Meredith stopped in midstride. She didn't say a word, but stood perfectly still, staring at him as though she had no idea what kind of creature he was.
Granger left the office in a hurry, no longer aware of his throbbing hand. He had told her it was nothing. Why did she have such a problem listening? What was wrong with the woman? Couldn't she understand that some people do not like to be fretted over, smothered with patting and pampering?
He rushed out the side door and walked to his car. Without a backward glance, he drove off the parking lot and headed toward the campus. There would be no one there today. He would cross through the streets of town until he calmed down and forgot about the way Meredith's face looked, all hurt and disappointed.
She was not his type. Not tall, not long-legged. Cluttery. Not what he liked. She was mothering. The kind who would tie strings around a man until he could not move.
After an hour he turned into the truck stop and told them the burrito was so good, he'd come back for a full meal. He took his time eating and visiting with the manager. When he returned to the courthouse, Meredith's blue Mustang was gone. He made himself finish his paperwork and, about nine, finally figured he was tired enough to get to sleep without thinking about her.
But despite his plans, he circled by her house on his way home. A fog had moved in, and he needed to see that she got home safely. With that piece of junk she drove it was always a question.
Every light in her place was on. The air, thick with rain, made her windows fuzzy against the dark wood of her house.
He pulled up and waited for ten minutes before he finally turned off the engine and climbed out of his car.
He knocked twice before she answered.
She opened the door and stepped back, letting him in without a word.
As always, her place was warm. He took a deep breath, wondering what he would say.
She walked to the center of the living room and crossed her arms over her funny-looking bedspread robe. 'How's your hand?' she said calmly. He saw slippers with bunny rabbit heads peeking out from beneath her robe.
'Fine.' He held up his left hand. 'I drove around with it hanging out the window for a while.' That was not what lie had come to say. He had no idea why he had come, but talking about his hand was definitely not it. He should have just circled Frankie's Bar and headed home as usual.
'I have some lotion that might help.' She did not move to get it.
He didn't want to talk about his hand or lotion. She was not one of his Sunday girls; she deserved better. 'Look, I'm sorry.
'So am I,' she answered.
He smiled. 'What the hell have you got to be sorry about, Meredith? I'm the one who swore and bolted out of your office.' It made him mad that she was slicing off a piece of his 'I'm sorry.'
Walking to the bar, he deposited his hat and noticed the counter was as cluttered as ever. 'I'm not some kind of pervert or anything.' He shifted, not wanting to discuss the subject but knowing he had to. 'I just don't like people touching me. I hate it when someone slaps me on the back or shakes hands longer than necessary.' This was not a topic up for debate; it was just the way he had always been.
He faced her. She hadn't moved. The woman stood so still she must have grown roots.
'If you're waiting for some sad story of me being slapped around by my old man or something, you're out of luck. No deep-seated short circuit, just a preference. My parents are normal people. My dad's an accountant who might bore someone to death one day with his love of numbers, my mother keeps a spotless house and plays bridge.'
'What about you touching others?' She tilted her head slightly.
He saw where she was headed. 'I never offer a handshake first, but in my line of work there are times I have to handle folks.' He thought of the night at the hospital when she had crumbled and he held her to keep her from falling.
'Look, Meredith, this is more than you probably care to know about me. I just came to say I'm sorry about blowing up like that in your office. I know you were only trying to help.' He picked up his hat, absently dusting it off.
'What about me?' She asked directly. 'Did you like touching me or was it just one of the things you have to do sometimes `in your line of work'?'
'I enjoyed the other night. Better than I've enjoyed anything in a long time. I felt like you were the first real person I've been around in years.' He remembered the softness of her body, the way she was rounded with curves. He liked the feel of her more than he wanted to admit. She was different from other women-she did not act as if she had been handled by many men. With her it was pure feeling, not just some way she had learned to behave.
'So this isn't a two-way street with you? You like touching, but you don't like being touched.'
He did not even try to follow her logic, but he nodded. He had never really thought about it. Most women just accepted his terms, without trying to define and analyze them.
'What about kissing?' She took a step toward him. 'Where do you stand on that?'
'Kissing's all right, but there are better things to do.'
'And holding hands?'
'A waste of time. I'd never bother with such a thing.' He thought of adding something like 'A lawman needs to keep both hands ready to reach for his gun,' but she was far too smart for that corny rookie line. She deserved more.
Problem was, the 'more' was more than he wanted to give.
She moved to within a few feet of him. 'Thank you for explaining things to me, Sheriff.'
He watched her as she played with the belt on her robe.
'I have a plate of food Crystal Howard's cook brought over just after you left.' She did not meet his eyes. 'I could warm it, if you're hungry.'
He set his hat back on the counter, not the least interested in the offered meal. 'How do you feel about shaking hands, Meredith?'
She finally looked at him. 'It doesn't bother me.'
'And kissing?'
'I could use a little more of that in my life.'
'And touching?' He hooked his finger around the belt of her robe and pulled her a step nearer.
'That, too,' she answered.
He tugged at the belt and the robe parted slightly. Leaning down, he pressed his mouth against hers. Dear God, she tasted of hot cocoa.
It had been so long since he had just kissed a woman, he was afraid he had forgotten how. He felt her bottom lip tremble.
'I want you.' He whispered words that had never failed.
No line, no sweet talk, just honesty. His hand slipped beneath her robe and felt the fullness of her breast.
She stepped away so quickly, he swayed forward a few inches.
'And I want more.' She gulped the words as she pulled her robe together.
Granger was more shocked than angry. He straightened as he retrieved his hat. She was turning him down. The little schoolteacher with the too short, too rounded body was turning him down.
'Good evening, Mrs. Allen,' he said as if he were just checking on her safety.
He was at the door when he heard her say, 'I want a man who'll hold my hand in front of God and everybody.'
'Grow up, Meredith,' he mumbled as he closed the door behind him.
He barely heard her whisper, 'I'm through settling in my life.'
In the early days of cattle ranching, cowboys were hired for 'forty and found.' Forty dollars a month and what they found on the table to eat.
Thanksgiving Night
