“Lunch is on me.”
As his warm hand curled around hers, a shock flashed through her body and a sharp pain knifed the back of her skull. She squeezed her eyes closed and fought off the visions before they engulfed her.
“Scarlett. What’s wrong?”
Her eyelids flew open. Jim’s face, etched with worry, was inches from hers. She’d felt electricity from his touch last night, but nothing like this. This had gone beyond the pleasant sensations of attraction and connection she’d experienced before.
She’d dived straight into his psyche and had been overwhelmed by terror and darkness. His terror and darkness? What had his father done to him?
His nostrils flared as he saw something in her eyes. “What just happened?”
“I—I got dizzy for a minute.” She slipped her hand from beneath his. “I’m okay, and you really don’t have to buy me lunch.”
“I absolutely have to buy you lunch now, since it seems as if my touch made you sick to your stomach.” He pulled out a few bills from his wallet and put the ketchup bottle on top of the checks and the money.
She gave a halfhearted laugh. “It wasn’t that, probably just low blood sugar.”
“Do you need something else to drink? A soda? Orange juice?”
His narrowed eyes told her he wasn’t buying any of it, but she could at least make good on the pretense.
“Some orange juice is probably just what I need.”
When the bartender placed the tall, skinny bar glass full of orange juice in front of her, she downed it. “Ahh, that’s better.”
“Did you have a chance to call someone about the security measures I suggested?”
“No time yet. Spoke to the deputies this morning, went out to visit my granny and then came into town to pick up few things for her.”
“I’m going to that hardware store in the new shopping center out by Evergreen Software. I can pick up a few locks and window rods for you.”
“If you don’t mind.” She snatched a couple of twenties from her wallet. “Use this and let me know if I owe you more.”
He stuffed the money in his pocket. “I can drop by later to set things up for you.”
“I work during the daylight hours, so catch me when the sun goes down.”
They walked out of Sutter’s together with several pairs of eyes following them. Word must’ve gotten around that they’d found Rusty’s body. She preferred keeping a low profile when she was in town working, but she’d been the center of attention on her last visit and this one was shaping up to be the same.
“Thanks for lunch and for offering to get my locks.”
“No problem.” He lifted a helmet from the backrest of his Harley and straddled the bike. “Thanks for not ratting out my tattoo to the cops.”
She parted her lips and then stepped back as he revved the noisy engine of the bike. Of course, he’d realized she had kept that from the sheriff’s deputies since she’d admitted she saw the tattoo on Rusty’s neck and then had seen a replica on Jim’s back.
He revved the Harley’s engine again, and then peeled away from the shoulder of the road.
Sighing, she ran her fingers through her hair and tucked the bag of yarn beneath one arm. Time to put Rusty Kelly and Jim Kennedy out of her head and get back to work.
Rusty? That was easy. Jim? That presented a whole different kind of problem.
* * *
JIM LOCKED HIS helmet against his bike and grabbed a basket on his way into the hardware store.
Why had Scarlett kept quiet about his tattoo? When she saw it on his back, she must’ve realized he’d lied to the cops about knowing the dead man, or at least lied about knowing something about him. Had she believed his story about not seeing Rusty’s tattoo? Had Musgrove believed his story about not recognizing Rusty last night?
He didn’t even know why he’d lied. Habit? He’d lied so much over the past few years of his life he didn’t even know the truth anymore.
He steered his basket down the home security aisle and looked over some sensor lights and cameras. He’d been planning to make a few improvements to Slick’s cabin, but security hadn’t been one of them—until Rusty turned up dead last night.
Who’d murdered him and why? Could be a barroom fight or some kind of deal gone wrong. But why here in Timberline? As far as he knew, the Lords of Chaos didn’t operate in this area anymore, and Rusty didn’t have family nearby.
He dropped a few items in his basket and wandered a few aisles over to have a look at the dead bolts. While he was reading the back of a package, a man bumped his arm reaching for a bin of locks.
“Sorry, bro.” The man swore and smacked him on the back. “Jim Kennedy. J.T.”
Jim’s muscles tensed as he drew back. He didn’t like people touching him when he didn’t see it coming. He really didn’t like surprises, and he didn’t like being called by his nickname.
The man beside him grinned, his yellowed teeth peeking through a heavy beard. “You don’t remember me? It’s Chewy. I ran with your old man back in the day.”
Jim squeezed the plastic packaging in his hands until the sides cut into his fingers. What the hell was this, some kind of LOC reunion?
He remembered Chewy—mean SOB with a short-fuse temper, used to smack his woman around.
“Chewy. Yeah, I remember you.”
“So the army took your sorry ass, huh?” Chewy had dropped the big paw he’d proffered in a shake when Jim ignored it. “Heard you were some hotshot ranger, a sniper. You always were a good shot, son.”
“Tell me, Chewy. Are the Lords of Chaos running a club in Timberline again? You heard about Rusty, right?”
Chewy blinked his small, flat eyes. “Rusty? Haven’t seen that fat SOB in a couple of months. What happened to him?”
