“Well, I still think it’s a very big deal, and I’m proud of you.” She went for levity. “Brandon.”
He scowled as he reached for the door.
Little Bradley Beckley looked up from his hospital bed, his tiny body made even smaller by the stark-white sheets surrounding him. He had a bandage on the left side of his forehead and bruises on his neck. Sarah, his mother, had long sandy-colored hair, scared brown eyes underscored with dark crescents, and a tiny bruise on her cheek. She sat on the edge of the bed, fidgeting with a plastic dinosaur.
“Bullet,” she said, slowly rising to her feet.
Only then did Finlay realize she was pregnant. Her fingers slipped from Bullet’s arm as he moved closer to the bed. Recognition rose in the sweet little boy’s eyes.
“Sarah, I hope it’s okay that I came by,” he said in a rough voice, which Finlay knew was another mask for his emotions. He glanced at her and said, “This is my girl, Finlay.”
His girl. Was it wrong for Finlay to melt at that when there was so much pain around them? She tucked those tender feelings away for now.
Sarah smiled with tears in her eyes. “I’m glad you’re both here.”
“I know you,” Bradley said in a scratchy voice. “You saved my baby sister and my uncle.”
“He saved us all,” Sarah said.
Bullet’s gaze rolled over the little boy, his chest expanding with the long inhalation. This was hard for all of them, including Finlay, as she bore witness to the emotion in Sarah’s and her son’s eyes and rolling off Bullet in waves. She noticed that Sarah wasn’t wearing a wedding band and wondered where the children’s father was. But she knew better than to ask.
Bullet set the bear with the blue ribbon by the little boy’s legs. “Hey, Buddy. How’s my brave boy?”
Bradley stuck his thumb up in the air and smiled, earning a sigh of relief from Bullet.
“Is that bear for me? And the pink one for Sissy?”
“It sure is. You heal up and get better, you hear?”
Bradley reached for the bear, and Bullet tucked it beside him. The happy boy wrapped his arms around it, grinning from ear to ear, and pointed to the box Finlay had forgotten she was holding. “What’s that? For Mommy?”
“Yes. Just a few goodies,” Finlay said as Sarah came around the bed. She handed her the box of treats, feeling like it was the most insignificant thing in the world and wishing she had thought to bring a meal or something more meaningful. “I am so sorry for what your family is going through. The nurses said you hadn’t eaten much. I’d be happy to go down to the cafeteria and get you something.”
“You’re too sweet. Thank you, but I have so many food allergies I’m afraid to eat here.”
“Mommy’s allergic to everything,” Bradley said. “Milk, eggs, peanuts…”
Finlay eyed the box of goodies, mentally ticking off all the potential allergens in it. “I would hate for you to eat those treats and have a reaction. Why don’t I take them out to the nurses’ station and bring you something you can eat instead,” Finlay offered. “What else are you allergic to?”
“You don’t have to do that for me.” Sarah put her hand on her belly and said, “I’ve been drinking protein drinks. That helps.”
“Please,” Finlay said. “I’d like to help, and your baby needs more than protein drinks.”
Bullet set the other teddy bear on a chair and put an arm around Finlay. “She’s right, Sarah. You need your strength, especially now.”
After a little more coaxing, Sarah gave her a list of the things she was allergic to, and Finlay began mentally preparing an allergen-free menu. Bullet asked about the baby and Sarah’s brother.
“They’re watching Lila because she’s been lethargic, but they keep telling me not to worry, that it’s not uncommon and it could resolve on its own. But telling me not to worry about my baby is like telling me not to breathe. And Scott developed an embolism from the breaks in his legs, or rather, from one of his broken bones, so add that to the collapsed lung and he’s just a mess. But they keep telling me things look good, so I’m trying to focus on that.”
Finlay’s heart broke for her.
“I ran into my brother, Dr. Whiskey, in the elevator. He couldn’t give us details because we’re not family, but he said the prognosis was good for both Scott and Lila.”
