“Yes, we do. Even when your hands are under my shirt you can’t seem to stop thinking about catching criminals.”
“Touché.” He cringed, but chuckled. “For the record, when my hands were inside your shirt that night, I wasn’t thinking about work. Nor was catching criminals on my mind when you unzipped my pants.”
She gulped, remembering that moment as if it had happened yesterday. Their hands had been everywhere, exploring, teasing, stroking. It would be so easy to lean forward right now and … No!
“I have an idea,” she said, fanning her jacket. “How about we put our past aside for a week, along with everything else that’s going on up in Deadwood, and enjoy being two friends on vacation together in Arizona?”
He stared at her mouth. “Friends?”
“Yep.”
“Does this friendship include kissing?” His gaze drifted upward, his stare heated.
Her heart fluttered in surrender, but she held her ground. “No kissing.”
“What about touching?”
She shrugged. “Totally platonic is allowed, of course.”
“Of course. Can I hold your hand now and then?”
“That’s not very platonic.”
His smile bordered on rakish. “I’ll hold it as a friend.”
That could be trouble in the making, but … “Yeah, but only in private.”
“Deal.” He held out his hand for her to shake.
She hesitated, but then took his hand. Only he didn’t shake it. He tugged her back up to the main trail to the fort. Once there, he laced his fingers through hers.
“What are you doing?” she asked as they strolled up the trail hand-in-hand.
“Platonically holding your hand in private.”
For several steps, her mind was obsessed with the feel of his calloused palm against hers, her thoughts flashing back to the feel of those fingers on her skin so long ago. But then he pointed out some ruins off the side of the trail and she relaxed, enjoying the blue sky and this mellow version of Coop.
They reached the ruins of Fort Bowie a short time later and started exploring what was left, reading the markers at each building site, sharing ideas about what it had been like when it was running strong back in the nineteenth century. Only one other couple had been there when they arrived. They’d headed back down the trail soon after that, leaving Coop and her alone in the warm sunshine and whispering breezes.
“You realize that this fort was up and running strong about the same time Deadwood was just getting rolling,” he said from inside the rubble-strewn foundation of one of the officers’ quarters, returning to where she stood reading the information sign.
“I wonder if any of the soldiers from here went up to Deadwood or the reverse.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. People traveled by horseback and stage more often and farther than most realize, although some folks settled into one spot and built a life there.” He took her hand again. “Come on, let’s go look at the barracks.”
An hour passed quickly as they traipsed around through the patches of grass, yucca, cacti, and fort ruins, exploring the evidence of history that time and Mother Nature were tearing down. By the time they made their way toward the visitor center, taking Coop’s hand seemed natural … well, mostly. The small thrill that came with touching him so freely made her grin wider and laugh quicker.
This relaxed version of Coop was surreal, so different from the hard-ass detective persona she was used to up in Deadwood. When he looked at her with those gray eyes and smiled, her body warmed and her knees turned to jelly.
He climbed the steps to the visitor center with her in tow. On the wraparound covered porch, they stopped to look out over the old fort, leaning their elbows on the railing.
“Tell me about Joe’s checkered past,” he said after a bit.
She frowned at him. “Has that been eating at you since I brought it up back in the pickup?”
“No, but you’re hiding something from me, and that is bothering me.”
“I hide a lot of things from you.”
He gave her a mock squint. “I know, and I’m going to enjoy interrogating you about each one of those secrets.”
She raised one eyebrow. “Will you be using thumbscrews to drag the truth out of me?”
The side of his face pinched. “That’s a little too rough for my tastes.”
“Really? I always had you pegged for a fan of the rough stuff.”
“You did?” He turned toward her. “Would you like your interrogation to be rough, Miss Beals?”
A spark of lust ratcheted up the heat in her core. She glanced around, making sure there weren’t any park employees within hearing distance. “I’m not going to be easy to crack.”
His gaze dipped to her chest. “I’ve heard that nipple clamps can really make a suspect squirm.”
She winced, crossing her arms over her chest. “I used to work with a girl who got her nipples pierced with loops and liked to wear a rhinestone-studded chain draped between them. That always made me nervous. I mean, what if she caught that chain on a door handle or coat hook.”
His laughter rolled out over the grassy ruins. “Why would she be walking around half naked with her chain hanging loose?”
“I don’t know. You’ve seen the shit that goes down during the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally. The idea of piercings and chains isn’t so far-fetched for some of those biker babes, is it?”
He laughed again. “Along with some of the guys, too.” He looked back out toward the ruins. “Tell me about this Joe your step-grandmother used to be married to, and why your cousins looked worried at The Shaft last night.”
He’d noticed that? Of course he had, he was a cop. “Are you going to switch back into Detective Cooper mode on me if I come clean?”
“How’s that different from what I am now?”
“Coop the tourist is playful and fuzzy.”
“I’m not fuzzy.”
She gave in to the urge that had tempted her off and on since they’d left Jackrabbit Junction and ran her fingers along his jaw, the stubble scraping
