Kissing Her Rescuer: A Southern Kind of Love, #5

1

G eorge, you're not even trying now. Eliza Campbell leaned on the pool table, resting the pool cue against her shoulder and impatiently waiting for her burly student to make his shot. The smoke-filled bar was like a second home. An odd statement thinking about how she'd grown up the quiet, small town in Georgia nearby. But she'd practically lived in joints like this during her disastrous marriage. That smell of old grease and soured beer held a touch of nostalgia.

'Liza, I don't see the point, darling. You've won the last four games. George took a long drink of his beer, the tip of the bottle disappearing under his dark, bushy mustache laced with gray. How did you get so good at this?

Lots of practice. Hustling pool for money wasn't a typical Southern Belle characteristic, but she'd mastered it all the same. The pure rebellion of her youth that had eventually turned into survival. When your child needed clothes, and her father took off for two weeks, you survived. She ran a hand over her dark hair. Tonight, she’d kept it casual. Her classic ponytail with almost no make-up made her look closer to eighteen than twenty-eight. Another advantage when hustling.

Position control is key. There are a couple different shots you can take if you think outside the box.

He grunted and downed the rest of his beer in one long gulp, the tattoo of a snake along the side of his neck wiggling with each gulp.

Staying sober also helps, she murmured as she nursed her one, warm beer. The leisurely pace of the game suited her current situation. No need to engage in a hustle after moving back into her dad’s home.

George took his shot. The poor guy could probably make a decent shot if he took off that leather vest. But telling someone in a biker club to take off clothing might give him the wrong impression. Although George was her weekly pool buddy and had never crossed that line, she didn't want to tempt him. Aging bikers were not in her future.

That was good. She patted him on the back as he passed by to take another shot. He missed, cursed, and then ordered another beer. Good thing we aren't playing for money.

He raised his thick, gray eyebrows. I imagine you could make a killing. After a beat of silence, he shook his head, possibly smiling at her under his mustache. I bet you did make a killing.

Eliza shrugged a shoulder. At one time, in the right clothes, she had. That was part of the positive influence of her ex-husband, Zach, the piece of crap that he was. Now she played for fun.

I'm going to go ahead and wrap this game up, George. I need to head home. It’s a work night, you know. Eliza leaned down to line up her shot. Got to be an adult.

A shadow in the far side of the bar shifted. She recognized the broad shoulders. His height. The casual way he leaned against the far wall, seemingly easygoing. She knew otherwise.

And the thought of him made her mouth run dry.

Dewey.

She took a breath, pushing him away from her concentration. He always had a place in the back of her mind since their one-night stand. She shot, a kick-shot sinking two balls, in order, before moving to the other side of the table, smiling at George as she approached him.

It’s easy when you think outside the box.

Damn, 'Liza, George said and toasted her with his new beer.

She smiled and turned her back to Dewey and George. She didn't have to play the next shot. There were two different shots to take, but she liked to torture Dewey a little, so she leaned over the table.

Too bad George had a front-row seat of her jean-clad butt as well.

Behind her, George choked a little on his beer and stumbled to the other side of the pool table, his eyes wary, staring over her shoulder. Poor man. He must have been evident in his appraisal.

Her silent bodyguard struck again.

She finished the game without any more fun conversation with George. Setting the cue back into the rack, she grabbed her keys from the corner. See you again next week?

George nodded as he continued to glance at Dewey. You alright walking out with that big guy following you? I don't like the way he looks at you. My guys and I can help you out.

Eliza suppressed a laugh. He's fine. Known him all my life. She didn't point out that he was a Sheriff's Deputy in the closest town to Rhonda's Roadhouse, although he didn’t wear his uniform. His T-shirt and jeans gave most male models some serious competition if they ever ventured this far south in Georgia.

He’d shown up at Rhonda’s every night she played pool the past month. It was some weird, unspoken arrangement between the two of them.

Since she'd returned to Statem, Dewey had otherwise kept his distance. Not talking to her too much in town or when all their mutual friends got together. Polite but distant. Neither one had addressed their history.

She gave Rhonda, the owner behind the bar, a brief wave as she walked outside. Dewey's boots crunched on the gravel behind her. You know, you don't have to babysit me every Wednesday. She spoke without even a glance in his direction.

His slow Southern accent always made a shiver race down her spine. You seem to keep peculiar company. I'd rather know you're safe and not get a call on the radio. Glad you picked Wednesdays, though. I don't have to take off work to be here.

She turned around at her car. As usual, he stopped a respectable four feet away. Don’t get too close and act like a real friend.

