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“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.
