The Sheriff's Secret Wife
Christyne Butler
“As of 2:33 this morning we’re hitched. ”After a wild night in Vegas, Racy Dillon and Gage Steele had taken the plunge. Now they were officially husband and wife. A fact Racy preferred to keep under wraps – at least until they could get the marriage annulled. Even if her new husband was the sexiest lawman this side of Nevada…Gage had never forgotten the kiss he and Racy had shared as teenagers. Apparently neither had she. But if she wanted out, he wasn’t going to stand in her way. Unless he could persuade the reluctant Racy that their impulsive marriage was their true destiny…
Racy pushed away from the desk and took a wide circle around him.
Not wide enough. Her bare arm bushed against his jacket as she headed for the door. The movement caused goose bumps to skate down to her fingers.
One booted foot hesitated across the threshold. A rocking country song that warned of T-R-O-U-B-L-E rang in the rafters.
Gage’s arm shot out.
His palm landed against the door jamb, blocking her exit. “If you keep walking, I’m going to follow.” He leaned in, his mouth at her ear in order to be heard over the loud music. “Do you want everyone to find out we’re still married?”
Dear Reader,
Have you ever met someone who was your total opposite, but deep inside you shared kindred souls? Someone that conventionality and common sense said was all wrong for you, and as much as you try, you still found yourselves the definition of “opposites attract”?
Well, Racy Dillon and Gage Steele didn’t just attract, they created a magnetic force that has continued to pull them to each other ever since they were teenagers. Now adults, both think they have found their place in the world, until one wild night in Vegas changes everything. And the harder they try to fix things, the messier it gets! Throw in meddling family members and a golden retriever that can’t seem to remember which house is his, and you have a wacky and wonderful love story—my favorite kind!
Enjoy!
Christyne
About the Author
CHRISTYNE BUTLER fell in love with romance novels while serving in the United States Navy and started writing her own stories six years ago. She considers selling her book a dream come true and enjoys writing contemporary romances full of life, love, a hint of laughter and perhaps a dash of danger, too. And there has to be a happily-ever-after or she’s just not satisfied.
She lives with her family in central Massachusetts and loves to hear from her readers at chris@christynebutler. com or by visiting her website at www.christynebutler.com
THE SHERIFF’S
SECRET WIFE
BY
CHRISTYNE BUTLER
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For my daughter, Cagney,
whose passionate and independent spirit
continues to inspire me … you are my greatest joy
and my husband, Len, who is always there to
fix things for me
Chapter One
Last week of August …
Racy Dillon swore on her daddy’s grave the four-foot-tall trophy, its imitation walnut base and three tiers separated by shiny purple-and-gold columns, was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen. Thanks to her still-fuzzy brain it took a few blinks and squints before the award came fully into focus.
Yep, still ugly.
Even the winged female figure atop the highest tier looked tacky, especially with Racy’s pink lace panties hanging from the five-pointed star the figure held aloft over her head.
The black brass plate read First Place, Midwest Re-gionals, U.S. Bartenders Challenge, Las Vegas, Nevada, thank you very much. She’d come here all the way from Destiny, Wyoming, to kick butt and take names.
Mission accomplished. Hangover accomplished, too.
It felt like a chorus line of jackhammers doing high kicks inside her skull. Even so, they couldn’t erase last night’s memory of hearing her name called out with a near perfect score. She’d made a show of tucking the prize money into the cleavage of her push-up corset and then the celebrating had started. Hey, if anyone knew how to party it was bartenders. It had begun with a round of tequila shooters and had just got better. Of course, the memories grew fainter from that point, too. It’d been years since she’d tied one on like she’d done last night.
Racy closed her eyes. Not only to erase the slight tilt of the room, but to block the sunlight sneaking past the floor-to-ceiling curtains that barred the best view of the Vegas Strip. Another perk of winning. An upgrade from a standard room to this luxurious suite for the rest of the weekend.
She stretched beneath the sheets, enjoying the coolness of the five-hundred-count cotton material on her naked skin. Grateful for the plush pillows that cradled her throbbing head, she rolled to the edge of the bed.
Damn, she needed a tall glass of ice-cold apple juice. She didn’t know why, but it always cleared her brain after a night of wild—
A deep groan and movement from behind her caused Racy to freeze. Before she could move, a wall of heat and muscles spooned up against her. A jawline, complete with bristly stubble, rested against her shoulder as a heavy arm draped over her hip.
Another groan—no, it was more like a moan, then a nuzzle at her hair and the press of a mouth to her skin—before he stilled. Deep breathing relayed his trip back to a peaceful slumber. Not entirely peaceful, if the hardness pressing against her backside, and the sheets caught between their bodies, meant anything.
Oh, no. She didn’t. She didn’t do stuff like this anymore. In her reckless past, sure, but not now.
Racy pressed her fingers to her pounding forehead. Think, girlfriend. What the hell happened last night?
She remembered celebrating in one of the hotel bars. There was a slick guy, like someone out of The Godfather, who wouldn’t take no for an answer. He’d pinched her ass. She’d slapped him. He’d raised his hand, but someone—tall, broad shoulders, killer smile—had stepped in and defused the situation.
Then what?
Shoot ‘em?
She’d told the stranger who’d rescued her to shoot someone? Her mind whirled. The rest of the night was a blur of bright lights, loud music, the jangling of slot machines, and more alcohol. And him.
His face was blurry, but she recalled dark brown hair and strong hands. Hands that had caressed her body while they’d danced. Powerful arms that had carried her out of the fountain she’d insisted on dancing through. And a mouth that had delivered hot, wet, soul-stirring kisses. On the dance floor, up against a palm tree, in a taxi on the way to … where?
And Elvis?
No, it must be a dream. A bad dream. A nightmare.
Only it wasn’t. And she’d brought her rescuer back to her room.
Memories flashed in her mind. The desperate need to undress. Hands tugging, clothes flying and with only her corset, denim miniskirt and stilettos, she’d gotten naked first. He’d lunged for her, but she’d slipped free. Then she was in a whirlpool tub big enough for six, pouring bubble bath into the rising water.
It had taken him long er. why? Cowboy boots. He couldn’t get his boots off and she’d laughed. Laughed until he’d finally joined her in the hot, bubbly water and made her moan. In the tub, on the stairs that led to the king-size bed, beneath the snow-white sheets that had stood out against his tanned skin—
“No.” The word came out a desperate whisper. She dropped her hand to her breasts and clutched at the sheet. “No, no, no.”
She had to get out of this bed and away from—oh, God—she couldn’t even remember his name. How was it she could recall the feeling of his mouth on her body, but not the man’s name?
Reaching to remove the weight of his hand from her hip, her fingers brushed over something smooth and cool.
A wedding ring.
Racy’s stomach turned, an even more vile taste filling her mouth. She’d never picked up a married man. In her line of work, she could spot them a mile away, ring or not. Married men gave off a scent of possession, of belonging to someone else and, despite the craziness of her life, she wouldn’t—
Afraid she was going to be sick, she clamped a hand over her mouth. Something hard hit her lip. She pulled away and focused on the shiny gold band on her left hand. Jerking up on one elbow, she shoved her hair out of her eyes and there it was, in the same place she’d worn wedding rings twice before.
First when she’d been nineteen and stupid, then six years later she’d taken another chance on happily ever after. When that had ended after eighteen short months, she’d vowed never to grace the aisle again.
But this ring didn’t look like those cheap things from the past. This one sparkled with a row of diamonds. It couldn’t be real. She couldn’t be married.
No, this had to be a joke.
Her gaze flew around the luxurious suite, finally landing on the items littering the glass-top table near the double entrance doors. Bolting from the bed, she raced across the room. Whoa, not a good idea. Both her head and stomach took their sweet time in catching up with her.
She struggled to focus on her purse and the small bouquet of white silk flowers lying next to it. There was also a rolled paper tied with a pale blue ribbon, but her eyes caught and stared at a man’s wallet, open to reveal a shiny law enforcement badge.
A cop?
Racy stilled and blinked hard.
Ohmigod, she had not married him.
Then it all came back to her.
A law enforcement conference and the bartenders challenge in the same hotel. The participants of both events running into each other in the casinos, bars and restaurants, the cops often in the crowds during the challenge’s preliminary events, open to the public.
One cop in particular.
