CHAPTER FOUR

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Taking on the temporary care of Hank Mendel's farm had brought Carlton a few surprises.

First, he wasn't as fit as he thought he was. Sure, he could subdue a perp effectively and nobody ran as fast or as long as he did, but was he in shape for slinging fence lumber, fixing roof tiles and mucking out stalls? Not as much as he would have been twenty years ago, that was certain.

Second, he wasn't prepared for how much he didn't miss the daily grind of police work. He was a cop at heart (he'd profiled the vet, the feed salesman and the mail carrier in his spare time), but he thought he'd miss it more.

Just proof you needed a break, pal.

Third, he hadn't expected to miss Juliet as much as he did; they'd been apart before. But he'd never been gone from work so long with so little contact between them, so the intensity with which he missed her was probably a combination of that and the niggling feeling he had that something was wrong, and that the something which was wrong would continue to be wrong when he got home.

But he did want to go home. He'd thought up some new angles for old cases, for one thing, and being able to simply see Juliet over at her desk was always an incentive.

Standing at the door sipping coffee as the rain fell, he'd watched with disbelief as the all-too-familiar green Bug made a crazy turn into the driveway and then immediately slid off into the grass where it came to a mud-spattered and somewhat lurching stop in what was now pretty much a lake.

That cannot be Juliet, he thought, setting the mug down and grabbing his rain slicker in the same moment.

That cannot be Juliet up here for no reason, without warning.

He was halfway down the soggy drive when she got out of the car—instantly soaked, but unmistakably Juliet, golden even when drenched in icy rain—and though it was only rain, and only a muddy yard, and nothing to be worried about, he felt like he had to get to her before she could somehow hurt herself. Never mind that she'd have kicked him to hell and back if he said that out loud.

He hoisted her into his arms and she didn't protest, and he held her closer than he needed to—he didn't even need to carry her at all but there he was carrying her—and setting her down again on the porch was unbelievably difficult.

Ten minutes later, she was wearing nothing under his shirt and he was about to swallow his whole head from shock and desire and then he was holding her bra and panties in his bare hands and he could not cope. He could not cope.

Slug of whiskey, back to the stew, cannot cope.

Then she said she'd broken up with Spencer, words he'd only ever dreamed of hearing. And since six weeks had passed since their breakup, then it must be real and permanent.

He had no idea what any of this meant, or why she was so hesitant and vague about why she was there, except surely it could only mean she wanted to tell him in person that for some reason only a woman would understand but which would of course come back to being his fault, she was ending their partnership.

Once that idea was in his brain, he was not about to let her leave without admitting it. He wasn't going to go another two weeks wondering what was waiting for him at home. He would know now, dammit, because she owed him that.

She owed him nothing else, but she damned well owed him that.

None of this explained her gentle fingers tracing his lips, or his face, or moving in his hair.

None of this explained the look in her beautiful dark blue eyes, all yearning and hope.

None of it explained him kissing her, feeling her soft warm body molding to his, hearing her anxious breathing as her mouth sought out his repeatedly.

Juliet's arms around him were as tight as his around her. She wasn't kissing him like a woman who wanted to end their partnership.

He couldn't cope.

But he could kiss her.

Yes. That he could do.

At least until his question-asking mind started jabbing at him, sharper and sharper despite the ever-growing arousal he felt for the lovely and pliant creature in his arms.

He jerked away abruptly, leaving her wide-eyed and anxious, and took two… no, three… steps backward.

"Carlton," she whispered.

He drew in a deep and jagged breath. "Whatever you came here to say, say it."

Juliet stayed by the wall, trembling. "I just did."

She can't mean that. She can't mean what I want her to mean.

"You didn't come here to end our partnership?"

She shivered in her—his—tee. "No, I came to fight for it."

Carlton's tension abated somewhat, but lingered enough to keep him safely away from her. "You don't fight fair."

Her smile was faint. "Sorry."

"How are we supposed to pretend this didn't happen?" Because of course she would want to pretend it hadn't happened. She was talking about partnership, not… couple-ship.

Worry flashed across her face for a moment. "I don't want to pretend it didn't happen."

Now it was Carlton who shivered.

"Carlton, sometimes life throws us a thunderstorm to teach us what we need to know." She sounded surer now.

But he was sure too: this was an aberration. All partners dealt with them occasionally. "What do I need to know? We're partners. Friends."

Slowly, she shook her head. "We're more."

"Juliet."

"We're more, Carlton. And you knew it before we kissed."

He flushed, and took another step back. "What I knew had nothing to do with what you knew, and no offense, but you didn't know anything. You were with Spencer."

She took a step closer, her eyes shining. "I was. And before him I was with Declan Rand, and before that I was with Cameron Luntz and a long time ago I was with Scott Seaver. They don't matter. They prepared me for the real thing, that's all. You."

