“This is Ridge Sanders. He works with me at the fire station.”
“You’re a firefighter?” I asked, stunned, and suddenly Foster’s earlier comments came back and made much more sense.
“Yeah, since that night. I had to be. Ridge was actually there that night.”
I nodded. “I remember.” I stuck out my hand. Ridge shook it and looked me in the eye with the same honesty as that night.
“It’s good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too.”
“And this pretty little lady,” Foster said, pointing at Delilah, “is Delilah Moreland. She’s Colt’s sister and Makenna’s best friend. She makes the best—”
“Cookies,” I said, cutting him off.
“Yes!” Foster said. “Have y’all met?”
“I’m staying at the inn. We’ve run into each other.”
“And Tucker accosted him as soon as he saw him,” Delilah said.
I grinned. I liked that kid. It didn’t bother me when he came up to see me, and I liked it even more since I’d met Delilah. But she was a distraction I shouldn’t have right now. My focus needed to be on my mom and making sure that I signed a contract with the Rattlers.
I scanned Delilah from head to toe. She was in skin-tight jeans that hugged every part of her that I wished I could run my hands over. I shook my head, clearing those thoughts. She was with Foster; I couldn’t think of her that way.
“She’s single,” Foster whispered in my ear and then said more loudly, “Let me buy you a drink. Whatcha want?”
I muttered the name of a Texas beer as my gaze connected with Delilah’s. So I’d read the situation wrong. She wasn’t with him, but they were friends. It was weird the way this girl was popping up in all areas of my life.
“Want a shot of tequila, Delilah?” I asked as a grin spread across my face.
She blushed. “You’re not getting any of my secrets tonight, slugger.”
I laughed and moved to stand next to her. “I’ll keep working on it then. You said I just need to buy you some tequila. Want me to buy you a bottle?”
She chuckled and took a sip of her beer. “I’m good with this right here.”
“When did you two meet?” Colt asked as he shoved his way into the small space between us. He hadn’t lost the glare yet, and I wasn’t sure he would anytime soon.
Chapter 11
Delilah
“Why can’t I stay here? I swear I’ll help!”
Tucker collapsed onto the barstool at the kitchen island, and his head fell into his hands. He’d been like this all morning. Frazzled and frustrated that he wasn’t going to be here when Gunner was.
“Do you remember what happened the last time you decided to help me?”
Tucker’s ears turned red, and he grinned slyly before covering them up and giving me his most innocent expression. “That was an accident.”
I snorted. “Putting a handful of marshmallows in the microwave to watch them explode isn’t an accident, Tuck.”
“It was an experiment. I was learning! A hippothis!”
“Hypothesis,” I corrected.
I didn’t believe him for one second. I’d scrubbed the microwave for so long, I’d almost chucked the whole thing in the trash and gone out to buy a new one. I’d scrubbed and scrubbed until every last gooey piece of marshmallow was wiped away.
I wasn’t even using marshmallows that day. He was supposed to help me make meatloaf. What kind of meatloaf needed marshmallows?
“I won’t do that today! I’ll help! I want to be here.”
“You’re going with Uncle Colt and that’s final. You love hanging with Colt.”
“Uncle Colt can help too! Oh, man! He’s going to freak when he finds out who’s over here! Do you think Gunner will get here before him? Can I go across the street and get him? I want to surprise Uncle Colt!”
Gunner wasn’t only Tucker’s favorite baseball player, but Colt’s too. Though based on the permanent glare on his face last week at The Watering Hole, that might change. Once Colt saw Makenna and Gunner knew each other, he wasn’t a happy camper, and it got even worse when Gunner took me out to the dance floor.
I couldn’t believe Makenna knew Gunner. She was private about some parts of her past. I knew all about her childhood and most of her twenties, but there were a few years in high school that she refused to speak about. She’d tucked Tucker into his bed many nights, and it was impossible to miss Gunner’s face on the poster in his room. She’d known and she’d never said anything.
