Written for Mollyscribbles in the Yuletide 2006 Challenge. Thanks to Rhiannon Shaw for the beta read. Usual disclaimers apply.

That Kind of Day

by Raine Wynd

Taggart had a plan. He always had a plan when he was hunting something he wanted; he'd not become one of the most successful hunters in the planet for nothing. He wanted Jo Lupo. He was content to have her friendship, to spend time playing paintball and collaborating, when needed, on police business, but he wanted more.

He was careful not to stalk her. He'd been accused of it before, and the idea was so repugnant to him that he still, years after that incident, got incensed just thinking of it. He didn't want to make that same mistake, and he knew from the time he spent with Jo that she wouldn't hesitate to let him know when he wasn't welcome.

So he studied her. She was originally from New Jersey, a former Army Ranger, a strong woman with a fierce independent streak who was dedicated to the safety of the town's residents. He knew she took her coffee black, with two spoons of sugar, but sometimes mixed things up with a double tall latte. She didn't wear perfume when she was on duty, but the soap she used had a faint honeysuckle scent. She hadn't dated anyone in a few years, but everyone knew why. That knowledge had strengthened Taggart's resolve to go slowly, to be patient.

Still, Jo had managed to surprise the hell out of him the day S.A.R.A.H. had reverted to her base programming, and in the week since, Jo had continued to surprise him, saying yes to his ideas to get together more often than she'd said no. To say that blew the heck out of his initial plans not to push was an understatement, and he was scrambling to come up with an alternate plan, to not scare her off with his delight in her unexpected reactions. He told himself he still had to be patient, to go slowly.

Today, however, he had no patience or time to spare. Today, he'd gotten up, intending to do as he usually did: stop by the sheriff's office and say hello to Jo, see if she was amiable to getting coffee at the diner and finalize plans for the dinner they'd agreed to have, but his pager had gone off even before he'd left his house and he'd had to deal with what turned out to be a full day of crises only he could resolve.

First, the new scientist from Florida had not only transported her personal goods to Eureka, but also a hitchhiking set of cockroaches and a gecko. Then, Mrs. Vitner paged him, saying she had an infestation of rats, which led to the discovery that the rats actually had gotten loose from a neighbor's son's experiment in bioengineering, which then led to the discovery of twenty feral cats, including a litter of kittens. Eureka didn't have a formal shelter, and Taggart's holding pens weren't designed for long-term storage of that many animals. The easiest and kindest solution was to drive the cats to the nearest shelter, which was an hour and a half away.

Then, one of the scientists at Global called him to consult on his knowledge of polar bears, and rather than get into an accident, he'd pulled over to take the video conference call, which rapidly turned into what felt like a brain-picking session as the scientists kept asking him questions. The only thing that saved him was that one of the assistants pointed out that the answers were probably on the Internet and Taggart couldn't tell them if the DNA of a polar bear could be linked to prehistoric cave bears, as he'd only tracked polar bears, not dissected their DNA. As if that wasn't enough, one of Eureka's farmers stopped him on the way back to discuss some show he'd seen on National Geographic about some idiot survivalist. It had taken longer than Taggart had liked to extricate himself from that conversation.

By the time Taggart had returned to Eureka, it was almost ten pm. The lights were off in the sheriff's office — not unusual for a Tuesday evening. For a moment, Taggart was disappointed. He pulled into the parking lot of the diner, hoping that he would get a break for once today.

The diner, however, was closed. Taggart had forgotten that with winter coming, Vincent's hours were shorter. Taggart's stomach rumbled, reminding him that it had been hours since he'd eaten, and he sighed. It looked like his dinner was going to consist of whatever was in his fridge, and he couldn't remember when he'd last gone grocery shopping.

Resigned, he backed up the truck and proceeded to park it in the lot behind the sheriff's office, which did double-duty as the town's official vehicles lot. He proceeded to secure some of the more exotic tools of his trade in the special storage locker in the sheriff's office, then traded the keys of his work truck for his even more battered Land Rover.

Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow, he might have a better chance of actually talking to Jo, of seeing whether or not she'd be interested in attending the town's annual holiday ball as his date. He reminded himself that she might not have been aware that today had been any sort of significant day in his life, and she probably had been busy herself. It wasn't as if they were anything other than friends. While he hadn't been subtle in his pursuit of her, he hadn't been willing to press his advantage, either. He'd seen how precisely she let more aggressive suitors know she wasn't interested, and he had no interest in damage to his pride or to his anatomy. He wanted her, and he wanted to be a part of her life for a much longer term than a one night stand.

Knowing that, though, didn't make coming home to an empty house any easier. He pulled his vehicle into the garage and shut the engine off, feeling more tired than he'd ever been. He wasn't a young man anymore, hadn't been when he'd first come to Eureka, and days like this made him wonder if he'd done the right thing by moving here. His career had been clear-cut before: find prey, hunt it, and either trap it or kill it, get paid. He'd worked for some of the world's biggest zoos, hunted some of the world's most dangerous and elusive animals, and enjoyed his work. There wasn't the threat of bioengineered rats or the politics that said Taggart couldn't go after the person responsible for the feral cat population because she was the wife of a high-ranking Global employee, and he couldn't create waves if he wanted to stay here. He admitted to being crazy, but he wasn't stupid.

With a deep sigh, he got out of the truck and headed inside through the door that connected the garage to the kitchen.

He didn't get very far before something made him pause. Cautiously, he flicked on the light. He smelled something cooking...Yankee pot roast? A quick glance found an unfamiliar Crock-Pot plugged into an outlet on his kitchen counter. Then she entered from the living room and he froze, shocked.

She smiled, a lioness scenting her prey. "Hungry?" she purred, stopping to lounge against the doorframe between the kitchen/dining area and the living room.

Cautiously, Taggart removed his jacket and dropped it on the back of one of the chairs at the dining table. "Smells fabulous," he admitted. "I hope you don't think I'm being corny when I say you look even better." He closed the distance between them and halted just inches away, close enough to touch, close enough to crave. He fought the urge to take her right then and there, fought the desire that demanded he possess her now. He'd waited all day for her; damned if he was going to attack her like an animal.

"Oh, I would never say that about you," she replied. "Crazy, yes, corny, no."

He smiled. Then, keeping his eyes focused on her, kissed her.

As if she'd been waiting for him forever, she kissed him back. For a long moment, he forgot all about dinner, forgot everything but the feel of her lips against his, the taste of her mouth, the heat of desire flaring through him. Abruptly, the timer on the slow cooker pinged, breaking through the sexual fog.

"Ignore it," she breathed raggedly. "One more hour's not gonna kill it."

He smiled. "Only an hour?" he teased, his lips hovering mere breaths from hers.

Roughly, she grabbed him, brought his hips closer to hers and brought her mouth hard against his. A good hunter knew when to quit waiting, when to read the signs of surrender. He did, and suddenly, his day started looking a hell of lot brighter from here.

--finis--

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