The real thing?

Me?

Carlton took another step back, almost to the counter. "And you've thought this how long exactly? Ten minutes? An hour?" He said it harshly, because harsh would snap her out of it.

Juliet was unfazed… and advanced another step. "Since before I met you. I just needed six years, Marlowe, a fight about an eye roll and a trip to Cache to bring it all into focus." She glanced at the rain-dotted window. "When I got in the car this morning the only thing I knew for sure was that I had to get to you, because I'd been without you too long. I needed to see you. I needed to talk to you. I needed to be with you."

Her growing confidence didn't relax him at all.

"What you're describing, Juliet," he said levelly, "is how I feel every morning before work." He felt a flicker of satisfaction at how this stilled her. "How I've felt every morning for the last few years. Even while I was with Marlowe, getting to work to see you was the highlight of my day. I'm way ahead of ya, see. So I'm not impressed that you've just now discovered something which, for all you know, will pass sooner than you can—"

Juliet crossed the room and shut him up with a kiss, her hands to his face to pull him down to meet her, and he couldn't remember what he was going to say.

His arms were around her instantly, because his body wasn't arguing with her even though his mind wanted to keep fighting pure instinct, and she pressed to him as if she intended to always remain thus.

Which was all right with him.

"It's not going to pass," she said breathlessly against his throat. "This is not going to pass."

Somehow his hands slid up under the shirt to caress her bare back, and when she trembled this time it was from arousal, something to which he could relate.

So intoxicating, her kisses. Her lips so hungry and sweet and her tongue so tantalizing. She could probably kill him effortlessly just by kissing him, although he'd be dead sooner if he let his hands wander under the shirt from her back to her bare breasts...

But… for his mind was full of 'buts' even on a good day… but still he pushed her away from him, disentangling and moving to the door as if he himself might flee out into the storm.

"I need a minute." He ran his hands through his hair, restless and unsettled. "Give me a minute to think."

"You should take that minute to feel." Juliet remained where she was, but she might as well have been wrapped around him.

"What I feel," he began. Cleared his throat. Started over. "What I feel is that if I kiss you again, we're starting down a road which has no exits. Not for me… except the biggest one of all."

All or nothing. This was an all-or-nothing woman. The woman.

Juliet smiled gently. "It's not a road." She sounded so certain. "It's a rainbow, Carlton. And you're the pot of gold at the end of it. At least that's how you look to me."

"You don't know anything," he tried again. "Juliet—"

"Do you think I would ever let anyone hurt you?"

He shook his head.

"Do you think I would ever knowingly hurt you?"

Knowingly? He shook his head once more.

"Do you think that after Shawn, I might have a pretty good idea of what I want in a man?"

Well… "I think you might know what you don't want."

Another gentle smile. "Touché. Do you love me, Carlton?"

His heart somersaulted.

"Because I love you."

Rain. Thunder. Silence.

"How," he breathed. "How can you know?"

Somehow her voice was so clear and sweet over all the noise in his head and heart.

"Because I'm fighting for you, in someone else's clothes, in someone else's house, and I wouldn't be anyplace else right now than trying to talk you into accepting that I came here for you. For us."

Carlton looked at his blue-eyed beautiful partner and friend and felt himself calming. Slowly.

Juliet held his gaze, her hands in fists at her side, but gradually she relaxed her hands and simply stood, waiting.

"I'm gonna…" He took a breath. "I'm gonna go upstairs and lie down for awhile. If you decide to come up, turn the stove off first."

. . . .

. . .

Juliet almost didn't want to take off his shirt. She wanted to make love to him while wrapped in his clothes.

But Carlton seemed to want her to be naked with him, and she wanted that too.

Up here in his rapidly-warming bed, the rain on the roof was louder, but the roar was steady and matched the thunder of the blood coursing through her system.

Carlton's body was lean and hard, and she loved touching him. Once she'd kissed his chest and felt his heartbeat under her lips, it was as if her mind opened a lot of doors to memories of times they'd touched casually, accidentally; dreams she'd had (and repressed immediately) of being with him. Remembrances of all the times two people who worked together closely every day had come into physical contact, which meant nothing to the conscious mind but fueled the damnably persistent and ruthlessly sneaky imagination.

He was heat and he was animal, and every touch of his hand to her skin, anywhere, set a little blaze. His mouth explored her breasts and her stomach and her thighs and everything else, and his hands were everywhere, marking and owning her.

His beard was tantalizingly rough and sensual against her body, and she knew he knew it, for the gleam in those crystal blue eyes was fierce when he looked up from between her legs. She was nearly blind from pleasure at that point, but she could see those eyes. Always those eyes.

