Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3)

by Tracey Alvarez

  “Yeah, yeah.” He tried to concentrate, but the numbers kept dancing across the page. The woman had thrown him off his game.

  Huffing out a sigh, he slapped the laptop screen shut. If she wanted to talk about the wedding, they’d talk about the damn wedding.

  “So Ms. Harland. Got a date for the big day?”

  “Yes.” She rolled down the sleeves of her chef’s jacket and avoided his gaze.

  Liar. Either that or her choice of date embarrassed her.

  “Anyone I know?”

  And no, he wasn’t checking out the competition—just mildly curious. How many single men could this town have? Granted, any straight, single male would have to be a moron not to try to score an evening with Shaye in a pretty party dress with bountiful free booze on offer.

  “No.” She flicked him a glance from under her lashes. “Have you got a date?”

  The prospect of finding a date for West’s wedding made his gut curdle. “Nope. I’ll be going solo.”

  She snorted softly—a buckshot-loaded sound. Which meant what? Where to find a female translation manual when you needed it?

  Fraser returned, his crate loaded with dishes, and set to rinsing and stacking. The silence following Shaye’s little snort grated along his nerves.

  “You know, we used to hang out. As kids,” he said.

  “No. You hung out with my brother and sister. I was a boring bookworm who sometimes tagged along.”

  Ah. So she remembered the flippant comment he’d made back when he’d thought snapping a girl’s training bra was the ultimate form of flirtation. Before he could figure out whether he should apologize for being a little snot, West strode into the kitchen.

  “Poker game starts in an hour,” he said by way of greeting. “Shaye’s boyfriend is closing up tonight.”

  Del’s fingers clamped around the pen and it flexed dangerously. Holy shit—she hadn’t lied? “Her boyfriend?”

  “Our bartender,” replied West. “The reason why so many local women come for Happy Hour. Drooling over Kip makes them very happy. Right, Shaye?”

  Shaye whipped off her apron and hung it on the row of hooks. “Absolutely. The man is a stone-cold fox.”

  “You’re dating the bartender?”

  Her lips tightened into a wafer-thin line.

  “She won a dinner with him at the charity bachelor auction earlier in the year,” said West. “It didn’t work out—no chemistry.”

  Shaye sent West a look that should’ve set his eyebrows on fire.

  “What? Are you like my dating adviser now? We had a nice time.” She addressed the statement to them both, baring her cute little teeth.

  West snickered.

  Big brother—completely oblivious to the undercurrents circling the room.

  “You said it was like having dinner with Ben. Or me,” West said. “Though I’m a lot more interesting than Kip or your verbally stunted brother.”

  “Chemistry isn’t everything, and Kip’s very sweet.” Shaye stuck her nose in the air.

  Definitely directed at him. Sweet was something he’d never be. Not unless it was part of tempting a woman into his bed, and he seemed to do well enough without resorting to sweet.

  Del dropped the pen and leaned forward on the counter. “The guy’s doomed to the friend zone forever.”

  “Poor bastard. So, you in tonight, Shaye-Shaye?” said West. “My bro here is easy pickings.”

  Del didn’t miss the quick glance she shot at him before her gaze skipped to his brother. “Not tonight, sorry.”

  “Hot date with your Kindle?” Once again, oblivious to Shaye’s murderous glare, West rambled on. “Aw, come on. You can’t let Piper be the only woman there; it just encourages her to be mean. Real mean.”

  “Oh boo-hoo, Westy,” she said.

  “You know she’ll come and drag you to the game—unless you’re on your deathbed.”

  Shaye grimaced.

  For some reason, Del wanted her at the game tonight. To see if there was an alternate Shaye—one who wasn’t so uptight outside of work hours. But he wouldn’t admit that outright.

  He cleared his throat. “I think she wants to avoid spending any more time in my company.”

  West frowned at Shaye. “You’re not holding a grudge about the whole head chef thing, are you? We talked that out this morning.”

  Another eyebrow-scorching glance from Shaye. The woman was a knockout when her temper kicked in.

  “Of course not.” She tossed her ponytail. “I’m not holding anything against him.”