She’d noticed him two nights ago standing in the back, arms crossed over his chest as he’d watched the first round of the flaring competition. It was Racy’s favorite part, where each bartender’s personality and style came out while showing off their moves. Spinning, flipping, catching and balancing bottles, glasses and bar tools while making a variety of cocktails. At the end of her routine, he’d offered her a wink and smile. She’d impulsively blown him a kiss, which every man in the cheering crowd who’d stood between them thought was for him.
That was the last time she’d seen him until.
She grabbed the rolled paper and yanked off the blue ribbon. It unfurled and the words Marriage Certificate stood out in a large, elaborate font. Her vision blurred as she focused farther down the paper.
Bride: Racina Josephine Dillon. Groom—
“Good morning.”
His deep, coarse growl caused Racy to spin around. The room kept spinning, and she grabbed hold of the table for balance. He sat at the edge of the bed, the sheet pulled across his lap, leaving his chest and legs bare. Elbows braced on his knees, he cradled his head in his hand.
Oh. Sweet. Lord.
Gage? She’d married Gage Steele?
“This can’t be happening.” Her words came out so soft he couldn’t have heard them.
But he did. His head shot up and he winced. “As soon as I figure out what this is, I’ll come back with—”
His eyes widened and locked onto her. The heat in his gaze torched her skin from her face to her toes. She realized she was standing there in nothing but her birthday suit.
Racy reached for the closest item of clothing. Yanking on a man’s white dress shirt, she managed to get three buttons closed before a clean, outdoorsy scent filled her head. Gage’s shirt. Even after a night in the city, it smelled like him. Like sparkling lake water, tall trees and the earth. The kind of earth you want to dig your fingers into and inhale.
“Not bad, but I like the other look better.”
Gage’s voice rolled across the room and caused her stomach to roll, as well. Only this time it brought with it a rush of heat. She concentrated on finishing the buttons, ignoring the paper clenched in her trembling fingers.
“What are we going to do about this?”
“There you go with this again.” Gage brushed his hand over his face, then through his hair, causing the short brown locks to stick straight up. “Damn, I feel like crap. I’m getting too old for tequila and late nights.”
Old? At thirty-two, Gage was in his prime, with the football player’s body of his youth honed to lean, tight muscles. As the sheriff of Destiny, Wyoming, he carried the town’s troubles on his wide shoulders without breaking a sweat.
And he’d been nothing but trouble for her since high school.
“This is the problem.” Racy marched to the bed. “According to a piece of paper and the rings we’re wearing, it seems we tied the knot last night.”
Confusion filled his dark blue eyes. “We what?”
“Don’t you remember?” Please, let at least one of us have the memory.
He snatched the paper from her hand, his brow drawing into a deep furrow. “Hot damn, we really did it.”
Her stomach plummeted to her feet. “We did?”
“Hell, I thought you were kidding when you proposed—”
“What?” Racy’s shriek caused both her and Gage to grimace.
“You disappeared into a jewelry store and walked out ten minutes later with a matching set of rings.” He rubbed at his eyes, stopping to stare at the gold band on his hand. “Then you insisted on going to the marriage bureau for a license.”
“I did?”
“After that we hit the casinos for a while. I figured that was the end of it.” Gage dropped his hand and shrugged. “When you won big at poker—pretty impressive, by the way—I had to convince you I wasn’t with you for the money.”
She’d hit it big? The memory wouldn’t come back. How much? Would it be enough? Could she really be this close to getting—
Wait. What did he do? “How did you convince me?”
“Are you kidding? You made me—” His voice caught and those blue eyes turned a stormy hue. “You don’t remember?”
Racy curled her toes into the plush carpet, feeling like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “Bits and pieces.”
“Like what?”
“Look, I’m not one of your suspects.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tossed a long curl off her face with a flick of her head. “It’s obvious both of us had a few too many drinks last night. What exactly do you remember?”
“I asked you first.”
“I remember winning the challenge.”
Gage’s gaze shot to the trophy. Hers followed. A silent groan filled her chest as his eyes lingered on her panties still hanging there.
“What else?” he finally said, looking back at her.
She fought not to squeeze her thighs together beneath his dress shirt. “I remember celebrating, when a Mafia thug started hitting on me. I thought I could handle it, but then it got out of control and some guy stepped in—”
Gage’s left eyebrow rose into a perfect arch.
“You stepped in, played the hero, and I bought you a drink as a thank-you.”
“That’s it?” The familiar tic along his jawline told her he wasn’t happy. “That’s all you remember?”
Most of last night was still coming back to her in brief flashes, but the memories she’d awoken to earlier were quickly becoming clearer and brighter.
The two of them, laughing and talking, dancing and kissing. Years of feuding and smart remarks forgotten as together they explored the city. Then later, back here in this room … the almost desperate need to be together.
She couldn’t tell him.
Racy swallowed hard and forced herself to speak. “Yes, that’s all.”
Gage tossed the certificate to the bed and started to rise.
“What are you doing?”
He flexed tanned and toned muscles. “Trying to stand.”
“But you can’t! You’re—aren’t you naked?”
He pushed at the sheet. “What’s a little nudity between husband and wife?”
Racy spun away, her ears filled with the rustle of bed-sheets and heavy footsteps as he walked to the far side of the bed. The large, gilded mirror over the table gave her a clear view of a strong back, tapered waist and a backside so perfect it had to be a sin. Unable to look away, she watched him pull on a pair of boxer briefs that hugged his muscular thighs and glutes, before a pair of blue jeans covered her view. Not that they made him any less tempting.
Knock it off! This isn’t real. None of it.
She leaned over, grabbed the piece of paper that told her their farce of a marriage was very real, and saw him reach for the phone. “What are you doing?”
“Calling room service.” He punched a button and waited, keeping busy with something in the top drawer of the bedside table. “Yeah, this is suite 3011. Please send up an order of three eggs, sunny-side up, a double side of toast, and coffee. A lot of coffee.”
He bumped the drawer closed with his knee, then looked at her over his shoulder, again with the arched eyebrow. She shook her head. Food was the last thing she needed right now.
“Add a plain bagel, lightly toasted with butter on the side, and two large apple juices. Oh, can you throw in a bottle of aspirin? Thanks.” He hung up and turned around. “What?”
“How … how did you know what I like for breakfast?”
He shrugged one wide shoulder and brushed past her. “We both stop in most mornings at Sherry’s Diner. I notice these things.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the bathroom. Do you mind?”
He didn’t wait for her to reply, but disappeared through the double arched doors at the other end of the room. Racy eyed the rumpled sheets on the king-size bed. Flashes of wild, uninhibited lovemak—
No, she wouldn’t call it that. Last night was sex. Pure and simple and lusty and wonderful.
“He can’t know I remember. He can’t.”
She quickly made up the bed, then grabbed her panties off the trophy and shoved them, along with her scattered clothes, into the zippered compartment of her suitcase. Pulling out clean clothes, she dragged undies and leggings over her bottom half. She pulled Gage’s shirt over her head, then reached for the ratty gray zippered sweatshirt.
She stilled. No, she couldn’t put that on. Not with its previous owner about to walk back in. She doubted he’d remember, but she couldn’t chance it. She yanked a T-shirt over her head as the bathroom door opened, no time for a bra.
Gage walked out of the bathroom, the marble floor of the suite’s entry area cool against his bare feet. The memory of what he’d done to Racy last night—what she’d done to him, hell, what they’d done to each other—in the hot, foamy water of the huge tub took up every free corner of his still-foggy head.
But not so foggy that he didn’t notice the bed, its sheets, pillows and fancy patterned comforter, all neatly in place.
His gaze then found Racy, dressed in some kind of stretchy black pants that defined every inch of her mile-long legs. Her mass of red curls, rumpled and sexy at the same time, hung past her shoulders. She wore a familiar T-shirt with faded lettering inviting him to Drown Your Secrets, Sorrows or Sweethearts at The Blue Creek Saloon.
Great advice. The logo with its catchy phrase had been Racy’s idea as manager and head bartender at The Blue Creek. Most in town figured it came directly from her life experiences, Gage included.
So what did that make him? A secret or a sorrow? He sure as hell wasn’t her sweetheart.
“I figured you’d want this back.”
Racy’s voice cut through his thoughts, forcing his eyes from the worn cotton material of her shirt outlining the roundness of her breasts. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He buried that fact in his mind and focused on his shirt, which she held out at arm’s length.
He closed the distance between them, waiting until he stood directly in front of her to take it. He was crowding her personal space, but he didn’t care. Not after last night.
