Chapter Five
AN: If the beginning seems a bit familiar, it's because I'm cribbing shamelessly from one of the Slumber Party skits, just turning the line a bit on its ear.
"Good God, Lassie, what's that… thing on your face? You decide to throw your hat into the ring for the Competitive Beard Growing Circuit or something?"
"Spencer—" Carlton barely paused to spare the asshat a glance as he strode up the steps of the SBPD. "Can I just say how very much I have not missed these little meetings?"
"Seriously, Lassie—what's with the backwoods, grizzly man look?"
"I was undercover," Carlton answered shortly.
Since a week after Juliet had disappeared without a word, refusing to answer her phone or emails or texts or any damned thing and Karen staunchly refusing to tell him where she was or how long she'd be gone or hell, anything, even after he'd confessed the dissolution of his relationship with Marlowe. He'd stopped short of saying he absolutely, desperately needed to speak to Juliet—to see her—but he'd tacitly understood he hadn't needed to because Karen already knew. Not that it had swayed her a damned bit.
A shadow had passed across her face and she'd expressed genuine sympathy but dammit, he didn't need sympathy. He needed Juliet. But the more he'd growled and snarled and stormed around the department, terrorizing anyone who dared come within range, the more Karen had dug in her heels. She might have resorted to suspending his bad-tempered ass just to get him out of her hair and in the interests of keeping the rest of the department safe—not to mention, keep him from potentially abusing police resources in order to track Juliet down which he'd been dangerously close to doing—if the case he'd just wrapped hadn't fallen into their laps.
A dude ranch experiencing pranks that had rapidly escalated to increasingly menacing vandalism. The local police were beside themselves—nothing they did was helping and they were a small force to begin with. They'd asked on the state wires for assistance—an experienced cop who could ride, fish, and essentially blend with the culture. Next thing Carlton knew, Karen had "volunteered" him, all but offering to pack him a bag and a cooler for the trip.
Frankly, he'd had been relieved. Up north, nestled in the shadow of Marble Mountain, the ranch was secluded and far away from Santa Barbara and everything that reminded him of Juliet.
At least in theory.
It wasn't as if he could actually not think of her. Aside from the fact that he'd nicked the picture of the two of them flying the kite from her desk—if she returned before he did, he'd find some way to explain it, like blaming it on Spencer—she was everywhere with him as he settled into life as one of the ranch hands where his natural reserve was accepted as a norm. God help him, he'd even overheard some of the idiot tourists up to experience a taste of "true Americana" refer to his taciturn responses and remoteness as "charming." Annoyed as he was, however, he couldn't help but think how amusing Juliet would have found that observation. How she'd tease and needle him until he found some damned way to laugh at it.
As it was, there hadn't been much cause for laughing. Not without her there.
So he'd immersed himself in work, riding and fishing for hours with guests, keeping an eye out for any clues to their case, and always, always thinking of Juliet. Thought how much she'd enjoy the wide-open spaces bracketed by mountains, and the clean, clear rivers with their abundant wildlife, and the lush natural landscapes bisected by trails so quiet it felt like he was the only person in the world. As hard as he worked—both as a ranch hand and a cop, he still managed to carve out time, usually at twilight, to take a ride by himself where he would allow himself to not think of ranch work or cop work or anything that wasn't about what lived in the deepest recesses of his heart and psyche.
It was during those rides he achieved a measure of peace. He had given himself a chance with Marlowe—as much as he was able—however there remained a single, inescapable truth: it was a chance he shouldn't have ever taken. What he should have done, from the very first moment he'd realized Juliet might share his feelings, was fight for her. Encourage her impulse to explore what they had, insist that what they had was more real and more lasting than anything she would ever have with Spencer because he could give her something the other man never could—himself. All of him—every flaw, every fault, every positive attribute, every secret, every bit of his battered, scarred heart. Whatever she wanted, he would give it to her without reservation.
But he'd been a coward. Until the one night his fears had been shattered by one simple need. Juliet had needed him. And he'd given himself to her and taken all she had to give and had hated that dawn had brought with it the reality and the choices they'd made and had to see through.
'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Freakin' Tennyson. But the poetic limey bastard had a point.
He would rather have the memories of that one perfect night, even if they'd ultimately driven Juliet away because of what she imagined he needed, than to have never known what it was like to hold her in his arms. To kiss every inch of her body and to feel her wrapped around him as closely and intimately as it was possible.