  Del grinned. Couldn’t damn help it. He’d started to hope she would hold something against him—preferably herself.

  “So you’ll come?” he said. “I’ll play nice.”

  She sniffed and swept around the counter, giving him a wide berth. “Maybe for a little while. I hope you picked up some New Zealand currency, because I don’t take US dollars. Or credit cards.”

  Shaye blew through the swinging doors and disappeared.

  “Quite an accomplishment.”

  Del glanced over at West, who studied Del with a thoughtful expression.

  “Accomplishment?”

  “Having her make you public enemy number one.” West’s nose crinkled. “She has a soft spot for strays, but she sure has taken a dislike to you.”

  “I’m no stray.”

  “Own it, bro.”

  “Screw you.” Del stood and gathered up the laptop. “And it doesn’t matter one way or the other if she hates my guts, so long as we get the job done.”

  “Just don’t get into a scuffle with her for the bouquet toss at my wedding.”

  Del shook his head and grinned. “How about we aim for coolly ignoring each other?”

  “Won’t work. She ignores you, you’ll take it as a challenge. Trust me—it’s a battle you’ll lose.”

  “That’s how you ended up pussy-whipped.”

  West laughed. “There’re worse things than being pussy-whipped.” He sobered. “You’re not sniffing around her, are you?”

  “Jesus, West. I’ve been here less than forty-eight hours, and you’re already imagining me and your sister-in-law in the sack? First man-rule—don’t shit where you sleep.”

  He’d screwed that rule up once or twice with cringe-worthy results, and had taken it to the level of epic disaster with Jessica. Not going there again.

  “Yeah, okay. My bad.” West wandered over and slapped Del’s back. “Sorry. Just wondered if this animosity between you was a front for something else—Pipe and I fought like demons to start with.”

  “No front. I’m here to work, period.”

  “Well, good. See you at the house.” West walked to the kitchen doors, paused and turned with a crooked grin. “Strays make the most loyal pets, you know. If they’re given a bit of love and a chance.”

  “I’m not a dog, West. So fuck off with your lame analogies.” Del softened the comment with a smile of his own.

  Fortunately, his older brother didn’t know what a royal screw-up he was.

  Fortunately, West didn’t have a clue that Del was not only a stray but a stray who’d bite the hands that fed him.

  Chapter 5

  “How bad was it? On a scale of one to five?” Piper lowered her voice as she ripped open a bag of potato chips and dumped them into a bowl. “One being ‘I can house train him in less than a week,’ and five being, ‘I need an extra set of hands to dig a shallow grave.’”

  Shaye refused to look over her shoulder at Del, who was making small talk with Noah Daniels, Oban’s police force of one. Both men sized up the other across West and Piper’s circular card table, in the middle of the family room.

  “Two-point-five,” Shaye said.

  Piper had enough pre-wedding stress without Shaye bitching about West’s brother.

  “Really, it was fine. He’s not my favorite person, but we worked well together.” By worked well, she meant they hadn’t burned anything or each other.

  Piper pulled a six-pa
ck from the fridge. “West was worried. He didn’t mean to step on your toes by hiring Del.”

  “I know. It’s only short term.” Shaye pasted on a smile. “And Del’s talented. I’ll learn a lot from him.” Good grief, she sounded like a game show host reading off a tele-prompter.

  Piper placed the beer on the kitchen counter and squeezed her arm. “I’m so glad you’re being cool about it all.”

  “Who’s cool? Other than me?” Ben tweaked her ponytail.

  “Here—” Piper picked up the cans and shoved them into Ben’s arms. “Make yourself useful and take these out.”

  Ben tucked the six-pack against his broad chest and made a gimme gesture at the bowl of chips. “Load me up, ladies.”

  Shaye grinned up at her brother and balanced the bowl on top of the cans. “Don’t eat them all between here and the table.”

  “Now, how would I do that with no free hands?” He raised the chips closer to his face. “‘Course, I could chow down this way.”

  “Doofus,” she said.

  Ford appeared and stole a chip over Ben’s shoulder. “Five bucks says he couldn’t eat every chip in the bowl without using his hands.”

  “Five bucks says if we recorded him trying, Kez would make him sleep on the couch tonight.” Shaye held up a palm for Ford’s high-five.

