Conner pulled in behind Angel's Jeep.
He frowned at all the birds perched and pecking in the front drive leading up to Angel's cottage.
His radio crackled as a voice came over. He recognized Deputy Fredericks' voice, who was manning the front desk.
"Grayson."
"A potential false alarm, Sherriff," Marie Fredericks said.
"False alarm?"
"Miss Lew claims she dialed accidentally and was shouting at some birds," Conner could hear the skeptical tone.
Conner looked around his own vehicle, and grunted. "Yeah, I see the birds."
"There are really birds?" Marie laughed.
Conner threw open his door and looked at the ground. "Yeah. Looks like someone went a bit overboard with some bird feed." He could see some on the canvas of the Jeep in front of him. "Way overboard."
"Need back-up?"
"Har-har. I'll just check in with Angel then head on back," Conner clipped his handheld radio back into place on his dashboard.
"Ten-four, Sheriff. Grab us a treat on your way back, would ya?"
"Ten-four," Conner laughed. He'd made a habit of getting some sweet treats from the coffee shop or bakery whenever he'd walked into the harbor, to take back for the guys at the station.
They'd called him on his bribery tactics, tough. He'd owned up to it, and they'd relaxed around him.
He was a people person, and had a knack for putting others at ease. It's what made him so good at being a cop.
Stepping out onto the stones spread unevenly in her driveway, Conner moved for a closer inspection.
There was birdseed spread every which way in this front part of the cottage. It looked like someone had poured the feed into a leaf blower and turned it on to spray - mode.
He doubted Angel had been the one to do this to her own house. Then he noticed the bird excrement all over the front porch.
She definitely hadn't done his to her home. Which led him to believe someone had done this deliberately.
Why would someone do something like this?
He saw wet footprints leading back in through the front door.
He followed them to their source, and found the tap at the side of her house, with the hose lying detached on the ground beside its drain, the ground puddled around it.
The footprints had looked like Angel was barefoot, which suggested to him she'd cleaned her feet off before going back inside.
Where was she? Why hadn't she come out to greet him? Maybe she'd gotten more than just dirty feet and needed to wash off other parts of her body?
Oops, better not to think of that woman in the shower. Naked.
He shook himself.
Getting an idea, Conner re-attached the hose, turned it on, and worked his way back around to the front of the cottage. He aimed the spray at wherever he could see the birds eating seeds, and wherever there were droppings.
While he worked at washing the seeds on the ground away towards the tree line, he let his mind wander.
He hadn't seen Angel in a week. He'd tried, but she'd always been busy.
On Monday, it had been a work call, so she was stuck in the office. Tuesday, Bo had told him that she was out on a supply run.
Wednesday, Sienna had said Angel wasn't in. That had been his first clue that perhaps she was avoiding him, because he'd seen her yellow Jeep parked down a side street. It had been tucked away near to the dumpsters, so it had him wondering if perhaps she was actually hiding from him, not just unavailable.
The thought had intrigued him, and amused him.
He'd intended to confront her the next day, when Sienna had assured him that Angel would be in for sure, as her habit to prepare for the weekend relied on her being in the kitchen until late Thursday afternoon.
Thursday rolled around, and she'd driven off as he'd stepped into the coffee shop. He'd seen her, hair blowing, sunglasses tucked on top of her head in a futile attempt to keep the locks out of her face, driving away from the store.
By Friday, he was no longer amused, or intrigued.
What had he done besides being friendly to her? For all she knew, he'd hugged her when she was sad. She didn't know how he felt. She couldn't.
He'd tried to keep his interest in check, and only mention her in passing conversation during the week, so as not to appear too keen, and set people's gossip radar's buzzing.
Small towns tended to have high-functioning gossip mills.
Conner didn't like being avoided for no good reason. It made him feel like he did in high school before his muscles had come in, and he had just been this freakishly tall guy, who didn't break rules, who was respectful to the girls, and who always did his homework. The jocks had bullied and teased him for being a pansy, and most would laugh behind his back. It had made him feel awful.
He'd filled out in college though, and then later when he'd joined the military was when he'd really bulked up.