Jim thought he might be able to catch Chewy in a lie since the sheriff’s department hadn’t released the identity of the dead body yet. Chewy was as dumb as a box of rocks, but not that dumb.
Jim lifted one shoulder. “Just that he’s back in town, too. Saw him the other day.”
“I’ll be damned. Old Rusty. I’ll have to look him up.”
“You’re staying in town?”
“For a while. Had some good times here.” He ran his fingers through his graying beard. “Sorry about Slick. That was a tough break. If any of the Lords had been with him that night, whoever killed him would’ve been dead meat.”
“Yeah. Gotta go.” Jim tossed two dead bolts into his basket and rolled away.
Should he bring up Chewy’s appearance in town when Deputy Collins questioned him about Rusty? Chewy would clam up or run if the cops came down on him...and Jim just might need the old biker for information.
Jim finished shopping for Scarlett’s items, as well as his own, and then secured them in the saddlebags on his bike. He checked the time on his phone. Scarlett would still be working.
He headed for Slick’s place—his own now. His brother Dax had dropped off the face of the earth since his release from prison. Jim planned to sell it and all of his dad’s bikes once he finished his business in Timberline. He’d never feel at home in that cabin.
He rode his motorcycle to the front door and parked it. Standing by the bike, he sorted Scarlett’s stuff into one bag and his in the other. Then he crammed her items back into his saddlebag.
Slick’s motorcycles had been in the detached garage for years after his death and nobody had touched them, but nobody had known they were there. Once Jim started advertising them for sale, the cat would be out of the bag and he needed to beef up security.
He’d start with the sensor lights. He dumped his purchases on the kitchen table and then bagged up the pieces he needed for the sensor system.
With the bag under his arm, he trudged down the gravel path to t
he garage. He dug his key ring from his pocket as he reached the double doors.
“Damn.” He kicked the door with his boot.
Too late. Someone had broken off the padlock that held the two doors together.
He loosened the broken lock, letting it fall to the ground. Using his T-shirt to avoid leaving fingerprints, he flicked up the latch and nudged the door open with his foot.
He yanked the chain to turn on the overhead lights and released a sigh. Slick’s five Harleys were all where he’d left them when he’d checked them out his first day back.
He entered the garage and scanned the walls, his gaze skimming over the two shotguns mounted in racks and a collection of fishing poles and tackle.
Nothing jumped out at him. Slick had kept plenty of tools in here and God knows what else. He hadn’t done an inventory when he’d been in here before. He didn’t care if someone robbed Slick blind and Slick wouldn’t mind now.
Only the bikes mattered to Jim.
He wandered toward the shotguns and ran a hand down the long barrel of one. That’s one thing he owed the old man. Slick had taught him to shoot—and he’d been a crack shot right from the get-go.
He spent the next few hours setting up the sensor lights on the outside of the garage and fixing the padlock latch. He’d have to think of a better way to lock these doors, and he should probably file a report with the sheriff’s department.
He peered at the sky as he returned to the house. The cloud cover hid the setting sun, but it had to be dusk and Scarlett would be done working. Should he bring something more than her locks? Dinner?
At least he knew she hadn’t cooled off toward him because of his clumsy fall. His tattoo had freaked her out. Had she believed his story about not seeing Rusty’s tattoo or recognizing him in the dark? He wouldn’t have believed that lame explanation.
He finished showering and dried off in front of the mirror. Turning his back to the mirror and twisting his head over his shoulder, he could just make out the tail end of the tattoo on his back—the tattoo that ended in the letters LC.
Maybe he should’ve gotten the damned thing removed. At least it had caused some fear among his captors.
He slicked back his wet hair, which almost reached his shoulders. Didn’t look much like a ranger these days. He smoothed the pad of his thumb across the thin, white line on his forehead. But he had the battle scars to prove his service.
He shaved and dressed in a pair of jeans and buttoned a red-and-black flannel shirt over his black T-shirt. He grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. “You’re dropping off some hardware, Kennedy, not going on a date.”
He stuffed his arms into his leather jacket and locked up. He could’ve walked through the woods to her place, but he was sick of the woods already.
He rode his motorcycle the short mile to Scarlett’s place and left it on the edge of the ring of trees sheltering her cabin. He made plenty of noise taking the two steps to the door since he didn’t want to startle her and risk getting attacked with a poker.
He used the lion’s-head knocker and called out, “Scarlett, it’s Jim.”
The curtain at the window shifted and he took a step to the side to show himself.
She opened the door. “I thought you’d forgotten about me.”
Forget about her? Never.
“You said dusk. I didn’t want to disturb your work.”
Poking her head outside, she sniffed. “This is night, not dusk.”
“Excuse me for missing the nuance.” He held up the bag. “These are for you, and I have your change.”
She opened the door wider and as the light from the cabin spilled over him, her gaze tracked across his body, igniting a fire in his belly.
Her long, dark lashes fluttered and her chest beneath her tight sweater rose and fell. “C’mon in.”
