Page 3 of Cop Daddy Next Door

As would I.

I was tempted to make the sign of the cross, and I was not even slightly religious.

“Your brother’s a good guy,” she mused, brushing dog hair off her shorts.

“Must you sound so shocked?”

“I must. Your kind doesn’t have the best track record with unplanned pregnancies, gotta say. Usually, there’s some variation of “it ain’t mine,” or “how could it happen, I wore a rubber,” or even “I’m not ready,” as if women are born ready.” She kept on brushing off her lap as if golden-brown hair clung to every inch of her.

I frowned as the silence extended. She cleared her throat and looked up with a weighty enough glance to throttle me. “Anyway, I was there. Brady didn’t do that. He stood up from the first. And kept right on standing up.”

My voice deserted me. I wasn’t even sure why. Just words unspoken passed between us in that moment while the birds chirped merrily in the trees and the hot sun scorched the back of my neck, freshly exposed after my haircut that morning.

And none of that mattered at all, except in this moment, everything seemed to. I couldn’t quite catch my breath.

“My brother’s one of the good ones,” I said when my lungs finally figured out how to work again.

“What about you?” Slowly, she rose, still brushing off her shorts although there was no way Francie could’ve lost that much hair from her tiny body.

“What about me what?”

“Are you good?”

Now my breath caught for an altogether different reason. I hadn’t imagined that flirty pause before she finished her question. But I was used to paying attention to tone and body language when questioning a suspect or trying to determine guilt. She didn’t want me to get too close or to pick up more clues than she was willing to give.

“What I am is smart.”

A cocked brow was her only response.

“Why are you on my dock?” I asked as Francie parked her furry behind on my shoe.

“You’re like a dog with a bone.” I didn’t miss how her gaze dropped below my waist and lingered for a second before she grinned. “But I like a man who’s persistent. Remember what I said about joint access?”

“Huh?”

“Says he’s smart, though he can’t recall basic details.Tsk, tsk.Good thing you’re cute, GQ.” She flicked her fingers through the ends of her hair and did a little pirouette complete with heel kick. “Haven’t you wondered who would move in next door?”

My stomach twisted itself around the bacon and egg sandwich I’d had for a late lunch at The Rusty Spoon. After taking my mom to the dentist, I’d stopped off on Main Street for lunch that didn’t come out of a box or a can.

The life of a single dude wasn’t always roses, but the joy of limited female chatter could not be overstated. Even now, I was starting to get the itch from too much talking.

I had to admit she was easy on the eyes. Easy on the tightness in my groin too, which served her right if she’d seen anything she shouldn’t have—since she’d so obviously checked me out.

But hotness was one thing.Next doorwas quite another.

“I’ve actually thought of buying the land myself,” I said quickly, hoping the possibility Van had sneaked into the neighborhood wasn’t a done deal.

I could call my real estate agent and tell her I wanted the property, draw up the papers, and see if I could secure a mortgage. Vanessa only worked at her sister’s bakery on a sporadic basis. Some days she worked twelve hours, some days three. It wasn’t as if her funding situation could be better than mine.

It couldn’t be too late.

“Too late,” she said cheerfully, patting my chest as she walked past me into the street without checking for passing cars.

I had a feeling that was how Vanessa Monaghan lived her entire life.

“See that cute little vehicle over there?” She pointed across the street. An ancient hunk of metal was parked on the rundown path that bisected the property. Normally, the only thing on that path were weeds working their way up through the cracks in the narrow strip of blacktop.

Now a rusty mint-green school bus sat in the space with a makeshift awning open on the side. A single green-striped lawn chair circa 1981 was stationed beneath it next to a cooler of the same decade. I was pretty sure I had a stack of drawings in my mom’s memories trunk with the same Igloo pattern embossed on it.

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