Page 33 of Gentle Persuasion

Cole glared and tried not to blush. It was maddening that his whole afternoon of sleuthing had been discovered and that she’d stood by and let him make a fool of himself.

“Why do you need to soak his pants?” Morgan couldn’t resist the question. He’d tried very hard to stay out of the argument, but that statement had been too loaded to miss.

“Chili’s very hard to wash out,” Debbie said. “I think it’s all that grease.”

“Sugar washes out much better,” Buddy offered. “And it rarely stains.”

“Shut up, Robert Allen.”

Cole’s glare did nothing to deter Buddy. When he was on a roll, he couldn’t be stopped. “Douglas ate some of my pudding earlier, and it washed right off his shirt. Remember, Debbie?”

“I remember,” she said, and headed for the washer.

“Who the hell is Douglas?” Cole asked, and then answered his own question as he remembered overhearing one of Debbie’s phone calls. Her brother! Oh hell! That was her brother!

“Douglas is her—”

“Shut up,” Cole snapped. And then he relented at the look of surprise on his brother’s face. “Shut up, please,” he said softly.

“Okay,” Buddy said. “And Cole…”

“What?” he muttered, staring down at his half-finished meal.

“You need to get some extra rest tonight. I think you’re about to suffer from burnout. I read somewhere that policemen suffer burnout twice as fast as—”

“Thank you, Buddy. I’ll do that,” Cole said.

Buddy nodded and made his escape, but not before serving himself with a double helping of lemon pie.

Debbie walked back into the kitchen. “They’re soaking, but I’m not going to guarantee anything.”

“I will,” Cole said quietly.

Debbie turned.

“I guarantee that I will not jump to any more conclusions where you’re concerned.” His voice was low and defeated.

Morgan grinned and made his getaway.

Debbie walked over to the table and patted Cole’s shoulder. She smiled when he leaned his head against her breasts and sighed with regret.

“Yes, you will, Cole. You can’t help yourself. It’s just a man thing. Now eat your food before it gets cold.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, and picked up his fork.

***

“Where are you going?” Cole asked. He aimed the television remote and hit the mute button. He took another look at Debbie’s attire and turned the TV off completely. She was wearing her swimsuit beneath that oversized T-shirt.

“To swim. The sun’s gone down and no one can see me.”

“I don’t get it. Why would you care if—” He remembered the bruises. “It doesn’t matter, honey,” he said softly. “They’re only bruises, and they’ll fade. Want me to come with you?”

She shrugged. “So, you’ve decided to speak to me?”

Cole flushed. “I never said I wouldn’t,” he argued. “It should be the other way around. I wouldn’t blame you if you never spoke to me again. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have known better.”

“Just what did you think, anyway?” Debbie asked.

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