Lt. Holt Wyatt shrugged out of his shoulder holster, letting it land with a thud on his immaculate desktop, but only for the barest of seconds before he tucked it into his top drawer where it belonged and sank into his chair with a groan of protest that was echoed by the overworked chair itself. Squeezing all six four, two hundred and seventy-five pounds of himself into that puny chair had always been a fifty fifty proposition – not because he was fat, but because he was one solid wall of unyielding muscle. He knew the rest of the guys in the department had a pool going about when that chair was finally going to give up the ghost and dump him onto his butt on the floor, but of course no one was stupid enough to mention it to him.

He gave the stack of paperwork that awaited him from his latest case a jaundiced look. Although Holt had never wanted to be anything but a cop all his life, the thought of how much time he’d have to spend filling out forms behind his desk had somehow never entered his mind. He loved what he did – with the distinct exception of all of the bureaucratic nonsense, which included any and all politicking or sucking up in any way shape or form, along with the G.D. paperwork.

Holt was one damned fine cop. He couldn’t seem to do much else very well, but that was just fine with him. He’d made the mistake of getting married when he was much younger than his current forty two, and it had died a quick, ignominious death in the face of his devotion to his job, and his young wife’s histrionics about his chosen profession. Not that he’d been doing anything different when they’d met, dated, and married. Holt shuddered slightly at the thought of his marriage to Ginny, thankful that it had ended when it had. Steady sex was a nice benefit, granted – he was as randy as the next guy. More so, even now. But it wasn’t at all worth the buckets of guilt he’d had to wade through to get it.

He shook his head, surprised that his ex wife had even entered his mind. He certainly hadn’t spent any time at all mooning over her. His job had pretty much always been everything he needed. Frowning at both his train of thought and the forms that went hand in hand with a job well done, he reached for the first piece off the top of the never ending stack and fed it into the old IBM Selectric he kept to one side, just for such purposes, and began painfully hunting and pecking away.

Alverton wasn’t the biggest city in Tennessee by far – it wasn’t even the biggest little city. Generally, it was small and quiet, and in the small police force – only six men deep including the Chief – had little to do beyond the enforcement of basic traffic laws and the – still rare, thankfully - drug bust. It was the latter that had generated all of the dead trees that were now gracing his desk, that he was expected to push up to the Chief to sign once he’d filled in all those blasted boxes.

He knew he could do this on the computer – everyone in the department took great joy in informing him of that every time they heard his excruciating attempts at typing. Holt hated computers - didn’t own one personally and never intended to - and resented their intrusion into his nicely ordered routine, despite how everyone extolled their virtues to him at the slightest opportunity. His crashed every time he brought it up – it was some kind of bad karma thing: it knew he didn’t like it one bit, and it gave back exactly what it got - nothing but pure animosity.

A.P.D. was still small enough that they didn’t have homicide or vice departments. As far as cases were concerned, it was catch as catch can - even for him, the only ranking lieutenant - and he just happened to have had the luck of drawing the biggest drug bust in the town’s history. His name had been in the paper, and he was going to get a citation for bravery from the Mayor some time next week. He even had a scar along his ribcage from where one of the scumbag gang bangers had shot at him that was impressive looking enough to show off, if he wanted to – although he didn’t know exactly to whom any more, since he’d already showed it to everyone at work.

That thought had him frowning again. The guys at work were his family. His only family. His parents were long gone; his younger, geeky brother who had only just returned to town after living the high life in Silicon Valley, despite having eschewed any and all contact with Alverton the moment he’d graduated from high school. Greg called every once in a while; Holt called every once in a while, but the brothers weren’t all that close.

Other than him and the four guys he worked with – who, granted, he trusted with his life on a daily basis – there was no one else on the planet that he saw on a regular basis. Unless one counted Bobby Jo, the waitress at the Speakeasy Café on Main, where he ate every single one of his meals. At eating, he was a veritable champ. He couldn’t maintain his formidable physique without tons of calories – along with regular exercise, of course. But his cooking skills only extended to throwing a couple of pieces of toast into the toaster or a frozen pizza into the oven. Not only did he not have the time, he didn’t have the inclination, despite his ravenous appetite.