She’d been ducking my calls for the past week. Avoiding the questions I had for her.
The doorbell rang. Tucker launched himself from the barstool, and it skidded across the tile floor. “I got it! I got it! I got it!”
I heard the door bounce off the wall as he flung it open. I winced. And waited to find out which male voice I would hear first.
“Gunner!” Tucker shouted. “Come in! Mom’s in the kitchen.”
“Hey, Tucker.” I heard Gunner say. I’d only known him a few weeks, but I could hear the smile in his voice. A relieved sigh brushed through me. Gunner was the first professional baseball player Tucker had met, and I was glad Gunner hadn’t been an ass to him.
My head popped up, waiting for them to round the corner. Tucker had Gunner’s wrist in his hand as he dragged Gunner behind him. Tucker was speaking so fast I could hardly understand him, but Gunner was smiling and nodding along like he understood every word the kid was saying.
The doorbell rang again. Tucker jumped up and down. “Gunner, can you hide in the pantry?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Do what now?”
“Hide in the pantry.” Tucker opened the door and waited for Gunner to walk inside. Gunner looked at me, and I shrugged while chuckling.
Gunner walked into the pantry. “How long do I have to stay in here?”
“Just for a minute! I’m getting my Uncle Colt. When I say ‘guess what,’ jump out!”
Tucker slammed the door closed in Gunner’s face. “It’s been a long time since I had to hide at a girl’s house,” I heard him mutter.
I clapped a hand over my mouth as I burst out laughing. Tucker and Colt rounded the corner coming into the kitchen. Tucker was practically vibrating, and I prayed that Colt wouldn’t be rude and ruin this moment for him.
“What are you laughing at?” Colt asked, looking around the kitchen, eyeing the TV, which was off, and the phone on the counter, which was facedown.
I shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Uncle Colt!”
“What’s up, kid? Ready to go?”
“If you could meet a baseball player or a rock star, which would you choose?”
“Ballplayer,” Colt said and grinned at his nephew. “Want to go to the park and play?”
“Guess what?” Tucker asked.
Gunner poked his head out of the pantry. “That’s my cue, right?”
Tucker grabbed Gunner’s wrist and dragged him out. “Uncle Colt. Gunner Gentry is here. Gunner. Gentry. Our favorite baseball player.”
“He’s your favorite,” Colt muttered.
“He’s your favorite too,” Tucker said. “Remember when you stayed up late bidding on that auction to get a signed game-used jersey of Gunner’s someone was selling?” Tucker turned toward Gunner. “He lost. Uncle Colt has a man cave with all these jerseys he’s bought. He really, really wanted yours, but some dickwad outbid him.”
“Tucker Ryan Moreland,” I said, placing my hands on my hips. My best mom stance. “Where did you learn that word?”
“Oops,” Tucker said as his eyes slid to Colt.
Colt groaned and lowered his chin to his chest. “Kid, what did I tell you about keeping that between us?”
“You said to never, ever tell Mom what happens when it’s just the two of us. And I can never, ever tell her the cool words you teach me.”
“Didn’t need to be that detailed,” Colt muttered.
“We’re going to talk about this.
” I glared at my brother.
Gunner chuckled. He leaned against the wall behind him, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the three of us. I tore my eyes away from him and focused on Tuck. “Don’t listen to your uncle…unless he’s telling you something you should be doing. That language is something you should not be saying.”
“Mom, can we stay, please?”
“Nope, sorry. Too many cooks in the kitchen.”
Tucker turned toward Gunner. “Can I see you later? Can you come to Thanksgiving at the inn next week?”
He grinned and held out a fist for Tuck to bump. “My mom and I are going to her friend’s house for Thanksgiving next week, but we sure can hang out another time.”
Tucker’s entire being lit up and he nodded.
