Borrowing Trouble

by Stacy Finz

  That’s why this thing with him and Sloane couldn’t go too far. As soon as he felt confident that she was safe, he’d back off. It was for the best in more ways than one. Sloane hadn’t said it, but it was obvious that she wanted what they had to go further. And he didn’t do long-term. Not with a woman. Not with much of anything. Working at Pig and Tangelo had been his longest commitment on record.

  “Let’s hope,” he replied, and jogged down the steps. “You up for the fire trail loop?”

  “I am if you are.” She took off in front of him.

  “You gonna tell me about your day?”

  “We heard from the state’s forensic anthropologist,” she called over her shoulder, and slowed down to tell him what they’d learned and about their theory that John Doe could be connected to Nugget’s November crime spree.

  “Makes sense,” he said.

  “Rhys totally stood up for me today. You should’ve seen how he took on this hotshot lawyer guy. It was awesome.”

  “About the John Doe?” Brady was confused.

  “No. I’m jumbling my stories. Sorry. I told you about Rose, right?”

  “The kid with the pepper spray.”

  “Yep. Well, the other girl’s father came in today to complain that we hadn’t sent Rose to San Quentin.” Brady laughed. “Yeah, can you believe it? Anyway, he’s chief counsel for the Silver Luck Resort in Reno but moved here for the safe schools. And he really came on strong with Rhys, who I thought for sure would cater to him. But I was wrong. First he told the guy that we were running a pilot program for at-risk teens—just pulled that one out of nowhere. Then, in the nicest way imaginable, he told the guy to go screw himself.”

  “I don’t know why you’re surprised.” Brady ran backwards. “Everyone knows that Rhys doesn’t take crap. He’s got a reputation for being a fair chief, but if you try to push him around, he pushes back. I also get the impression that when he was a kid he and his old man were the town outcasts. So perhaps he identifies with Rose.”

  “She’s really a sweet girl. She tries to act apathetic, but you can tell that she’s eager to please. I get the impression that her mother is so busy trying to keep a roof over her family’s head that she doesn’t have a lot of time for Rose.”

  “What about the father?”

  “No father, just a super creepy brother named Skeeter.” She made a face.

  “Hey, don’t make fun. Where I come from there were lots of Skeeters.”

  “What’s it a nickname for?”

  She was short of breath so he slowed down. “Mosquito.”

  “Get out. Seriously?”

  “Yup. You know, like a pest. Skeeter.” He went heavy on his South Carolina accent to give her the full flavor.

  Her lips curved up. “You ready to go back?”

  “Sure. Sloane, did you talk to Rhys about the text and Roger Buck?”

  “I did. He wanted his friend in Houston to try to trace the text and go to LAPD internal affairs. I asked him not to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it would only make it worse. I haven’t received any more messages, and the more I think about it, the more I’m sure that it wasn’t Buck who I saw. But if Rhys goes to IA the harassment will start all over again.”

  Brady was quiet for a few seconds. Honestly, he had no clue about what to do in a situation like this. But he didn’t like the idea of these guys getting away with menacing Sloane the way they had. Hell, he didn’t like the idea that they were allowed to wear badges—and carry guns.

  “Okay,” he finally said. “But let’s continue to be vigilant.”

  She tacitly agreed and they ran the rest of the way home in silence. When they got back, Sloane bent over and put her head between her knees. Brady did a few quad stretches.

  “You should go inside before you catch a chill in those shorts.”

  She nodded, still trying to catch her breath. “You’re in really good shape.”

  He shrugged. “My legs are twice as long as yours.”

  “You’re not competitive in the least, are you?”

  “Not with you.” He tugged her against him and kissed her. “Want to take a shower?”

  She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward her apartment.

  “Hang on a sec. Let me get some clothes.”

  “Okay, but hurry.”

  Damn, he liked her. Inside, he grabbed his shaving kit, boxers, socks, sweatshirt, a pair of jeans, and the cowboy boots Tawny had made him. He didn’t feel like cooking tonight and decided to see if Sloane was game for the Indian restaurant in Glory Junction.