He broke eye contact long enough to pull the shirt over his head, not bothering to undo the buttons. It was still warm from her body. He had to bite back the groan that filled his throat.
Spotting the certificate on top of her suitcase, he jerked his head toward it. “You know, this might not be true.”
Her chocolate-brown eyes grew wide for a moment. Then she blinked and turned away, reaching for the curled paper. “What makes you say that?”
“That’s not a legal document. Hell, it could’ve been created on any computer. The marriage license from the bureau is the only official paperwork.”
Racy pushed back the mass of red waves from her face and looked around the room. “So where’s the license?”
“I remember putting it in—” Gage patted his jeans pockets. “Where’s my wallet?” He already knew his gun was stashed in the bedside table. He always knew where his gun was.
“On the table.”
Gage turned, relief filling him as he spotted the black leather wallet and his badge. He crossed the room and grabbed it.
“Wait a minute, you don’t remember last night, either?”
Racy’s voice caused him to pause.
No, he remembered.
He remembered the absolute joy on her face when she had taken first place. He remembered finding her in one of the hotel bars, and the way she’d latched on to his side when he’d stepped between her and that jerk hitting on her. He remembered how one drink had led to many more, then the two of them slow-dancing—and how it had felt to finally hold her in his arms again.
They never left each other’s side after that.
He’d gone from bar to casino to high-end boutique with her, not wanting the night to end. Then she’d appeared with the rings, insisting she had to make an honest man of him. He’d thought she was crazy, but they were both feeling so good he’d gone along for the ride. And after she’d insisted he prove his desire to still marry her, he’d done the one thing she’d never expect.
He guessed it worked.
“Gage, answer me. Do you remember us getting married?”
He tightened his grip on the wallet, turned around and found her standing directly behind him. “The actual ceremony? No. But unlike you—” he couldn’t stop from reaching out and brushing his fingers against her neck “—I can guarantee the honeymoon was fantastic.”
The faint bruising on her neck faded beneath the pink blush that tinged her skin. He remembered putting the mark on her—his mark—in the wee hours of the morning. He hadn’t meant to. High school was the last time he’d given a girl a hickey, but her taste, her scent and her response to what his mouth was doing proved to be his undoing.
And he liked it there. Obviously she hadn’t seen it yet and it bothered him more than it should that in less than a week’s time it’d be gone.
Racy stepped away from his touch and crossed her arms over her stomach. “I don’t remember a ceremony or a honeymoon. So, could you check and see if you have the license? Maybe none of this is real, maybe it’s just a big—”
“Mistake?”
“Yes, a mistake.” Her chin jerked upward and her hands fisted, but she didn’t look away. “A misunderstanding, a mix-up, a joke someone is playing—”
“I get it.” Gage cut her off.
Her words caused a sharp pain in his chest he didn’t understand. So what if he’d wanted to get his hands on Racy Dillon for the last fifteen years and when he finally had, she couldn’t remember a single moment?
You remember though, don’t ya, pal?
Yeah, in vivid detail. Every sight, sound and smell of their time together, both in and outside of this hotel suite, was etched in his mind.
He was so screwed.
Pushing away that thought, he opened his wallet and found the folded license he’d tucked there after leaving the bureau office, never really believing they’d use it. He shook it out, his eyes scanning the words.
“Well?”
Her one-word question held so much hope, a part of him hated to reply. His pride, however, was going to take a perverse sort of pleasure in it. “Sorry, Mrs. Steele. It seems as of two thirty-three this morning we’re actually hitched.”
Racy sank to the sofa, eyes wide with shock. His enjoyment of her distress drained away. He could see the idea of being married to him was turning her stomach.
She finally looked at him. “Gage, what are we going to do?”
“I can’t think straight without coffee and I’m hungry as a bear. We should concentrate on eating first.”
“How can you think about food at a time like this?” Racy shot to her feet and advanced on him. “This is crazy! You don’t want to be stuck with me and I sure as hell don’t want to be married to you.”
Okay, that was plain enough. “Racy—”
“We have to figure a way out of this. Can you imagine what the good citizens of Destiny would say if we showed up at home with matching rings?”
Yeah, it’d probably cover everything from “atta boy” to “I give it six months.”
“You hate me! You’ve felt that way since high school.”
“I don’t hate you.”
She snorted. “I’m not even worth that strong of an emotion, huh? Fine. Then you disapprove of me, of the way I live my life, of my family. Moonshining, drunk and disorderly, petty theft, drugs … first your father and then you took great pleasure in busting my brothers, making sure that last time they got the maximum jail sentence.”
“I was doing my job.”
“The night my father drove that rattrap pickup into a telephone pole, you were the first one to my place—”
“I didn’t want you to hear about it from anyone else.”
“No, you wanted to break me … again. You wanted to see me cry over the fact my sorry excuse of a husband and my daddy were so drunk it wasn’t the crash that killed them, but the both of them walking in front of an eighteen-wheeler an hour later.”
“Yeah, you were so brokenhearted you didn’t shed a tear.”
She paused and swallowed hard. “I don’t cry for anyone. Not anymore.”
Before he could respond, a discreet knock came at the door. Racy marched across the room. She flung open the door and waved the uniformed waiter and his cart inside.
“Any place you’d like this?” the young kid asked with a polite smile. “The terrace is a favorite among our guests.”
Gage glanced at the glass doors at the other end of the suite. Racy and him in the open air thirty stories above the ground? Not on your life. “Ah, here is fine.”
He opened his wallet, but Racy snatched the bill from the cart, scratched her name on the paper inside the leather case and handed it to the waiter. “It’s my suite. I’m paying.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The waiter retreated to the doors. “Thank you, ma’am.” He disappeared, closing the door behind him.
Gage grabbed two chairs from the nearby dining table and shoved them on either side of the cart. The aroma coming from beneath the silver domes made his mouth water. He still felt like crap, but a hearty breakfast the morning after always did wonders for him. “Come on, sit.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Fine.” Gage sat. He needed coffee. Strong, black and right now. “Stand and eat. I really don’t care.”
“Gage—”
“Look, we both agree we need to figure out a way to fix this—”
“And keep it a secret.” Racy cut him off. “I don’t want anyone to know how stupid I—how stupid we both were last night.”
The coffee burned on its way down his throat, but it was no more scorching than her words. Why it bothered him, he didn’t want to think about. He should’ve known last night hadn’t changed anything. The warm and fun-loving woman he’d held in his arms was an illusion.
Reality was standing right here in front of him.
“I’ll call the concierge. We can’t be the first couple to have morning-after regrets.” Gage set aside the domes with a loud clang and reached for a fork. “What’s that saying, ‘what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’?”
The sight of a gold-and-diamond band shoved under his nose stopped the fork midway to his mouth. He looked up, but with her chin dropped, Racy’s hair covered her face.
“What are you doing?”
“Here. Take it.”
“You bought it.”
“I don’t care.” She shook her head, dropping the ring into the water goblet next to his plate. It slowly sunk past the floating ice cubes to rest at the bottom. “I don’t want it. Toss it, leave it for the maid … it doesn’t matter to me.”
She grabbed the apple juice from the cart, her fingers gripping the glass, but it still sloshed over the rim as she headed across the suite. Seconds later, the bathroom door slammed closed behind her.
Gage rose and started after her, stopping when he heard the sound of rushing water. The mental image of his wife in the oversize glass shower, water jets pulsating against her peaches-and-cream skin, had his lower half instantly responding.
He jammed his fingers through his hair, his gaze catching on the gold band on his left hand. Tugging off the ring, he tossed it toward the cart, watching it make a perfect arc to join Racy’s in the water glass with a splash.
She wasn’t his wife. In a matter of hours she wouldn’t even be his ex-wife. What did one call a former spouse after an annulment?
A mistake, that’s what.
Chapter Two
Last week of January …
“What in the hell are you talking about?”
“There’s no need to swear. Do I have to repeat myself?”
Gage stared at his little sister. Okay, not so little, but still younger than him by a decade, sitting on the other side of the aged desk that had once belonged to their father. She’d appeared in his office early this cold Saturday morning to announce she’d gotten a job. At a bar, of all places.
And not just any bar, Racy’s bar.
“Yes.”
“Racy hired me last night to work at The Blue Creek.”
“I was at The Blue Creek last night. I didn’t see you.” Gage refused to concede how just the sound of her name got his blood racing. Damn the woman! What had she done now?
“Well, I was there and I didn’t see you.”
“I stop in most nights to make sure everything is okay.”
