For Elaine Walker, who kept suggesting I write this. Well, okay, maybe not *exactly* this.
Caroline Pinsent had a marked disrespect for territorial traffic laws. Robert Fraser sighed deeply as he approached her car for the third time in a week. In the previous week he'd stopped her twice; the week before that he'd stopped her for the first time. It had been a memorable stop.
An illegal U-turn right in front of him and Gerrard led to the first stop. he pursued her over Gerrard's objections. Yes, they had been off-duty for five minutes, but Bob still went after the car. The law was the law, and his duty was to uphold that law.
When he reached the driver's door, he found himself staring into dark eyes. Any thought he'd had about issuing a citation left him as he stared into the depths of those eyes. He couldn't grab onto any thought save that he'd never thought of brown eyes as warm before, especially not eyes so dark he couldn't tell where the pupil ended and the iris began.
Silvery laughter broke the spell, and Bob blinked. "Are you all right, Constable?" she asked.
"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked gruffly. He made a mental not to reprimand himself for unprofessional behaviour. She smiled, and it took all his concentration not to lose his train of thought again. "You realize," he said, "that U-turns are illegal within the city limits." It was a statement not a question.
She tucked a strand of dark hair behind one of the two most beautiful ears he'd ever seen. He watched a slim finger trace over the outer edge of its shell as she smoothed the glossy lock behind it. "Certainly," she replied, and her smile broadened.
Bob was taken aback by her unrepentant answer.
"If it were summer, Constable," she said with a laugh, "you'd have a mouth full of flies--or mosquitos."
He snapped his mouth shut. The woman had broken the law and was now shamelessly mocking him. *Women*, he thought. "License and registration," he snapped. She raised her eyebrows, and he added to his mental note to include rudeness in his reprimand. "Please," he added grudgingly.
One slim, dark brow lifted again, and she handed him the documents. He smiled at her license, noted her name and address and the fact that she was three years his junior. Why that should please him he didn't know. It was completely irrational, but so was his reaction to her tentative smile.
"Well, Miss Pinsent," he said as he returned her papers, "no more U-turns, all right?"
He could hardly believe he'd actually said those words, but his mouth had been moving, hers hadn't and Gerrard was still in the car. He, Bob Fraser, was allowing a criminal to go unpunished. And she, brazen filly, positively beamed at him.
Watching her drive away, he tried to decipher what had made him let her go with no more than a verbal warning. It couldn't have been her smile, it wouldn't have been those eyes, and it certainly hadn't been her sultry voice or bell-like laugh. No, he hadn't let her go because she was a woman. Absolutely not. Never. He wouldn't do such a thing. A criminal was a criminal, and criminals needed to be punished. No, she wasn't a criminal. Well, yes, she *had* broken the law, but it was a minor traffic violation. It wasn't as though she had robbed the bank in broad daylight, he reminded himself as he returned to the car.
Gerrard stared at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted a second head. As Bob climbed behind the wheel, the other man asked incredulously, "You chased him down and just let him go?"
"Her," he corrected absently as he pulled back onto the roadway. "It was a woman."
"My God!" Gerrard laughed. "You're human after all."
"Laugh all you want," Fraser said. "I gave her a warning."
He paid little attention to Gerrard's cracks as they headed back to the station. The other man was looking for a reaction, and Bob knew better than to give him one.
By the time he parked the car and they gathered their things and headed inside, Gerrard was talking about his young fiancee, and Fraser figured he'd heard the last of it. He hadn't counted on Duncan Frobisher, though.
He and Frobisher had been stable mates, and he'd been surprised to wind up in the same detachment with both Buck Frobisher and Gerrard. The three men were friends, though they didn't always acknowledge it. No sooner had Buck said hello than Gerrard was regaling him with the story of Fraser's aberrant behaviour.
"So who was she?" Buck asked, and Bob found himself strangely reluctant to admit her identity.
As he weighed the relative advantages of telling Buck and getting it over with, Gerrard recited her make and model of car and her plate number.
Buck grinned like an idiot. "Caroline Pinsent," he said reverently, and Fraser glowered at him. Trust Frobisher to know the name of every woman in the Territory. "God, she's beautiful," he breathed, and Fraser scowled.