“Come on,” Colt said and ushered Tucker toward the door. “We’ll be back later.” Colt eyed Gunner on his way out. He’d been overprotective as long as I could remember and hadn’t lost any of it, even as I became an adult. In fact, it might’ve gotten worse when Tuck came into our lives.
Once the front door clicked closed, I asked Gunner, “Ready to get started?”
“Yep, show me what to do, boss.”
Gunner unbuttoned one of the sleeves of his plaid shirt and rolled it to his elbow. His taut forearm distracted me and became the center of my focus as he unbuttoned the other sleeve. I gasped, before I could stop myself, as that arm came into view.
His hand froze in the rolling motion, and he raised his eyes toward mine. A crease formed between his eyebrows as he drew them together and his mouth parted. He cleared his throat. “They’re burns.”
I unconsciously stepped forward with my hand outstretched. I snatched it back when I realized what I was doing. Heat rose in my cheeks, and I covered my mouth with my hands. “Oh my god. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
I faced the counter and started organizing the lasagna ingredients I’d placed on the island. They were already in the order we’d need them, but I needed something to do with my hands. “How’s your mom? Does she like lasagna? Did she ever make it for you as a kid? What’s her favorite dish?”
My back warmed from Gunner’s heat as he stepped in close behind me. His hand brushed down my arm until it covered my hand, stopping me from moving the glassware again. His burned arm was next to mine as he stood behind me, almost flush against my back. I felt the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, and his sandalwood scent overwhelmed me.
His hand was rough with calluses, and his nails were short and neat. Each long finger was thick. I’d never been so fascinated with a hand in my life. Part of his hand was burned, like his arm, and I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed before today. I’d only seen him in long sleeves until that point.
I imagined the poster in Tucker’s room. He had on one of those long-sleeved sports shirts under his jersey, hiding the burns on his arm. Or maybe protecting them? I wasn’t sure. I had so many questions I wanted to ask.
“Do you still have fingerprints?”
Gunner snorted. My cheeks flamed again. So many questions I wanted to ask, and that’s where I started?
“Not on this hand,” he answered, squeezing mine.
“I don’t either. Well, I still have some, but I’ve burned myself tons over the years from cooking accidents. We could commit the perfect crime together. No fingerprints.”
Gunner’s chest shook my back as he vibrated with laughter. “What should we do?”
“Rob a bank? It’d help me save for Tuck’s college fund.”
Gunner kept laughing, and I closed my eyes as he crowded me closer to the counter. It’d been a long time since I had been this close to a man. And I didn’t know that I’d ever been this close to a man this gorgeous.
“Don’t you have other questions?” Gunner asked. “Like how it happened?”
I turned in the little space that he’d allowed me and stared into his eyes. Our legs were pressed together and our torsos touched with each breath. I shivered as our eyes connected. “Only if you want to tell me,” I whispered.
He swallowed and looked down at his burned arm, which was still leaning against the island. “Maybe on our tequila night.”
Chapter 12
Gunner
I wanted to wrap my hand around the long, wild length of Delilah’s chestnut hair and tilt her head back until I could consume her in a kiss. We were barely touching, just enough to feel each other’s heat. I wanted to plaster myself to the front of her body and explore every curve and valley. A breath escaped past her lips as she parted them. My gaze honed in on her plush, pink lips. I held back my groan when her tongue darted out to wet them. I wanted to taste her.
I didn’t do any of those things. Instead, I stepped back, ran a hand through my hair, and tugged on the ends before turning to the sink to wash my hands. “What’s the first step?” I peeked over my shoulder.
Delilah’s back was still to the island, and she had a hand on her chest as she breathed heavily in and out. At least I wasn’t the only one affected by the tiny ember stirring to life between us.
“We’re going to make the sauce first. I like to get everything prepped and chopped before starting. It makes the process smoother, and then you can glide through the kitchen instead of running around frazzled. Grab one of those onions and peel it.”
I grabbed an onion from one of the bowls at the center of the island and worked on peeling back the papery skin. By the time I was done with one, Delilah had two onions chopped in half and sitting on a cutting board.