“Yes, I can see how the big, bad sheriff waving around his badge would keep everyone on the straight and narrow.”
“I stay out of sight and I don’t wave—” Gage pulled in a deep breath. He slowly released it and dropped his mail to his desk, his attention fully on his sister. “Gina, what are you doing? You’ve got two degrees, one of which is a master’s.”
“For all the good it did me in the real world.”
The pain in his sister’s voice was evident. When she’d arrived home from England just before Thanksgiving, he’d known something was wrong. Even Gina couldn’t finish a year-long fellowship in less than three months.
“Think I’m a bit overqualified to work in a bar?”
“Yes.”
“Or is it I’m not pretty enough?”
Where in the hell had that come from?
Gage studied the rigid set of his sister’s shoulders. Her sheepskin-lined denim jacket had once belonged to their father. With her curly hair pulled back in its usual ponytail and her gold-framed glasses, she could pass for a high school classmate of their younger sister, Giselle.
She certainly didn’t look like the waitresses who, thanks to their short skirts, tight jeans and barely-there T-shirts, served up beers and burgers at Destiny’s local watering hole.
Women like Racy.
Last night she’d been dressed from head to toe in black, from the stomach-baring tank top to the jeans molding her perfect curves to the cowboy boots on her feet. The only color came from her flame-red hair and the gold jewelry she wore at her ears, neck and … belly button.
The piercing was new. It hadn’t been there five months ago. He should know. The gleaming diamond stud had fueled a fantasy he’d awoken from in the early morning hours, drenched in a cold sweat. Par for the course lately.
“Thank you for rushing to my defense.”
Gage blinked, his sister’s dry tone drawing him out of his thoughts. “Huh? No, you’re pretty, you’re beautiful. It’s …”
“I know. The girls who work there look … different.” Gina glanced down at her clothes. “What can I say? My life has been more about books than looks, but Racy said she’d help me.”
“Help you?”
“She offered to give me tips on hairstyles and clothes.”
Gage tried to picture his sister dressed like the flamboyant redhead. His mind wouldn’t allow the visual to come to life. He leaned forward. “Gina, those girls aren’t only selling booze and food. They’re selling a good time. They flirt and tease—hell, Racy’s even got them line dancing on the bar.”
“Racy said some of her girls work to help their families make ends meet.”
“True,” Gage conceded, “but other than last night when’s the last time you were in The Blue Creek? In any bar?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Most of Racy’s girls are young, single and looking for a good time.”
Gina jumped to her feet. “Hey, I, too, am young, single and looking for a good time. I’ve had it with genius IQs and think tanks. All those years away at school, I don’t even know most of the twenty somethings in this town. I want friends my own age. I want to meet guys my own age. Did you know this past summer was the first time …”
Gina’s voice trailed off. She closed her eyes for a long moment, then opened them as she straightened. “I’m doing this, whether you like it or not. I came here first because Racy thought I should tell you.”
“She what?”
“Racy said I should let you know about working for her.”
Yeah, he just bet she did. She’d hired Gina to spite him.
From the moment they’d walked out of the lawyer’s office last August and into the Las Vegas sunshine, she had taken great pleasure in either pretending he didn’t exist or antagonizing the hell out of him. At first, he’d avoided the bar, letting his deputies cover both the peaceful and the more frequent not-so-peaceful watches.
Then during the baseball play-offs a free-for-all had broken out at The Blue Creek. He’d arrived in time to get in the middle of flying fists. After getting knocked on his ass, he’d looked up to find Racy consoling Dwayne McGraw, his former high school teammate. Married with six kids, Dwayne outweighed him by a hundred pounds. He was also too drunk and pissed off about his team losing to listen to anyone telling him to calm down.
Anyone but Racy.
And that’d annoyed Gage more than it should have.
“Hello?” Gina snapped her fingers. “You still with me or have I shocked you into silence?”
“I’m here.” He blinked away the memory. “Look, I can fix this.”
“There’s nothing to fix!”
“I can talk to the principal at the high school.” He started making notes on his desk calendar. “See if they have any openings. Or I could check with the University of Wyoming—”
Gina slapped her hand on top of his, forcing the pen from his fingers. “I want to meet people my own age, not teach them. Stop trying to solve a problem that isn’t there and stop telling me what to do. Geez, I’m twenty-two, not twelve.”
He looked at his sister. “I’m not telling you what to do.”
“You could’ve fooled me.”
A deep sigh gutted from his chest. He couldn’t help it. Whenever he looked at Gina he saw long braids and chunky braces. “Promise me you’ll be careful and not do anything crazy.”
“Like dancing on the bar?” The look in his sister’s eyes matched one he’d seen many times before, both in the mirror and in the faces of their siblings. Determination.
“Gina—”
“I’ve got to go.” She cut him off. “I’m meeting my boss for a makeover session that will create a whole new Gina.”
That’s what he was afraid of. “I like the old Gina.”
“You’re family, you have to say that.” She headed for the door. “Trust me, not every man agrees with you. See you.”
She was gone before he could respond.
Gage frowned. Something was wrong. He’d tried to stay connected to Gina during her years away, especially after the loss of their father. Asking her about it wouldn’t do any good. Unlike the twins, she closely guarded her feelings and her high IQ further isolated her.
He was certain about one thing, though. Working in a bar wasn’t the answer. Maybe he’d better have a talk with Max. Racy managed the staff, but the owner was an old friend of his dad’s. He figured he could get Max to override Racy’s hiring decision.
Confidence filled him as he went back to sorting his mail. The return address for the State Bar Association of Nevada on a business-size envelope caught his eye. A tightening in his gut told him it wasn’t good news. The only dealing he’d had with Nevada lately was the annulment paperwork folded neatly in his top dresser-drawer. He opened the letter and started to read, not quite believing the words. Seconds later, he crushed the letter in his fist.
Racy was proud of herself. Gina had been in her company for over two hours and she still hadn’t asked how her big brother had reacted to the news. She concentrated instead on getting to know Gage’s sister and bringing out the beautiful girl hiding behind the baggy clothes and nondescript hairstyle.
Gina now sported contacts after she revealed she had them, but usually stuck with her glasses. He hair fell in a dark, smooth, glossy curtain and artfully applied makeup, a bit on the heavy side but perfect for the bar, played up those gorgeous Steele blue eyes.
When they’d arrived at The Blue Creek a few minutes ago, she’d given Gina a couple of T-shirts with the bar’s logo to try on. The door to the ladies’ restroom opened and Gina walked into the break room used by the rest of the staff.
“Hey, you look great.”
“You don’t think it’s—” Gina tugged at the tee’s cropped hem that rested above the low waistband of her new body-hugging jeans “—a bit too tight?”
“It’s supposed to be tight, honey, and you have the body for it.” Racy waved her over to the floor-length mirror. “See?”
The relief in the young girl’s eyes when she saw her reflection pulled at Racy’s heart. Not much surprised her anymore, but she’d been floored when the librarian look-alike had asked last night about a job. And she hadn’t hired Gina purely for the satisfaction of getting to her older brother. No, she truly needed help, with two of her girls quitting a week ago.
Ruffling the sheriff’s feathers was only an added bonus.
“We’ll use the next few hours getting you used to the menu and the ordering system,” she said. “You can practice carrying a trayful of drinks, too.”
Gina nodded and they headed for the bar. A raucous country song blared over the sound system. A group of girls, lined up on the middle of the dance floor, broke out into precision dance steps. Horror crossed the girl’s features. “I’m not going to be doing that, am I?”
Imagining the look on Gage’s face when he found his sister dancing on the bar was priceless, but Racy wouldn’t do that to Gina. Besides, Gage hadn’t been back to The Blue Creek since the baseball play-offs melee.
Coward.
“No, those are the Blue Creek Belles. They didn’t perform last night, but they dance as well as serve up food and drinks.” Racy reached beneath the bar to lower the volume on the sound system. “I’m giving you the six tables in that area.”
The relief on Gina’s face switched to panic again. “Six? Are you sure?”
Racy grabbed menus and a large tray. “I’ll be here if you need help, and the other girls will pitch in if things get busy.”
“I really appreciate this.” Gina leaned forward and propped her forearms on the bar. “I was going stir-crazy at home.”
“It must be nice being back with your family.”
Oh, real smooth. Try to get her to talk about her brother without coming right out and asking.
Gina leaned against the bar. “It is good to be home after being gone most of my life to private schools and then college. With Gage finally out of the house, I grabbed the converted attic, complete with its own bath.”