For some people, reliving those memories might be torture—for him, it was a benediction. It's why he saved it for dusk—that crystalline moment suspended between light and dark—leaving the cares of the day behind and welcoming the endless possibility of night.
Ironically, it was due to those twilight rides, actively trying not to think of work, that he'd wound up breaking the case. Discovered traces of the mischief-makers and followed the clues back to a new, neighboring ranch. That was apparently being bankrolled by a Tahoe casino owner with a questionable "family" lineage of the Sicilian variety. The dude ranch was a gift to his idiot son—a venture ostensibly to help him get his "feet wet" with respect to running a business, but in reality, to get him the hell out of Tahoe and the drug and weapons charges sure to catch up to him if he didn't learn how to handle his affairs more discreetly.
Instead, the moron had thought to make a success of his new venture by muscling the decades old family-run Moonlake Ranch out of business and buying it up at a steal.
He'd thought.
He hadn't bargained on a grumpier-than-usual-and-loaded-for-bear Carlton Lassiter. And because Junior was the sort of true idiot that almost left Carlton grateful for Spencer's brand of idiocy, since it was at least of the competent variety, he'd also had the spectacularly bad idea to try to run drugs and weapons between the ranch and Tahoe. Which made it a multi-state case that brought in the Nevada authorities as well as the FBI.
Junior'd never known what hit him. Other than Carlton's fist to his surgically altered nose when he foolishly tried to resist arrest.
The weekend had been spent tying up loose ends, getting debriefed, and undergoing a perfunctory psych eval, mandatory for coming out from an undercover mission.
"Undercover as what? Sasquatch?"
Carlton sighed and resisted the urge to run his hand over his neatly trimmed, but undeniably full beard. Or punch Spencer. He'd only just returned late the night before and no sooner had he informed Karen of his return and availability for active duty, that he'd been called to a scene—immediately—leaving him no time to shed the vestiges of the ranch hand look for his clean-shaven Detective Lassiter persona. Apparently, with both he and Juliet gone, the department had been overwhelmed and they needed him right now. Worked for him. Less time to think and brood and worry about whether or not she was back. Karen had given him no indication as to whether or not she'd returned, but then, there hadn't been time for more than "Oh, you're back? Great. Get your ass to this scene, now."
"So, where's Jules?"
Carlton glanced up from where he was signing in and murmuring something in response to Allen's expression of surprise over the beard. If he didn't know better, he'd swear the tone of the woman's voice was… admiring. Which was stupid.
"What do you mean?"
"Why's she not with you, providing the brains behind the bearded brawn? Or, you know, just the beard?"
Carlton ignored the implication behind the idiot's smarmy tone in favor of fixing him with a withering glare. And taking the other man's measure. All right then—Spencer had no idea where Juliet was either. Carlton was man enough to admit that made him feel, if not better, then…
Hell. Okay, yes, it made him feel better that Spencer was every bit as in the dark as he'd been. Had clearly remained in the dark the entire time Carlton had been gone. It appeared the days of Spencer having a leg up on him were finally gone. He released a mental sigh. One less obstacle at least.
"She's not here," he finally said.
"What do you mean? Wasn't she undercover with you?"
Oh, that vaunted "psychic" ability. "No."
"You mean Chief Vick sent you undercover—by yourself?"
Carton rolled his eyes. "Juliet was gone for a full week before I went undercover you asshat."
"She was?" Spencer's shock was so real, it took all of Carlton's considerable self-control to not reveal his own surprise. So this was what genuine honesty looked like from the man. He filed it away for future reference.
"Spencer, do you mean to tell me you honestly didn't divine your… girlfriend," he practically spit out the word, tasting it for a lie, but for all he knew, they hadn't actually formally broken up. Not that formalities meant a damned thing to Spencer. "Was gone?"
Spencer shrugged, his entire demeanor one of uncaring, but Carlton could discern a slight measure of tightness to the gesture. Nowhere near as much as there should have been, but then, as he'd so often groused to Juliet, the rules of normal didn't apply to Spencer.
"Just figured she was giving me a taste of my own medicine, taking off without a word. I assumed she'd been assigned to the case along with you because you know, you and undercover work…" he added with a smug quirk of his lips that told Carlton the man had known all along that he was on a case. He sent silent thanks that Karen had managed against all odds to keep his whereabouts secret.
"Figured when she came back, she'd be ready to forgive me and fall into my welcoming arms."
