The Marriage Beat. Doreen Roberts

all the things she’d been expecting him to say, it certainly wasn’t that. She stared at him, forgetting to close her mouth.

      Tyler gave her a look filled with desperation. “Of course, you are quite at liberty to refuse—”

      She said the first thing that came into her head. “Who will be giving the lessons?”

      She knew by his hunted expression what the answer would be long before he blurted out, “I’ve been appointed your instructor.”

      Obviously under protest. She sat back, thinking furiously. She had no idea who had instigated this turn of events or why, but her first instinct was to refuse. Much as she would like to have the security of knowing how to protect herself, the mere thought of wrestling on a mat with the imposing, antagonistic cop was enough to turn her insides to jelly.

      The fact that she felt a distinct thrill at the prospect only intensified the problem. She didn’t need any more complications in her life right now.

      On the other hand, living alone did have distinct disadvantages. One of them was the feeling of vulnerability, brought home even more potently by Tyler Jackson’s observations on the criminal element in Portland. It was a feeling that did not sit well with Megan.

      “I accept,” she said, before she could change her mind and chicken out.

      Officer Jackson looked as if he were about to throw up. “Do you know Captain Stewart personally, by any chance?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

      “No. Not that I’m aware of, anyway. Why?”

      He shook his head. “Forget it.” He stared at the calendar, looked back at her, then back at the calendar again. “How does Thursday night sit with you?”

      “Thursday night’s just fine. Where?”

      “The gym.” He scribbled down an address on a small yellow notepad. “Can you make it by six? We’ll have an hour before the volleyball team takes over.”

      “I’ll be there.” She took the note and glanced at it. “Thank you, Officer Jackson.”

      He passed a hand across his brow, sweeping back his hair. “Look...Megan, it will make things a lot easier if you just call me Tyler.”

      He’d called her Megan earlier, she remembered. Then he’d changed it to Ms. Summers. Now he was back to calling her Megan again. She liked that a whole lot better. “Thank you, Tyler. You’ll let me know if you find my purse?”

      He started, as if he’d forgotten why she was there in the first place. “Of course. Though I wouldn’t hold out too much hope if I were you. We rarely recover snatched purses, and even if we do, they are generally empty.”

      He was just a little ray of sunshine, Megan thought, as she walked out of the office and down the hallway to the main doors. Whatever happened to positive thinking? But then, being a cop in today’s violent world probably didn’t allow much room for positive thoughts. More than likely, Tyler Jackson was just too busy trying to stay alive.

      She walked slowly back along the six blocks to her office, aware that particular thought bothered her a great deal more than it should have. Already she was beginning to have a protective attitude toward him. This was not good.

      She thought about calling him and canceling the lessons. Then she reminded herself that she was a grown woman and well able to take care of herself. If she couldn’t stay indifferent to a surly cop with an attitude, then she wasn’t her mother’s daughter.

      With that thought squarely in mind, she marched back to her office and did her best to forget the steely eyes of Officer Tyler Jackson.

      Chapter Two

      Tyler sat for a long time at his desk after Megan Summers had left, wondering what on earth had possessed his captain to order such a dumb assignment. Maybe he was being punished for something he didn’t know about. More likely Captain Stewart was trying to prove something, though heaven knew what that was.

      Tyler sighed, and slipped the report he’d just filled out into the file. He hadn’t joined the force to give self-defense lessons. In fact, there were some days when he wondered why he’d ever wanted to become a cop. It certainly wasn’t the glamorous, exciting life he’d imagined when he’d first started as a rookie.

      The job had its moments, of course...the feeling of satisfaction of a job well done when he’d seen a criminal locked away. Watching a thug get what he deserved—those were the moments that made his job worthwhile.

      There was also the downside. The innocent people hurt, maimed or killed by a lawbreaker—children on drugs, wives beaten half to death, families crushed in a car hit by a drunk driver—these were the nightmares that haunted him.

      In comparison, he thought, as he scanned the information Megan Summers had given him, wrestling a defenseless woman to the mat seemed like a picnic. Even so, he wished he’d never mentioned the lessons. A little learning could be dangerous.

      He could just imagine Megan Summers taking on the entire criminal population of Portland if she thought she could overpower them. He’d have to make darn sure she understood that her ability would be limited. He’d have to warn her not to start something she wasn’t sure she could finish.

      Tyler closed the file and dropped it into the out bin. He could understand her frustration, of course. She was a helpless victim, and she wanted to hit back. He knew that feeling very well. He’d watched his own brother struggle with his inadequacies.

      Tyler had fought many a battle for Mason, defending his brother against the ignorant bullies who taunted him. It was Tyler who had been suspended from school for fighting, and it was Tyler who had been grounded for two weeks for blacking both eyes of the kid next door. He’d considered it a small price to pay for the satisfaction of teaching his brother’s tormentors a lesson.

      Tyler shook his head as he got wearily to his feet. That was him, the almighty protector. He’d done it so much for his brother it had become a way of life for him. And it was still getting him into trouble.

      He closed his mind to the vision of a delicate face and beautiful green eyes. Megan Summers’s looks were deceptive. There was nothing fragile about that lady. He was worrying over nothing. Might as well accept the situation and get it over with as quickly as possible.

      

      He tried to keep that thought firmly in mind as he watched Megan walk across the floor toward him on Thursday evening. She was wearing black tights and a bright pink leotard that hugged her body as close as a second skin. The tiny sleeves left most of her arms bare and the scooped neckline hovered just above the line of decency. The second he saw her he knew he was in deep trouble.

      He lowered his gaze to the floor and massaged the back of his neck, giving himself time to reconstruct his shattered composure. He was glad he’d put on shorts and tank top. He was going to need all the help he could get to keep his cool.

      He had to force himself to look up when she reached him. If it was any comfort, she looked as nervous as he felt. She’d tied her hair back with a pale pink scarf, and wore no makeup, save for a dash of color on her lips. The effect made her look much younger than the twenty-nine years she’d stated on the report.

      He was just seven years older than her, but right then the gap seemed much wider. It helped. A little. “I’m glad to see you’re on time,” he said, his uneasiness making his voice sound harsh.

      She lifted her chin. “I’m always on time.”

      Her cool voice made him think of a creek trickling through the forest on a hot summer afternoon. Unnerved by his poetic thoughts, he turned away from her and waved his hand at the mat. “Okay, let’s get started.”

      He made her stand on the very edge of the mat, as far away from him as possible, as he went through the usual routine of explaining some of the easier ways she could defend herself. She seemed uncomfortable at his demonstration