Saturday, he'd found himself brooding at home, in his tiny temporary apartment, forcing himself to stay indoors and away from the woman currently avoiding him. He'd been in a mood, and knew he was no good in that state of mind, so had locked himself inside. The only outing had been a snack run, and to stop off at the station to drop off their daily treat.
And now here they were.
He moved the spray of water to her Jeep, making quick work of the birds still perched up there.
He hoped to have this all done before she finished cleaning herself up inside.
Moving closer to the porch, being careful to wash the mess away from the front door, he noticed the door was slightly ajar.
He frowned.
Yeah, it was a safe neighborhood, but still, she shouldn't leave herself exposed like this. Being in the shower with the door open.
He finished up, returned the hose to the side of the house and came back around onto the porch.
With the hose no longer on, he could hear other sounds. Cars travelling the main road on the other side of the small lake, kids laughing in their canoes; he could hear it all. He moved closer to the front door.
He couldn't hear a shower, or any water running to indicate Angel was still busy washing up.
Conner raised his fist, and knocked, loudly, keeping his other hand around the doorknob, to stop it from flying open under his pounding fist.
When no answer came, he stuck his head inside and called out.
"Angel?" No response.
He was a cop, the Sheriff no less, so he didn't feel too bad about entering. The door was open, anyway.
He had to duck to get through the door, but that wasn't unusual for him.
He looked around the entry room. He liked the way it had been done up.
It was plain colors, but dressed up with splashes here and there. What had his mother called it? Accents.
Ah, he smiled and shook his head at the things Deidre Grayson had taught him.
Opening his mouth to call out again, Conner's heart stopped when he saw bare feet poking out from behind the kitchen island.
He vaulted over the coffee table and the sofa, and dropped to his knees as he hit the kitchen. His right knee hit a loose nail, felt what he was sure was skin being ripped off, but ignored it all as he reached the person lying on the floor.
He barely recognized it as Angel, the flour covering her face disguised her features entirely. He would have laughed, as she presented quite a sight.
He saw the streak of milk next to her foot, and guessed she had slipped, knocking everything off the counter as she'd fallen. The bowl on the floor beside her had a liquid substance in it he guessed to be egg.
The flour was sprayed everywhere. Her hair, her face, her chest, her dress. All covered.
The milk carton lay on its side near her left shoulder, it's contents spilled all over the floor.
Again, he would have laughed, if the puddle of milk underneath her wasn't tinged with pink.
"Shit," he moved his hand under her head to try find the source of the bleeding. "Angel? Can you hear me?" He moved his hand to the base of her skull, but he was struggling to tell the difference between batter and blood, without being able to look at the back of her head.
She moaned.
Using his clean hand he pulled his phone from his pocket, and hit the speed dial for the station.
"Marie, quick. The closest doctor to Miss Lew's place?" His voice left no room for questions. He knew his serious tone would carry across to her.
"Just a sec," he heard her searching in the departments system, the sound of her fingers on the keyboard of the old computer carried across. They really needed an upgrade.
"Doc Mallard is her neighbor. How bad?"
"I'm not sure yet. Get him here, ASAP." He switched his phone to speaker mode and set it aside, away from the mess.
"Yes, sir." She kept him on the line as she called up the doctor. He knew the nearest hospital was about a twenty-minute drive away on the other side of the harbor, but he didn't want to risk moving her. He didn't know where her injury was.
"I thought she'd said she was fine?" Marie's voice sounded concerned.
Uncomfortable in his awkward position of trying to keep her head out the mess, and on his knees, one of them burning with it's graze, he readjusted.
"It looks like she fell in the kitchen. She's unconscious. There's blood, but I don't know where from."
He felt her neck, doing his best to determine if her neck was injured or not, all the while careful not to jostle her too much.
"Hang on, I'm through," Marie's voice moved further away as she spoke to the doctor. Conner looked around.
He saw a cloth hanging over the side of the sink, within reach, and pulled it down. Moving around her head, he folded one leg underneath the other, in a half cross-legged seat, and gingerly lifted Angel's head, a cascade of flour falling from her face, leaving behind a thin layer. He moved his leg underneath her head, not caring about getting covered in the mess.