His brown hair was cut short. And, just like other weeks, he hadn’t bothered to shave in a couple days giving him a dangerous, scruffy look. His hazel eyes appeared brown with only the street light above them. Tall and muscular. Muscles he'd earned working in the cotton field when he wasn't on duty. Oh, their one weekend together might have been nearly eight years ago, but she remembered every inch of that body.

I'm glad my weekly night out is good with your schedule. I'll be sure to consult you if I have to make a change.

He didn't smile the fun way she knew he could. He was goofy with his friends. Too bad, he didn't consider her a friend. Never had. There'd always been something between them. She'd recognized it the summer after she turned seventeen.

On her end, it was a sexual current that never went away.

For him, all he seemed to want to do is make sure she was safe, and then he backed away. She appreciated the concern, but that wasn't what she dreamed about. At twenty-eight, she wanted more than a big-brother relationship. But a relationship became tricky when raising a seven-year-old at the same time.

Are you going to follow me home like usual? She climbed into her dad's car, having sold her own to make it out of Alabama with her daughter.

Yes. He kept her from closing the door, leaning down until they were a few inches apart. His proximity caught her off guard. She let herself have one brief moment to fall into his eyes.

He smirked. Next time, though, don't stick your tail in the air in front of your opponent. I'd hate to have Cameron come out and arrest me for disturbing the peace.

A deputy arresting a deputy. That would make an interesting article. He was so close, and her voice stayed perfectly even. Another reason she didn't drink to excess. It wouldn't take much of a push to try and relive the best night of her life with him.

His lopsided grin surprised her. Drive safe, Princess. He closed her door and walked to his old, beat-up truck that parked behind her. Right behind her. She couldn't even give him the slip to getaway. Not that she could outrun anyone in her dad's old car from the nineties.

And he'd called her Princess. He hadn't called her that since she was thirteen and mooning over him, finding every excuse in the book to tag along behind her older sister and her friends.

Dewey's headlights remained a constant distance away from her until she pulled into her dad's driveway. She stopped the car in front of the house. Carrie's window on the second-floor glowed pink from her night light. Eliza’s entire life slept soundly. Safely. That was the most important thing.

Dewey dropped his headlights from a full beam to the parking lights. Of course, he'd wait for her to get into the house. He still saw her as an irresponsible kid. She gave him a quick wave and opened the front door, twisting the handle until it closed with a soft click.

In the dark, she finally let her brave face slip.

Dewey.

The sexy, single, small-town cop that she didn't have a right to think about. Life would have turned out differently if she'd taken his offer, come back to Statem when she was twenty. Married him. But then she wouldn't have Carrie. The only good thing that came from her marriage with Zach. The only reason she’d stayed with Zach as long as she did.

Eliza? Her dad's voice called from the top of the stairs.

It's me, Daddy. She began to climb the stairs of her childhood home. Someday it might not feel strange. She might stop expecting to hear her mom's voice drift in from the kitchen. Was Carrie good for you?

Perfect angel.

Doubtful. That's good. Thanks again for watching her.

It's no chore. He stood at the top of the stairs. His flannel pants almost threadbare, and his white undershirt more of a cream color from years of wear. But I expect you to be at work in the morning. Thursday is our big day.

I know, Daddy. That's why I take off Wednesdays.

He grunted and shuffled back down the hall to his room, leaving the door open. Juliana, her sister, had mentioned that until Eliza and Carrie came to live with him that their dad had slept with the door closed since their mom died.

Eliza tried not to regret her decision to leave Statem. But if she could do it over again, she would have stayed long enough to attend her mom's funeral and not run away from the pain.

After checking on Carrie, snuggled up under her Minnie Mouse blanket, she walked to her own room. Juliana had cleared it of everything from high school. The only things that remained were the bed and dresser. That made it easier. She couldn't stand to go back to that point in time and get hit with the memories every time she walked into the room. Walking into the house without her mom there hurt enough.

But she wouldn't run this time.

After starting the shower and waiting for the water to warm up, about three minutes in their old house, she sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her phone. She pulled up Dewey's number. She'd thought about him nearly every day since he’d walked out of her crappy house in Alabama.

Carrie opened her door, sleepy eyes, and carrying a stuffed cat. Mama, she mumbled and ran to her. I pretended to be asleep, so Grandpa didn't fuss at me, but I want to sleep with you.

Carrie had fallen asleep, but Eliza didn't argue. She pulled back the comforter, letting her daughter crawl into her bed. I need to take a shower. Then, I'll be in here.

Carrie nodded, already drifting back to sleep.

They'd slept together almost every night, and Eliza clung to that. There was no room for anyone else in her bed or her life.

2

D amn. Dewey Mitchell wiped the sweat from his forehead and unceremoniously dumped the kid into the back of his patrol car. Running down a shoplifter at nine a.m. on Tuesday ruined his morning routine of coffee and reading the local paper at Crossroads Coffee Shop.

