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Gen couldn’t help but smile. “She is.”
“What is she? Great Dane? Mastiff?”
“Beagle.”
He laughed as he stepped forward again. “Some beagle. I’ve got one, too. Mine’s named Sludge.”
“Mine’s Sadie.” Forgetting all about not being good at chitchat, she said, “So I guess you know all about the trials of being a beagle owner?”
“Howling at night? Foraging for rabbits?” With a chuckle, he said, “I know it all.”
As Genevieve thought about Sadie’s penchant for snacks, pizza—anything off the dinner table—she had to agree. “Sadie once ate all the hidden eggs in a neighborhood Easter egg hunt.”
“How many?”
“At least a dozen. She ate each one in a single bite. The colored shells didn’t deter her the slightest.” Recalling Sadie’s bloated stomach and lingering aftereffects, Gen added, “I felt her pain for two days.”
Holding out his hand, he said, “I guess if I know about Sadie’s appetites, I’d better introduce myself. Cary Hudson.”
“Genevieve Slate,” she replied, shaking his hand.
“Genevieve. Pretty name.”
Her mother had thought so, too. “Actually, I go by Gen. So is that Cary as in Cary Grant?”
“Definitely. My mom was a huge fan of old movie stars. My brother’s name is Dean.”
She was intrigued. “Like Dean Martin?”
“Absolutely.” That infectious grin appeared again. “If you know of Dean Martin, you must be a movie fan, too.”
“I am.” Gen couldn’t believe they had something else besides beagles in common. She had all of Cary Grant’s movies on DVD and had watched the original Ocean’s Eleven just last week.
She was warming to Cary Hudson, the teacher. Cary, like Cary Grant. He was likable and attractive. Open and approachable.
The complete opposite of herself.
At least on the outside.
Cary probably enjoyed walks in the park, hanging out in front of the fire, reading—activities that a lot of the men in her line of work didn’t always admit doing. Sadie would love him.
Gen had the feeling she wouldn’t be too opposed to him, either.
If she was going to be in the market for a relationship.
Breaking the silence, Cary slapped his hands on his jeans. “Well, now that I’ve bored you, I’ll see you around.”
“I wasn’t bored. Thanks again for the help.”
“Anytime. Good luck with your beagle.”
“You, too! And don’t worry—Sadie’s docile as long as she’s well fed.”
“Aren’t we all?”
His comment was so true she burst out laughing. Cary joined in, then walked to his vehicle. Gen knew if she didn’t say a word, she’d never have a reason to speak with him again—unless he needed help from the police for some reason.
To her surprise, hurrying home to Sadie no longer seemed that important, even if Sadie was probably entertaining a thousand ways to make Gen pay for coming home late for dinner. “Hey,” she called out just as he was about to get into his car. “Do you drink coffee?”
“I do. Do you want to go sit down somewhere?”
Cary was obviously too much of a gentleman to make her ask him out. His manners made her regret skipping cotillion classes back in the eighth grade. “Yes. I mean, if you have time.” God, she was so bad at this!
“I have time. Do you know the Corner Café?”
“Sure. I’ll meet you there.”
Situated in an old yellow farmhouse, the café had already become one of Gen’s favorite spots. She liked checking out the antiques there on Sunday mornings. It brought back memories of her mother’s love of handmade crafts—and Gen’s desire to be just like her until it had become apparent that unlike her sister, Gen didn’t have a natural aptitude for anything handmade. After that, Gen had fostered her father’s admiration by trying to be the son he never had. Unfortunately that hadn’t really worked, either. Daddy had wanted a boy, not a girl who behaved like one.
That feeling of rejection still stung.
As Cary’s shiny black SUV pulled out of the parking lot, Genevieve felt yet another jab of awareness. And of isolation.
She was lonely. She was sick of dodging late-night memories of Keaton, her former partner with the Cincinnati police. Keaton had been her first true friend in a long while. So, true, she’d imagined he, too, had felt something special between the two of them. She’d been attracted to him from the moment they’d met, and had spent years waiting for him to notice her in a romantic way.