  Once in her apartment, he could hear the water running and picked up the pace. She was washing herself when he got in, letting the spray from the showerhead sluice over her. He took the washcloth and slowly soaped up her breasts. Sloane leaned the back of her head against the tile and moaned.

  “Good?” he murmured in her ear as he moved the cloth down her body.

  “So good.”

  He kissed her neck and then her shoulders while he sponged her belly and moved the washrag between her legs. She gasped and he smiled.

  “You okay?”

  “Never been better.” She spread wider to give him more access and he pushed the ridge of his erection against her stomach while he brought her to orgasm with his hands, rubbing the terrycloth against her sensitive nub.

  “More?”

  “God, yes,” she pleaded.

  He reached outside the shower and fumbled around in his shaving kit until he found what he wanted and had the condom on in less than five seconds. Then he turned her around, told her to grip the wall, and made love to her until the water turned cold and they could no longer stand. Brady carried her to the bed where they lay in each other’s arms, recovering.

  “I’m excited about this restaurant,” Sloane said.

  “Then I guess you better get up.”

  “Ugh,” she groaned, and he playfully slapped her bottom so they could get a move on.

  She padded across the floor and rifled through her closet for something to wear. Brady enjoyed the way she unabashedly moved around naked. Not too many women he’d known did that.

  “You don’t have to dress up, Sloane. It’s still the Sierra.” He forced himself to get up too, and started putting on the clothes he’d brought.

  “I know, but I want to. I feel like all I ever wear anymore is my uniform or exercise outfits.” She pulled a black dress out of her closet and moved to her chest of drawers to find the right underthings.

  He watched her shimmy into a black thong. “Nice.”

  She did a little stripper dance for him while she put on the matching bra.

  “You’re supposed to take it off, not put it on.” He grinned. It scared him how much he liked her. “Hey, that time we didn’t use a condom . . . we okay on that?”

  “We’re fine,” she said.

  Sloane rubbed lotion on her legs and slid into the dress. Holy Mother of God, she looked good.

  “Those are gorgeous.” She pointed at his cowboy boots. “I assume Tawny made them.”

  “Yup.” He pulled them on.

  “She copied the design of your tattoo—the fork and knife. Tell me the truth, did you guys used to have a thing?”

  “Nope. She’s always had a thing for Lucky.”

  “But you would’ve if she hadn’t?”

  “Who can say? But it was never like that. I count her as one of my best friends here . . . anywhere. She’s good people and so is Lucky.”

  “The other day when I met him at his cowboy camp, he said that Tawny had told him all about me. You know what that’s about?”

  He grabbed her around the waist and bent her backwards for a kiss. “Can we go? I’m starved and it’ll take a half hour to get there.”

  “Let me just dry my hair and put on some makeup.”

  “You don’t need makeup.”

  But she put some on anyway. Finally they got in Brady’s van and made their way to the resort town. Fifteen
minutes into the drive, Brady pulled onto a side road that wended around a lake, the mountainside dotted with matching cabins.

  “Where are we going?” Sloane asked, peering out the window at the view.

  “This is Nate and Maddy’s new acquisition—Gold Mountain. When they’re done with the rehab, it’ll be awesome.”

  “I think it’s awesome now. Is it a resort or something?”

  “Yeah. The same families rent the cabins summer after summer. Nate’s winterizing them to take advantage of ski season . . . if we ever have snow again. They’re also planning to put in a casual restaurant. I’m working on that with them.”

  “Will you cook for it?”

  “Nah,” he said. “We’re talking really simple dishes. Sandwiches, pizzas, hamburgers, and hot dogs. Stuff people can take out and bring to the lake or the pool or eat at picnic tables inside the restaurant—a glorified hamburger joint, except we’ll serve beer and wine for the adults.”

  “So where do you come in?” Sloane asked.

