During their lessons, she’d gotten the impression he didn’t like her much. “Um.” Her voice came out rough. “Thank you.”
He did like her. She was making friends. She gave them a bigger smile.
* * *
Having finally taken a bar stool, Gabe listened as Brooke waxed eloquent about putting on a three-day music festival. Her plans were too elaborate, especially since even a one-day would be a tough sell with some of the townspeople.
But she had good ideas, and the resort’s participation would be beneficial.
He’d insist the festival be held in Rescue, though, not at McNally’s ski area. If the town blocked off Sweetgale in front of the park, they could set up booths in the street. They’d have to figure out what would draw the city people, though.
Audrey would have ideas. Turning, Gabe spotted her as she headed toward the bar. He’d caught glimpses of her earlier, but she hadn’t joined him, which seemed odd.
It’d taken a while to convince Miss Shyness, but she’d come to realize he valued her hugs. Her kisses. Now, she’d always greet him and grab a hug. But not tonight?
He frowned. Maybe she was avoiding someone? He glanced to his right and…
Shit.
In the crowded bar area, bodies were constantly jostling, and he hadn’t paid any attention to the way Brooke was jammed up against his side. If Audrey had pressed against him like that, he’d have damn well noticed—and gotten a hard-on—but he didn’t view Brooke in that way. Because of their history, she wasn’t even a friend—more like a business acquaintance.
Considering how Brooke behaved, Audrey might have gotten the wrong notion.
Even as he started to stand to move away from Brooke, someone growled, “MacNair.”
Gabe turned.
Knox shoved through the three-deep crowd around the bar. His stance was belligerent, jaw shoved out. He looked Brooke up and down, and then glared at Gabe. “That pretty blonde waitress, Audrey…I got lots of friends who’re interested. I take it she’s free?”
“Fuck no.” The words were out before Gabe even thought—but he’d spoken the truth.
Brooke leaned against him again. Yeah, he needed to deal with her. What was her problem?
“Good.” Knox glanced at Brooke and scowled. “Our librarian looked a tad downhearted.”
Oh, hell. The thought of hurting Audrey was a stab in the chest. He should have been more aware…of everything.
Before he could deal with Brooke, Audrey stepped out from behind Knox and thumped her tray of empties onto the bar to Gabe’s left. “I’m not downhearted.”
At Knox’s disbelieving sound, she shook her head and gave him a wry I’m-okay smile.
“All right then.” Knox nodded at her, shot Gabe another glare, and moved back into the crowd.
* * *
Next to the bar, Audrey watched Knox saunter away, realizing he did like her. Her smile faded as she saw that Brooke still clung to Gabe. That hurt like an ugly tearing around her heart.
And yet…
Gabe had said Audrey wasn’t free. Emphatically said it. That discrepancy needed examination.
Biting her lip, she studied Gabe.
His gaze was on Audrey, his body turned toward her. His knees pointed away from Brooke. One arm was on the bar, the other holding his beer.
When Brooke gripped his arm, he turned to give her a disgusted look. “Stop it.”
He wasn’t…into…Brooke.
Brooke was the one doing all the flirting and touching. But what man would object to that? Brooke was gorgeous. Vivacious. Knew everyone.
I can’t compete with her.
A loving relationship wasn’t a sports competition. In the beginning, it was…a taste test, like deciding upon a flavor in the ice cream store. Cherry, vanilla, and hazelnut were good, but given a choice, she wanted chocolate.
Brooke might have been the right ice cream for a younger Gabe, but he wasn’t interested in her now.
Unfortunately, the woman wasn’t getting the message. As Audrey watched—probably because Audrey was watching—Brooke draped herself on Gabe again.
Oh, honestly. Audrey crossed her arms over her chest. “Brooke, you’re giving the sisterhood a bad name. Hitting on someone’s boyfriend, right in front of her? Seriously? That’s just weird and…needy. Do you really mean to come across like that?”
Brooke gasped as if she’d been slapped, and she snatched her hands from Gabe’s arm.