Racy’s hands stilled over the beer bottles in the under-counter cooler. “His place on the lake is done?”
Gina nodded, tucking a long strand of hair behind one ear. She opened the menu, studying the items intently. “Can you believe it? He’s been working on that log house forever.”
Four years, but who’s counting? “Well, I’m sure he’s happy to finally be in his own bachelor pad.”
She had no idea how big of a place Gage had built, but she’d bet her entire Vegas winnings it came complete with an oversize hot tub, pool table and a king-size bed for all six-feet-plus of him.
The memory of another king-size bed, her body pressed deep into the cool sheets with Gage’s hot, hard body draped over—Stop!
Racy groaned and yanked the bottles from the cooler. Doing nothing since Vegas but studying and working should’ve erased the memories of that crazy night, but no, they remained bright and strong and ever-present in her head.
“Hey, boss lady.”
Racy looked up.
Ric Murphy, one of her security team members, stood behind Gina. “Max needs to see you in his office.”
“Okay.” She turned to Gina. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“I’ll be here.”
Racy grinned and headed for the stairs that led to the second floor and her boss’s office. Hopefully her office in a few months. A former musician, Max’s band once had a couple of hits on country radio. He’d owned The Blue Creek since the early eighties and had joked about retiring ever since Racy had started working here. And after eight years of waitressing, then bartending and finally managing The Blue Creek, she was ready for the next step.
A step that had been only a dream until she had returned from Vegas with fifty grand in poker winnings.
And another ex-husband.
Her footsteps faltered on the top step. No, not a husband. Ex or otherwise. Her and Gage’s twelve-hour marriage was a mistake, a lapse in judgment that she’d fixed and tried—erotic memories notwithstanding—to forget.
She stopped at the office door and knocked, waiting for Max’s response. At the sound of his gruff bark, she entered and froze.
Dressed in jeans, cowboy boots and the same leather bomber jacket he’d worn for years, Gage Steele stood at the large window behind her boss’s desk. He turned, leaned against the frame and stared straight at her. At least she thought so. The ivory Stetson he always wore was pulled low, shielding his eyes.
The Marlboro Man. In the flesh. Minus the cigarette, of course. Mr. Perfect wouldn’t dare to do anything that might be considered a weakness.
“You wanted to see me?” Her tone was sharp, but Racy was glad she got the words past the sudden tightness of her throat.
What the hell was Gage doing here? Was it Gina?
That’s stupid. Of course, he’s here about his sister.
“Ah, there’s a pair of scissors at the barbershop waiting on me.” Max rose from behind his desk. He tugged a coat over his Western dress shirt. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”
“I thought you wanted to talk,” Racy demanded.
Gage stayed silent as he moved out of the older man’s way.
“Be nice.” Max’s words were low, his lips barely moving beneath his bushy gray mustache as he walked toward Racy. He grabbed the door to pull it closed behind him. “And don’t make a mess of my office.”
“Max—” He disappeared before Racy could say another word. She stared at the door for a long moment before the sound of a throat clearing had her whirling around.
“What do you want?”
Gage pushed away from the window. A deep breath expanded his shoulders. His open jacket revealed a dark red chambray shirt over a black thermal pullover. The undone buttons on both shirts showed off the strong column of his neck. Even in the dead of winter the man’s skin carried a glow of deep bronze. A glow she remembered he had over every inch of his—
Racy mentally slammed the door shut on the memory. “Well?”
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and crossed the office to where she stood. “We need to talk.”
His low voice caused a shiver to dance along her skin. She crossed her arms over her chest.
Dammit, the aged gray sweat jacket again.
Gage’s sweat jacket. Normally, she never left her place with it on, but Gina had shown up while she was studying and she’d forgotten to take it off. She doubted he even remembered how she had come to own it, but she wasn’t going to take that chance. Thankful for the tank top she wore underneath, a quick zip and the jacket was off her shoulders. She used the sleeves to tie it around her waist.
His eyes followed her every move. “Why’d you do that?”
Yeah, like she was going to tell him she was crazy enough to hold on to this thing all these years. “It’s hot in here.”
An unreadable emotion filled his blue eyes. He blinked and it was gone. But his gaze stayed on her as he moved forward until the toes of his boots grazed hers.
She didn’t budge.
For the first time since that weekend in Vegas, she and Gage were alone. Something they’d managed to avoid all these months. Oh, they’d seen each other. It couldn’t be helped in a town the size of Destiny, but they hadn’t spoken.
Until now.
“What are you doing in my bar, Gage?”
The brim of his Stetson grazed her hair. “I thought this place belonged to Max.”
Not for long. “On paper. I’m the one who keeps it running.”
“Always to the point, aren’t you?”
“What I am is busy.” She broke free from his hypnotic gaze and again crossed her arms. A few side steps had her resting her backside against Max’s desk. “So, why did you scare my boss out of his office?”
Gage turned, his clenched fists visibly pressing against the creased leather. “We need to talk about a couple of things—”
“And one of them is your sister.” Racy cut him off with a wave of her hand. “You went to Max about her working here, and what? Called in an old family favor? But he told you to deal with me. So, go ahead. Give it your best shot.”
“My best shot?”
“In convincing me to fire her, but I’ll give you my answer right now. No way.”
His mouth pressed into a hard line, then he said, “This is the last place Gina should be working.”
She cocked her head to one side. “Because?”
“The girl has a master’s degree in twentieth-century British and Irish studies.”
“And that’s going to hinder her in carrying a trayful of burgers and beer?”
“Dammit, Racy! She’s not equipped to deal with the horny cowboys and college kids that come in here.”
“Unlike me, you mean.”
“You certainly have a way of keeping them in line.”
From anyone else, she might’ve taken that as a compliment. Coming from Gage, it sounded more like an insult. “If you’re referring to that brawl in October, I was handling everything just fine until you walked in.”
“Including Dwayne. After I stopped his fist with my face.”
She fought against a grin and lost. “You should’ve ducked.” Her tone turned serious again. “Look, I wasn’t going to let Dwayne use a lopsided loss by his team as an excuse to start a fight. Besides, his right hook didn’t shake you up too bad.”
“It hurt like hell.”
Let it go. You don’t want to go there. “Well, I’m sure the ample attention one of my Belles heaped on you led to a speedy recovery.” Too late, dammit!
“Tammy brought me a raw steak for my eye.”
“With a healthy side order of cleavage and fawning.”
His gaze dropped from her face to her chest. Racy knew the flimsy cotton tank top was no match against the purple satin push-up bra filled with her own generous assets. She tightened her arms beneath her breasts and took a deep breath.
A single tic danced over his jaw. Served him right.
His gaze moved higher and lingered on her neck. She had to fight to keep her hand from going to her throat. The love bite he’d left above her collarbone was long gone. It had taken almost three weeks for the mark to disappear, but the memory of how she’d gotten it, and who’d given it to her, remained powerfully strong.
Especially when the man was standing right in front of her.
His eyes locked with hers again. “I think your Belles lead by your example.”
“Your deputies must do the same. Tammy’s got a busier social life than Britney Spears and Paris Hilton put together.”
“Present company excluded. I’m not interested in Tammy.”
He backed up a few steps and yanked off his hat. A quick push of his fingers through his dark hair left spiky tufts standing on end. They disappeared when he returned the Stetson to its proper place. “My point is Gina could be teaching at any college in the country.”
“She’s twenty-two years old.” Racy broke in, glad he was backing off about the bar fight. And from her. She was still reeling from his statement about not being interested in her waitress. Why, she didn’t want to consider. “Your sister wants to have some fun, meet people and wear sexy jeans.”
“That’s not Gina.”
“Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think.” Racy pushed away from the desk and took a wide circle around him. Not wide enough. Her bare arm brushed against his jacket as she headed for the door. The movement caused goose bumps to skate down to her fingers.
He followed. “We’re not finished here.”
“Yes, we are. I’m not firing Gina.”
“This isn’t about Gina. It’s about us.”
Racy’s hand tightened on the doorknob as she wrenched it open. “Nice try in changing tactics, but there is no ‘us.’”
“I’m talking about Vegas.”
One booted foot hesitated at the threshold. A rocking country song that warned of T-R-O-U-B-L-E rang in the rafters. “We agreed to never bring that up again.” She tossed the words over her shoulder.
Gage’s arm shot out.
