feeder. Thought it might build character. We were lucky you didn’t cut your damn arm off,” Dad said.

“My point isn’t that Damon’s an idiot—though I have several examples to prove it—but that this family doesn’t do well with downtime. Dad, I think that’s half the reason you’re so grouchy. That and the kidney failure obviously.”

“Yeah, that part’s a barrel of laughs,” he deadpanned. “Good thing you’re here sweetie.”

“Yeah, I’m a total Florence Nightingale, I know,” I said. “There’s a reason I didn’t become a nurse. Anyway, I’ll settle in. I’m just antsy because I’m used to working fourteen-hour days…” I trailed off, not wanting my brother to know how restless I really was.

“They’re down an officer here in town. Ray Shaw’s finally retiring. Brody’s the chief now. I’m sure he’d give you an interview if you wanted to join the RFPD.”

“Brody’s the chief?” I asked, trying to pretend that my cheeks didn’t flush at the mention of his name.

Brody was my big brother’s oldest friend, tall and handsome and out of reach, my teenage crush. If we’re being honest here, he’s the reason I have a type. My type is tall, dark hair, quiet and brooding with the warmest brown eyes—those coffee eyes that missed nothing, that seemed to hint at depth and compassion and strength, dark eyes fathoms deep. I felt a pull in my stomach remembering his eyes. The eyes of a man I never dated, never slept with—a man who was just my brother’s friend who married a sweet girl I was always low-key jealous of. Now he was grown up and the chief of police. I tried to act more casual than I felt.

“That’s great. I’d love to talk to him. I mean I’d love to talk about a job, have an interview,” I said, stumbling over my words in a way that made me feel younger again and stupid.

“He’s not much on catching up. He’s been a bit of a loner since Missy died.”

“I heard about that. I sent a card,” I said.

I didn’t come back for the funeral. I hadn’t really known her and hadn’t seen Brody in years, so I hadn’t taken off work. Now somehow, I felt a pang of regret that I hadn’t offered my support in person. I knew Damon had always been a good friend to him, almost like a brother. So I was sure he supported him a lot during that time. I shook my head. I had too much time to sit around and think. That was my problem. A job interview was just the thing for me.

“I’ve got to head to the firehouse. Just wanted to stop in and say hi. Where’s Mom?”

“I made her go into town. She’s getting her hair colored. I can’t believe she’s been doing it all on her own for months.”

“I’m sitting right here, daughter,” our dad said grumpily.

“Yep. You sure are,” I teased. “Not that he’s not a complete delight to take care of, it’s just a big job to handle the house and cooking and the health care needs of another human. At least with babies they don’t talk back,” I said to Damon, shooting a mischievous look at my dad.

“I can still take you out behind the woodshed and bust your ass, little girl,” he said wryly.

“We don’t have a woodshed, and Mom always busted my ass with a wooden spoon. You were the good cop, remember?”

“Those days are gone. It’s bad cop worse cop now, right Damon?”

“It’s no cops. It’s firemen only,” he said. I rolled my eyes.

“Remember when she was little and we thought she was so sweet?” Dad asked pointedly to Damon.

“Yeah, those were the days,” he said.

“Then she started talking, and we found out we were wrong,” Dad sighed.

“More green tea?” I asked sweetly.

He rolled his eyes big time at that one. “You sure you counted my pills right? Cause I remember we never thought you’d learn your times tables.”

“Yeah, sis, we thought you’d have to be a stripper when you grew up because you sucked at math too bad to wait tables,” Damon chimed in.