A mutter came from somewhere back in the very interested crowd. “She’s always doing that. No man is safe.”
Audrey’s mouth was too dry. Her mother had taught her how ugly confrontations could get. But still... She glanced around and raised her voice slightly. “I’m sure Brooke doesn’t understand that she’s upsetting the sisterhood. For my part, I’ll help by letting her know when she missteps again.”
“Good plan.”
“I like it.”
A chorus of agreement came from nearby women along with suppressed laughter from the men.
Face a dusky red, Brooke sat back on her bar stool, leaving space between her and Gabe. Acting as if she didn’t see Audrey, she picked up her drink. Probably no one had ever called her on her behavior before.
Audrey realized her own face was hot. Had she really just done that?
This probably wasn’t what Lillian had in mind when she’d told Audrey to participate in conversations.
Smiling, Gabe pulled Audrey between his knees. “Thank you, sweetheart. I appreciate the help.”
Behind him, Brooke looked shocked. “B-but, Gabe.”
Gabe ran his hands up and down Audrey’s arms, before turning to look at Brooke. “I’d already told you, but I’ll repeat. We had ourselves some fun years ago, and it ended years ago. Done and over.”
“But, I know you want me. You talked to me and—”
Audrey’s anger was dying. Maybe the woman truly was that clueless. She stepped into her librarian-teaching mode. “Brooke.”
Brooke looked over.
“Have you talked with guys and they immediately assume you want to go to bed? They’ll get all pushy and try to manhandle you?”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “Oh, have I.”
“Uh-huh. You’re behaving the same way as those men, you know.”
Such an indignant stare. “I am not.”
“You thought Gabe wanted you merely because he was talking with you. Well, I’m talking to you. Does that mean I want to go to bed with you?”
Brooke almost gasped. “No!”
“Exactly. Just because a man talks with you, doesn’t mean he’s interested in anything other than conversation. You need to learn the body language—the man-signals—that guys display if they want more than conversation. Because if you ignore those signals, you’re just as bad as the male stalkers you hate so much.”
The woman blinked, and then, surprisingly, sat back…and nodded.
All right, then. As Audrey tried to move away, Gabe pulled her closer, his knees closing on her hips. “I like you right here, little cheechako,” he murmured.
Her exasperated huff made him laugh.
He curled his fingers around her waist and whispered, “Nice job with Brooke.”
Maybe. Audrey might have been less aggressive if she’d realized how oblivious the woman was. “Thanks. Um, am I liable to run into a lot more ex-girlfriends?”
“Not here in Rescue. I only came here to visit Mako.”
That was an interesting qualifier—here in Rescue. Was the rest of the world littered with Gabe’s old girlfriends?
Catching her narrowed eyes, he raised his hands in pseudo-self-defense. “I’m not that bad, Goldie, not like Caz. One divorce in my early twenties—I believed in fidelity; she didn’t. A few girlfriends since. No one at all in the last couple of years.”
“Oh.” He’d been married. Well, considering all that was Gabriel, she wasn’t surprised in the least.
He certainly had been more forthright than she’d
expected. “Thank you?”
He lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“You want quid pro quo?” Didn’t that just figure?
“Well, yeah.” His fingers were gentle as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’ll settle for marriages, the last important relationship, and why it didn’t work.”
This would sure be easier with alcohol. But fair was fair. She was the one who’d introduced the subject. “No marriages. Last relationship a few months ago.” She drew an unhappy breath. “He wanted someone more outgoing. Someone more like Brooke.”
“Really? What an idiot.”
The sincerity in his tone warmed her. Then she winced. Had Brooke heard what she said? What Gabe had said?
She glanced over and was relieved to see the woman had left.
A man had taken the barstool. His appreciative stare made her flush.
With a menacing growl, Gabe leaned down and took her lips.
Oh, the way he kissed. Gently, firmly, teasing, taking.
When he finished, he ran his knuckles over her hot cheek. “That was another kind of man-signal, by the way.”