  Ford gave her some skin. “Burned him, baby.”

  “Will you lot stop gas-bagging in the kitchen and hurry up,” West yelled from the family room.

  Shaye snickered and followed her brother to the table.

  When she first arrived at West’s, splattery shower sounds drifted out from under Del’s door. She’d hurried past and kept busy with Piper in the kitchen, grateful not to be caught in the hallway exchanging awkward “Hi again” greetings with Del. By the time he wandered into the family room, Noah and Ford had arrived.

  Now, sitting opposite him, squeezed between West and Ford, Shaye couldn’t ignore him any longer. Dressed in a plain grey-marl sweater, Del fiddled with his stack of poker chips. With sleeves shoved casually up to his elbows, each movement of his hands emphasized the corded muscles of his forearms. The man had sexy forearms.

  Shaye stacked her chips in four equal piles and breathed deeply, inhaling cedar wood with a hint of basil, and the same smell that wrapped around a woman when a man draped his leather jacket across her shoulders. She’d caught faint whiffs of it all day, every time Del walked past. If he’d been a department store sample strip, she would’ve rubbed him over her body to transfer the delicious smell onto her skin.

  A thought she didn’t need showing on her face.

  She edged her chair closer to Ford. He smelled like pine soap with a touch of grease. A comfortable smell.

  “Noah?” she said. “Finished gossiping with Hollywood? Decorate the table, willya?”

  Noah cocked a finger at her. “Feeling lucky tonight, Shaye?”

  “I bought a new skirt from last month’s pot, so yeah, I’m feeling lucky.”

  “Let’s go to Texas.” Noah tossed two poker chips on the table.

  Del followed with four of his, and West dealt.

  Shaye picked up her cards and gave a mental fist pump. A marriage—king of clubs and queen of hearts. Game on.

  Ten hands later, Shaye rethought her lucky feeling. It wasn’t her night. She’d taken the pot twice, with a three of a kind and a full house. Piper and Ford had also won a game each. Noah—with his perfected blank cop face—had scored twice, but Del had won three hands. Not in a row but still, he’d cleaned up three times.

  Del was no baby-beginner fish. In fact, she’d bet he was a shark pretending to be fish.

  Down to the final hand of the night, only four players remained. The others threw in their cards—leaving her and Del, and Ford and West. Piper, the last round’s dealer, burned a card and placed the final one of the game face up.

  “And the black bitch joins the river, boys and girls.”

  Ohmygawd. The corner of Shaye’s mouth twitched so she clamped her lips and tried to look as if she didn’t have pocket queens to play with. Her lashes flicked up to find Del studying her—the heat in his gaze either meant he had killer cards or something else, entirely.

  “Ford? You in?” asked Piper.

  Ford ran a hand over his shoulder-length dreads and slapped his cards face down on the table. “Nah. I’m folding like a cheap car jack.”

  “Shaye?”

  Shaye considered her remaining poker chips. Del would bet last, positioned as he was two places away from the dealer. He’d play big, guaranteed. Earlier, he’d nailed her as a conservative player, and she hadn’t denied it. Being “tight” most of the time gave her a cover for the odd reckless move.

  A move she considered now.

  Though Del had won three games, he’d lost big in the other seven—because Del didn’t like to fold. He gambled to win, but to win, he’d have to play big and risk everything.

  Shaye slid her remaining chips forward. “All in.”

  Beside her, West whistled long and low, nudging her arm. “You go, girl. But too rich for me.” He dropped his cards face down and grinned at Piper, who made clucking noises.

  “Del?” Shaye raised a brow.

  Del leaned back and crossed his arms, his two hold cards pressed against one nicely rounded biceps. “We could make this last bet interesting. Something more personal than just cash.”

  Noah and Ben, who’d both gotten up to raid the chip bowl, paused in their munching.

  Ben returned to the table. “Better not be suggesting anything inappropriate to my sister.”

  “What’s the guy rule about workplace relationships?” Del asked.

  Ben gave Del a grim smile and made an “I’m watching you gesture” with two fingers.

