The Frailty of Flesh by Sandra Ruttan Page A

half-decorated Christmas tree stood, performing its fiber optic light show. Ashlyn had thought it would be so much easier having a fiber optic tree. No need to fiddle with strings of lights, to try to evenly disperse them throughout the branches. Just plug it in and hang the decorations. What could be simpler? They kept saying tonight they’d go to the mall or the afternoon of their next day off together, and then a case would get in the way. Always her case, never his. Not since Lori had died. She felt a sudden urge to make tree decorations a top priority. Part of her knew she wouldn’t really feel it was Christmas until they had a tree decorated and had done something festive, but it was more than that. It wasn’t something she could explain, but she was overwhelmed with a compulsion to make sure the routine holiday traditions didn’t go undone.
    Craig was in the living room, sitting on the chair beside the fireplace, two boxes on the floor, files stacked precariously on the coffee table. He said nothing as she sank down on the couch, but continued reading the report in his hands. Then he thumbed through a stack of folders on the table, pulled one out and flipped it open. After a moment his frown deepened and he set it down with the report on top of it.
    He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. Ashlyn knew that look.
    “What’s wrong?”
    His head snapped up and he stared at her for a moment before the color returned to his face. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people.”
    “Craig, really,” she said as she picked up the blanket that had been tossed over the far end of the couch and spread it over her legs. She put her head on the armrest. “You were so deep in thought you would have missed the second coming, trumpets and all.”
    “Hardly. This isn’t even the first time tonight I’ve turned to find you watching me.”
    She sat up, the blanket slipping to the floor. “You’re talking to some woman, in public, right in front of the building I work in, and I’m not supposed to notice?”
    “I talk to women all the time. It never bugged you before.”
    “Who said it bugs me now?”
    He glanced at her as he gathered the folders and put them back in the box. “Take a look in the mirror. You’re choked.”
    “Not for the reason you think! You’re the one who’s being defensive. You looked upset when you were talking to that woman, tense. I was worried, not jealous.”
    “I can handle her.”
    “Fine. Whatever.”
    They sat for a moment, the beating of rain intensifying, drowning out even the crackle of fire.
    She heard him exhale and from the corner of her eye could see him scratch his head. “Look, I’m sorry. I guess I was distracted, and it’s been a lousy day and that’s no excuse. Are you hungry? I was thinking of making a stir fry.”
    The words alone were enough to make her stomach protest, and she shook her head and raised her hand. “No. Thanks. I think I’ll just go to bed.” Whether it was the promise of sleep or the thought of her stomach reacting to the sizzle of vegetables on a wok she wasn’t sure, but she found the energy to get up and start walking to the stairs.
    He followed her. “Come on, Ash. I’m sorry for snapping at you. You don’t have to punish me for it.”
    “Believe it or not, the whole world doesn’t revolve around Craig Nolan. I’m just tired.” She turned to look at him. “You aren’t the only one who had a lousy day.”
    He stood perfectly still as he looked at her. No flicker of emotion on his face, nothing to suggest what he was thinking. After a moment he nodded. “Okay.” Then he reached behind her head with his hand and kissed her forehead. For a moment he stood with his cheek pressed against her temple before letting her go. “Get some rest.”
    She turned quickly so he wouldn’t see the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and climbed the stairs.
    It took a moment for her to get her bearings when she opened her eyes.