  He loved how she was genuinely interested. “I’ll do the business plan, design the menu, and come up with the recipes.”

  “The business plan? What does that entail?”

  “Coming up with a concept, which is pretty much what I just described. Determining profit margins, that sort of thing. A lot of people are under the impression that restaurants make bank, when in fact there is very little markup on food. The money is in volume and liquor sales. That’s why I’m trying to design a menu where they can do lots of turnover.”

  “You know how to do all that?”

  “Yep. That’s what executive chefs and restaurateurs do.”

  “So you did that at Pig and Tangelo?”

  “Me and the owner, who didn’t know dick about running a restaurant. Just thought it would be cool to have a place where he and his friends could hang out.”

  She continued to stare out the window. “This is totally the kind of place my family would go in the summer. Sometimes we took vacations at Table Rock Lake near Branson, Missouri. They were the best.”

  “I think the Breyers are on to something here. The place needs a lot of work. But when it’s finished it’s gonna be a beaut—and a moneymaker.”

  Brady got back on the highway. “I wanted to show you while there was still daylight.”

  “I’m glad you did. How soon until they open?”

  “Nate hopes that it’ll be done by summer, since the place is already booked out. He doesn’t like losing money.”

  “Is it true that he owns nine other hotels?”

  “Yep. He’s a helluva businessman, and between him, Sam, and Maddy, the best bosses I’ve ever had.”

  “But wouldn’t you like to go back to being your own boss?” she asked.

  “At some point.”

  As they pulled into Glory Junction, Sloane sighed.

  “What’s that about?”

  “It’s so freaking cute here.”

  Brady found a parking space on Main, a cobblestone street flanked on both sides by cutesy shops with old-time wooden signs that catered to tourists. The town was at the bottom of five ski resorts and had lifts and gondolas going up and down the mountainside, with skiers and snowboarders in the winter and mountain bikers in the summer.

  The Glory River and a boardwalk with concession stands bordered the western side. Picturesque as hell, but Brady preferred Nugget. When the skiing was good here, the place was awash with people and cars. Same thing in the summer, when the weekenders and sightseers came to take advantage of the rivers and lakes. Sometimes the traffic was so bad you couldn’t move.

  “What time do you think the stores close?” Sloane asked.

  Brady pretended to look at his watch. “Now.”

  She smacked his shoulder playfully. “Let’s just take a quick peek. Look, there’s a cooking store over there.”

  Brady had seen it during his many ski visits. Filled with overpriced pots and pans and ridiculous gadgets, like chocolate fountains and snow-cone makers. He let Sloane drag him inside, and for her sake feigned interest in the shelves covered with salad bowls, pewter servers, and ceramic dishes. She painstakingly looked at everything, which he found cute. Sloane might be a kickass cop, but she was also a girlie girl.

  Their next stop was a fudge shop—more Brady’s speed. He bought them each a piece for after dinner. Sloane found a place that sold furniture, which had a couple of Colin’s pieces. They talked to the owner for a while and Sloane bought cushions for her rocker. He put them in the van while she hit a couple more stores. Eventually, Brady found her in a combination gift and clothing boutique, trying on furry boots.

  “They’re on sale,” she said. “And I don’t have any.”

  He didn’t bother to tell her that winter was almost over. In his experience women weren’t that practical. To them “sale” was the magic word. The store had a nice plump chair, so Brady made himself comfortable. He figured they’d be there for a while.

  “What do you think?” She stood in front of the mirror examining the boots.

  “They’re nice.”

  “But do you think they’ll go with enough of my clothes?”

  The saleswoman saw him struggling to answer and took pity, ticking off about twenty things that would work well with the boots.

  “All right, I’ll take them.” Sloane went to the cash register, paid, and pulled him out of the chair. “Let’s eat.”

  The Indian place was up a side street and owned by a nice couple. The wife immediately recognized Brady, greeted him with a big hug, and escorted them to a private table.