  Del turned to her, moved his pile of chips forward. “I win, you dump the swear jar for the time I’m here.”

  Shaye tossed back her ponytail. “Honestly? You can’t go a month without saying fuck?”

  Her sister sucked in a soft gasp, and Ford straightened from a slouch to full alert.

  Shaye gave Piper an oh puh-lease eye roll. She kept her language clean—so what? It wasn’t as if she couldn’t cuss with the best of them. The odd time her temper reached volcanic levels, she could creatively out-swear both her siblings. But she was her father’s little princess, and princesses who tragically lost their daddies always tried to keep their tiaras shining brightly.

  In case Daddy was looking down from heaven.

  Del stroked the edge of a playing card with one long finger. “I like that verb.”

  How on earth did he make that sound so…dirty?

  Shaye shifted on her chair. “All right, agreed. But if I win…” She paused, knuckle pressed to her lip, racking her brain for something that would take Mr. I Like that Verb down a peg or two. “If I win, you help cater the kids’ Halloween party.”

  Ben snorted out a laugh. His two girls—Jade, his daughter, and Zoe, his almost stepdaughter—were already planning their costumes for the big night.

  The smirkish curve of Del’s mouth straightened. “A Halloween party?”

  “You know, kettle corn, cupcakes decorated to look like jack o’ lanterns, lots of excited kids hyped up on sugar.” She smiled winningly. “But if you’re not a risk taker…”

  He showed her a lot of teeth in return. “Oh, I’m a risk taker. Only both payoffs seem to be in your favor.”

  “What do you suggest?”

  “If I lose, I’ll run the damn Halloween party, but”—another flash of teeth and Shaye’s heart rate kicked up a notch—“if I win, you give up the swear jar and be my plus one for West’s wedding.”

  Laughter and catcalls erupted around the table. Ben’s humor evaporated, and he glared at Del.

  Before she could ask why, Del said, “Simmer down, boys. We’re both going anyway.”

  Ah, got it. Good ol’ equivalent-to-comfort-food Shaye was convenient and easy—so she’d do as his wedding date.

 
; “I have plans, remember?” She fired vicious glances at Ben and Piper, hoping West would keep his damn mouth shut and not contradict her.

  Del tapped his cards against his arm. “If I win, maybe you’ll change your mind about those plans.”

  Dammit, the smug bastard knew she was bluffing.

  Shaye straightened her spine. “Maybe I will. But first, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “Sure.”

  Del flipped his two cards face up. Two aces. Put that together with the ace of clubs, the three and seven of hearts, and the two queens on the turn and river, and it made a full house. A good hand. Actually, a great hand. Only not great enough.

  Shaye batted her lashes at him—bad lashes and bad gloating smile—and flipped over her two lovely ladies.

  Didn’t. Say. A. Word. The cards spoke for themselves.

  Ben whooped. “Four of a kind, loser.”

  “Bazinga!” Piper reached around Ford and shoved Shaye’s shoulder. “You got him gooood.”

  “Ouch, bro,” said Ford. “Those Halloween parties are wild.”

  The whole time heckles flew around the table, Del watched her with hooded eyes. A hot gaze that dropped to her mouth and up again but didn’t leave her face. Her blood pumped faster and faster. She’d won. He’d lost. She’d keep her swear jar and he’d help with the Halloween party.

  So why did she regret making those silly bets? Why did a blush creep over her cheeks as her heart galloped around her ribcage? Had she secretly wanted him to win so she’d have a date on Piper’s big day? Her fingers locked together in her lap.

  Of course not. What a silly idea.

  Del stood, fished in his jeans front pocket and pulled out a roll of banknotes. Tossing two twenties across the table, he said, “Guess I’ll get a double helping of humble pie, next time you make one.”

  Shaye swallowed the ball of nerves tingling in her throat and prayed her voice came out steady. “Guess you will. And I guess you’ll have to find another date for the wedding. I hear Mrs. Taylor’s free.”

  Mrs. Taylor, an octogenarian widow, was a dreadful flirt with wandering hands. A good-looking young man relaxed in her company at his own peril. Which was why, in reception-planning discussions, Piper elected to place the older woman safely between Denise Komeke and Caroline Russell.