Dude! You got these cuffs too tight.

Oh, here, let me help— Dewey slammed the door closed. Dumb kid. A crowd had gathered in the high school parking lot where Dewey had started his foot race. The small town of Statem didn't have much in the way of crime. Speeding tickets and petty thefts made up most of their statistics.

He began to walk around his patrol car when another vehicle pulled into the parking lot. Eliza. She stepped out of her dad’s ancient car, wearing jeans and a pink tank top. Statem's newest, flip-flop wearing reporter, armed with a camera, and, shit—

He set his hands on his hips. You can't bring Carrie with you to do your job. Dewey waved at Carrie, who grinned from the back seat and waved in return. The kid had taken to him from the get-go. He loved it. She was sweet and funny. Just like her mama when she didn’t aim her pissed off look his way. All he’d done is try to give her space since she’d moved home, but it hadn’t worked.

Eliza spared her daughter a quick glance. I don't have a choice today. School's out for the summer, and Ms. Iris is meeting with Becky to go over wedding cake designs. She blew out a stiff breath. Turns out, Juliana has nominated me to do Daddy’s wedding decorations.

None of that mattered. Then find another babysitter.

She crossed her arms. If you'd let me ask my questions for the paper, then we can both get on with our day, and you won’t be forced to endure my company.

It was for her own good, the distance he put between them. Although, just like last week at Rhonda's, he couldn't stay away. He'd worried about her each day she lived in Alabama, hating the fact that he hadn't protected her from Zach, the D-bag ex. Dewey had tried to bring her home, promised her everything he could give her, and in the end, Eliza had chosen Zach anyway. Because Dewey wasn’t enough for her.

Carrie's head popped out of the window. Hi, Dewey.

Hi, Princess. He motioned her back inside. Sit tight. Your mom will be done in a second. He aimed his stern look at Eliza. But, unlike criminals, she didn't seem to care if she made him mad.

What happened? She stuck her tape recorder in his face.

He rolled his eyes and began to lay out what he could tell her that wouldn't hurt their case against the kid. Not that he'd get more than a few hours in jail and a fine for stealing a cell phone. Maybe some community service. But Dewey didn't have any intention of making it a comfortable stay.

Eliza took a few steps away and held up the camera she always carried with her. Dewey stepped beside her. I don't want to be in your picture. Her light perfume hit him. He crossed his arms, his primary defense against reaching for her. Even with her tough exterior, never needing anyone for anything, he knew what ran beneath the surface. A woman who was as sweet as the strawberry scent clinging to her.

She took a series of shots. Good. You would mess it up anyway with that scowl.

I'm working.

She paused and glanced his direction, the emerald green of her eyes distracting. Oh, it's your working scowl. I got it confused with your casual scowl. Then again, she paused and pursed her lips together. "I think it's your Eliza scowl."

What did she expect? He'd laid his entire heart out for her, and she chose to stay with Zach, who'd cheated on her, left his fingerprints on her body, and disappeared for weeks at a time. That didn't leave Dewey in the best mood. Years couldn’t erase the hurt.

He pointed at the kid in custody, who currently appeared to be asleep with his head laid back against the seat. I'm not out here getting in exercise for my own enjoyment.

She propped her hand on her hip, opened her mouth to say something, but her phone rang. She glanced down. Damn. She covered her mouth and looked back to the car, but Carrie was inside and out of hearing range.

Dewey smiled. He wanted to be irritated with her and not acknowledge how much he still wanted her for his own. But she was Eliza and would always be the one that got away.

His smile dropped when he saw a quick flash of fear her those pretty eyes. What is it?

She canceled the call. Nothing. It's nothing. I need to run. She turned to walk away, but Dewey reached out and stopped her with a gentle touch on her shoulder. Being gentle with a female wasn’t new, but there was something breakable about Eliza.

Eliza, he began, trying to keep the emotion out of saying her name. What's wrong?

Her gaze held a few moments before she stepped away. Nothing you can help with. Really. I can handle it. I need to go. She climbed in the car, instructed Carrie to buckle her seatbelt, and then started the engine. She looked down at her phone again, grimacing before pressing a button and tossing the phone into her purse.

And Dewey stood there helpless. He didn't have any right to pry into her business. She'd made her thoughts on the subject perfectly clear when he’d offered for her to come back to Statem, that he'd take care of her, marry her, and they'd figure out the situation with her dad together. Half-blind with love for her.

She'd accepted his offer before he'd left Alabama. But she texted a few days later, explaining that she'd never leave her husband. That she was in love.

Bullshit.

Dewey stalked back to his patrol car. He'd seen the bruises Zach had put on her arms. The holes