Have a little faith, would you? Trust her.

After she’s been caught twice in the last week sneaking out? I don’t think so.

As much as she wanted to trust her kids, Jenna had a hard time believing that Cassie and Josh weren’t having sex. And Cassie was only sixteen. What a mess!

If she could, she’d wring Josh Sykes’s scrawny neck and then castrate him!

“Great,” she muttered angrily before realizing that Sheriff Carter was still standing in the kitchen, hands in the pockets of his jacket, and staring at her with his damning brown eyes. “I’m sorry about this,” she said quickly, “and I really appreciate you bringing Cassie home.”

He nodded. “No problem,” he said, but his expression belied his words. “Unfortunately, this isn’t over. She’ll still have to report to the juvenile court.”

“Which might be a good thing, considering. Cassie needs to be scared or shocked or shaken into some sense of reality and responsibility.” Jenna scraped her hair away from her face and shook her head. “My daughter doesn’t take much advice from me anymore.”

“What about her father?”

“Robert?” Jenna let out a short, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Well. I’ll call him in the morning…no, first I’ll have Cassie call him, have her cop to what she’s been doing.” She dreaded the confrontation. No doubt Robert would blame Jenna for not having control of their daughters. He was a great one to point out blame rather than handle the situation. Dealing with Robert on tough issues was tantamount to walking through quicksand. Impossible, pointless, and mired in all kinds of emotional muck that just kept dragging Jenna down. Robert’s knowledge of the situation wouldn’t improve things one iota.

Again, she found Carter watching her and she was suddenly aware of what she must look like—her hair mussed, not even a trace of lipstick, her face lined with worry, her checkered flannel pajamas peeking out of her favorite, slightly worn, chenille robe. So much for the glamorous Hollywood babe look, she thought wryly. “Gee, where are my manners?” she mocked, feeling her lips twist in self-deprecation. “I guess I’m not used to guests at four in the morning.”

“I didn’t stop by as a guest.” His voice was deep, and not as harsh as usual. As if he understood the trauma she’d been through tonight. Gee, maybe the guy actually had a heart hidden somewhere deep in that big chest of his. Nah. Jenna wasn’t betting on it.

“Well, you’re here now. So…would you like a cup of coffee or something?” she asked, then spied her coffeemaker sitting on the edge of the counter. Day-old sludge was congealing in the glass pot.

Carter’s gaze followed hers.

“I’ll make fresh,” she offered.

“Don’t bother. I’ve got to get going.” He stepped toward the door, but she was suddenly on a mission. And sick to death that every time he saw her, she was some kind of victim.

“It’s the least I can do.” She knew that she was too hyped-up now to sleep, so over his protests she washed the glass pot, dumped yesterday’s grounds down the sink, and poured fresh beans into a grinder. Over the screech of the whirring blades, she said, “I’ve got a thermal cup you can take with you.”

“Really, this isn’t necessary.”

“No, and it’s not a bribe to get both me and my daughter out of trouble, either,” she tossed over her shoulder. “You know, it’s funny, but every time I see you, and it’s been a lot lately, I’ve been in some kind of trouble.”

“Comes with me being a cop.”

“I know. But it seems like, in the last few days, every time I turn around, I’m facing you.”

“A nightmare, huh?”

“Well, yeah. It has been.” She looked over her shoulder and actually caught a glimpse of his smile, a flash of white teeth beneath his dark moustache, a crack in his serious facade. When he smiled he was handsome in that rugged, outdoors-man way that had never much impressed her before. But now, spying the crow’s-feet near his eyes and the shadow of his beard adding to his all-male image, she noticed his good looks. Which was ridiculous. It was four in the morning, for God’s sake. He’d spent the last few hours dealing with her juvenile delinquent of a daughter when he had so much more to do. Yet, tonight, she noticed just how well he filled out his jeans and parka.

“Sleep deprivation,” she muttered under her breath as she poured water into the coffeemaker and turned on the switch.

“Pardon me?”

“Nothing.”

The kitchen seemed to warm with the aroma of coffee brewing.

“Do you have any kids?” she asked, though, from the rumors she’d heard in town, she guessed not.

“No.” He was leaning against a bank of cupboards, his gaze moving from her to the window over the sink where snow had collected in the corners of the panes.

“They’re a blessing…and sometimes…”

“A curse?”

Tags: Lisa Jackson West Coast Mystery
Source: readsnovelonline.net