****
He next saw her at the post office the following day. She stood in front of Shaver's store talking to Buck Frobisher, of all people. Fraser walked past them, but Frobisher, damn his hide, called him back. Frobisher didn't look pleased, and Fraser took some satisfaction from that as Buck reluctantly introduced him to Caroline Pinsent. At a loss for what to say to her, he blurted, "We've met."
"Not exactly," she said, smiling. She looked across at Buck and said, "Your friend stopped me yesterday."
"So I heard," Buck said with a smirk.
"If you'll excuse me," bob said, and Caroline smiled directly at him. He hesitated a moment then nodded to her and walked on to the post office.
****
After that, it seemed as thoughe verywhere he went he saw her. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn she was following him. If he went in the store, she was disappearing down the aisle ahead of him. If he drove through town, he saw her car. If he ate out, she was already in the restaurant. He sighted her a little too often to make it sheer coincidence, but then the laws governing such things had long been a mystery. He didn't acknowledge the suspicion that perhaps he saw her so often because he looked for her.
When he stopped her the second time--for speeding--it struck him that Miss Pinsent was just the sort of woman his mother had consistently warned him about. her quick smiled and flirtatious way marked her as "fast," and the fact that she drove her car above the speed limit indicated it was literally true as well. When he reached her window, he again went blank, spent a moment explaining the posted speed limit and informing her that she'd exceeded that limit by five. She gave him an unrepentant, dazzling smile, and he gave her a warning to slow down. Three days later, he was doing the same thing. Every three days he pulled her over yeat again--speeding, illegal parking, failure to yield right of way--her violations were quickly reaching the point at which he could no longer ignore them. He was becoming the RCMP's laughing stock.
The sixth time he stopped her, he resolved to ticket her. She'd had plenty of warnings, and she'd made it abundantly clear she would continue to violate the territorial traffic laws. He wouldn't loook at her, he decided as he strode to her car. He would refuse to look at her, and in that way he would be able to do his duty. She wouldn't get past him with those eyes and tht smile. Not this time. No, sir. "Hello, Constable," she said, and Bob heard happy laughter in her voice. "Lovely weather, isn't it? I'm so very glad the sun decided to shine."
"You realize you were doing thirty in a twenty-five, don't you?" he asked gruffly. Silently he reminded himself not to look at her. Not even a peek. He was a Mountie. He could do this.
"Of course," she giggled. "It's the only way I get to talk to you."
Bob made his first mistake when he heard that. He looked her square in the eyes. "You're incorrigible," he said, but he said it cheerfully.
She laughed, and her eyes twinkled. "On the contrary," she returned. "I'm eminently teachable."
There was something in her voice that made him wonder exactly what he could teach her, and then he went crimson when his imagination offered a few suggestions. He was fumbling for something to say when he heard her ask, "Are you?"
Sheer terror ripped through him. He'd been caught not paying attention. His mother had been a force to be reckoned with in such lapses, and it had been his experience that few women liked it when a man didn't hang on their every word. "What?"
She grinned saucily and raised her eyebrows. "Teachable," she said with a laugh.
Baffled, he asked, "I beg your pardon?"
"Are you teachable, Constable?"
He scratched absently at his cheek, not at all certain what his ability to learn had to do with the current conversation. "Certainly, Miss Pinsent."
"Well," she drawled, "your first lesson shall be to stop calling me Miss Pinsent."
"Yes, miss."
She tutted at him with a smile. "No misses and no ma'ams either, Constable."
Bob shifted awkwardly. The woman made no sense at all. Etiquette demanded, especially since their conversation fell under an official exercise of his duties as a police constable, that they remain on formal terms. "Should I address you as 'Pinsent' then?" he asked.
She leaned closer and beckonded to him with her finger. He bent at the waist and looked into her eyes. "How about Caroline?" she asked softly.
Suddenly, he could hear his mother in the back of his head, and that
saved him from the oozing softness he'd felt inside him when Caroline's husky voice made the suggestion. He straightened quickly and snapped open the pad he'd brought with him. "I'm afraid I shall have to cite you, Miss Pinsent."