His palm landed against the doorjamb blocking her exit. “If you keep walking, I’m going to follow.” He leaned in, his mouth at her ear in order to be heard over the loud music. “Do you want everyone to find out we’re still married?”
Racy’s vision blurred at his hotly whispered words. “What?”
Gage pulled her back into the office and kicked the door closed. He turned her to face him, the warmth of his touch on her bare shoulders searing her skin. He placed one hand beneath her chin and gently forced her to look him in the eye.
“Did you hear what I said?”
His rich baritone voice, barely above a whisper, caused a brand-new Vegas memory to spring to life. Five months ago he’d asked her the very same question. About what, she couldn’t remember, but the recall left her feeling warm and fuzzy.
“Racy?”
She locked the memory away with the rest from that night and twisted free from his hold. “You’re lying!”
“I’m—what? Why would I lie about something like this?”
She didn’t know, but he had to be. How could they—no, they couldn’t. They couldn’t still be married! Two hours in that stuffy lawyer’s office had taken care of the legal mumbo jumbo before they’d left Vegas. “If you’re playing some sick game—”
A loud buzz cut off her words and brought forth a classic F-bomb she’d never heard Gage utter before. He grabbed the two-way radio from the belt clip at his hip and brought it to his mouth. “Steele here.”
“Sheriff, Deputy Harris here.”
His eyes never wavered from her. “What is it, Harris?”
Racy listened as the calm voice of one of her best friends filled the air. “We caught some kids drag racing on Razor Hill Road. Got one driver. Still in pursuit of the second.”
“Fine, bring ‘em in.”
“Ah, Sheriff … Garrett is the driver.”
His younger brother. Gage’s eyes closed, but Racy still caught the shadow of fear in their blue depths.
“Was he—was anyone hurt?”
“Negative.”
He released a held breath and opened his eyes. “Okay, I’ll meet you at the office.”
“Roger that. We’re on our—wait one,” a crackle came from the walkie-talkie before Leeann came back on. “Deputy Bailey just pulled up. He’s got the second driver in custody.”
“Good. Contact the parents of the other driver.”
“Sheriff, the other driver is Giselle.”
Racy bit back a choke of laughter, but part of it escaped in a loud oomph. Gage and Gina’s twin siblings, both seniors at Destiny High School, caught drag racing. Each other.
Hell, she’d done the same thing many times as a teen in her father’s rattrap of a pickup that hid a killer engine. Usually against Bobby Winslow, who never seemed to get caught. But she had been, and her old man had left her overnight in jail while he and her brothers went on a bender in Cheyenne.
She doubted the Steele twins faced the same fate.
Gage’s eyes narrowed as he took in her attempt to hold back her amusement. “I’m on my way. And take their cell phones. They aren’t to talk to anyone until I get there.”
“Their cell phones?” Racy asked.
Gage ended the call and jammed the radio back on his hip. “Those two will call our mother with a sob story so fast, she’ll end up lecturing me instead of them.”
Racy didn’t doubt it. Sandy Steele was well known for her nurturing. Racy had experienced it firsthand years ago when the woman had provided a hot meal, a homemade quilt and a soft pillow to a scared teenage girl who’d spent the night in one of her husband’s jail cells.
The heat of Gage’s touch as he grabbed her hand and slapped an envelope into it yanked Racy back to the present.
“Read this,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”
Her fingers curled around the letter as he headed for the door in Max’s office that led directly to the front lobby. She read the envelope’s return address. Her stomach dropped to her feet. “Gage, this … this can’t be real.”
“Oh, it’s real.” He paused at the door to look at her. “Welcome to my nightmare.”
Racy stood frozen in place after he left. Then a knock came on the door. She shoved the envelope into her back pocket and turned. “Come in.”
Gina peeked inside. “Has the smoke cleared?”
“What smoke?”
“No one can smolder better than my brother. Gage was here about me.” The forlorn expression on Gina’s face spoke volumes. “And don’t ask me how I know. I’m the smart one, remember?”
Racy crossed the office and ushered the girl toward the stairs, quickly deciding it wasn’t her place to relay the antics of Gina’s younger siblings. She’d leave that for Gage or their mother. “Yes, he was here, and no, you aren’t fired.”
When Gina got to the bottom step she turned to face Racy. “The last thing you need is my big brother acting like … well, a big brother. Any more than he already does.”
A pang Racy attributed to the craziness of what Gage had just told her hit her square in the gut. The folded envelope in her back pocket seemed to burn through her jeans.
“How’s that?”
“You know, overprotective, watching my every move, staring down any guy that even looks at me.”
So that’s what big brothers did. Too bad nobody had filled in Billy Joe and Justin, who thought their sister was put on earth to keep their buddies occupied, steal bail money from and clean up after their lazy asses. Like father, like sons.
“Don’t worry,” Gina continued. “He’ll behave tonight.”
Racy focused on the young woman’s assurance. “What?”
“He’s here most nights.”
“Gage hasn’t been here in over two months.”
“I was teasing him earlier—oh, that’s right. He said he stays out of sight most of the time.”
Out of sight? That’s impossible.
Built on the same location as the original saloon, The Blue Creek had expanded over the years but remained on one level with an open floor plan. From her vantage point at the main bar, she could see everything, including the smaller bar on the far side near the pool tables and dartboards.
There were pockets of darkness, but there was no way Gage had stepped inside these walls and she hadn’t known about it. The kitchen was off-limits to customers, as well as the second floor. The only rooms up there were Max’s office and storage areas. Most of the doors off the balcony were fake, mimicking bedrooms where saloon girls would’ve taken—
The balcony.
Racy’s gaze shot to the three-foot-wide area, complete with support beams and railing that ran three-quarters’ way around the bar. Always in the shadows, but especially at night, someone could be there and she’d never know it.
How many nights had he done that? Before Vegas he used to come into the bar and deal with her face-to-face. Now he was hiding. And was that before or after he’d got the letter in her back pocket?
“Racy?” Gina’s voice cut through her haze. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Proud of the control in her voice, she pasted on a smile and showed Gina the easiest way to get a loaded tray off the bar without spilling its contents. “Why don’t you practice carting this back and forth? It can get heavy.”
Gina walked away and Racy again stared above her head.
Welcome to my nightmare.
Gage’s condescending words rang again in her ears. Okay. If he wanted to play games, she’d play. And if he wanted to watch, she’d give him a show to remember.
Chapter Three
Gage stepped from Max’s office into the deafening noise, leaned against the wall and became one with the shadows. The Blue Creek was rocking with a live band, typical for a Saturday night. Bodies filled the dance floor and tempting smells wafted from the kitchen, causing his stomach to rumble. He’d missed dinner, thanks to spending most of the evening dealing with the twins and his mother.
Since their father’s death ten years ago, his mother often took a soft road with his youngest sister and brother, resulting in him drawing a hard line when it came to their adolescent antics. Officially, they’d gotten off with a warning, but both were grounded for a month.
Damn, days like this he really missed his old man.
Gage had never got away with anything growing up. Then again, having your father as the town sheriff pretty much guaranteed you’d either be a rebel or a straight-up kid.
He’d been straight as an arrow. Not Garrett and Giselle. First graders when their father was gunned down during a drug bust gone bad, they’d gone from good kids to troublemakers in record time. He knew heartache was the driving force behind their behavior and their mother had been lost in her own grief-stricken haze. He’d returned from Washington, D.C., to make funeral arrangements, and moved back permanently a month later, leaving behind his dreams of working for the FBI, to take care of his family.
A family that at the moment was driving him crazy.
Not to mention that, at least legally, his family included Racy Dillon. As he’d often learned over the last ten years, sometimes life kicked you right in the ass.
His eyes followed Racy as she worked the main bar alongside two other bartenders, whose names didn’t register in his brain. Nothing registered except for the trim, toned skin on display.
She had on something that looked like the top half of a bikini. Two scraps of dark material covered her breasts while below swayed a row of fringe that reached her navel and the glittery stone pierced there.
Except for the twin knots behind her neck and between her shoulder blades, her back was entirely exposed, thanks to her long red curls piled in a messy knot on top of her head. Low-rider jeans completed the look.
Gage dropped his head back against the wall and sighed. Ever since that crazy weekend in Vegas, his usually neat and orderly life had slowly slid out of control.
First Racy, and now Gina and the twins. Oh, and let’s not forget his mother. When he’d finally reached her today, she’d been out at Hank Jarvis’s place. Hanging curtains. A long-time family friend and widower for almost three decades, Hank worked at the Crescent Moon, Maggie Stevens’s ranch.