It had been embarrassing as hell when he’d fallen in love with someone else, never giving her a second thought. The incident had been uncomfortable enough for her to want to start over someplace new.
It had been her good fortune—or misfortune—that Lane’s End had been hiring. By the time she’d picked up and moved, Lane’s End reminded her too much of Beckley for close comfort.
Funny how sometimes even a small town could seem too big.
CARY SHIFTED HIS Explorer into fourth gear and wondered what in the world he was doing meeting Gen for coffee. Even if she did look like a sporty Demi Moore, his instincts told him he had no business even thinking about another relationship after his ex, Kate Daniels, had taken his heart and pulverized it by the time she’d been through with him.
Still, Cary supposed he should thank Kate for opening his eyes. He’d no longer assume anything in a relationship. I love you sometimes only meant “I want to go to bed with you.” I want a relationship didn’t necessarily mean love was on a woman’s mind. No, it might just mean “I want you…until someone better comes along.”
He’d spent the past three months volunteering on too many committees at Lane’s End High, helping his brother’s daughter, Melissa, and trying to forget he’d ever fallen in love with Kate.
So what was he doing meeting Genevieve at a coffee shop?
Because there’d been something in her eyes that broke his heart. She looked as if she needed a friend. That, he could do.
After they both arrived at the café, Cary guided her to an empty table and flagged over the waitress. She quickly took their orders, then disappeared.
As Gen slipped their menus back in the holder at the end of the table, she looked pretty pleased with herself.
Cary was intrigued. “What’s the joke?”
Her smile widened. “Oh, nothing, really. I’m just feeling pretty proud of myself for not ordering any of the pastries on the menu. Ordinarily, I’d have had an éclair or two.”
“You’ve got a sweet tooth?”
“One about the size of Alaska.”
He laughed. “It’s been a while since I’ve been with a woman who wasn’t constantly worried about every morsel she ingested.”
“That sure isn’t me! I tend to worry about other things.” A shadow crossed her face. “Like this. I don’t usually ask men I’ve just met to coffee.”
“Then we’re even. I don’t usually get asked out at the pet store.” When her eyes widened, he added hastily, “Good thing it’s just coffee, huh?”
She relaxed visibly. “Yeah. Good thing.”
Hoping to set her at ease, Cary asked, “So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a cop.”
“Yeah?” Taking in her form, Cary had to admit the occupation fit. Tall and athletic, her personality strong and assertive, Gen Slate looked born to the job. “I’ve never known a cop before. I mean, beyond the occasional parking or speeding ticket. What kind of cop are you? Traffic? Vice? Homicide?”
“You’ve been watching too many detective shows,” she said, her dark blue eyes brightening. “In a town like Lane’s End we do everything that’s needed. Luckily there isn’t much need for a homicide unit.”
After the server delivered their drinks, Gen sipped hers delicately. That purely feminine trait intrigued him. “So…” he prodded.
“I just joined the local police department. I was on patrol in Cincinnati for five years. Now I’m learning to adjust to small-town life. Again.”
“How’s it going?”
“So far, so good. I’m beginning to realize change is a good thing.”
He’d heard that, too, which made him wonder why he’d been so complacent for so long. Maybe it was time to think about other things besides dating women he’d known for years, work and family obligations.
Maybe it was time to shake things up a bit.
“Most of my day is spent handling regular stuff,” Gen said. “Domestic disputes. Kids drinking and driving. The occasional traffic stop.” Pausing, she added, “I bet I’ve unlocked more car doors and investigated more dog-barking violations in the past month than I did during the whole time in CPD.”
“I’m fascinated.”
“You’re nuts!” she exclaimed with a laugh. “Being a cop is not fascinating. But I do love the job. I’d go crazy if I had to sit at a desk all day.”