“Yes. When he stopped in he said he was your brother. He’s got such a nice bedside manner. He helped me to understand what was happening with the embolism, which I guess was a fatty clot of some sort.”
The door opened and a slender gentleman walked in. “Sarah? I’m Arnie Carmichael, from the finance department. We spoke briefly when you checked in last night?”
“Yes, I remember.”
“I’ve checked on the insurance issues and deductibles. When you have a moment, I’d like to go over them with you.”
“Thank you.” Sarah turned to Bullet, the color draining a bit from her face. “My ex never let me work, and it turns out he let the kids’ insurance lapse. It’s like we have a gray cloud over us. We just moved to the harbor last week. We were on our way home from dinner celebrating Scott’s new job when the truck hit us. It doesn’t look like he’ll be able to take the job after all. They said his collapsed lung could take several weeks to heal, and with one broken leg and his other in pins from the shattered femur, they’re talking about more surgery down the road, weeks of casts, and physical therapy. I think we’ll be mired in medical bills forever, but thanks to you, we still have each other.” She sighed, blinking against tears. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
Bullet looked her square in the eyes and said, “Repay me by taking care of your family and future baby. Rest. Eat. And if you need anything, day or night, call me.”
On their way out of the hospital, Finlay said, “We have to help her,” at the very moment Bullet said, “I’ll pay for the food if you can bring her meals until her family is out of the hospital.”
“I was going to suggest we spend our first real date grocery shopping and cooking so Sarah doesn’t starve.”
He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. “Lollipop, I think I love you.”
Chapter Ten
BULLET WAS QUICKLY coming to believe that Finlay Wilson was truly capable of magic. All she needed was a cell phone, a big-ass shopping cart, and a fully functioning kitchen. She’d flicked and touched and navigated her way through so many websites he got dizzy watching her. Then she infiltrated the grocery store like an army of ten, buying all new cookware to be sure they were allergen free, checking ingredients and prices and consulting her phone as if it were a mandate from the president himself. He hadn’t even known there was such thing as rice milk. After a trip to the organic market and another to the bookstore, because she needed to study up for Sarah, they finally landed back at her place with eight grocery bags and a fire in her belly. She scrubbed her counters just in case, slowing down only long enough to read the article about the accident before setting it aside and getting to work. She was on a bighearted mission, creating a notebook with three weeks’ worth of recipes for the Beckleys, and Bullet was falling harder for her by the minute.
She hustled around the kitchen like she was on speed, looking sinfully sexy in that little green dress and lace-up boots with a pink apron over her dress that said FINLAY’S across her chest. She put Bullet to work cutting up chicken and vegetables while she filled a Crock-Pot with meat, onions, brown sugar, and other seasonings.
“What’s your plan here, Fin?” he asked as she moved from the Crock-Pot to mashing up bananas. “I figured we’d whip up a few sandwiches and dinner for tonight, then bring a few more tomorrow…”
She scrunched up her face like he’d insulted her. “Are you kidding? Sarah is sitting in the hospital with her entire family in various states of peril. She needs comfort food, and lots of it. And she’s pregnant. How could you leave out that little detail?”
“I didn’t notice last night. I was too focused on
trying to calm her down. I figured she was just pudgy until you said something about her baby.”
Finlay leaned her hip against the counter, studying him for a long moment. “You also didn’t tell me the accident was so hellacious, or that you were interviewed by a reporter.”
“Every accident is hellacious, and I wasn’t interviewed.”
“They quoted you in the paper. The writer’s name was Walt Norsden.”
“Walt? He was the dorky guy in the waiting room annoying me while I was with Sarah. He kept getting in our faces, and I finally told him to bug off or I’d break his legs.”
“Bullet.” She laughed. “That explains why he said tensions were running hot.”
“It’s all media hype, lollipop. The article is bullshit put out there to sell papers.”
She took the knife from his hand and wound her arms around his middle, gazing up at him with a sugary-sweet smile. “Or maybe it’s community reporting to keep residents in-the-know about local happenings so they can come together and help. Like we are.”
“Did you see other people rallying around Sarah today?”
