Chapter Eight

Starlight, Starbright

He couldn't shake the picture of her in the shower from his mind. All that day, while she was at the Louisville morgue working on their case and he was in Coldstream following up leads there, the image of a wet, beautiful, completely naked Jordan kept popping up in his mind when he least expected it…kind of like those annoying pop-up commercials some television shows have in the corner of your TV screen.

Only Jordan wasn't the least bit annoying….but he found it hard to concentrate with her image showing up in his head when he should have been thinking through leads and suspects. Instead Woody found himself staring out into space…just seeing her.

It had been bad enough that he had been so sensitively aware of her before….this only made that sensitivity worse. He sighed, shook his head, and got up to get another cup of coffee. It was going to be a long afternoon.

And the night was looking to be even longer.

He was annoyed with himself…yeah, that's it…annoyed….He shouldn't be thinking of her like that. As a matter of face, he shouldn't be thinking of her at all…he should be thinking about this poisoned heroin case…and getting that damn thing wrapped up. Macy said he could only spare Jordan for two weeks. The first week was nearly up…and other than some Diphasiatrum digitatum and some shoe prints that Jordan was trying to match, they didn't have a whole lot to build a case on.

Deliberately pushing thoughts of her aside, he grabbed another file and settled back into research mode…determined to make some headway before quitting time. He jumped when his door suddenly swung open and Jordan actually materialized before his eyes…not wet or naked, but clothed and still very lovely.

"J..Jordan," Woody managed to stammer out. "What are you doing here?"

"I've done everything I can do at the Louisville morgue," she sighed, sounding totally defeated and utterly exhausted. She plopped down in a chair in front of Woody's desk.

"One of the molds matches this victim's shoes tread for tread, she continued. "The other mold doesn't. We not sure who it belongs to, but I've got Nigel looking for whoever purchased a size 15 Bass boot, model 1578BGS in this area…That's as close as I've come to establishing a suspect."

Woody drew a deep breath. She had put in a lot of work for this…he knew it….scanning in the footprints, running it against God knows how many data bases to come up with what she had. The fact that she was putting forth so much effort didn't go over his head. And he wanted her to know that he knew it. And appreciated it. "That's good, Jo…real good. Something will come of it, I'm sure."

Jordan shook her head. "We need to nail whoever is doing this, Woody. Too many people have died already…"

"We will… we'll find whoever is responsible for the deaths and bring them to trial."

"I hope so…meanwhile, when are you quitting for the day?"

Woody pushed back in his chair and looked at the stack of files on top of his desk. "I need to go through these….and then I'll be done."

"What are they?"

"Files from drug arrests in the surrounding counties…"

Jordan let out a low whistle. "There's that many junkies in Kentucky?"

"Apparently so…"

She grabbed the top half of the stack and opened the first one. "Just tell me what I'm looking for…"

Three hours later, they had pulled five suspects from the files. None lived directly in Coldstream, but all lived in nearby surrounding cities. All were male…and large enough that they may require a size fifteen shoe. Two had direct connections with Coldstream. "That's enough," Woody declared, standing and stretching his back.

"Calling it a day?" John asked from the doorway.

"I think so. We've done about all the damage we can do right now," Jordan responded, as she brushed past John. "Woody, I'm gonna use the restroom and I'll meet you at the car."

Woody nodded absent-mindedly as he gathered their things together.

"So how's it going?" John asked, not moving from his position against the door jam.

"Well, if the case keeps moving the way we think it will, we could have a suspect in custody in a few days…"

"That's not what I meant. I meant how's it going with your wife….I mean you two just get married and you're taking a working honeymoon…"

That thought hadn't struck Woody before….a working honeymoon? Was there really such a thing.? And a honeymoon? With Jordan? While the thought was sweet, Woody still had to admit his feelings towards her were ambivalent. One minute they could be acting like the best of friends and co-workers…the next minute, they could be at each other's throats.

But still the memory of being held by her the other night was very sweet…the view of her this morning in the shower, even sweeter. Realizing he had stopped packing his briefcase and was just staring into space, Woody opened his mouth and stammered, "Fine..just ….just… ah … fine, John."

"I guess you folks can have a real honeymoon after the case is solved and you're back in Boston."

Back in Boston. Woody nearly shook his head. Once they were back in Boston, the rings would slip from their fingers and divorce papers would be filed. It would be quick and easy. The marriage had never been consummated; therefore, they were never legally wed. Woody would go his way, Jordan would go hers. No property settlements, no alimony, no custody battles, no child support payments. Clean and simple, and with the precision of a surgical incision, his last name would be severed from hers. Forever. Their "marriage" would be something that only the both of them would remember with amusement…and maybe even a few rounds of "what if's."

Suddenly the future could possibly be a little bleaker than Woody anticipated. Remembering he still hadn't answered John's question, he managed to stammer out again, "Uh…yeah. Gotta go now, John. Jor's probably waiting on me at the car." He nodded and began to walk towards the rental at a slower pace than normal. John's "Have a good evening," rang hollow in Woody's ears.

He didn't need to even think such thoughts…a honeymoon with Jordan. Woody looked over at her while they were doing the dishes in companionable silence. He was washing, she was drying. I really don't. Any chance I once had with her is long over. She's moved on…Danny's calling her….and even though she's technically "married," I see the way other men look at her. She's beautiful. All she'd have to do is crook one finger and she could have whoever she wanted. He swallowed hard as another voice answered that statement: Yeah, sure. If she could make up her mind who it was she wanted.

