“From what I hear, she’s had a rough few years. Her ex-husband worked her over pretty good. Word is he was abusive.”
“That’s a shame. But men can be jerks. Present company excluded.”
A loud pop sounded—behind the building— and sent a warning blast straight to Gage’s brain. He whipped around, dragging Micki closer, and an immediate whoosh rocked him. The street and the crowd swayed, then did a loop and he held his free hand out.
Focal point.
He locked on the first stationary thing he spotted, the now-lit Christmas tree, and let his overactive brain adjust.
Pop, pop. Pop. Three more went off and Micki gripped his forearm. “It’s okay. Firecrackers.”
Damned idiot kids. The Christmas tree anchored him and the spinning slowly subsided, but he’d almost fallen over in front of Micki.
He straightened up and forced out a laugh.
Yeah, he’d just blow this off. Minimize it. “I’m good,” he said. “Moved too fast.”
“That happens a lot, huh?”
“Not that much.” He nudged his chin toward the tree, ignoring the post-whirl softness in his knees.
“You know,” she said, strolling beside him, “I’m working on a software project.”
Uh, okay. Could he get that lucky with a subject change? “Tell me about it.”
“It’s been in development for over a year, but I’ve really put some energy into it these last few months.”
“What kind of software?”
“Educational. If I’ve done it right, it’ll help people with ADD to focus.”
Slick one. And, no, he hadn’t gotten lucky with the subject change. He knew exactly where this was going. “You should ask Jonah about licensing.”
“I will. When I finish it. The interesting part is all the research I’ve done. The brain is a fascinating thing.”
Shit.
“I’ve heard that.”
Now she stopped walking and peered up at him. The streetlamp illuminated tiny specks of green in her hazel eyes, giving them an un-Micki softness that caused his body to lock up. Total paralysis.
“I have files and files and files on brain research. In fact, one of the websites I stumbled onto caught my interest.”
“Why’s that?”
“It talked about traumatic brain injuries.”
To the left of the Christmas tree, the singer Grif had hired was doing a decent job with a Keith Urban song and Gage pulled his eyes from Micki, breaking the way-too-revealing eye contact. He pointed at the singer. “He’s pretty good, this guy.”
“He is. You have one, don’t you? A TBI.”
Now what, Ace? Leave it to Micki Steele to come right out and ask him. No one before had. Sure, Reid suspected. You don’t spend that much time with a person and not notice changes. The mother of all telltales, at least for Gage, was the speed with which he processed things. The dizzy spells and lack of concentration Gage could, to a certain extent, hide. The processing thing? No chance.
“I don’t—”
“Please don’t lie to me,” she said. “I may keep secrets, but I haven’t lied to you. About anything.”
She had him there.
Admitting his injury to her, rather than her brother, his employer and more than that, his friend, somehow didn’t wash. If he had to admit it to someone, it should be Reid.
His extended silence must have clued her in to his dilemma, because she stepped back and held her hands up. “I’m sorry. I’m getting too personal. I shouldn't assume—”
Before she retreated another step, because Micki Steele, no doubt, was a runner, he wrapped his hand around hers. “I’ve been up in your business. You’re entitled.”
She glanced down at their joined hands, then squeezed his. “I didn’t mean to pry. I thought, if you did have a TBI, maybe you could look at the software and tell me what you think. It’s mainly memory exercises, putting things in order, that type of thing.”
Man-oh-man. Brilliant. She’d turned this around on him, making it seem like he’d be helping her rather than the other way around.
A Steele to her core.
The singer switched to Little Big Town's “Bring It On Home” and Micki whirled to face him. “Ooh. I love this song.”
A couple of teenagers crowded in and she sidestepped, winding up half in front of him, her back brushing against his chest. She peeped over her shoulder at him, those damned green flecks in her eyes once again flashing at him. “Can you see?”
I sure can. “I can see just fine.”