Gage had been surprised as his mother’s only interests since his dad died were the kids, and in the last couple of years, her job decorating cakes for the local inn. When asked, she’d insisted she and Hank were only friends. The pretty pink blush on her cheeks had told a different story.
He was yanked from his thoughts when Racy leaned across the bar, getting nose-to-nose with a customer. His stomach clenched. Good thing it was Willie Perkins, a local cowboy old enough to be his grandfather, or Gage would’ve—
Would’ve what?
So, she made him horny. Hell, she probably had that effect on every guy in the bar if their body parts worked properly.
But he knew what it was like to hold her in his arms.
Over the last five months, every exacting detail of their night together in Vegas had returned. He remembered the dusky scent of her skin, a mixture of vanilla and lime. The way her hands trembled when she touched him and the catch of her breath when his mouth found certain sensitive places on her body, like the small of her back, the inside of her elbow and the underside of her breasts.
Gage shifted his stance thanks to the pressure building behind his zipper. Damn, he felt like a Peeping Tom up here.
He’d returned to his rounds at The Blue Creek a little over a month ago. With Max’s okay, he used his office as easy access to a spot that offered him a view of everything that went on in the bar. It also allowed him to watch his deputies to judge how they responded to any incidents.
And yeah, he could watch Racy.
She worked the back side of the bar, letting the other girls deal directly with the customers, easily handling three mixers and never missing a beat while popping the tops off ice-cold longnecks. She loaded them on a tray held by one of her waitresses. He didn’t recognize her, but it didn’t matter. He was only interested in keeping an eye on one other person and that was Gina. He scanned the crowd. Sexy waitress, sexy waitress, sexy wait—
Whoa, back up!
The waitress with the full tray turned. Gage registered her trim figure and long dark hair, but missing was the usual ponytail and glasses. That was no waitress. That was his sister.
“Wow, look at you!”
Racy felt more than heard the voice over her shoulder, thanks to the rocking country music. She turned and found her best friend, Maggie Stevens, soon to be Maggie Cartwright, standing behind her.
She shot a quick glance down at her outfit while moving to the end of the bar. “Yeah, look at me.”
Maggie reached out, her fingers brushing at the fringe. “I love this! I’d never be able to pull it off, but on you …”
“Looks can be deceiving. I’m freezing my ass off.”
“What’s up with you behind the bar? You usually let the girls run the show.”
“I’m trying to stay warm.”
Confusion filled Maggie’s eyes for a moment, then she smiled. “Where is he?”
“Where’s who?”
“Oh, come on. Tell me you’re not wearing that for a certain hunky sheriff.”
Thankful when one of the bartenders called her name, Racy ducked back behind the three feet of wood. She tossed the requested bottle of whiskey to Jackie, confident her assistant manager would catch it. She took an extra minute to ensure her face was devoid of any expression before she turned back.
“What sheriff?”
Maggie leaned in. “Look, I know I’ve been distracted with the wedding—”
“And you have every right to be.” Racy cut her off. “You waited a long time for the right man to come along. You deserve to be distracted … and happy.”
“But that doesn’t mean I don’t have time to listen.”
“To what?”
“You’ve been quiet—too quiet—about Gage since you two got back from Vegas.”
“You sound like we were there together.” It took all Racy’s strength not to look up to the balcony. She knew he was there. Never mind the fact she hadn’t seen him. “Besides, I told you we ran into each other a few times in the hotel. That’s it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t you have other things to worry about?” Racy latched on to the topic most likely to be on her best friend’s mind, her upcoming wedding. “Like my bridesmaid’s dress?”
Maggie smiled. “You haven’t read your mail today?”
Racy shook her head. The only letter she’d had time to read today was the one Gage had given her. A lot of legal double-talk that came to the same conclusion.
She and the sheriff were still legally man and wife.
The date on the notice was over two weeks old. She’d fumed that he’d known about this mess for that long and only told her today, after he’d found out about his sister taking a job here.
“No, I was working with a new waitress and one emergency after another happened in the kitchen this afternoon.”
“I put a note in your wedding invitation. The dresses are all set except for the final fitting. You’re going to knock him for a loop when he sees you.”
“Knock who?”
Maggie grinned then said, “Of course, it doesn’t quite have the flair of this outfit. I think something’s brewing—”
“The only thing brewing is a wicked headache,” Racy paused when the band announced it was taking a break. She hit the switch on the bar’s stereo system and recorded music filled the air. “And a good case of frostbite.”
“Okay, I give up. You got any plans for tomorrow?”
Racy shook her head. “Nope. What’s up?”
“How about getting with Leeann for lunch around noon?”
“Are you sure the good deputy is going to show? She’s blown us off more times than I can count.”
Maggie nodded and Racy read worry in her gaze over their best friend. “She’s the one who suggested it. Did you know whoever bought her family’s land last year finally tore down the remains of the house?”
“There wasn’t much left after the fire.”
“And still Leeann held on to it. I think selling was the best thing she’s done in a long time. But to know someone is building there again …”
Racy frowned as Maggie’s voice faded. Their friend’s childhood home, an antebellum-style mansion, was situated on the side of a mountain surrounded by acres of land. When a fire had destroyed the house five years ago, many had been surprised Leeann didn’t sell outright, or rebuild when she’d finally moved back to town.
“Maybe the corporation that bought it is going to make it into some kind of resort. Anyway, count me in.” Racy noticed the arrival of Maggie’s fiancé, Landon Cartwright, as he strolled through the archway leading from the main entrance. “Hey, your honey just walked in. Who’s the cowboy with him?”
Pure joy filled Maggie’s expression before she looked over her shoulder. Racy was happy for her friend. If anyone deserved to be loved by a good man it was Maggie.
“That’s Chase, my future brother-in-law.” Maggie turned back. “He’s here for the wedding.”
Racy took in the man’s tall frame and wide shoulders. He was a few inches shorter than Landon, but shared the same sharp facial features and dark skin, even in the dead of winter. He filled out his cotton shirt and jeans nicely, drawing more than a few feminine glances his way.
She waited for the zing of attraction. Nothing. Why was it no man stole the air from her lungs? Or made all the interesting parts of her body turn to mush?
Nowadays, only one man made her feel anything, and at the moment it was pure loathing. And to get back at that man, Chase Cartwright would be perfect for what she had in mind.
“Do you think he’d be up for a little fun?”
“Why? What are you planning?”
She nodded toward the bar. “I think it’s time for another Racy Special.”
“Are you serious? You haven’t done one in months after that last guy—e www! That was not fun to watch.”
“I swore that one was going to be my last, but something’s come up—anyway, my tip jar is getting low.” Racy slipped a folded bill into Maggie’s hand. “Here, give this to your brother-in-law and explain how it works, okay? I don’t want to take his money.”
“Why do I get the feeling this has to do with Gage?”
“Because you’re too smart for your own good.” Racy grinned. “Go on, your family’s waiting. And be nice to your waitress. She’s new.”
Maggie eyed the young girl at their table. “She looks familiar.”
“That’s Gina Steele.” Racy grabbed the microphone from behind the bar.
“Gage’s sister? The whiz kid?”
“That’s her.”
“First his sister—” Maggie waved at the bar “—and now this? I thought you said Gage hasn’t been inhere in a while.”
“I said I haven’t seen him here.”
“There’s a difference?”
“Yes.”
“You know, I’m going to ply you with margaritas at my bachelorette party to get the whole scoop on this,” Maggie whispered, then turned and headed for her fiancé.
Yeah, like she was going to spill how too much booze and an old dream had caused her to make the biggest mistake of her life.
Racy locked down any Vegas memories before they could surface. A trick she was getting pretty good at lately.
She brushed a hand against the trophy, a physical reminder of what really mattered. A quick yank on a few well-placed bobby pins, and her hair fell past her shoulders. She whispered her plans to her fellow bartender and, thanks to a step stool and the vertical cooler, stood on the L-shaped bar.
A piercing whistle got everyone’s attention. She rarely got up here anymore, preferring to stick to choreographing the Belles’ dance routines.
Tonight was different. With her back to the balcony, she couldn’t see the man who technically had been her husband for the last five months, but her skin tingled.
He was watching.
“Welcome to The Blue Creek!” She addressed the crowd and they cheered. “It might be cold and snowy outside, but it’s hot in here. And while the band is taking a well-earned break, I think it’s time we raise the heat!”