His fingers found the bump on the back of her head, and the cut, so he pressed the cloth to it. His primary concern was stopping the bleeding, and getting her to wake up.
Being unconscious for any length of time wasn't good.
"Doc and Mavis are on their way, sir."
"Thanks, Marie." He heard her disconnect.
Angel's brow furrowed.
"Angel?" He leant forward to bring his face over hers.
"Ow," she said brokenly.
"Thank god," He dropped his forehead to hers for a second.
"Conner? Wha-?"
He lifted his head to look down at her. "You had a little fall, it seems."
She shifted her head, a little too quickly, and she winced. "Ow."
"Yeah, I'd say so. Ow," he kept the pressure with the cloth, moving his hands with her head, even as her hand lifted to touch his gently. "What happened?"
Suddenly, her eyes opened wide, and locked with his.
He stared down at her, his own gaze warming. Her eyes. Finally.
They were liquid gold. The color was too warm and rich to be described as honey, or just light brown. The yellow flecks caught the sunlight coming through the window, streaming over them, and set the amber color alight. The irises were rimmed in a darker color, giving them an unreal look. He'd never seen eyes like hers before, even though they looked familiar, somehow. The gut punch her gaze delivered was something else, something special.
"Damn."
Her gaze widened, and they heard a car pull up.
He had to force himself to tear his gaze from hers, and he waved to the older gentleman coming through the open door, carrying the traditional old-school doctors case.
If he wasn't so concerned, Conner would have cracked a joke with the good doctor.
"Oh, my dear!" He exclaimed as he came around the side of the kitchen island.
"Where is she?" A woman's voice followed, and soon Mavis Mallard came around behind Conner. "Angel! What happened?"
"I slipped while baking a cake," was that her voice? Conner looked down at her again, his free hand had come to rest on the uninjured side of her head, his fingers splayed down the side of her neck, his thumb on her cheek. He rubbed her cheek softly, the flour coming away and showing her flushed skin underneath.She'd sounded so small and afraid.
"Excuse me, son," Mr. Mallard, Doc as he preferred, knelt down beside Angel. "Hello, my dear. Can you look at me please? Follow my finger with your eyes. That's it. Good girl."
Conner had watched her gaze move from side to side, following the doctors finger as he shone a light in her eyes.
"Alright, I'm confident you're not concussed, I'm seeing good pupillary response."
He leant over Angel and felt around Conner's hands, pressing on her neck and spine.
He nodded, and muttered to himself.
Gone was the cute older gentleman Conner had met last week at the seafood joint he couldn't remember the name of. The man he'd met had seemed your ordinary cuddly grandfatherly type. This one in front of him was professional, serious, and exuded confidence and skill.
"Hon, come down here and give Angel a hand," Doc Mallard spoke to his wife, whom Conner had been surprised to find out was his nurse assistant. They were a husband and wife team with a family practice operating out of their home up the road from here.
"Let's get her out of this mess, and see to her injury."
Conner stiffened, his hands flexing on either side of Angel's face. "Where do you want her? I'll carry her."
"I can walk," Angel spoke up, her furrowed brow denting the layer of flour on her forehead.
"I'll carry you." He said more firmly, frowning down at her, his expression garnered no response.
"Good, if you can bring her to the sofa over there," Doc had looked over his shoulder before answering. "Seated, please, so I'll be able to access the back of her head."
Shifting out from under her, Conner moved his hands, letting Mavis take over. She'd moved onto her knees behind him, put her elbows on the ground, and formed a cradle with her hands, palms together.
He liked to think that his idea to use his leg was a better option. But he wasn't the nurse here.
Doc got to his feet easily, impressing Conner further with the agility this couple showed for people in their late sixties. He hoped in thirty years he'd still be bouncing around like them.
Remaining on his knees, Conner moved to Angel's side. Her eyes tracked him.
"Gently does it," Mavis said as Conner leant forward, and worked his left hand under her arm and across her back, and hooking under her other arm.
"Easy now, easy," he said lifting her to a sitting position. Her knees drew up at the same time.