  “You must come a lot.” Sloane perused the menu.

  “Occasionally while I’m here skiing.”

  “I always wondered why you never invited me.”

  “To go skiing or to eat here?”

  “Since there hasn’t been any snow, at least to eat,” Sloane said. “You were a bit standoffish in the beginning.”

  “What? Are you used to men falling at your feet?” He grinned at her. Truthfully she probably was. Smart, beautiful, charming, athletic, self-sufficient. A man’s dream woman.

  “No. But I thought we could be friends.”

  “And so we are. What are you getting?”

  “I don’t know. What do you recommend?”

  He looked down at the menu. “You want to share a few entrées and get a couple of side dishes?”

  “That sounds like a lot of food,” she said.

  “So? We can take home what we don’t eat.”

  She leaned across the table. “I like the way you think. Growing up in an Irish household, you either cleaned your plate or were tortured with stories about the potato famine.”

  He laughed and proceeded to order half the menu. When her eyes grew big, Brady said, “This is the way food people do it.”

  She held up her arms in surrender. “Works for me.”

  As it turned out, they took the bulk of it home, which was fine with him. He’d be so busy preparing for Jake and Cecilia’s wedding that living off leftovers for a few days would save him from more cooking.

  “I want to make you dinner Thursday night,” Sloane said as he slowed down to take a curve. “I have the day off. But will the timing be bad?”

  “Hard to say.” He watched for deer crossing the road. With the dry weather there were even more of them coming down from the mountains, looking for water. It was not unusual for a mother and her babies to dart out onto the highway. “I’ve got a couple of people helping me with prep, but they aren’t trained cooks. Let’s see how it goes between now and then.”

  “If you can’t, I won’t take the day off. I’ll save it for another time when I can make you dinner.”

  He put his hand on her leg. “You gonna dance with me at the wedding?”

  “Are you as good a dancer as you are everything else?” In the faint light he could see her smiling.

  “I’m not much of one, no. But for you I’ll kick it up a notch.”

  Sl
oane wound up working Thursday since Brady was swamped. But Friday she took off. Darla had promised to do her hair for the rehearsal dinner. Apparently Maddy, Emily, and Donna had had the same idea.

  “Hey, Sloane,” the women chimed in unison as she entered the barbershop.

  “Hi, everyone.” She grabbed one of the plastic chairs and joined the party.

  “Make sure this’ll last through tomorrow night,” Donna told Darla, who was setting her hair in fat curlers. “I’m not coming in twice.”

  “It’ll be fine as long as you don’t get it wet.” Darla finished and pushed Donna under a drier and stuck a magazine in her face.

  She signaled for Maddy to jump in her chair. Snapping a cape around her, Darla went to the back of the shop to mix her highlight color.

  “You doing Cecilia’s hair?” Donna called to her.

  “Not for the rehearsal. She’s wearing it loose. But I’m giving her an updo for the wedding. Now there’s a woman with beautiful hair.” Darla returned with a box of square foils and a bowl of color.

  “You saying that we don’t have beautiful hair?” With a quick glance around the room, Donna stuck her chin out at Darla, who was brushing on Maddy’s highlights.

  “Yours is better now that it’s gotten my tender loving care. But no one has hair as healthy as Cecilia’s. Hers is thick and luxurious and she doesn’t even use product—just supermarket crap. She once told me that once a month she slathers it with mayonnaise. That’s it. Even the streaks of gray look good on her.”

  “We don’t have any gray,” Emily said.

  “You, Maddy, and Sloane don’t,” Darla corrected.

  Donna gave her the finger. “What you need, besides respect for your elders, is a manicurist. I could be getting a mani-pedi while sitting here under the drier. Kill two birds with one stone. Then I wouldn’t have to go to Graeagle.”

  Darla let out a sigh. “I’ve been thinking about it, but it’ll take some convincing to get my dad on board. He already thinks I’ve turned this place into a”—she made finger quotes in the air—“hen parlor.”