Speaking of which, he thought, grabbing onto any thread of something that might relieve him of having to trudge through all of that paper, it really was time for his daily workout. The department was too small to have its own gym, but all officers – all municipal employees, for that matter – were given a free membership to the only gym in town – Heddy’s, right on the outskirts of town, and the chief didn’t mind – heck, he encouraged – his officers using it whenever they wanted, as long as they weren’t on active patrol and their work was done.

Holt’s work was always done, and he was careful to never abuse the privilege of being able to work out whenever he wanted to. That wasn’t him, anyway. He was much too honorable a person in general to take advantage of his boss’s good will.

Shrugging back into his holster and one of his three well worn sport coats – as the only qualified detective on the force, he was no longer required to wear a uniform – he gave a nod to Officer Sam Kellerman – the newest on the force at only seven years – on his way out, saying just one word. “Gym.” Nothing more was necessary. He had his cell with him at all times, and a police radio in his truck. Although the job requirements were much more lenient, Holt had always considered that he was on duty twenty four seven. Barely a call had gone by since he’d joined that he hadn’t responded to in some way. His dedication to duty had gotten him several medals and was one of the reasons the lieutenant position had been created.

The gym at this time of day was relatively quiet, which was another reason to ignore the paperwork and pump some iron instead. He warmed up carefully with a series of stretches, then began seriously working on the weights. Generally, while he was lifting weights, he cleared his mind. It was almost a meditation, and thinking about nothing had often somehow lead to revelations about some of the cases he’d worked on.

But this time he was distracted. Highly distracted.

She was there.

Holt didn’t know who she was, and he’d consciously resisted finding out. It was rare, in this small town he’d been born and grown up in, that he didn’t know someone, or know someone who knew someone. But then, he hadn’t made any inquires about her at all, either. Rumors about strangers coming into town were usually thick on the ground when a new person joined such a small, tight knit community, but he hadn’t heard a thing.

Apparently, though, she was independently wealthy; she obviously had no need of a job - she was usually here when he was, in the middle of the day, when everyone else was at work.

He didn’t know why she attracted him so, but even when his eyes had first settled on her lithe form, over a month ago now, his body had reacted in an extremely unwelcome – and virulent – manner that was very hard to conceal, even when one was wearing rather loose, comfortable shorts. He couldn’t help it. He was well endowed, and he looked it even at rest.

He didn’t particularly want to be attracted to her – she always looked unhappy and angry, and she attacked the machines as if they’d insulted her personally. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her even so much as crack a smile.

Somewhat annoyed, and annoyed that he was annoyed and that she’d yet again managed to interrupt his exercise routine and intrude on what little peace of mine he could eek out for himself, he nevertheless put the heavy free weight he’d been using carefully down and reached for his sweats, jerking them angrily up his legs, then determinedly turning all of his attention to the weights.

For all of five seconds.

As soon as he looked anywhere but at the muscles he was working out, there she was. She wasn’t even doing anything overtly sexy, for crying out loud. She was just standing there stretching, that long, impossible fall of velvety, deep brown hair reaching nearly to that pert bottom as she –

Holt looked away, knowing he wasn’t helping his situation one bit. Still, he couldn’t quite keep his eyes completely off her for the rest of the time he was in the gym – and no amount of trying to exhaust himself with exercise seemed to help, either. All that happened was that he ended up limp, everywhere but the most needed spot.

The cop in him had immediately catalogued what she was wearing – a light pink and white exercise suit that covered more than it revealed and was extremely demure in comparison to what some of the women around there wore – and stored it in that steel trap mind of his, estimating her height at about five foot five inches, and her weight at an almost but not quite chunky hundred and twenty five pounds. She wore it well, though – she was very nicely rounded in all of the appropriate places, making his hands literally itch to cup those tantalizing curves.

He’d never subscribed to the current fad of preferring women who looked like refugees from a famine. Holt liked his women to have some substance to them. He was big enough that he towered over most of them, and it was second nature for him to be extremely careful of his partner, in bed or out, because he could so easily crush her if he wasn’t. He wanted a woman who could meet him half way – sexually and otherwise. One that wasn’t always on the verge of a faint because she’d refused to eat for the past three days. He hated taking a woman to dinner, only to find that there was nothing on the menu she’d deign to eat.

