For You (The 'Burg #1)(124)

“Nope. I wanted to be a cop.”

She tipped her head back to look at him and he noticed for the first time she was very pretty. Not because she looked like Feb. All on her own.

A tear slid down her cheek and she said, “I wanted to be a dancer. Looks like we both got what we wanted, hunh?”

The words had the edge of bitterness which coated an underlying sadness.

“Card works a second way, Cheryl,” Colt said softly. “It works for kids who wanna learn to play football.”

She closed her eyes and new tears slid down her face.

“Got a friend named Morrie who’s got a boy, Palmer,” Colt went on. “We toss a ball around a lot. Ethan would be welcome.”

She nodded but looked away without a word.

“Feb would want to meet you,” he pushed it, speaking quietly.

“Why?” she asked the window.

“Because she’s a woman who’s led a lonely life forced on her by a number of shitty guys and she’s found her way through. She’d know what you’re feelin’ and she’d listen, or not, you don’t feel like talkin’. She owns a bar, least she could do is make you a drink.”

Cheryl put her hand to her ponytail, tugged it and said softly, “Right about now, I could use a drink.”

“J&J’s, two doors down, you can’t miss it and you’re welcome.”

She said no more, Mimi came up with a filled white bag and said to Colt, “I’ll put it on your tab.”

“Catch you on that tomorrow,” Colt told her as she set the bag beside Cheryl’s untouched brownie and quickly took off.

“Later, Cheryl,” Colt said and turned to the door.

“Lieutenant Colton?” she called, he stopped and looked at her.

“Friends call me Colt.”

She swallowed before she nodded and went on. “Colt,” then she whispered, “thanks for not bein’ an ass**le.”

He smiled at her. It wasn’t the best compliment he’d ever had but, from Cheryl, it was likely one of the better ones she had to give.

Then he left.

* * * * *

At ten past six, Colt entered J&J’s, looked to the bar, saw Feb and didn’t get the jaw tilt.

She turned, walked down to his end and he met her there.

“Reece okay?”

Colt slid onto his stool. “Checked in, safe and sound and now on the alert for a hatchet murderer. Thinkin’ about takin’ a vacation.”

She closed her eyes and whispered, “Thank God.”

Colt fought back the jealousy her obvious emotion for this Reece guy caused. She didn’t need that now. They’d talk about the fact that she’d need to phone Reece and let him know that contact would be minimal and friendly from here on in but they’d talk about it later. And he’d share then that that contact would be very minimal and more cordial than friendly.

She opened her eyes and asked, “Off duty?”

“Yeah, baby. Beer.”

She twisted, got him a beer and set it in front of him.

“So, you wanna guess what a patty melt got you?” she asked.

She was still wearing the relief on her face, shoving the last drama aside and letting the next snatch of the good life in before the shit hit again. She reached under the bar and pulled up two white, square Styrofoam containers.

“Ham and cheese?” Colt asked.

Feb shook her head.

“Oh f**k, another tenderloin?”

She smiled then flicked the latch and the Styrofoam flipped opened.

“Patty melt!” she announced then burst out laughing, so hard she flopped down beside the food, her arm bent on the bar, her head on it, her hair flying everywhere.

She was hysterical and he should have called her about Reece. Then again, he found out that Reece was safe ten minutes ago so he walked the news to the bar. He didn’t know if that ten minutes would have stopped her from cracking up but he was learning that he probably shouldn’t have taken that chance.

He put his hand to the back of her neck and called, “February.”

Her shoulders were shaking and she also shook her head.

“I’m all right,” she told the bar then straightened, his hand fell away, she pulled her hair from her face and took in a breath before repeating, “I’m all right.”

“Be a cryin’ shame, honey, you miss me earnin’ an omelet because you cracked up.”

“An Omelet a la Feb,” she corrected him.

“I can’t say that,” he told her.

“Why not?”

“I’m a man, Feb. I don’t say shit like, ‘a la’ anything.”

She started laughing again, luckily this time not hysterically, before she said, “I’m not gonna crack up, Colt.”

“Promise me, baby.”

She leaned toward him, putting her elbows on the bar and whispered, “I promise.”

Colt leaned toward her, wrapped his hand around the back of her head, pulled her to him and kissed her.

When he pulled back, she asked, “So, how many folks are yanking out their cell phones just about now?”

Colt grinned at her and said, “Fuck ‘em.”

“Wanna move to China with me?”

“China?” he asked.