He swung the bag from his fingertips. “Can you install this stuff, or do you know someone who can?”
“I can use a simple screwdriver and hammer, but I draw the line at drills. I don’t even think I have a drill.”
“I’m sure you can find a handyman to do the job for you.”
She shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, which made her sweater fit tighter. “I was kind of hoping you could help me out. I’ll pay you...and feed you.”
His heart thudded against his chest. All she had to do was look at him like she was doing right now, and he’d hand her the moon on a silver platter.
“Feed me?” He sniffed the air and his mouth watered at the scent of garlic. “Now?”
“I thought it would be more effective to offer you food at the time of the request.” Folding her hands in front of her, she batted her eyelashes. “Pretty please?”
He snorted. “You’re pulling out all the stops. I’m pretty sure you’ve never said pretty please or batted your eyelashes in your entire life.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That bad, huh?”
“Bad, but the food smells great. Is it all vegetarian?”
“Salad, eggplant parmigiana and some penne with meatballs for you. I ordered in from that Italian place in the new shopping center.”
“It’s a deal.”
“Thanks.”
She went into the kitchen and he followed, admiring the way her jeans fit her.
She reached into a cupboard and stacked a couple of bowls on top of two plates, and then placed them on the counter. “We’ll eat at the counter, if that’s okay with you. I rarely use the kitchen table.”
“Okay by me.” He set the dishes on top of the woven place mats on the counter and pulled out the high chairs beneath it. “Do you want me to put the salad in these bowls?”
“Uh-huh. And...” She spun around, holding a bottle of wine in front of her. “I have wine.”
“Just water for me.”
She squinted at the label on the bottle. “It’s a good year—a cabernet from a Washington winery.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Oh.” She hugged the bottle to her chest. “I hope you don’t mind if I do.”
“Help yourself.” He dumped some salad evenly into the two bowls while she opened the wine. He didn’t even miss the stuff—except for on nights like the one he’d just had.
After they loaded their plates with food, they sat down at the counter and Jim raised his water glass. “To a drama-free night.”
She tapped her glass against his, and the red liquid swirled and caught the light, giving Scarlett’s cheeks a rosy glow.
“Did you get much work done this afternoon?” He ripped off a piece of garlic bread and dropped it onto his plate.
“Not really.” She waved her fork in the air. “I’d been working on a piece that I’d hoped to finish in the next few weeks, but I started a new project and it distracted me all afternoon. I hate it when that happens.”
“You’re lucky to have a creative outlet.”
“What about you? Now that you’re out of the army, what are your plans?”
He stabbed the pasta on his plate and dragged it through the red sauce. She expected an answer. This is how normal people had conversations—give and take. He put down his fork and cleared his throat. “I’d been doing some work with some organizations that help disabled vets.”
“Like physical therapy?”
He tapped his head. “The other kind of therapy.”
“Wow, that has to be tough.”
“For me or for them?”
“For everybody.”
“It’s no picnic.” He hunched forward. “That’s why I liked your modern artwork. It looks...therapeutic. I mean, we’re looking for all kinds of things to help these guys adjust—pets, music, art.”
“Sounds like a great program. Are you going to do that when you’re done with...whatever
you’re doing here?”
“I need more training. I might go back to school. I mean, go to school, since I enlisted in the army after high school.”
“Can I give you a piece of advice?” She took a sip of her wine and the ruby liquid stained her lips.
He shifted his gaze from her mouth to her eyes. “Sure.”
“You might want to open up a little more.”
“I’m supposed to be getting them to open up.”
She took another swig of wine and tilted her head so that her long hair fell over one shoulder. “You know, you’re right. And you’re pretty good at that, since you definitely got more out of me than I’ve gotten out of you.”
“I’m not trying to get anything out of you, Scarlett.”
“I know, but I’ve been open with you because...” She ducked her head and stuffed a piece of garlic bread in her mouth.
Garlic or not, he’d kiss her later, anyway. He dragged his gaze from her mouth to her eyes.
“Because?”
“Oh, you know. Because I knew you in high school.”
“Yeah, and we were such good friends.”
She snorted. “You weren’t friends with anyone.”
“And you were only friends with the other kids from the rez.”
“Couple of social butterflies, I tell ya.” She tossed her hair back and laughed.
The knock on Scarlett’s door cut across her laugh, and Jim dropped his bread.
“Now what? I guess my toast was a jinx.”
She hopped from her stool and stalked toward the front door. He had no intention of letting her open that door by herself, so he dogged her steps and hovered over her shoulder as she peered out the window.
She blew out a noisy breath. “It’s Deputy Collins with another officer I don’t know.”
Jim’s muscles tensed, and a rush of adrenaline slammed against his temples. Why would they be out here at this time of night?
Before he could stop her, Scarlett opened the front door. “Do you have any news, Deputy Collins?”
The deputy’s eyes widened as he looked past Scarlett and met Jim’s gaze. “I thought you might be here, Kennedy.”
Army Ranger Redemption Page 5