He once would have sworn that who was him. Good thing he hadn't been under oath. He'd be arrested for perjury. In the end she hadn't really wanted him…she had pitied him.

"Okay, I'm done," she announced, hanging her dishtowel on the handle of the oven door. "Thanks for dinner. It was wonderful, as usual."

"You're welcome."

She stood in a semi-awkward silence in the middle of the kitchen. One of the bad things about not having a bedroom was that there was nowhere to retreat to when Woody's gaze became too intense.

Or when he crawled back into that self-imposed shell he created for himself. And although during the past week he had seldom been in that shell, there were times when Jordan still felt him retreating from her…and even though it was over between them, it still hurt. Badly.

"Are you going to work on the case anymore tonight?" she asked, breaking the short silence.

"No…I'm not. I'm thinking about watching a little TV and heading for bed. What about you?"

Jordan shook her head. "Not much of a TV person…."

Woody turned and walked into the small den that also served as Jordan's bedroom and sat down on the couch. Grabbing the remote, he began flipping through the channels, hoping to catch a stray baseball game, the X-Files, even Law and Order…anything to get his mind off the case, off Coldstream, and off her.

Jordan watched him for a moment and then turning, she slid out the back door, quietly shutting it behind her. Sometimes being that close to him, smelling his aftershave, still unnerved her…tantalized her senses and threw temptation right in her face. She softly walked along the wrap around porch until she came to the porch swing in the corner, gently sitting down in it, so it wouldn't creak and alert Woody to where she was at. She needed a few minutes to gather her thoughts before going back in side.

While it was still chilly in Kentucky this time of year, it wasn't really cold. The stars were hanging in the sky, brightly shining. They never seemed to shine this brightly in Boston. Or maybe she rarely took the time to notice. She was always so bombarded with cases…and she had spent the last several months desperately trying to move on with her life, and to exorcise herself of Woody Hoyt and everything they could have…should have….had together and been to one another.

She had been remotely successful until time and circumstance had made her his wife.

His wife. Her mind would still jump at the thought that she was Mrs. Woodrow Wilson Hoyt. She wondered how Woody would take it if he knew she didn't want to give him back his name at the end of this case.

She would, of course. To keep it would simply perpetuate a dream that no longer existed. They had both been rudely awakened from that fairy tale…and she had been left empty and wanting. She drew her knees up to her chest and let her mind wander for a few minutes…thinking about what would have happened if she had taken that damn friendship ring he had offered her so long ago…or if he had believed her while he was in the hospital. Where would they be?

Would she really be his wife? She nearly chuckled at the prospect. And chuckled harder when she realized how hard it would be for Woody to believe that she had wanted to get married. Had wanted.

But not now. He had moved on…he was dating…and he had changed so much. Her naïve Wisconsin farm boy was gone forever….if he ever was really real to begin with. As the days after the shooting passed and more and more of Woody's history was brought to light, Jordan at first had feared that he would hurt himself….then she feared that he had lived a lie for so long that now he was in a hell-bent journey bound to find out the truth.

His truth.

Her truth was that she had loved him.

Still did.

But she couldn't handle being rejected by him again. She wasn't about to apologize for the time it took her to work through her issues…and God knows there had been far too many of them. And she wasn't apologizing for her feelings towards the detective.

She would admit her timing sucked.

However, did she deserve to be treated so backhandedly and coldly by him…No.

Jordan looked up at the stars one more time before going in. There were some beautiful spots in this Bluegrass state. And this front porch was one of them…

"There you are….I couldn't find you. I got a little scared." She heard Woody's voice come from somewhere out of the dark. "What are you doing out here?"

"Just admiring the view…" She felt the swing give as he sat down beside of her.

"It is pretty…" he admitted.

"In a 'Deliverance' sort of way," she joked.

Woody chuckled along with her. "Reminds me of Wisconsin, you know."

"Wide open spaces and cabins?"

"And stars you think you could reach out and touch. You know, my aunt and uncle….the ones that Cal and I lived with after Dad…died…had this huge, old farmhouse with a porch that was as long as the front of the house. In the summer, we'd make ice cream out there…Aunt Marge would shell butterbeans or we'd husk corn out there…"

"So you really are a Farm Boy."

Woody nodded. "As much as I'll ever be, anyway…."

"We had sort of a stoop…just a small set of steps that led to the sidewalk…and that's where we played as kids…on the sidewalk. Hopscotch…tag…rode our bikes…"

Woody smiled. He could imagine a pony-tailed, young Jordan in jeans and a t-shirt running wild, playing tag…until that child suddenly morphed into one with her chestnut curls and his blue eyes. He shook his head. Those thoughts needed to be banished immediately. Just like the ones of a honeymoon with her. It was not going to happen. There was now too much time and distance between them.

"Funny how we both grew up so differently…and still ended up here…together on this case…" he said.

"I know…who'd of thought that a cop from Wisconsin and a ME from Boston…"

"Would ever end up looking for a heroin murderer in Coldstream, Kentucky…" he turned to face her in the starlight. He couldn't see her features well, but he could feel the warmth from her body…

"Yeah…who'd of thought," she continued softly, her breath catching itself at his nearness.

"Yeah, who?" he asked as he gently ran his fingers down the side of her face. He was sure she would pull away…instead, her hand softly found his chest and she laid it there. With one quick look at her eyes…and seeing no resistance, he lifted her chin with his fingers and found her lips.