“No, but at least we are.” She went up on her toes, and he met her halfway in a startlingly quick kiss, because she turned around mumbling something about needing to get everything in the ovens at the same time.
“She’s allergic to so much. Are you sure this is all okay? You’ve got so many platters out.”
“I’m going to freeze some for other nights, but I’m sure. I triple-checked to make certain everything would be gluten-, soy-, dairy-, and nut-free.” She pointed to the chicken he was cutting up. “That’s for creamy Tuscan chicken. I even found a great recipe for mac and cheese that’s allergen free. Most kids love mac and cheese, so I’m hoping Bradley will like it. And this”—she pointed to the mashed bananas—“is for banana bread, because banana bread is one of the best comfort foods around.”
“How did you get into cooking?” he asked as he cut the chicken and vegetables.
“My mom is an amazing cook, and she was always making something delicious. Our house smelled like fresh-baked hugs all the time. That’s where Penny learned to make homemade ice cream. She was the dessert girl, but I’ve always loved cooking and baking and seeing smiles on people’s faces when they take that first bite. This is going to sound really bad, but one of my favorite events to cater is funerals. They’re the hardest events to attend, because people are hurting so deeply they don’t know how they’ll ever breathe right again, and that’s difficult to take in. But then, when they get a nice, warm dollop of mashed potatoes, or hearty chicken soup with dumplings, or rich, flaky biscuits, it’s like a hug from the inside, and you can see their spirits lift—even if only for a moment. The warmth and scent of a creamy casserole, fresh-baked cake, or the memory-inducing aroma of brisket or stew can make all the difference in the world for someone who has suffered a great loss. It can transport them back to a happier time and help them get through a few hours or days.”
“That’s…” He didn’t know the word he was looking for, and “beautiful” just came out.
“Thanks. I think it is, too.”
“So, you went to school for cooking?”
She nodded. “College first, because my father insisted, and then I went to a culinary school, first to become a professional chef and then as a pastry chef, because I wanted to know it all. I worked for a restaurant for a while and then started Finlay’s Catering. My friend Izzy, back in Boston, helped me run it.”
She finished mixing the banana bread and set it by the other trays beside the oven. Then she collected the vegetables and chicken he’d cut up and worked her magic on those, too. They cut up potatoes and sausage and put them in a second slow cooker with a host of other ingredients for some sort of soup. He’d never seen anyone cook so many things at once.
“Would you mind draining the pasta for me?” she asked, and set a large colander in the sink. As he poured the spiral pasta into it, she said, “What about you? When did you join the military?”
“Right before my twentieth birthday.”
She retrieved a large bowl from beneath the counter, and he helped her transfer the pasta into it. As she added other ingredients, she said, “Did you always know you wanted to join the military?”
“Definitely. Special Forces was the ultimate show of power and loyalty to our country. I wanted to make my mark.”
“Then why did you wait to enlist?” She handed him a big wooden spoon and said, “Can you please mix that up while I get the chicken ready for the oven?”
“I stuck around to help my parents, to be with my family,” he said as he mixed. “It was a confusing time.” Bullet had a great deal of respect for his father, but when he was younger, he’d harbored a good amount of resentment, too. Although Bullet knew it wasn’t his father’s fault he hadn’t known how to fill out the armor his father wore so easily.
Finlay dipped the chicken into a marinade she’d whipped up, then coated them with a seasoning mixture. “How so?”
“For as long as I can remember, there was a lot of pressure on me to protect my brothers and Dixie, to prepare to be the man of the family in case anything happened to our father. I watched over them, taught them all how to defend themselves, manned up Bones and Bear and toughened up Dixie, because in my head, if something could happen to my old man, something could happen to me. Then what? Bones graduated high school early and went off to college, as he should have. He’s the smartest guy I know. But all I could think about was how Bear and Dixie needed me. There was this thin line I felt like I was always toeing. On the one hand, we were taught not to take shit from anyone, and on the other, we were taught not to cause trouble, start fights, or go out carousing. As a kid full of piss and vinegar, it was hard to understand why we didn’t just pound the hell out of anyone who caused trouble.”
