Page 31 of Welker

She was loyal to a fault; covering her teammates’ backs and never failing to stand up for what was right.

Welker silently acknowledged all that, but probed deeper.

Moira, right from the start, had his attention. Never one to put on fancy airs or join in the team’s shenanigans, she remained who and what she was, unapologetically. That honesty, initially, had drawn him in. He was used to three different types of females: family, the women with whom he got “social”, playing coy head games which he’d learned to navigate successfully in order to get laid, and the officers working for SWAT who were off limits, physically. Welker saw those teammates as…extensions of their male counterparts, joking around until it came time to take care of business.

Moira, however, had always remained just outside that banter.

Welk also gave kudos to Moira’s fixed dedication, which meant when a squad leader was unavailable for one reason or another, Mason often put her in charge of a short-handed unit. Welker always missed her cool head and measured comments when she wasn’t with his unit, and was extremely glad she came back to H-squad.

Come on, Welk, he told himself. Dig.

Those were all great attributes that he’d iterated more than once, but what else was on his mind?

Her…looks, if he were being honest.

They confounded him. He’d oddly been drawn to her plain appearance, appreciating her severe mode of dress and the way she contained her hair. She was like a huge secret waiting to be uncovered, a masterpiece about to be unveiled, or… He snorted. It was like looking at the proverbial bespectacled librarian, and wondering what she’d look like, all messed up.

Welker chuckled to himself.

Hadn’t he gotten the answer to those things this morning?

When Moira had come downstairs dressed in Callie’s workout clothes, her hair flowing gloriously around her shoulders, he’d almost lost his ability to speak. She’d looked…softer, more approachable, and damn, if he hadn’t wanted to walk right over and kiss her.

Kiss her…

Yup. There’d been that. The lip-lock they’d almost shared in his kitchen. The fact that it hadn’t happened was going to stay with him all day. He’d nearly had a taste of Moira, and it appeared, in retrospect, that she hadn’t been about to fight him on it or back away. Had he imagined her approval? Had she been about to take a leap of faith, too?

If she had, how could Welker replicate the events that had led up to their near-kiss, in order to make it happen again?

He had no answer for that. Moira could just as easily punch him in the face as welcome his tentative advances if he attempted anything in the future.

What did he have for time, to ascertain what could be done to egg on the attraction? One week, maybe two, to see if he could lead her into another situation where they could suss things out?

The door to his house opened and Moira walked out, looking…stunning.

Welker bit back a sigh. He didn’t want to retrieve any of her normal clothes from her house. He wanted to see her like this, from now on. He wanted to shop with her, pick out more outfits that would show off her curves, have her put on a dressing-room fashion-show for him and tell her how delectable she looked in whatever she tried on. Maybe it would lead to dressing room sex. That would be a new one for him.

A man could dream.

“Callie and Sabira said they’ll lock up when they leave,” she told Welker.

He nodded from his position, standing at the driver’s door of their new ride which was idling.

Moira opened the passenger side up and snorted. “Really, Welk? A Forester?”

“Hey,” he countered with a grin, glad to get his mind back to reality. “What better way to blend in than with a Subaru that half the state drives?”

Moira couldn’t argue with that, and he knew it. The cars were everywhere in Maine. They were great in the snow.

“Okay. You got me, and you’re right,” she agreed easily. “Nobody’s going to pick this out in a line-up, or expect to see me in the passenger seat.”

“Damn straight. And since you concur,” he offered, “we’ll clean-up your place first, then head into town to buy groceries and whatever clothes and girly stuff you can’t salvage from your house.”

“Girly stuff?” she huffed. “Uh, Welk? I think you’ve got the wrong woman.”

“No. I’ve got the right one,” he dared cheekily.

She ignored that comment.

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