Oh, that was it. Yet before Carlton could deliver the punch the idiot so richly deserved, he found himself restrained by Allen's surprisingly powerful grip on his forearm.
"What?" he snapped.
"The Chief's office," she murmured.
"Yeah, what of it?" He drew his brows together, thinking the woman sounded more daft than usual. "I was on my way there already."
She hit him with a pointed glance that she then directed toward Karen's office. The desk area was deserted, but a closer look revealed Karen occupying one of the armchairs in the more casual seating area while in the other…
"Juliet," he breathed, completely forgetting he was in the department, completely forgetting about Allen or Spencer or anything other than—
"Juliet," he said even more softly as he strode toward the office. Vaguely, he registered Spencer's presence, eagerly trailing behind, like an annoyingly bouncy beagle puppy on the scent of something irresistible. Like bacon. At the entrance to Karen's office, Spencer pushed past him and burst through arms spread wide like a circus showman on crack.
"Jules! You've returned to me!"
Oh, for God's sake. Carlton not-so-gently shoved Spencer out of the way in time to see Juliet's head whip around, her eyes widening as her gaze met his. Slowly, she stood.
"Carlton," she said softly, with a smile that made him feel as if everything in his world that had been tilted sideways and in danger of sliding clear off was suddenly righted. "I've missed you."
"I missed you, too. So damned much." And he didn't give a damn who heard the words or the longing permeating every syllable. He was done hiding. He drank in each beautiful feature, noting the golden tint to her skin and the light streaks highlighting the honey gold waves she'd allowed to grow out. Wherever she'd been, she'd spent a considerable amount of time outside and looked all the more beautiful for it—a feat he hadn't believed possible in this universe or any other.
"Whoa, Jules—you got… fat."
Startled by the bluntness of Spencer's statement—and more than a little annoyed because by God, of all the people to not cast aspersions on anyone's weight—Carlton tore his gaze away from Juliet's face, his heart clenching at the hurt reflected there, to take in the rest of her, his jaw dropping and breathing coming to an absolute standstill as he realized Spencer was right.
And so very, very wrong.
His gaze returned to Juliet's face, her expression—her entire being—appearing to be one of holding its breath.
"You're pregnant."
As she nodded, and everything became horribly, sickeningly clear, Spencer's annoying bray once again rang through the office, his "Pregnant? Really?" delivered with the same inflection as if he'd uttered, ewww, cooties. "God, Jules, how could you? Whose is it?"
"Carlton—"
Next thing Carlton knew, he was standing over Spencer, sprawled in an ungainly heap on the floor, a hand to his eye while Karen stood in front of him, a hand to his chest.
"Don't do this."
For once, her steely tone had no effect on him. Shaking her off, he snarled around the ache in his chest, "You miserable son of a bitch. This is not one you'll be able to smartass or Peter Pan your way out of, do you hear me? No more free passes."
Spencer's eyes widened. "Dude, are you serious?"
"I swear to God, Spencer—" His palms practically itched with the desire to wrap them around the other man's pudgy neck. He took a step back, shoving a hand through his hair. "You know what? Never mind. You won't step up, I will."
He looked away from Spencer, sitting up with a wary expression, to Juliet, eyes huge as she stood off to the side, one hand over her mouth, the other resting on the gentle curve of her belly. "I will be there for her. Every step of the way. If she'll have me."
A damp sheen lightened the dark blue of her eyes into the soft, loving expression he remembered from their night together—the expression that said she needed him. More than anyone else. He didn't give a rat's ass if this baby was Spencer's. It was Juliet's and Juliet was his.
"Look Lassie, rein in the rescuing high horse for just a second—there is no way that baby can be mine."
Carlton faced Spencer once more. "Dear God, Spencer, for once in your damned life can't you at least accept responsibility for your actions? I've already said you're off the hook for the future, but at least be a damned man and admit what you've done."
Spencer scrambled to his feet and stood toe-to-toe with Carlton—dangerous, since Carlton was prepared to lay him out as many times as necessary. "I would if it was relevant, but in this case, it isn't."
"He's right."
Carlton spun so quickly, his head swam. "What?"
Juliet gazed up at him, one hand still cupped protectively over her abdomen while the other rose to touch his cheek. Her eyes maintained that imploring expression—saying she needed him more than ever, which was why, head swimming, gut clenching, breath trapped, and heart thundering in his ears, he knew what she was about to say, even before the actual words emerged.
"Carlton—this baby—it's yours."