“I can see how that would be confusing.” She set the chicken on a tray, then placed the tray in the oven.
“I’ve never been good at communicating. I’m not like you, Fins. Even back then I couldn’t voice what was going on in my head. I went out looking for trouble so I could shut it down before it found my family. The problem was, I couldn’t get my arms around it all, and I became trouble.”
“That kind of makes sense. You were under so much pressure you didn’t know how to handle it.”
She put the rest of the trays in the ovens and turned on the cock-blocking timer. He realized with a start that he was more interested in sharing his past with Finlay than in sex.
“I was always locked and loaded, ready to fire. I was a bullet looking for a target. Bones is the one who finally said to get the hell out of here and enlist. He pushed me so hard, I remember fighting with him over it. He was off at college, and I was blinded by loyalty but heading down a shit path. He finally laid it all out on the line for me. He said if I didn’t get out of there, I’d fuck up our family or my life. I owe him a hell of a lot.”
“It sounds to me like your siblings owe a heck of a lot to you, too.”
She washed her hands, and he pulled her into his arms. “I’ve never told anyone this stuff before. Why does it seem so easy to share with you?”
“Because you know I care about you. Or maybe you’re just tired of holding it in? Everyone needs an outlet sometime. And for the record, you may not usually be a man of many words, but you get your point across quite clearly.”
“You’ve got me under your spell, lollipop, and I hope like hell you never break it, because I sure do like you, and it’s not just physical anymore. Although…” He felt himself grinning as he pressed his lips to hers and slipped his hand beneath her dress, groping her ass and earning a surprised squeak.
“What is it about my butt that you love so much?”
“I’m not sure,” he said as he lowered his mouth to her neck and nipped at it. “Why don’t you turn around and let me explore. Maybe I can come up with an answer.”
Her skin flamed against his mouth.
&
nbsp; “You talk very dirty,” she whispered as he dragged his tongue up to her ear. She wound her arms around his neck and said, “Why don’t you show me what that dirty mouth is capable of?”
“Mm, baby, get ready for a wild ride.” He swept her into his arms.
As he lowered his mouth to hers, she said, “Timer! Get the timer from that counter. We can’t burn all the food.”
Timer in hand, he carried her down the hall to her bedroom. He set the timer on her dresser and said, “We need to have a talk about you and timers.” He tore down her pretty blankets and laid her in the center of the bed.
She laughed and pulled him down over her. “We have forty minutes. Do you want to talk, or do you want to—”
FINLAY’S WORDS WERE smothered by the hard press of Bullet’s lips, the delving of his tongue, and the thrusting of his powerful hips against her. All day long she’d been thinking of the way he’d kissed her when she was on the counter that morning, when he’d been ready to take her and she’d been ready to surrender to him. All afternoon she’d fought the overwhelming urge to be closer to him, his rugged scent and the slow caress of his hands over her hips each time he walked by taunted her. She felt like a boiling pot ready to blow, and it had taken all her concentration to focus on cooking, but now, with his glorious mouth wreaking havoc with her senses and his hard body grinding in a dizzying rhythm, she was done holding back.
He moved straight down her body, his big hands sliding along the length of her legs to the edge of her high-heeled boot. His mouth curved up in a wicked grin. “We’re leaving those on, but this has got to go.”
He pushed her dress up over her hips, and she stopped him from lifting it higher. “Wait,” she said quickly, and he held his hands up, confusion filling his eyes. “I have scars, too.”
“Baby, you could be covered in them and it wouldn’t make a difference.”
She swallowed hard and slowly lifted her dress a few inches higher, waiting for the shocked look she’d seen in the eyes of most of the other men she’d been with. Aaron was the only one who hadn’t reacted with shock. That was how she’d known Aaron really liked her. It was a silly thing, letting a scar gauge the depth of attraction, but that’s how she’d seen it. And now, as Bullet’s eyes found the scars, they brimmed with compassion.
Driving Whiskey Wild Page 14