off to the big city to make her fortune. She’d barely spoken two words to him since she’d been back. And he wasn’t altogether sure that was a bad thing.
He still wanted her. Just as badly as he always had. But he wasn’t ready to risk his heart again. She’d damn near crippled him when she’d walked away. He’d been seeing wedding bells, a house and kids in their future, and she’d apparently thought of him as little more than a summer sidekick. He wasn’t going to let himself go through that again. So he’d stayed away from her, waiting to see what she planned to do, just about as long as he could stand to. For nearly a whole year he’d limited himself to a few words of greeting when they met in the diner, told himself to keep his distance for his own sanity, even while torturing himself by sitting in a booth every day, watching her.
He had asked her out once when she’d first come back to town. She’d shot him down cold. It was then he’d decided he owed it to himself to get over her. But getting over Dori Stewart was easier decided than done.
As he watched, she lowered her head, swiped an impatient hand at her tears and turned to walk out of his line of vision.
Jason went the rest of the way to the door, knocked twice, then stood there waiting.
It only took her a second to come to the door. She asked who it was, and when he told her, he heard locks turning.
Hell, she’d been living in the city too damn long.
She opened the door and stood there, looking out at him. “What is it?”
Friendly, she wasn’t. Then again, he’d already ascertained that she wasn’t in the best of moods. He offered a friendly smile. “I’d prefer to tell you from in there where it’s warm. Save you letting all the heat out.”
She met his eyes, but opened the door wider to let him in. He stomped the snow off his boots and came inside, and she closed the door behind him.
He liked the way she looked. He hadn’t when she’d first come back. Her copper hair had been too tamed, too trimmed, too styled. Her skin had been as pale as porcelain and she’d been skinny as a rail.
A summer on the lake had improved things a whole lot. Put some color in her cheeks. She’d let her hair grow out just as it pleased, and she might have put on a few pounds, too. She was starting to look as though she belonged out here—even if she wasn’t acting that way just yet.
“So what can I do for you, Chief Farrar?” she asked.
“Kind of formal, don’t you think? Given our history?”
She shrugged. “It’s been a long time.”
“So long you can’t even call me Jason anymore?”
She met his eyes, and he saw something flicker. Regret, maybe. Interest, perhaps, he hoped. Her tone softened, as did her face. He thought a little of the stiffness left her body.
“What can I do for you, Jason?”
“A cup of coffee would do for starters. If it’s fresh.”
“I stopped serving people at five, but you’re welcome to help yourself.”
“I’ll take it.” He tugged off his boots and then sock-footed his way across the kitchen, draping his coat over the back of a chair on the way. Then he took two mugs from the little wooden tree and filled them. He set them on the table, grabbed the cream from the fridge and sat down.
She sat down, as well. He poured cream into his cup, then passed it to her.
“Nope. I drink it black.”
“You didn’t used to.”
She frowned.
“Two sugars and a good long stream of half-and-half. But only if no real cream was at hand. I remember.”
She studied him for a long moment, her green eyes wide and searching. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“I remember everything, Dori.” He shrugged and sipped his coffee.
It seemed to take her a moment to stop staring at him and find something to say again. He took that as a positive sign and told himself that was because he was a pathetic sap.
“What are you doing here, Jason?”
“It’s an official visit. You didn’t think I was here to ask you out again, did you?”
She shrugged. “It crossed my mind.”
“I’m not into masochism, Dori. You made it clear the first time that you didn’t have any interest in starting anything up with me.”
“With anyone,” she corrected.
“Right. Because you would only be here long enough to decide which big-city offer to accept, and then you’d be out of here so fast we’d see nothing but a copper-red streak.”
“Is that what I said?” She averted her eyes and drank her coffee instead of looking at him. He’d hit a nerve, he thought.
“That’s what you said. ’Course, that was damn close to a year ago.”
She sighed. “I get where you’re going with this. I’m still here, right? So did you come to rub it in? Gloat a little that the snotty city snob got knocked down a peg?”
He swore softly, and that drew her eyes back to his again. He said, “Hey, it’s me. Jason. Do you remember anything at all about me?”
She frowned for a moment, then nodded twice. “You’re right. You’d never gloat over my failed life. You’re not that kind. Never were.”
“Well, thank goodness you remember at least that much. I’ll tell you, Dori, city living made you cynical. Gave you a hard edge you didn’t used to have.”
“That’s probably true.”
He hadn’t come here to insult her, but he thought he just had. “I was only asking about your still being here because it makes me wonder if maybe your plans have changed.” He hoped to God she would say they had, but the misery in her eyes told him different even before she did.
Dori lowered her head. “My plans haven’t changed. But what I plan to do and what I can do are turning out to be further apart than I imagined.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. “So you still plan to take some big-time job and hightail it back to the city at the first opportunity?”
“I sent out a dozen more résumés last week.”
He sighed. “Are you sure you don’t belong out here, Dori? Hell, nobody tells those Champ stories the way you do.”
She tilted her head to one side, averted her eyes. “You said you were here on official business?”
Jason sighed. If she was determined to freeze him out, there wasn’t much he could do about it. “Yeah. Wanted to ask if you could help me out on a case.”
She