“I feel the same way about my job. Teaching high school assures me that I’ll never have a dull moment.”
“I guess you can get pretty attached to your students.”
Cary nodded as he thought of the fine line he walked between confidant and authority figure at Lane’s End High. “I have gotten to know quite a few of them well. Some need another person who cares about their lives…others just need someone to listen. It comes with the territory.”
Genevieve relaxed and realized with some surprise that she was enjoying herself. Cary was interesting and easy to talk to. Maybe this little coffee date would lead to another date. And another.
Maybe then she’d forget all about Keaton.
Maybe—
The sharp ring of her cell phone broke through that little daydream. “Sorry, I’ve got to answer this,” she murmured when she saw it was the precinct calling. “Slate.”
“I know you’re off the clock, but we need some backup on east I-275. You anywhere near there?” Allison, the dispatcher on duty, asked.
With a frown, Gen mentally figured how far she was from the highway. “Five minutes. Eight tops.”
“Good.” With practiced, measured tones, Allison launched into details about the accident.
Gen processed the information quickly. “I’m on my way.”
“Problem?” Cary asked, standing up as she did.
“Yeah, sorry.” Quickly she fished for a five in her jeans pocket. “Here. I’ve got to—”
“Save your money. My treat.” When she looked at him in surprise, he added, “It’s just coffee, Slate. No big deal.”
Though she knew he was right, Gen felt her spirits deflate. Slate. Men who wanted to be only friends called women by their last names. For a brief moment she’d hoped they could have been more.
As she strode to her car, Gen realized she was glad she’d taken the time to get to know Cary Hudson. Even if they never saw each other again, it had been good to put herself out there and meet new people.
Gen also had a feeling that Sadie was probably worming her way out of her metal kennel at that very moment, irritated her Mighty Munchies were nowhere in sight.
As Gen imagined a hungry Sadie foraging in the kitchen unsupervised, she hoped she’d remembered to shut the pantry door.
Chapter Two
Cary wrote the last of the theorem on the whiteboard, then turned to face his class. “Don’t forget to refer to these notes when you do page one hundred fifty-six for homework.”
As expected, groans erupted across the room. There was a big pep rally planned for the afternoon as the basketball team was now two games away from making the district finals. Glancing at the clock, he feigned surprise. “Would you look at that? I must have miscalculated the time. We still have fifteen minutes of class. Some of you might be able to get the majority of the assignment done before the bell.”
Almost simultaneously, twenty pencils hit the desks. Well, twenty pencils except for the one belonging to Amy Blythe, the curly-haired blonde in the front row. “I don’t think you know how to miscalculate, Mr. Hudson.”
Because he was no actor, Cary merely smiled and motioned to the clock over the whiteboard. “There’s thirteen minutes left of class, Amy.”
Taking the hint, she, too, buried her face in the math book. Cary used the time to erase the board for the following day, then take a quick tour of the room to make sure everyone was on the right page. He’d learned his first year that just because he was on task it didn’t mean all his students were.
As he nodded, pointed to correct answers and high-fived the kids who finished, he thought again about something that was the complete opposite of math and equations—Genevieve Slate. The cop. Total brunette perfection. He’d been mesmerized the moment she’d tromped out of the pet store, full of determination.
She’d been all business and grit. Though not really. There’d been a flash of vulnerability in her blue eyes, as if someone had hurt her. He knew the feeling well.
Sitting on the edge of his desk, he waited for the last three minutes of class to tick by.
One of the boys near the front caught his eye. “Mr. Hudson, you going to the game?”
“Of course.”
In the back row, Ben Schultz raised his head. “I heard Jamestown’s pretty good. I hope we’ll have a chance.”
Cary hid a smile. Until recently, Ben had only paid attention to computers and science labs. It looked as if everyone—teachers, students and townsfolk—was rallying behind the Lions. “Brian McCullough’s pretty good, too,” he said, referring to their team’s star forward.
