Dylan shook his head in dismay, but he couldn’t really disagree with the way she felt. Pulling over speeders was far easier to deal with than the ghosts that were pulling at him over Jennifer’s attack.
When the pickup pulled over and they noticed that the driver was a kid who looked to be about sixteen, Traci grinned. “Looks like somebody might be loving his new driver’s license just a little bit too much.”
When Dylan noticed the boy had just rested his forehead on his steering wheel, he inwardly groaned. Tears and drama might be on the way.
Traci opened her door. “I’ll be back.”
“Go get ’em, tiger. But don’t forget that you are in Bridgeport not inner-city Cleveland. Kid gloves, remember?”
She waggled her fingers. “I’ve got ’em on,” she said as she headed toward the truck.
Deciding to join her at last, he almost smiled when he approached. Officer Traci Lucky had affected a perfect stance of all business and motherly manner while she was giving him what-for for speeding. The kid looked contrite and nervous but not scared stiff. All in all, the exchange seemed to be going as well as it could.
Dylan made a mental note to praise her for that when they went to lunch later. A lot of cops from the big city never seemed to be able to find the right way of talking with the suburban residents of Bridgeport. Traci wasn’t one of them.
Lots of things in his life were up in the air, but this new partnership? He couldn’t have asked for anyone better.
CHAPTER 22
“Dancers have a very hard job. We must take our ugly, callused, blistered, and bruised feet and present them in a way so that they are mistaken as the most beautiful things on Earth.”
As she headed up to the third floor of Backdoor Books, Jennifer felt a little self-conscious. She knew she was avoiding everyone, but she preferred to look at it as taking a moment to care for herself. Shannon and Kimber were nice, and their hearts were huge. She couldn’t think of another pair of women willing to drop everything in order to give someone they hardly knew a few minutes of happiness.
So she was grateful to them. She really was. But her mind was in such a mess, she knew she needed a few minutes of silence or she was going to lose the last bit of composure she was clinging to.
The best way to find that was in the middle of a stack of cookbooks.
Sitting down in the chair she’d occupied just a couple of days earlier, she picked up a Joy of Cooking hardcover and placed it on her lap. The book was serving as her makeshift security blanket, and that was pretty sad.
What was she ever going to do with herself? When was she ever going to be normal again? Was it ever possible to be normal when one was the victim of a violent attack?
The patter of steps brought her attention to the doorway—and to Harvard. The German shepherd puppy peeked around the stacks of books, spied her, and then approached with a fierce tail wag.
She laughed as he scrambled closer, his four big paws practically tripping over each other. “Hey, buddy. Where’s your owner?”
The puppy just wagged its tail again.
She leaned down and gave him another pet, then laughed when he artlessly attempted to nudge her book and hands out of the way so he could sit on her lap. Unable to resist, she did as he requested. The cookbook went back to its place. Next thing she knew, she was holding the pup in her arms, cuddling him close and inhaling that wonderful puppy smell.
Harvard wiggled with pleasure, making her chuckle.
Huh, maybe the cure for the blues wasn’t a stack of cookbooks but a warm, affectionate puppy.
“Harvard? Harvard, where are you, buddy?”
When Harvard just gave her another lick on her face, she answered. “He’s up here with me. In the cookbook stacks.”
After she heard a couple of heavy steps on the wooden staircase, Jack appeared, looking just as gorgeous as he had the first time she’d seen him.
“Hey,” he said. “Looks like you’ve got some company.”
“I do,” she said smiling at the dog. “Harvard found me.”
“I can see he found your lap,” he said as he strode forward. “Sorry. German shepherds are usually pretty independent dogs, but not this one. I don’t know if it’s because he’s a mix and not a purebred, but he’s as cuddly as some kind of fluffy lap dog.”
“I think he’s perfect.” She ran a hand down Harvard’s side, silently coaxing him to stay a little bit longer. After Harvard peeked at Jack, he snuggled closer to her.
Jack grinned. But instead of coaxing the pup down, Jack pulled out a chair next to her. “Would it be bad to say that I’m kind of glad he found you for me?”
“You were looking for me?”
“I got here about ten minutes ago. Mom waved me over and introduced me to your friends. They, of course, became fans of Harvard here.”
“Of course.” Jennifer smiled at him, loving how much he loved his dog.
Jack looked down at his thick work boots before meeting her eyes again. “Anyway, it took me a minute to put it all together. But after I realized that they were friends with you, I started trying to think of a way to ask them where you were without sounding completely rude. Or, um, stalker-like.” Looking pleased, he added, “My buddy Harvard here solved that problem.”
He’d been thinking about her! Hoping she didn’t look as excited by this information as she felt, Jennifer kept her attention on the dog. “Well, Harvard is a pretty smart pup.”
“He is, since he found you.” Studying her closely, Jack said, “So, how are you doing?”
She guessed he was still thinking of her freak-out last week. “Hmm. Well, I’ve been better, but worse, too. So, I guess that means I’m all right. How’s that for an answer?”
“Good enough.” He pulled out one of the chairs and sat down. “Do you get those anxiety attacks a lot?”
“They come and go.” Hearing her counselor’s voice in her ear, she continued. “They’re a lot better than how they used to be, which is a good thing.”
“I know we hardly know each other, but I’m great at listening. Do you want to talk about it?”
Did she want to share that she’d been beaten and raped two years ago and just last night had received a note from one of the men who’d been there watching? That seeing that note in the back of her car had done such a number on her that she’d practically gone into shock?
Uh, no. No, she did not. “There’s nothing really to say.”
“Sure?”
“Positive.” Reaching for Harvard, she ran her fingers along the scruff on his neck. “So, how are you?”