She handed over her license and a folded piece of paper. He handed back the paper without opening it, and saw her smile broaden. He quickly wrote the ticket, asked for the necessary information not on her license, and handed her her citation. She handed him back the piece of paper. "This isn't mine," he said, thrusting it back at her. She turned the ignition and said, "Oh, yes, it is," and drove away.
He opened it to find her phone number inside. Or at least he assumed it was her phone number. For all he knew, the digits could be those of the local laundry, for there was no name with the number. He slipped it in his pocket.
****
For days he agonized over the slip of paper. She had practically dared him to call her, but each time he reached the telephone he hesitated. A few times he actually managed to dial an exchange, but he always hung up the receiver before he could dial all the digits. It wasn't that he didn't wish to speak to her. Instead, he felt uncomfortable with the idea of calling a woman he'd met in the line of duty. he didn't feel the uniform should be used to attract a date. Not all of his fellow Mounties felt the same way, but Fraser did. It seemed improper to aske her out considering their relationship, if one could even call it that, centered on his exercising--or at least attempting to exercise--his duties as a Mountie.
He broached the subject with Gerrard, who merely laughed and asked, "How do you think most of us meet our girls and wives?"
*****
One afternoon it dawned on him that five days had passed since he'd written Caroline Pinsent her citation. He hadn't seen her since, and he was surprised to discover he'd been looking for her. Not only that, but he was genuinely concerned about her absence. He began looking for her car, and he grew increasingly alarmed when he didn't spy it anywhere. He tried to remember where she lived and finally resorted to looking her address up on the citation he'd issued her. He drove past her home, guilt biting into him for using official information for private purposes, but when he caught a glimpse of her in the yard, he slowed his car to a crawl and it didn't seem to matter. The mental reprimand he'd composed during the drive to her home was erased by the sight of her. Her hair was loose in the wind which molded her dress to the contours of her body. Might interesting contours she had, too.
She saw him and waved, and he considered driving quickly away, but his foot refused to mash the accelerator and het him out of there. Caroline came at a lope, and embarrassed by his recent observation, he was horrified when his foot stepped on the brake. He put the car in park and wound down his window when she came around to his door.
He looked up into her face, and the softness rushed through him again. "I was concerned about you," he said quietly.
Smoothing back her wind-whipped hair, she grinned. "My father won't let me drive. He was upset about the ticket."
Bob apologized automatically. It was irrational. He hadn't been the one in the wrong, and yet he felt the need to beg her pardon for obeying his duty.
"Oh, don't be," she said dismissively. Her eyes sparkled at him. "It gave me an excuse to talk to you." She leaned toward him and boldly said, "You are, after all, the most handsome Mountie at the post."
He was at a loss. He stared mutely at her, and his mother's voice warred with the part of him that wanted to respond to her forwardness.
"Look," she said, "to borrow an old cliche, we can't go on meeting like this, so, if you'd like, maybe we could have a real conversation. Would you like to come to dinner? Perhaps tomorrow?"
Bob opened his mouth to stammer a refusal, but what he heard himself say was, "Yes. Thank you kindly."
****
Years later, he would have cause to remember how they first met. His wife, driving them to meet the Gerrards for dinner, let the speed of the car increase gently so that she was driving two kilometers an hour above the speed limit. They were late, but it was no reason to endanger them or to break the law. Thankfully, Benton was with his grandparents for the night. Not even an infant should be present when his mother refused to obey traffic laws. Bob asked her to slow down, but she merely slid a glance his way and smiled. She bumped her speed up a little higher.
"Caroline, for God's sake," he said. "It's embarrassing. You're breaking the law. Now slow this thing down, or I'm going to write you a ticket."
She didn't answer. She looked sideways at him again and kicked it up another kilometer per hour.
"Sweetheart," he began again, speaking carefully as he did to his horse, "I must insist. You have to slow down. I *will* write you a ticket for speeding."
She smiled again, and again her speed increased.
"That's it," he said. "I'm going to arrest you if you don't decrease your speed immediately."
Still she ignored him, and when she pulled into the Gerrards' drive, she was laughing at him. He proceeded to take her into custody. Gerrard and his wife came outside, bewildered, but Caroline giggled. Begging their pardon, he bundled her back in the car and drove her to the post.