Once the ingredients were prepped, measured, and sitting in little glass bowls, ready to dump in when they were needed, we moved over to the stove.
I stirred the browning meat as it popped and sizzled in its own grease. Delilah sat on the counter by the stove sipping a glass of wine. My eyes kept darting back and forth between the meat I was supposed to be cooking and her long swinging legs. Her head was resting on the cabinets behind her, and there was a content little smile on her gorgeous face.
“I could get used to this,” she said. “The only people who have ever cooked for me are my parents, and usually I’m in the kitchen helping them. Or if someone is interviewing for a cook position at the inn.”
I stirred the meat again and looked up, connecting with her eyes. “Any time you want my specialty, I’ll make it for you. A piece of boiled, flavorless chicken breast and a bag of steamed frozen vegetables.”
She wrinkled her nose and curled her lip. “That doesn’t sound good at all.”
I shrugged. “It’s not. Most of the time I eat whatever the team caters, which is along the same lines. Healthy and often bland.”
“Tuck said you’re a free agent? That you’re not on a team right now? What does that mean?”
“When I’m on a team, I’m an agent of the team or employed by that team. As a free agent, I’m an agent of myself. I’m not under contract with any team, but will sign with someone during this off-season.”
“But it won’t be the team you were with before?”
I shook my head, picking up the beer that was next to her leg. My knuckles grazed her outer thigh as I lifted the bottle to my lips.
“No. At least, most likely not. They aren’t known for handing out larger contracts.”
Delilah nodded and opened her mouth to ask another question, but her phone rang. “Sorry,” she said and picked up the phone next to her. She rolled her eyes. “It’s Colt. This usually means he did something and now he’s wondering if I’ll be angry.” She answered the phone. “What’s up, Colt? What’d you do this time?”
I took another sip of beer and faced the pan in front of me, giving her a little bit of privacy. Delilah jumped off the counter and screeched. “What?”
My entire body locked at the urgency in her voice, and I turned around, watching her pace in front of the island. Her hand was shaking as she ran it through her hair, and her face was filling with color.
“Oh my god,” she muttered over a
nd over again. “Is he okay?”
At that question, I reached back and flipped off the stove, moving the pan to the back burner, away from the heat. I picked up the beer bottle and half-emptied wine glass and placed them in the sink.
My eyes stayed on Delilah. Her breaths were coming rapidly and roughly. She gripped the edge of the counter as she listened. “I’m coming. I’m coming over there right now. Is she still there?”
Delilah hung up the phone without saying goodbye and raced around the kitchen. “Where are my keys? Fuck. Where’s my purse?”
I snatched her car keys from the counter and stepped in front of her. “I have your keys. Let’s go. I’ll drive.”
“Gunner. Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I have to go. Can we reschedule? I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make a lasagna for your mom later. I promise, I just have to go.”
“That doesn’t matter right now. Let’s go. I’m driving. You’re freaked out, it’ll be safer if I drive and get you to wherever. Forget about the lasagna.” I ushered her to the front door. She kept nodding.
She tripped as she hurried to the car, rounding the hood to get in on the passenger’s side. I got in on the driver’s side and started the engine as I moved the seat back so my knees wouldn’t be against the steering wheel. “Where am I going?”
“The Arcade. It’s over on—”
“Birch. It’s been there forever. I know where it’s at.”
I peeled out of the driveway and drove as fast as I could through the inn’s property. Delilah was gripping the door handle with one hand and staring down at her phone in the other hand.
“What’s going on? What are we walking into? Is Tucker okay? Is he hurt? Is Colt okay?”
“Oh, god,” Delilah whispered, covering her mouth. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. He’s mine.”
At this point, I wasn’t even sure if she’d heard me or realized I was still in the car with her. She was in a trance and talking to herself. I didn’t know who was hers and what she didn’t know. I prodded her again, hoping to break her from the spell.
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