by Kylie Brant
His arm slipped around her waist. "Be good or I'll sit you down next to my grandmother and let her grill you about your past. And you better have an answer ready for when she questions you about your intentions of making an honest man of me. She's never said it out loud, but I always figured I was her favorite."
Juliette looked around, located his grandmother where she was sitting and watching the festivities. Waving to her, she said, "Actually, she's already warned me about you. Said you were slick and charming and not to be trusted."
He snatched a quick kiss. "She's an excellent judge of character."
"I could have told you the same thing," another voice put in. Recognizing it, she turned, found Cade Tremaine on her other side. There was more than a flavor of the South in his speech. It reminded Juliette of a slow walk along a lazy river. But there was nothing quite so harmless about his hard jaw, or about the set of his mouth. Or his smile that couldn't quite banish the ghosts in his eyes.
Seeing his brother, Sam immediately sobered. "What's this I hear about you returning to work next week?"
Cade reached out and slapped a passing guest on the shoulder. "Your hearing was always good."
"You could give the healing more time." Sam shrugged under his brother's narrowed gaze. "Not that I care much, but grandma worries. Ever since you fell off that garage roof—"
"You pushed me off that roof."
"—I've felt a certain interest in your well-being," Sam continued, ignoring his brother's interruption. "Another week isn't going to make a difference, is it?"
Mentally, Juliette agreed. There was still a pallor to Cade's skin, and a gauntness to his frame. But there was no mistaking the determination in his quiet voice. "I've got three holes in my chest, and my partner is dead. The trail for our shooter is going cold. So, yeah, I'd say another week would make a difference." He walked off, leaving Sam to frown after him. But when he would have followed his younger brother, Juliette laid her hand on his arm to stop him.
"Something tells me he doesn't like to be told what to do any more than you."
"He isn't thinking clearly."
"Maybe not. But it's his decision to make." She could empathize with Cade's need for action, even while she sympathized with his brother's worry for him.
Sam released a breath. Reaching for her hand, he pressed a kiss to the palm. "You're very wise."
"I'll remind you of that the next time we have an argument."
"I don't doubt it." Smiling, he lowered her hand to play with her bare fingers. "We still need to find you a ring."
"I could pick something up." The innocence in her suggestion didn't fool him.
"When my ring goes on your finger it will be one we acquire the old-fashioned way. By paying for it."
"Spoilsport." The regret tinging her words wasn't totally feigned. But it was more than diffused by the warm glow of heat that spread through her at the thought of wearing Sam's ring. They'd have to pick out an ageless style. She planned to be wearing it for the next seventy or eighty years.
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