The crowd continued to fill in, nudging her closer and even after she’d dinged him with the TBI discussion, he didn’t mind. For months, his fear was that the injury had made him less of a man. Made him weak. With Micki, the old Gage, the go-to guy, started to bust free.
Of all the people who actually had the balls to confront him about his injury, it wound up being screwed-up Micki Steele. Go figure.
He stood for a second, listening to the lyrics, thinking about having someone to bring his troubles to. Something he didn’t have. Had never had. Instead, everyone brought him their problems, conditioning him to believe that was how it should be.
God. How the hell did that happen? Micki turned and faced him, the front of her body flush against him and pressed way too close for his own personal comfort.
“I love this song,” she said.
He grinned. “You said that.”
She grinned back. “It’s very romantic, wouldn’t you say?”
“Couldn’t agree more.”
“Then, maybe you could kiss me?”
11
Micki had done some bold things in her lifetime, but begging a man to kiss her might top them all. She’d chalk it up to a mad crush, loneliness, and a newfound sense of freedom. For the first time in her adult life she'd been presented with the opportunity to wander aimlessly and enjoy a man who knew her secrets. Maybe Gage didn’t know everything, but he knew enough and he'd invited her out anyway. For that alone, she would always be grateful.
Steele Ridge meant home and a place joyously lacking Phil and his paranoia. His constant watching. Between monitoring her phone bills and having the receptionist and Tomas keep tabs on where she went, Phil had kept her living in a bubble.
For ten years.
It took getting out of that bubble, for even a few days, to realize how invasive it had been. And how isolating.
A corner of Gage’s mouth lifted and he dipped his head, hovering just over her lips. “This is probably a mistake.”
Of all the mistakes she’d made, this one didn’t crack the top fifty.
“Ask me if I care.”
In response, he kissed her. Softly at first, testing, letting his warm lips glide over hers, then tentatively brushing his tongue against them. She gripped the front of his jacket, pulling herself closer. If she could crawl into that jacket with him, she’d do it. Just take shelter while she savored every bit of Mr. All-American. She'd experienced a fair number of kisses—some hot with plenty of craziness that landed her in a bed—but this? This tenderness, she’d never known. It reached right into her, casting light and warmth and peace. A perfect summer sunrise.
Gage Barber.
Who knew?
One of the milling teenagers bumped her and Gage settled his hands at her waist, holding her steady. Supporting her. From the second he’d walked into her life, he’d been shoring her up, helping her battle the chaos.
He pulled back slightly and dropped another quick kiss on her lips. His arms tightened, holding her against him, and everything inside—the heat, the want, the happy buzz—exploded.
By her own choice, she’d spent years without affection, holding people at bay, never opening up about her life or her job and now…Gage. He'd flipped her thinking in all kinds of ways. Ways that made her want to stay.
Getting lost in that idea wouldn't help her. Who knew where the battle with Phil would end and she couldn’t leave her family—and Gage—in the rubble.<
br />
For now though, she’d enjoy a connection and some simple fun with someone. She burrowed her hand under his jacket and held on while he kissed the side of her head.
“You okay? You got quiet on me.”
Tipping her head up, she nodded. “I’m…peaceful. That’s something pretty darned special. So, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. It was your brilliant idea. And it wasn’t exactly hard labor.”
“Micki! Is that you?”
Micki angled back, spotted a woman pushing through the crowd, her long blond hair falling around her shoulders. Jenny Tichener. Another burst of excitement racked her and she tore away from Gage, bouncing off random strangers as she closed the distance to her childhood friend. They’d been inseparable from seventh grade, but lost touch after high school. When Micki left, she’d left. Nothing went with her. Friendships, mementos, all of it discarded. Emotionally, it had been easier than obsessing over the loss of a happy life obliterated by one night of partying.
“Jenny! Oh my gosh, how are you?”
Jenny launched herself at Micki. “I’m here visiting my parents for the weekend.”
The two of them hugged tight enough to crack a rib and Micki’s breath whooshed out. Two hugs in less than five minutes. Home.