"I'll just go cover the sofa. Give me a moment," Mavis got up after Angel took over pressing the cloth to the back of her head, and moved over with Doc, opened his bag, and handed him items. They worked smoothly together, taking out their instruments, and a blue square, roughly the size of a large envelope. Conner looked back at Angel where she'd squeezed her eyes shut. "Hurts." Her left hand went to her forehead.
Just looking at her scrumched face he could almost feel the headache that must be permeating through her skull.
She seemed to notice the state she was in just then. "Could you hand me that cloth over there?" she pointed to the corner of one sticking over the edge of the kitchen island.
"Sure, here," He handed the white material to her. She raised it to her face, and wiped baely any mess away.
"Wait, let me wet it for you. Can you manage to sit up by yourself for a moment?" He took the cloth from her at her slight nod.
He wet and wrung it out before handing it back to her, and putting his left arm around her shoulders again.
"Thank you," she was speaking very softly. She opened the cloth completely before covering her face entirely. She wiped her whole face and neck, and pushed the wet cloth into her hairline.
When she pulled the now dirty rag from her face, he saw she had gotten most of it, although some flour still stuck in places.
He took the cloth from her, and wiped her nose, and then her eyebrows, gently.
Her eyes were wide as she watched him. She dropped them when he finished.
"Alright, bring her over," Doc called from the front room.
"Ready?" He dipped his head to look at her face. At her nod, he hooked a hand under her arm, and the other went under her knees.
She immediately stiffened. "Wait!" she moved quickly and grabbed the arm going under her legs, and winced at the sudden movement.
"What, what is it?" He pulled both arms away swiftly. Had he hurt her? Her upper body swayed towards his.
"Get my dress under my knees," she gathered the material there herself. He chuckled at her sudden call for modesty.
"They're medical professionals, I bet they've see all kinds of underwear."
She muttered under her breath, something that sounded like, "Yeah, if I were wearing any."
He almost swallowed his tongue. "Excuse me?"
Angel flushed, and refused to meet his eyes. "Just, would you, please?" She jutted her chin towards her knees, where she held the material flat against the back of her thighs. She'd spoken through gritted teeth.
She'd taken him by surprise, again, and the thoughts running through his mind as he looked down at the injured woman in front of him, would make her, and the other couple, blush.
So she was naked under that single item of clothing? He couldn't move.
In fact, he wasn't sure if he would be able to carry her now. He wasn't sure if he could even put his arms around her, and not let his predatory instincts take over and have him run away with her.
He groaned.
She dropped her head further.
"Alright, ma'am. Hold tight." He needed to distance himself this very second from the woman in his arms. Telling himself he was carrying a stranger, he made his way over to the sofa as quickly as he could.
"I know I'm heavy. Sorry."
"No problem, ma'am." Two more steps, and then he would be rid of her.
No! Take her upstairs. Have a look under that dress yourself.
She's injured. Don't be disgusting.
You know you want to.
No, I don't.
Liar.
Mavis had opened that square of blue, and spread it over the sofa and it's pillows. It was a plastic sheeting of sorts; he'd seen something similar when EMT workers had had to work on someone roadside. It was a way for them to work on a clean surface.
Conner went to set her on the plastic, lying down, when Doc stopped him. "No, I need to see the back of her head. Sit her with her feet on the ground. Sit with her, and hold her up."
Holding back another groan that he couldn't step away from her yet, he complied.
Once seated on her right side, he inched away from her, so he could turn his body to face her.
There, distance.
Mavis draped a towel over Angel's shoulders. "I need to clean the area. This is just saline solution, dear. It shouldn't hurt."
Using an applicator bottle with a pointed nozzle, Mavis aimed a soft spray of the salt water onto the already visible bump behind Angel's right ear.
She used a soft-looking rag to wipe away the mess and blood.
She had to refill the solution bottle twice before she was satisfied she'd cleaned the area sufficiently.
As soon as the liquid had first touched her bump, Angel had gasped, squeezed her eyes shut, and gripped the hand that had been on the plastic sheet between them.
He'd winced himself. She had a strong grip.
Conner caught himself stroking the inside of her wrist while Mavis had cleaned the wound. He jerked that hand away, and tucked it under his leg on the seat, mortified that he instinctively wanted to caress her.
He needed to stop touching this woman.
At least, until she was whole and healed.