Ignoring the surprised looks from her waitresses, Racy waved to the girls who made up the dance team. The cheers from the crowd grew when they joined her on the bar. “It’s time for a down-home boot stomping!”
The music started and Racy fell into the familiar steps. She dipped and stomped and grabbed Willie’s tattered straw cowboy hat, plopping it right on her head.
Exaggerating the curve of her hips, she turned to face the shadowed balcony, the hat low over her eyes to conceal the direction of her stare. The short end of the bar was hers alone and she made good use of the space.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as she pictured Gage’s blue eyes turning a stormy indigo like they did when he got angry. Or turned on. It was part of the ever-growing collection of memories that continued to haunt her.
One of her favorites was the two of them on the dance floor. Their bodies so close she felt the outline of every hard muscle. His hands clenched her hips as she moved against him, never breaking eye contact. Song after song, until he pulled her off the dance floor and into a dark alcove. The width of his shoulders blocked the outside world, the wide brim of his Stetson created a private canopy as he pressed her against the wall with a kiss that stole her breath.
The music ended and the bar erupted in thunderous applause. Racy bowed, and blamed the wild beating of her heart on the dancing as she handed Willie back his hat.
“Let’s hear it for the Blue Creek Belles!” She huffed into the microphone, pushing the words past her dry throat.
One down. One to go.
“Ya’ll enjoy that?” She was rewarded with cheers while her girls got down from the bar. “I bet ya’ll have worked up a mighty thirst. I know I did.”
She motioned to Jackie, who recognized the hand signal. Seconds later, a shot glass filled with a golden liquid was handed to her. To the crowd it was tequila. To Racy it was ice-cold apple juice and not nearly enough to quench her thirst.
She tossed it back, took a deep breath and, for a moment, questioned if she was doing the right thing.
But she couldn’t back out now.
Gage knew what was coming.
Hell, he was still trying to recover from her dancing. Every bump and grind of her hips brought back to life the hours he’d spent with her. The same red waves he’d buried his face in flew over her shoulders and skimmed across her naked back. The dark blue fringe of her top brushed against the toned stomach he’d covered in a trail of wet kisses.
It had been years since she’d danced with the girls, but she still had the moves. Moves he was intimately familiar with. It wasn’t until the music stopped that he managed to get his breathing under control. Now she was going to—
Racy held up the empty glass. “Anyone else want one?”
She laughed when the crowd shouted in agreement and surged forward. Gage immediately sought out his sister. Relief filled his chest when he found her against the back wall with another waitress and one of the bouncers.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Racy’s singsong voice called out over the crowd, pulling Gage’s attention back to her. “Seeing how my tip jar is getting low, I think we need a special….”
The regulars in the crowd knew what was coming and roared their approval.
Damn, it was getting warm in here. Gage yanked down the zipper of his bomber jacket, desire tightening his chest.
“Now, what I need is a very thirsty cowboy, but not just any cowboy.” I need someone with all the right moves … who is willing to part with his money!” Racy held aloft the empty shot glass. “The going rate for a Racy Special is one hundred dollars. Do I have any takers?”
Despite the absurd price, there were plenty of men willing to part with their cash. When word spread just what a Racy Special included, even more hands shot into the air.
He couldn’t believe she was still pulling this stunt.
“So many choices.” Racy dropped her voice to a throaty rumble. “The tall, dark and handsome stranger in the back.” She waved at a man who moved through the crowd toward the bar. Gage zeroed in on him, noting he was everything Racy said. “You got the cash, honey?”
The man smiled and held up a hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. Gage caught something familiar in his face. Did he know this guy?
“What’s your name, sugar?” Racy asked, taking the money and making a show of tucking it into the deep V of her top.
“Chase.” The man’s deep voice carried over the microphone.
“You’re not one of our locals, Chase,” Racy said. “Don’t tell me you’re a University of Wyoming Cowboy?”
Racy’s question brought more cheers as the band broke into “Ragtime Cowboy Joe,” the university fight song. The University of Wyoming in Laramie was less than an hour’s drive south, and The Blue Creek was a favorite among the college crowd.
“It’s a few years since my college days,” the man said when Racy stuck the microphone under his nose again. “I’m from Texas.”
“Oh, Texas … love that Southern drawl.”
Gage thought he was going to puke.
“Okay, let’s give a paying customer some room.” Racy waved away the bar patrons, who moved back into the crowd, taking their drinks with them. She traded her empty shot glass for one filled to the brim, then slowly turned to face the cowboy.
“That’s it?” he asked, looking up at her on the bar.
“Oh, no, I’m not done with you yet.”
Gage’s gut tightened into a painful knot.
Racy backed up and crooked her finger, motioning the cowboy to join her. He grinned and easily climbed up on the scarred wood surface.
From this angle, Gage couldn’t see the man’s expression, but he could imagine what he was thinking with almost six feet of toned, sexy female standing right there in front of him.
“Now, sweeties, you hold on to me while I hold on to this,” Racy said, before handing off the microphone and raising the shot glass over her head.
Gage’s hands curled into fists as the crowd roared its approval when the music started again.
Racy once again put her arsenal of bumps and grinds to good use as the cowboy took her in his arms in a modified two-step. She didn’t spill a drop while they moved in a timeless rhythm that would’ve been blatantly sexual if they’d been horizontal.
A hot jolt of something he refused to label raced through Gage’s veins as he watched. A rush of pent-up air escaped his lips when the music finally ended and the crowd applauded.
Racy spoke but he couldn’t hear her words as the cheering grew louder when the cowboy nodded. She motioned to the bar where a saltshaker and wedge of lime sat on a small tray. With one hand on his shoulder, she directed the cowboy to his knees.
“Now, a Racy S-special isn’t just a s-shot of Mexican blue agave tequila reposado.”
Her voice shook as she spoke, the crowd now hushed. “To do this properly you need the right inducements.”
Gage mentally nailed his boots to the floor. It took every ounce of his willpower not to march downstairs and yank her ass off the bar. What the hell was she trying to prove? Hadn’t she learned—
Wait, did she just look up at him?
She pulled in a deep breath, her voice strong again as she swung her long curls off the face with a practiced toss of her head. “Let me demonstrate. The rest of you are welcome to watch so you can try this in the privacy of your own home.”
Taking the saltshaker from the cowboy’s outstretched hand, she raised her left wrist to her mouth. Gage could’ve sworn she was staring right at him as her tongue left a damp path on her skin. She then held the arm and sprinkled salt over the area.
Moving closer, she balanced her salt-encrusted arm on his shoulder and held the shot glass inches from his mouth. Piercing whistles and catcalls raced through the crowd.
“Don’t make me laugh, ya’ll, can’t spill good booze.” Racy addressed the crowd before turning her attention back to the cowboy. “Okay, sugar. You’re welcome to take your shot whenever you’re ready.”
Again, her gaze lifted to her overhead lights. No, that wasn’t right. She was staring up at the balcony. At him.
The cowboy remained still for a long moment. Then he rose, ignoring her salt-covered skin and tossing the lime over his shoulder. Leaning forward, he captured the shot glass with his mouth, tipped his head back and downed the booze in one swallow before releasing the glass into his hand.
The crowd cheered and the band went live with a rocking country song when the cowboy lifted Racy’s hand to his mouth and kissed it before jumping back to the floor.
Gage found himself torn between respect for the guy and the urge to tear the man’s heart out of his chest.
Lucky bastard.
Racy tried to concentrate on the computer screen. Chase Cartwright’s words, whispered before he’d jumped off the bar, still rang in her ears. At first, she’d had no idea what he was talking about. Then he’d winked and said if she needed any help making her guy jealous, he’d be in town for a couple of weeks.
Her guy? Yeah, right.
She’d mumbled thanks and spent the rest of the night trying to justify to herself why she’d done it. Had it been worth it? She wasn’t sure Gage had seen her performance. Keeping an eye out for him the rest of the night had produced nothing. If he was in the bar, he’d managed to stay hidden.
Until closing time.
She and Max had decided to close up an hour early due to a surprise snowstorm predicted to accumulate several inches. After the staff had cleaned up, Gina had given her a hug goodbye. Racy had quickly picked up that she was upset.
When she had pressed, thinking it was job related, Gina had said her jailer was waiting to take her home. Powerless not to, she’d looked and found Gage’s hard stare directed at her.
Too far away to see his eyes, his clenched jaw and his arms folded over his chest told her either he’d indeed witnessed her entire act or he was still pissed about his sister working here.
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