Finally.
Simultaneously, the two women stepped back, each holding on to the other’s arms, unwilling to break the contact. “It’s so good to see you,” Micki said. “Where do you live now?”
“Charlotte. I got married a few years ago. No babies yet, but we’re working on it. How about you? Still in Vegas?”
“Yes. Well, no. I’m—wow—coming home.”
“That’s fantastic! I’m here a lot. We can get together and catch up.”
“I’d like that.”
She would. After things with Phil settled down, she’d work on getting her life together. Forming friendships. Maybe rekindling old ones while she made new ones.
Friends, like any relationship, created hazards. She’d been too fearful in Vegas. After all, friends talked about themselves, about their jobs, and what could Micki say? I help my boss threaten people with their secrets.
Jenny’s gaze went to Gage, still standing behind Micki. Along with losing her friends, she’d clearly lost her manners. Her mother would kill her.
She reached back, touched his arm. “Jenny, this is Gage Barber. He’s helping my brother with the training center.”
Hellos were exchanged and Jenny half covered her lips with one hand. “Hottie,” she mouthed.
Gage let loose on a laugh. “Uh, should I leave you two alone?”
Micki grinned up at him. “So we can talk about you? No.”
But really, she wanted that. To gossip to a friend about the hot guy who’d just kissed her in the middle of town and—oh, boy—the busybodies at the Triple B would love this one.
Someone called Jenny’s name and she gave a backward wave. “I have to go, but give me your number. I’ll call you.”
“I don’t have my new number yet, but give me yours. I’ll text you when I get set up. Can you e-mail it to me?”
“Sure.”
Micki read off her e-mail address and Jenny sent her number through.
“I’m so glad I ran into you,” Jenny said. “I can’t wait to catch up and see what you’ve been doing. You disappeared on me! I’ve missed you.”
And that tore it. Air stalled in her chest and the fierce grip choked her. Too much, too, too much. Kissing Gage, Jenny missing her. All of it. She hugged Jenny again as the wave of emotions hammered at her.
God, she was happy.
“Me too, Jenny. Me too.”
Jenny gave her one last squeeze, disappeared into the crowd, and Gage dropped his arm over Micki’s shoulder again. “I’m hoping that was a happy hug.”
She inhaled long enough to corral her emotions. When she released the breath, the hammering in her head eased and the crazy tension broke apart.
So this was happiness?
“Absolutely.”
“Good. And look at you getting all domestic tonight. First you’re sucking face with me in the middle of town and now you're making friends.”
Feeling playful, another anomaly, she shoved him just as the music stopped. Ten o’clock. Darn it. Novemberfest was officially over. In Vegas, the night would just be starting.
“It’s late,” she said. “Thank you for an amazing night.”
“Thank you for coming with me. I had fun. I’ll take you home.”
“No.”
His head dipped forward. “I’m sorry? You don’t want me to take you?”
Don’t screw this up.
“I do, but—” She waved a hand down the block. “If Evie is still at Brynne’s shop, I’d like to ride home with her. I have a lot of lost time to catch up on with my sister.”
“Ah,” he said. “I thought I misread something there.”
“Not a chance, Captain America.”
“Good. But with everything going on, I'll follow you home. Make sure you get there okay. Please, don't argue. Humor me.”
The babysitting thing irritated her. Absolutely. This was different, though. Having a man, this man, care enough to worry about her, to want to keep her safe, couldn't be bad.
He walked her to the shop where Brynne and Evie stood by the desk. The door was locked, but Micki knocked and Evie opened the door for her.
“Hi. Hi, Gage.”
“Hey, Evie.”
“Can I hitch a ride home with you?”
Evie eyed her, then Gage. “Sure.”
“Okay, ladies, I’ll say good night then. You two be careful. And Micki?”
“Yes?”
“Maybe tomorrow you could stop by my office with that software.”