Then he fully intended to explore this attraction he felt.
Resolved with his decision, Conner did his best to focus on Angel now while Doc poked at the back of her head.
"You're going to need a couple stiches here, sweetheart," he said, leaning over her shoulder.
"No, really, do I have to?" She'd spun around to look at Conner, and asked him the question.
"It's alright, Angel," he chuckled at her almost childlike response.
Her eyes were round, and he could see the tears filling them.
"I don't like needles," she explained. Her bottom lip trembled.
He wanted to hug her again. Instead, he got up, and sat down on the other side of her, and brought her legs up and folded between them, making sure her dress covered everything. He turned to face her, bending his left knee so he could face her fully.
"Here, how's this? Look right at me, hold my hands, and then Doc can work on your cut easily," He raised his eyebrows and smiled gently. She returned it, and nodded. "Okay."
"Alright, a quick pinch," she snatched his hands and squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to bring her shoulder to her ear as Doc injected her.
"Let me know if you start to feel woozy, hon."
"Okay," her voice was so small. Conner concentrated on exuding warmth and comfort, and keeping his gaze friendly.
Angel fixed her eyes on his, and didn't blink for the next minute while Doc worked quickly on the small cut behind her ear.
He smiled.
She dropped her eyes to his lips, and softened her mouth slightly.
Her eyelids drooped a bit. Her shoulders sagged slowly.
"You good?" He asked her. Her hands released their death grip, but remained within his hold. He opened his hands, and let hers rest on his.
"All done!" Doc pronounced. Mavis moved forward with a wipe then taped a bandage over the area.
"Only three needed, so the scar will be very small. I need you to keep the area dry and clean. I can come over tomorrow to change the bandage for you, as I am going to recommend you keep off your feet for the rest of today, and maybe tomorrow, until the headache subsides."
"Mmmhmm," Angel nodded slowly. Conner watched, slightly taken aback when she licked her lips, then winked at him.
Her hands started trailing up and down his exposed forearms. She dragged her fingernails down towards his wrists lightly, sending shivers along his arms and up the back of his neck.
What was happening here?
"Uh, Angel?" He dropped his head to look up into her eyes. She swayed slightly.
"Hi, Sherrrrriff," she purred.
"Oh dear," Doc said with a slight chuckle. "It seems Angel here has a low tolerance for pain medication."
"What do you mean?" Conner looked at the doctor's face. His wife tittered, as she helped him pack up.
"I'd suggest getting her up into her bed. Things are about to get very interesting. You ever seen those videos of people after they had their wisdom teeth removed?"
Conner suddenly understood. Angel was about get a little strange, and he didn't think she wanted any witnesses.
"We'll just let ourselves out. Mavis here has called Michelle Winters to come care for Angel tonight. She's on her way over now," He snapped his bag shut, and met his wife at the door. "I mean it, Sheriff. Carry her upstairs to her room now. She needs rest. I don't think she could handle the steps in her condition, without further injury. We would stay, but we have an appointment with an expectant mother in twenty minutes."
Conner swallowed around the lump in his throat.
What the hell is wrong with you? You've seen a girl's bedroom before. Relax! You're not some fifteen-year-old kid. You're a man. Act like it.
He looked at the heavy lidded woman in front of him.
"Hi," he said lamely, his back straight.
"Hello, officerrrrr," she smiled while she rolled the last syllable. Conner relaxed. She was out of it. There was no way he would take advantage of her in this state. His moral code wouldn't let him.
"Come on then, ma'am," he stood, and scooped her up. She giggled as she locked her hands behind his neck, and crossed her legs in his arms.
"Are you taking me to bed now?" He was sure she meant it innocently, but with her husky voice, it sent thrills through his body.
"You're killing me here," he groaned and pinched his eyes shut for a moment.
Inhaling sharply through his nose, he nodded to himself once, before heading to the stairs.
Looking to the landing above, he put a foot on the bottom step, when the door behind him burst open.
"Woooow!" Conner turned to look behind him and saw a very small boy staring up at him. "Momma!"
A second later the door flew open wider, and there stood a younger version of Sienna Winters. "Ohmygod! What happened?!" Conner turned around with Angel in his arms.