Wrapped around him later, holding him to her, arching up to meet his thrusts, the only storm was within their union. Outside, Mother Nature retreated. In Carlton's bed, there was no room for anything but the two of them making love.

At last.

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. . .

She hadn't known this would happen. Not when she got in the car that morning.

But with their first kiss, hemmed in against the wall, it all became so clear. So obvious.

She traced lines across his chest, spelling out her name from shoulder to shoulder. Carlton sighed, his arm underneath her and curving up around her waist. "I marked you," she said. "Did you feel it?"

"I felt everything."

Now she touched his beard, caressing the bare skin of his throat below and traveling over to his earlobes, which made him smile. "It's okay to love me, you know."

"Glad to hear it." His voice was dry. "Little late to give permission."

But she knew he would always need a little convincing about her intentions. "And I'm not going to change my mind."

"Glad to hear that too."

"You know why?"

Carlton looked at her, the ocean of his eyes calm for once. "Why?"

"Because I can't change my heart."

He brought one lean graceful hand up to caress her face, and drew her to him for a kiss. "You changed your heart about Spencer."

Juliet kissed him again. "You changed yours about Victoria. And Marlowe."

"They didn't have my heart. Victoria got tired of it and Marlowe decided she didn't want it."

Foolish Victoria, foolish Marlowe.

"I don't really think Shawn had my heart either. At least not the whole thing. And he didn't take very good care of what I did give him. But you'll take care of it, won't you?"

The blue was so warm, somehow. Juliet felt flushed all over again.

"You've taken care of me for six years," she went on unsteadily. "I trust you more than I trust anyone else in my life."

Carlton shook his head. "You've taken care of yourself more than you let me take care of you."

"Knowing you were always there to catch me made it easier for me to stand on my own. That's why having you gone this past month was so scary. I just… I just don't want to do without you, Carlton. I don't want to do anything without you."

He pulled her closer and nuzzled her temple. "Think of all the times you told me to go home and soak my head. Or all the times you almost threw coffee at me because I was in such a foul mood. Or how many times you gave me the eye roll because I was being an ass about a case or about Spencer or about… hell, about anything."

Juliet pulled back and frowned at him. "What about them?"

He sighed, but there was amusement behind it.

"None of that's going to change. I'm still going to do all that because you're still going to be an ass in a foul mood on a regular basis."

Now he laughed. "I can see why you want me."

She climbed atop him, letting her breasts brush his chest and enjoying the involuntary shudder of appreciation rippling through his body. "I do want you. And now that I've had you," she added meaningfully, "I mean to have you again. And again."

"And again," he echoed, sliding his hands down her back to her hips and anchoring her where they were warmest and closest. "And again."

And again.

. . . .

. . .

Juliet stayed until Sunday night.

They used Hank's sturdy pickup to pull the Bug out of the muddy yard on Sunday morning, when the sun was out and the world was green and new.

Carlton didn't do any chores over the weekend except tend to the horses, and he and Juliet went for a ride that afternoon. He didn't know what he loved more, galloping across the meadow or seeing her doing the same at his side, her golden hair in tangles and her face glowing.

Sometime between the ride and a leisurely few hours in bed, he finally said the words she already knew: that he loved her.

She wept anyway, but only a little, and so did he, but less, because she kissed him then and just like always, every thought flew from his fried mind other than the necessity of being with her.

From Monday to Friday he worked the farm in a daze. They talked on the phone and texted throughout the day and Juliet was not changing her mind about him. About them.

She came back Friday night with the happy news that she'd scored Monday off, and they spent another weekend making love and being together and slowly, slowly, Carlton began to believe from the inside out that this was real.

This was real, and she was his.

It was so strange, and so wonderful, and only an idiot would resist, and while he'd been an idiot about many things in his life, this wasn't going to be one of those things.

Hank and Miss Annie returned the following Saturday, and Hank wasn't at all fazed by seeing Juliet at Carlton's side, her hand tucked in the crook of his arm.

They had stories to tell and pictures to show and Carlton was bemused and Juliet was still at his side and when he went back to his condo on Sunday morning, Juliet met him there and took him to bed again.

His first week at work was fine and his second week was fine and Juliet was still his and they spent enormous amounts of time together outside of work, much of it in bed but much of it just learning each other from top to bottom in all things.

And then six months were gone, and she was still his. Spencer had found another girl and Chief Vick was tolerating her two top detectives being romantically involved, and Juliet still loved him.

And then one night over dinner at Cache, she asked him to marry her. He said yes, please, and she laughed, and it was all still real.

He decided this was his 'new normal': happy, with Juliet.

It was much, much better than the old normal: happy to be anywhere near Juliet.

When he thought about it too much she simply kissed him senseless.

He liked that about her.

So on one warm summer's day up at Hank's farm, they married.

It turned out to be the best 'new normal' of all.

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