Dead Calm

“Really? How remarkable.” Her quick glance mocked him. Taking the warmed blanket from the nurse, she passed him the one in which he and Tyree had cocooned the baby.

“This little girl looks all right. We’ll give her a thorough work-up and then—” She frowned. “Children and Families will take over. You know how the system works. It’s the way it is.”

“Yeah. I reckon.” Every inch of his skin twitched with the need to go home, collapse on his bed and sleep for a day. Or a week. How many hours had he been on duty? When was the last time he’d slept? Last night? The day before?

Every cell in his battered body craved relief from the fizzing running through him when he was around Sophie. He didn’t know which he wanted more—sleep, or just a release from the tension she created in him.

Every instinct he owned urged him toward her.

It had been like that from the first moment he’d seen her, jogging down Palmetto Avenue, her hair clumped together by a green clip on top of her head, beads of sweat pooling in the small triangle at the bottom of her throat. Beneath fire-engine-red frayed shorts, her thighs and calf muscles pumped and thrust.

And heat had licked through him like a flash fire.

He hadn’t even thought about what he was doing. He’d simply nudged the squad car over to the curb, letting it roll forward with her for a few minutes until she finally glanced his way.

She’d sent him a smart-alecky grin, saluted with a quick hand to her forehead, and shot off, her legs like slim pistons flickering in the late August heat as she disappeared into the path that curved along Poinciana River.

That was how it had started.

Dangerous, being this tired and this pissed off. Remembering. Remembering never led anywhere good.

A faint stirring of adrenaline roughened his voice. “Do I have permission to leave now, Doctor?”

Even as he spoke, she was already walking away toward one of the examining rooms, her head bent to the baby.

The nurse, Cammie, he made himself remember, sent him a quick smile and a thumbs-up.

And once more he found himself treated to the fine sight of Sophie Brennan’s butt, its curves shaping the jacket to her, the jacket moving with each hip sway. He swallowed. His mouth was dust-dry, the night’s fatigue vanished momentarily in a rush of blood.

“Look, but don’t touch, right?” Tyree’s smooth amusement snapped his head around. “Caught you, didn’t I?”

“What?”

“My, my, aren’t we grouchy? Guess doing without will make a man…irritable.”

“I was thinking, Tyree.”

“Sure you were, Judah. And I’ll bet you a nice, green hundred-dollar bill I know exactly what you were thinking.” His grin widened, crinkling his whole face. “Looks like it wasn’t the first time, too.”

Judah scowled at him. “Button it, Tyree.”

“Can’t blame you. The doc sure is one fine-looking woman.” He laughed. “But don’t tell Yvonna I said that, or I won’t be getting so much as a sweet kiss for a month.”

“Serve you right.”

“Nah, you don’t know Yvonna. She can be one tough lady when she puts her mind to it. She can make my life real…interesting when she wants to.”

“Yeah?” Judah listened with one ear, his attention still on Sophie.

“Anyway, c’mon. Another call came in while you were in here.”

“Right.” Judah’s gaze stayed on Sophie as she hovered over the baby, her every movement visible through the still-open curtain.

He couldn’t get over her—foggy-headed, he couldn’t find the word he wanted. Protectiveness. Yeah. He rubbed his head again. That was the word. She seemed so protective of the tiny scrap of life he’d brought to her.

Not cold at all.

Not at all the way she’d been with George.

And none of the prickliness she showed him.

One more puzzle piece.

But he couldn’t make sense of any of it until he’d had a couple of hours of sleep.

“Hey, Judah. Heads up. We’re needed over on 15th and Oak.” Tyree tugged at him, and with one last glance, Judah left, the glass doors snicking shut behind him.

“Detective Hunkster has left the house.” Cammie poked Sophie in the ribs.

“What?” Sophie lifted her stethoscope and patted the baby, her palm lingering and warming the tiny chest.

Cammie pointed to the exit. “The detective with the hormones and the ’tude.”

“Oh.” Lifting the baby, Sophie curled her over one shoulder, close to her neck. She looked toward the exit. The baby mewed softly and nuzzled closer. “What a sweetheart you are.” Reflexively she cupped the baby’s bottom, swaying slowly from side to side, rocking the infant.

She could barely make out the faces of Finnegan and his partner. A gust of wind puffed out Finnegan’s yellow slicker. Rain striped down his faded jeans, and he yanked the slicker closer to him, rolled his shoulder and vanished into the darkness.

His shoulder had to be hurting him. Anybody with any sense would have stayed and taken the pain scripts. But the stubborn idiot had chosen to assert himself and leave her ER instead of doing the sensible thing.

For all she cared, he could fall down in a heap if that’s what he wanted.

Absently she crooned to the warm baby.

Still, Judah had looked like the burnt end of a match when she’d walked up to him and Cammie. Stubble shadowed his cheeks, and black circles pouched the skin under his eyes. He’d looked like a hundred miles of bad road, as she’d heard one of the local doctors say.

Faded jeans, a look of weary dissipation, and that attitude. Attitude to burn.

But sexy.

It was in the eyes, she decided. He had that look about him that women talked about in hushed tones. The kind of man who would be hell on wheels in bed. The kind of man who could leave a woman smiling in the morning. Oh, no question. She knew exactly what Cammie meant about hormones. Judah Finnegan fairly reeked of pheromones and sex.

Dirty, lowdown, wonderful sex.

She’d felt the flutter of her pulse every time she’d thought of him during this past year.

He was exactly the wrong kind of man for a woman like her.

Even without their history.