"You're serious," she breathed as he parked in front of the building.
"I'm always serious," he retured easily, enjoying seeing his wife, for once, at a loss.
"No, you're not," she said, but the usual snap was missing from her voice. "If you were, there wouldn't be all that nonsense between you and Buck about Douglas firs and telescoping bank shots."
For one moment a knife of remembered fear echoed through him. He saw her again held hostage by a criminal and recalled how even the slightest mistake in his aim could have killed her. In the end, unable to watch, he'd shut his eyes, prayed, and squeezed the trigger. If he and Buck were less than serious when they spoke of the incident it was because the humour masked the sheer terror each man had felt on Caroline's behalf. It was serious humor, but his wife likely wouldn't understand.
He escorted her inside only to face Buck himself. Fraser handed her over to the incredulous other man. Buck barely batted an eye before telling Caroline, "I told you you should have married me." When he returned from escorting her to a holding cell, he levelled a steady gaze at Bob. "You aren't seriously arresting her, are you?"
Bob grinned, "I warned her first."
Buck snorted. "So what heinous crime is she here for?"
"Speeding." He waved a hand at Buck to stop his protest. "Let her sit back there a while," Bob said. "It's time she leaned to listen to me at least once in a while."
His friend lifted an eyebrow.
Bob frowned. "You've got a wife of your own, now. Does she always do what you ask?"
"Good Lord, no," Buck said, and Bob could hear the amusement.
He scratched his cheek. "Neither does Caroline. Oh, the little things don't matter, but since Benton was born, she's become downright unreasonable. Tonight, for example. I merely pointed out she was driving a little fast and should slow down."
Buck's face was solemn, but Bob thought he detected laughter beneath his careful, "Uh-huh."
"She sped up, Buck," he blurted, exasperated. "I've told her time and again that as a Mountie's wife it behooves her to obey the law."
Buck's eyebrows rose. "Behooves her."
Bob glared at him. Buck was definitely making fun of him. "Yes, behooves her," he said testily. "Damn it, Buck, how does it look for a man's wife to violate the very laws he's sworn to enforce? I've warned her again and again, but it never seems to get through to her. Tonight she deliberate defied me. Kept speeding up. She forced me to do it, Buck."
"I see," his friend said. "You know, Bob, if you didn't boss her about so much she might not defy you so often."
"Married one month and you're an expert," he snapped.
"At least I don't have to arrest my wife for disobedience," Buck returned.
"Hmmmpf," Bob snorted. The two men glared at one another a moment.
"Go apologize to her," Buck finally said.
"Why should I apologize?" he asked. "I simply did what I said I would." It was unfathomable to Fraser why he, who had been in the right, should apologize for arresting Caroline. She had been warned, and then she had done it anyway. It made no sense at all, this rebellion of hers. Sure, women got a little strange when they became mothers, but surely the violation of traffic ordinances had nothing to do with maternity. In fact, in Caroline's case, it had been a character flaw before their marriage. Why it should reoccur now, though, had Bob completely, utterly, baffled.
"Are you going to book her or not?"
Buck's question cut throug his thoughts. "I arrested her."
His friend sighed and pitched him a set of keys. "Take her home, Fraser."
Caroline sat quietly in the cell. She remained seated as he approached and stood outside looking at her. She was a superb woman, he reflected, struck once again by her prettiness even in the ugly cell. Her glossy, dark hari hung around her shoulders, and the pale smoothness of her skin shone. In those fathomless eyes of hers, he saw again what had initially drawn him to her.
"You were wrong, you know," he said then rushed on to stave off her instinctive protest. "You aren't eminently teachable at all."
Her lips twitched. "Perhaps not," she confessed, "but you have to admit I'm never dull."
He thought of the Gulch. "I could use a bit less excitement now and then."
She smiled softly. "No you couldn't."
He grinned and unlocked the cell. "Next time, he said, as she slipped her arms around his waist, "I'll drive."
"Yes, Constable."
Leigh A. Adams
adderlygirl@yahoo.com
Now where's my bribe, Mom?