On Sunday morning Gage did his normal coffee run to the Triple B. Having just beat the church crowd, he snagged a corner table before Randi was forced to deal with overflow and open the connecting door to the bar.
If Gage had timed this right, in the next five minutes the activity level in the B would explode and he'd already have his spot.
He shifted the chairs, propping one against the wall before dropping into it. Life in Special Forces meant having a view of his surroundings, and those habits died hard. Plus, it never hurt to be cautious when some buttcrack terrorist or deranged psycho could slice and dice a man before he had time to get out of the chair.
Even in Steele Ridge.
Following his routine, he arranged his coffee and cinnamon roll to his right and spread the newspaper in front of him. As a kid, he’d watched his father read the daily newspaper. Every day. Three newspapers. For at least two hours. The man was a news junkie, but didn’t go for television. He wanted it the old-fashioned way, with the written word.
Somewhere along the way, Gage had also developed an affinity for newspapers. Or maybe it was the tradition of it, the childhood memories of waking up and finding Dad at the table.
Whatever it was, he reserved Sunday mornings for reading the newspaper. Cover to cover.
The bells on the door jangled and he glanced up to see feisty Mr. Greene, a widower older than dirt, entering the shop. The man walked into town every morning for breakfast and to catch up on the day’s gossip. If you wanted a direct pipeline to town drama, Mr. Greene was the man.
“Morning, Gage,” the old man called.
He lifted his cane in greeting, nearly whacking a customer along the way, and Gage stifled a laugh.
“Morning, sir.”
Gage eyed the cane, but had learned not to offer assistance. He’d tried that his first morning at the B and got smacked with said cane for his efforts. Mr. Greene preferred taking care of himself. Gage could relate.
“Nice day out there today,” Mr. Greene said.
“Sure is.”
“I heard tell that you and Micki Steele were carrying on last night.”
And it begins. Hell, he hadn’t even sipped his coffee yet. He’d expected it. Of course, he did. You
didn’t stand in the middle of Main Street kissing a woman known for her secrecy, a Steele no less, and not anticipate questions. A Micki sighting alone got Steele Ridge buzzing. Throw in her swapping spit with her brother’s friend and it racked up to a good story.
From behind the counter, Randi, the owner of the Triple B and Britt Steele’s significant other, eyed Gage for half a second, her lips dipping into a frown before she shook her head at the old man. “Starting already, Mr. Greene?”
“I’ll call ’em like I see ’em, girlie.” He shifted back to Gage. “Well?”
Gage grinned. “Well what, sir?”
“You want to tell me what’s got everyone talking around here so early? And on the Lord’s day no less!”
“Nope,” Gage said.
He’d grown up in a small town, understood the intricacies of information flow. All he needed to do was shove a piece of dynamite somewhere to disrupt it.
In this case, the dynamite would be his absolute refusal to comment. And if Mr. Greene, the town crier, didn’t have any intel, the clamor would die down.
Gage hoped.
Because in two hours he had to face his bosses. Both of whom were Micki’s brothers. And by the way Randi had looked at him, he had no doubt Britt would be paying him a visit.
Shit. Should have thought with the proper brain last night. Done now. Wasting time stressing over it wouldn’t help.
Mr. Greene shuffled by on his way to the next empty table and swatted Gage’s chair with his cane. This town. These people. Too funny.
The bells jangled again, but if Gage wanted to get through the newspaper in his allotted two hours, he couldn’t be looking up every time someone walked into the shop.
Instead, he focused on the article in front of him about the president’s budget woes. What else was new? He scanned the article, the words blurring as he lost focus. What was that about national defense? He started over, this time not skimming. Slowly, he read each word, giving his brain the opportunity to absorb it. At this rate, he’d only get through main news, but if he could remember most of what he’d read, he’d consider it a win.
The empty chair beside him moved and he brought his gaze up. He found a dark-haired man wearing crisp jeans and a black-collared shirt dropping next to him.
Breaking Free (Steele Ridge Book 5) Page 11