"I was just taking her upstairs. Doctor's orders. She's fine. Small bump and cut that needed stitches." Conner grunted.
When Angel started rubbing his one earlobe between her thumb and index finger he closed his eyes. He was in hell.
"Hi, Shelley!" Angel's head lolled. He tilted her so that it fell against his shoulder.
"Momma, it's the hero," Conner heard the boy whisper from behind his mother's leg.
"She never did have a head for drugs. Girl gets high off aspirin," Michelle laughed lightly. She'd finally met the Sheriff.
He was indeed large. And those muscles in his arms were bulging. The man was indeed H-O-T. Michelle suddenly understood why her friend was such a wreck.
Michelle had to bite the inside of her cheek when she saw how Angel was looking at him. Oh, he was in for a surprise when he got her upstairs. Angel was a lightweight when it came to pain medication, and it brought out her naughty side.
Michelle pretended not to notice how Angel was playing with his ear, and how he rolled his head to the side, trying to get her to stop.
So. Angel had gotten it wrong. This man was definitely interested in her. Michelle could see it in the way he held her. He seemed to move with her, as she squirmed in his arms.
Best get out their way then. "I'll just, ah," she turned to the kitchen. And stopped. "Oh, wow."
"Yeah. She was baking or something," Conner said.
"I was making a cake so I wouldn't have to talk to you. Cant talk to the Sheriff," Angels eyes closed as her head rested against his chest, her finger's going to the buttons of his shirt, and dipping beneath. Michelle smiled broadly at the strangled sound Angel's caress elicited from the poor man.
"I'll clean this up," Michelle said brightly. "You take her up now. Come and help me Jackson."
Conner opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again. He'd talk to her once he'd put Angel in her bed.
He climbed the stairs.
Halfway to the top he looked down at her. She was looking at him, staring intently, her bottom lip sucked into her mouth.
"Why can't you talk to me?" he asked her lightly, putting a teasing tone into the words.
He really needed to not be thinking about her mouth. Or how she would taste.
"Can't say," she said simply. She sighed. "Sheriff can't know how I feel. Too embarrassing."
He smiled at her, lifting an eyebrow. "Oh really? And what would those feelings be?"
"Nope. Nuh-uh. Not telling." She smiled wide.
He reached the top of the stairs and was surprised to find that the entire upper floor was her room. The large bed in the middle of the room was still unmade. The covers were thrown back as if she had just climbed out of it.
He stepped to the edge and had to kick a towel on the floor out of the way, to avoid stepping on it.
A pair of lace panties were laid out on the sheet.
Oh, Sweet Jesus. He almost dropped her.
Jaw clenching, he lifted a knee to the bed to lay her down gently. Her arms tightened around his neck.
"Uh, have a nice nap now, Angel," He brought his hands to hers, closing his fingers around her wrists.
"Kiss me," she whispered. He pulled back sharply. This brought his face directly above hers, but because she still held on to him, he was practically nose-to-nose with her.
"You're stoned," He said it lightly.
She was killing him. He already wanted her so much, and she was looking at him like she was about to grant him his deepest desires.
"Kiss me, Conner," she pleaded in a whisper. She raised her head off the pillow. He held still. Just a taste, maybe?
He let her pull his head down. Stopping a breath away from her, he closed his eyes tight. And sighed.
He lifted away from her, removing her arms with more force than he intended. Still kneeling on the bed, he turned from her and sat on the edge of the bed. His arms felt empty.
"No one ever wants to touch the virgin. They like to play and tease. Ben liked to tease. He just wanted my mom. No one ever wants me."
He inhaled sharply and looked over his shoulder at her lying there.
Virgin? He definitely had to get out of here. He would not take advantage of someone innocent.
But she looked to be in her late twenties? A virgin at her age? It wasn't impossible, though he'd certainly never come across someone like that.
A soft snore told him she'd fallen asleep.
"Oh thank god," Conner dropped his head into his hands, took three deep breaths then stood up.
He looked down at Angel. The top of her strapless dress had slipped down some, and the hem had lifted to expose the top of her thighs, and the large tattoo encompassing her nicely muscled thigh. Tortured and aching, he all but ran out of there.