“Mmm…” Her brain started to come out of the clouds. “What? What signal?”
“The one that tells other men I’ll bust their faces if they touch what’s mine.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Watch your six, boys. Always watch your six. ~ First Sergeant Michael “Mako” Tyne”
* * *
Gabe finished the never-ending police paperwork and glanced at the clock. Outside, the sun was still up—of course—but it was well past time to leave. At least Baumer wasn’t around. Since Audrey had heard the asshole scaremongering two weeks ago, the officer hadn’t done anything out of line, at least nothing Gabe had caught on camera.
Hell, Baumer wasn’t doing much of anything, in fact. He was a lazy bastard. He rarely did foot patrols, preferring to sit in comfort in the office or cruise the roads. During his shifts, he exerted only enough effort to keep from getting chewed out.
Made for an uncomfortable working environment. Politics or not, Gabe would give Baumer the boot before the man’s probation period ended.
Rising, Gabe stretched.
The library was closed on Thursdays, so Audrey was already at home. Last night, they’d picked the first strawberries from the Hermitage garden, and she wanted to try making strawberry shortcake from scratch.
His mouth watered. They had fresh asparagus and snap peas. Caz had fished yesterday and caught a salmon. But…strawberry shortcake to top it all off?
Over the past week, the city girl had dived into catching and growing her own food. She was an excellent cook, insisting that cooking was a simple matter of finding a good recipe and proper adherence to the details.
He smiled. Her personality was a fascinating mixture of brilliance and logic and enthusiasm and compassion.
Since last week when he’d made clear that they were together, she’d relaxed into their fling. She was pretty much living in his house.
And he wanted to get home to her.
Regina had left a couple of hours before and locked the building’s front door. Gabe latched the station’s inner door and secured the gun-safe.
At the back, he opened the door and glanced outside. Two cars remained in the parking lot. No people.
Taking a step out the door, he heard an indrawn breath. A scrape.
Instinct took over. He dove forward…and the blow aimed at his head struck his shoulder.
He front-rolled to his feet, spun, and drew his Glock. A baseball bat hit his hand and knocked the weapon to the ground. Someone kicked it across the lot.
Knuckles burning, Gabe assessed the situation.
Five men. They must’ve been hidden against the side of the building. All wore ski masks. All carried weapons. One baseball bat, one club, brass knuckles, two had knives.
All five charged.
Jesus. He dodged a club, gripped the guy’s wrist, and punched. As the elbow joint fractured, the man screamed. Gabe grabbed the club for his own, whirled—and caught a fist in the forehead. Ignoring the blast of pain, he ducked the swinging baseball bat and slammed the club into a knife-wielder’s knee.
Bellowing, that bastard went down.
A long burn seared Gabe’s upper back. The other knifeman had cut him.
With a dive and roll, Gabe broke free of the ring of men. Regaining his feet, he swiped away the blood impairing his vision.
Three left.
Gabe’s head and shoulder hurt. The bleeding from the knife wound was more urgent. He needed to finish this up.
As baseball bat guy charged, the other two attacked from the flanks. Ah, hell, they were coordinating their movements.
Gabe kicked one in the gut, but the bat caught him a blow on the head. Skull exploding with pain, he fell to his knees.
At a glint of metal, he threw up an arm barely in time to block the descending knife. Viciously, he punched the man’s vulnerable inner thigh.
With a shout of pain, the guy staggered back.
Growling, Baseball bat guy lunged forward—and suddenly yelled and spun to face the other way.
Gabe blinked. A knife stuck out of the man’s upper back.
With a shout of pain, the guy ripped the knife out and whipped around. The man took a step back, the blade dropped to the ground, and he sprinted away.
All of the assholes were running, one helping the man with a fractured knee. A vehicle revved its engine farther down the alley. They had an escape car waiting.
Head still spinning, Gabe sucked in air. He’d move in a minute. Yeah, a minute.
Caz sauntered over.
Fuck, that’d been close. “Thanks, bro.”