Holt completed his entire routine before gathering his things to head for the shower. The town was extremely quiet – it was unusual for him not to get some sort of call while he was working out. He hoped he hadn’t missed anything.

His mystery woman was using a machine that helped in developing good pectoral muscles. She didn’t really look like she needed any assistance in that area, although her form was a bit off.

It flitted briefly through his mind that he should go over there and offer to help her, maybe even be so bold as to put his hands on her arms and show her what she was doing wrong. His body was certainly voting for that.

But Holt wasn’t at all sure that that was a good idea. He grimaced as he stepped under the hot, stinging spray. He could still catch her as he went out, but he knew he wouldn’t. He liked his life the way it was – despite the direction his gonads were pointing him in. He didn’t want to get involved with anyone right now. Maybe he was getting old and cranky – maybe he was just lazy. But he was too involved in his work to spare the time and attention his woman would need.

Her face popped into his mind as he thought the words “his woman” and Holt frowned fiercely. He had to get out of there. He didn’t need the complications any woman represented in his life.

He didn’t.

And from the perpetually unhappy look on her face, she was going to cause some poor unfortunate man a ton of work.

He wondered if the sex would be worth it . . .

He absolutely refused to slink out of the gym like some perp. She was still there – he could see her in his peripheral vision. She was walking on one of the treadmills, completely oblivious to the storm of testosterone that strode past her on his way out the door.

When he got back to his desk, the Chief was already calling for the fives on that bust, so he hunkered down and spent the rest of his day whacking away at the ancient Selectric and trying not to dwell on the fair skinned woman with the chocolate brown hair he itched to have flowing through his hands as he bent her to him for a deep, all out kiss.

The object of his . . . affections . . . was, as he’d surmised, completely oblivious to his interest. Oh, Frankie Ballard was certainly aware of the huge man who was so often in the gym when she was – he was too damn big not to notice! But then, she’d always been attracted to that size man, despite what had happened between herself and her evil ex. She did do her level best, though, not to base everything on appearances. Everyone had their own tastes and if she could create a man herself, to her own particular. interests, it would be someone depressingly like the man at the free weights who could pump iron with the best of them. Some of the weights he lifted were bigger than two or three of her – even though she’d definitely gained a few pounds since finding success in her chosen profession.

Hence her venture into the hated, despised, and reviled gym. The only time Frankie wanted to run was if a Mac truck was chasing her, or if the Krispy Kreme sign said “hot, fresh doughnuts”. Of course, there wasn’t any such thing as a Krispy Kreme here in Podunk, Tennessee, but civilization wasn’t too far away down I-40 towards Knoxville, where she could get a fix if she wanted.

And it was because the fact that she’d wanted to a bit too much lately, along with her suddenly very sedentary lifestyle, that she found herself here, facing assorted big, metal torture devices. Gyms seemed to her to be modern self-torture chambers. No matter how gently she tried to work out, she always ended up sore and surly the next day. Frankie resented every single minute she spent here – but at least it got her out of her house, and she knew she could stand to lose some weight.

Although she tried not to be too obvious, it was the scenery in this place that was one of its few saving graces – and he was the biggest and best part of it, as far as she was concerned. She even forgave him the close cropped sandy hair, and that was mighty big of her. She preferred dark haired men, with short to medium length hair. He didn’t have much of anything to run her hands through as she kissed him.

Frankie’s whole body contracted at the thought as she brought herself ruthlessly back to the thigh machine she was contemplating. With a deep sigh, and it being no easy feat, she maneuvered herself into the seat, chiding herself immediately when she realized that, yet again, she’d forgotten to close to leg holder thingies, and if she didn’t get up, she’d have to assume the correct position for a gynecological exam in order to get the two plates she was supposed to squeeze together again. Well, at least there wasn’t really anyone else to see her ignominious position. Mr. Universe was well behind her, engrossed in his delts or his pecs or whatever. He probably couldn’t put two words together in a coherent sentence anyway, she thought nastily as the outsides of her thighs inevitably started to hurt.

