“Preaching to the choir.” I pointed in the direction of her cottage. “Pull over and I’ll—” I had my finger poised above her number on my cell when the front door opened, and Brad Hunstadt stepped out.
“Oh, that’s not good.” It got worse when Jenn followed, and they proceeded to play tonsil hockey on the front porch. I winced. “No one wants to see that.”
“I think you’re wrong.” Bobby indicated several passersby that had stopped to watch.
“They’ll be married by sundown.”
“Really?”
“If they aren’t she may as well buy her scarlet letter today.”
“She’s a big girl.” He eyed Jenn once more. “Figuratively speaking.”
“He spent the night. She’s toast.”
“I spent the night.”
My eyes met his, and my heart skittered. Hell.
I was toast too.
Chapter 22
When had he fallen in love with her?
First kiss? First touch? More likely first sight.
Since Bobby had driven into town and almost driven over her, he’d been tumbling head over heels in this direction.
What was he going to do about it? He couldn’t stay here forever. Or could he?
She muttered something that sounded like a curse as Jenn followed blond beauty around the corner of the house. Seconds later a boxy blue Ford four-door with Brad at the wheel and Jenn in the passenger seat turned onto First Street.
“She didn’t even text,” Raye murmured.
“Must be love.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Must be.”
They were both in big trouble, even without the crazies that were trying to kill her.
Bobby followed Brad’s car to the school, pulled into the lot just behind but lost sight of it in the traffic. Seemingly every teacher in the place had arrived at precisely the same time. As they climbed out, Bobby leveled his cop stare at several gawkers.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Trying to keep you from earning a scarlet letter.”
“That ship has sailed.”
He came around the car and took her arm, planning to escort her through the front doors and to her classroom, but she held back. “You don’t have to stand right next to me all day.”
“I’m protecting you.”
“Is that what you call it?” She lowered her voice and wiggled her eyebrows. “Protect me again.”
Now he was the one whose cheeks warmed.
“We have top-of-the-line security,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“I—” He swallowed and straightened. “So will I.”
“Why wouldn’t you be?”
That was a conversation he didn’t plan on having.
“I—uh—I meant I wouldn’t interfere with your day. Do you have a computer in your room? There are things I can work on.”
“Uh-huh.” Her gaze went to his holster. “You’re going to have to lose the gun.”
“No, thank you.”
“You aren’t getting that through the metal detector.”
“I’m one of the good guys.”
“A metal detector can’t tell good from bad. It only knows metal.”
“What if the Venatores Mali come? They have guns.”
“So far, they don’t.” She held up her hand before he could protest. “They won’t get a knife through security either.” She set her fingertips on his arm. “Put it away, please. It makes me nervous to have a gun in a kindergarten class.” Her lips tightened. “In any class.”
“I could be a guest speaker. Cop for a day. The kids will love it. I’ll answer questions.”
A bead of sweat ran down his cheek. He felt a little ill. The idea of going inside was bad enough. But talking to them, listening to them, learning their names, seeing their faces— “What’s wrong?”
He swallowed or tried to. His throat was so tight he coughed instead. Her expression told him that this was a fight he wasn’t going to win. In truth, he was afraid he’d be so distracted by the kids, he might not keep as sharp an eye as he needed to on his weapon.
Bobby withdrew his gun, popped the trunk, and stowed it.
“Thank you.” She began to reach for his hand, glanced about, thought better of it and led the way inside.
By the time they reached her classroom, Bobby had broken out in a cold sweat all over, and the tightness in his throat had spread to his chest. If he hadn’t felt this way before—every time he saw kids the age of his daughter when she died—he’d think he was having a heart attack.
“Miss Larsen!”
Several of the children ran to her, all talking at once. Bobby backed up, bumping into the doorjamb, then sidestepping quickly to avoid the brush of the bodies still flowing into the room.
Raye cast him a concerned glance before she was enveloped. A redheaded boy grabbed her hand; a girl with huge, brown eyes wrapped her fingers in Raye’s belt loop. One chattered about what his dog had done; the other shared how she had finally learned to ride her bike without the little wheels. Raye miraculously carried on a conversation with both of them.
He could tell by the way they touched her that they adored her. Her smile blossomed as she spoke to them. She looked so right, standing there in the sun with all the little children around her, that Bobby’s chest hurt even worse at a sudden realization.