“No problemo.” Caz gave him a gleaming white grin. “You’d have managed the last two. The cabrón with the knife didn’t know which end was the pointy one.”
After accepting a hand up, Gabe looked over his shoulder. Blood covered his back. “I’d say he found the pointy end, thanks.”
Chuckling, Caz scooped up his knife. “Come, viejo. I happen to run a clinic with all sorts of nice bandaging materials.”
“There’s a plan.” After picking his Glock out of the gravel, Gabe scowled. “Dammit, I’m going to be late for supper.”
Audrey sang along with Green Day’s “21 Guns” as she measured out brown rice. The asparagus was cut and ready to steam. A salad was in the fridge. The salmon was prepared to go in the toaster oven to be broiled.
Everything waited for Gabe’s arrival.
Lillian had talked about being with a cop because the Brit had once dated a sheriff. Audrey grinned. Of course, she had. The woman embraced and sampled life with an enviable vigor. In an ice cream shop, Lillian was the type to ask for a taste of every flavor.
But from painful experience, Lillian had advised Audrey a law enforcement officer’s life wasn’t his own. He wouldn’t always be home on time or even be able to call and say he’d be late.
Audrey shook her head. Not a problem. She could make flexible-timed meals. And she was old enough to eat if she got hungry before he returned.
Twenty minutes later, she heard the garage door rise. His footsteps sounded in the hallway.
She stiffened. Gabe was normally so silent that he could be behind her before she sensed him, and he’d learned to speak to warn her before his touch warmed her skin.
The heavy thud of footsteps was out of character.
Worried, she hurried into the living room. “Gabe?”
He stepped out of the hallway.
His eyes held a cold darkness like a stark winter’s night. A gauze pad was taped on his forehead. Purple bruising showed around it. The lines in his face had deepened, roughening his face. He moved stiffly, without his usual smooth, prowling grace.
That wasn’t the khaki shirt he’d worn this morning.
She ran across the room and skidded to a stop in front of him. “Where are you hurt? How bad is it? You should go to a hospital. I’ll take
you. Just let me get my purse. Show me where—”
“Sweetheart.” His eyes lightened. “I caught some damage, but nothing major.” As if to prove it, he drew her into his arms.
Yes, that was what she’d needed, although even as she breathed him in, her hands ran over his torso. The front seemed all right.
There was a big pad on his upper back under the shirt. Oh, God. “Tell me the damage. Now.”
“You saw my face. Got a few bruises. A slice on my back. And I got hit on the head—just a lump—but I do have a headache. Don’t worry. Caz stitched me up and gave me a once-over.”
He’d be all right. He would. She rubbed her cheek against his solid chest.
He chuckled, curved his fingers under her ass, and squeezed lightly. “After a fight like that, I’d’ve liked to screw the Goldilocks who’s sleeping in my bed, but…headache.”
A sputter of amusement hit her at his disgruntled tone. Yes, he was all right. “You sit down, and I’ll get some aspirin. No, I’ll get Tylenol. That’ll be safer if you’re bleeding.”
Smiling, he lifted her chin and bent to kiss her. “You are a miracle, sweetheart. Thank you.”
She got him on the sectional and medicated, then lost the argument about no beer after injuries.
As she passed him the bottle, she felt a cold chill in her bones. Even though he wasn’t badly hurt, he was awfully banged-up. Too banged-up.
Bull and Caz had often told stories about their brawling. Bull won by sheer size alone, Caz was never without a knife, Hawk was a berserker. In spite of their talents, they said Gabe won most of the fights because he was just that good of a fighter. She’d seen the efficient way he’d taken Knox down—and how unworried Bull had been.
She frowned. “Were you attacked by more than one?”
After a sip of beer, he eyed her. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m not stupid. I bet you wouldn’t be this hurt if you’d fought only one man. How many were there?”
When he didn’t answer, she tilted her chin up. He wouldn’t win this argument.
“Five.”
No way. She stared at him in mingled awe and horror. Five.
Not a Hero Page 25