There was nothing for it. Working out – sweating in particular – made her bitchy, despite the presence of the eye candy in grey shorts that showed off every curve of muscle he owned. She didn’t try to, but her eyes – as well as her mind’s eye – kept drifting back to him. She nearly drooled all over herself when she saw that he’d put his sweats on, but had taken off his shirt. That man’s chest should be registered as a lethal weapon. And it was pristine, too – only a small sprinkling of hair over the impressive slabs of muscle. No unsightly tattoos, no pierced nipples. Maybe she was getting old, but Frankie just didn’t like the latest trends in body modification. She liked her men au natural – tanned and muscular and . . .

Just like him.

She had to forcibly wrestle both her eyes and her mind away from him, back to her own sweaty body, which wasn’t anywhere near as enticing as the man’s behind her. She didn’t want to want him – she didn’t need the complications of a man in her life, and she wasn’t about to jump from the frying pan and into the fire with another man.

Thankfully, he left while she was walking on the treadmill and doing her best not to look around for him. She watched his butt covetously as he marched out the door, and whimpered slightly before she returned to her self torturous acts.

Later, at home in the smallish farmhouse she’d snapped up for a song because it needed a few repairs and was well outside town, he reappeared in her mind as she took a long hot shower. It was a personal quirk of hers that she truly could not shower or bathe in a public place. It was hard enough for her to do it in a strange place – like a hotel shower. But Frankie simply couldn’t even contemplate the idea of showering at the gym.

So the first thing she always did when she got home from sweating herself to death for no particular reason, was light several lavender scented candles in the bathroom and jump into her compulsively cleaned, thoroughly comfortable shower with the very friendly massaging showerhead. Eventually, she intended to create a huge master bath with an obscenely large shower off the master, complete with multiple jets set at custom angles for those times when what she did for a living got to her, and, of course, the de rigueur sunken Jacuzzi tub.

Her mind inevitably wandered back to the behemoth at the gym. He was just want she wanted. The man of her dreams. Almost too much so. Not that she’d ever have the cajones to walk over to him and introduce herself. Nope. That would be much too forward for a shy, retiring person like herself. Frankie knew that no one who knew her well would ever think that she was either of those things, but unless she was surrounded by a group of friends, she pretty much would never even think of approaching a man. He’d have to be on fire, or at least seem a lot more approachable than that one did, although she’d usually found that big men like that were generally very aware of their strength and much more careful of themselves physically around women than most men.

However, there were the exceptions, she thought, when a picture of her big nasty ex floated unbidden through her mind. Luckily, Kyle was about six states away, languishing in the prison cell she’d helped him into after he’d taken his fists to her all of a sudden, on the turn of a dime. He’d always had a temper, but he’d never, ever aimed it at her in any way, shape or form.

Until that last night.

If there was one thing she wasn’t going to put up with – and she didn’t consider herself to be particularly hard to get along with – it was being hit. Especially by someone the size of Kyle. She’d seen him get really mad before, but he’d always punched the air, or, on the rare occasion, a wall or two. Never even another person.

But she’d been doing really well at her job – well enough that she intended to take some time off and do what she loved for a while, even if it didn’t pay much at first – and had been spending more and more time there. The longer her hours, the more jealous and outraged he seemed to get. Somehow, he’d gotten the mistaken idea that she and her boss – who was nothing but a gentleman and very happily married, to boot – had something going besides the mounds of work they plowed through at work after hours. Kyle obviously thought Bob was doing some other type of plowing, which he most definitely was not.

She’d come home around midnight one evening, and he’d been drunk – a condition that was becoming a little too common lately. She’d been later than usual, because the quarterly reports were due.

And he was waiting for her.

He hadn’t even waited for her to give him any sort of explanation – not that she owed him one. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know exactly where she was, and hadn’t called her umpty ump times already, checking up on her – so much so that he’d probably delayed her by a good hour or so, just because he was taking up her time with useless phone calls.

She hadn’t even seen him draw his arm back - hadn’t a clue that he was quite that angry, until his fist exploded in her face, and she felt herself hit the floor, all at once, it seemed.

And then there was nothing.