Burn It Up

by Cara McKenna

  “The bar, huh?” she said. “And you’re acting kinda funny about it.”

  He smiled and met her gaze. “It was a funny night. Not funny ha-ha, just . . . weird.”

  “Because of Raina and Duncan?”

  “Sure, a little. Not as bad as it used to be, though. Just weird being out like that.”

  She noticed his clothes now. Jeans with no holes, and no dust caking the thighs, and a button-up shirt. “Oh. Did you . . . Were you on a date or something?”

  He laughed. “No, no. But I am a couple years overdue for one, so I figured I ought to start showing my face in town more often.”

  “Good for you.” He wouldn’t have much trouble. He was handsome and charming, and rich by local standards. The catch to beat all catches, in Fortuity. “It won’t take long, I’m sure.”

  “You clearly don’t know how rusty my flirting game is.”

  “Did you meet any—” She was cut off by a loud pounding coming from the front door.

  Miah was on his feet in a breath, expression hard as he hurried from the room. Casey must have heard the knocking as well; he emerged barefoot from the bathroom, still buckling his belt, and disappeared after Miah.

  Alarmed, she hefted the baby, holding her close and straining for clues. There was another knock, cut short by the sound of the door opening.

  “Denny.” Miah’s voice. He sounded surprised.

  A woman spoke, but Abilene couldn’t hear. Still, if it was somebody Miah knew by name, it couldn’t be bad, surely. Far more curious than alarmed now, she carried Mercy past the kitchen to the front hall and stood beside Casey. A young woman about her own age was just inside the door—pretty, with a deep tan and a dark braid. She was dressed oddly, in yoga pants and flip-flops, with a blanket draped around her shoulders.

  “There were camera flashes,” she said to Miah, with a glance at Abilene and the now-fussing baby.

  “Through the bunkhouse window?” he asked, grabbing his boots from under the bench.

  “No, a ways off, but bright enough to see. He was taking photos, over by the stables—”

  In the distance, three pops—gunshots, unmistakably.

  Footsteps came thumping down the front stairs, and a moment later Don Church joined them in the crowded hall, tucking his shirt into his pants like he’d just pulled them on.

  “What on earth was that?”

  “Gunshots,” Miah said, and jogged back toward the kitchen.

  “Could be Jason’s,” the girl named Denny told Don, her face ghostly white now, voice shaky. “Somebody was creeping around near the bunks and stables. Jason and I were in the kitchen. He grabbed his rifle and ran outside, but the guy bolted as soon as the door opened. He chased him, and I ran over here.”

  “You call the Sheriff’s Department?” Don asked.

  “No,” she said, and let Miah brush past, rifle in hand. “My phone was in my bunk.” She disappeared after him out the front door, followed by Don once he’d laced his shoes. Abilene could hear him talking to a 911 dispatcher as his voice faded away. That left her and Casey standing around, staring at each other.

  She cut him off when his mouth opened. “Don’t go.”

  His shoulders softened. After a beat he seemed to submit. “Okay.”

  “Someone’s sneaking around again?”

  “Yeah, that was one of the ranch hands.”

  “I figured . . . It isn’t James.”

  Casey shook his head. “Doubtful. Not unless he’s a peeping tom as well as an arms dealer. C’mon, let’s get back where it’s warm.” He shut the door and they returned to the den. The fire had cooled to a pink glow and Casey fed the hearth a couple fat logs while Abilene settled once more on the couch. She kept the baby in her lap, feeling uneasy.

  “I hope no one got hurt . . . I wonder what on earth it could be about.” Not her, she prayed, though it seemed unlikely.

  Casey sat on the end of the couch, facing her, hugging his knees. “Maybe a thief. Times are tough, and there’s plenty of expensive equipment here. Or maybe some creep with designs on one of the girls.”

  “‘Creep’ is an understatement, if they came armed.”

  “True enough.” His gaze softened, settling on the baby.

  “I feel like we should be doing something.” She bounced Mercy, more to soothe her own nerves than to calm the baby’s. There hadn’t been any more shots, at least. That was something.

  “We stay put, keep the baby safe,” he said. “Fill Christine in if she comes down. Fingers crossed she managed to sleep through it.”

  At that, they both fell quiet for a minute or more, the crackle of the fire dominating the still room. Her heart slowed a little, as moments passed with no further shots.

  “That phone call you got earlier,” she said gently, wanting a distraction. “Was it what you’d thought it was?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got a follow-up conversation tomorrow; then after that, it should be all cleared up.”

  She pursed her lips, then spoke the truth. “I wish you’d tell me what it was about.”

  Casey sighed, shoulders rising and falling. “I will, once it’s all settled. Right now . . . Whatever comes of it, it’s going to change things for me. Majorly. I’ll tell you once I know if they’re going to change for the better or the worse, but before then, I think I’ll keep the worrying to myself.”

  “I’m worried all the same. You make it sound like you’re waiting on a cancer diagnosis.”

  His smile was weak and he didn’t meet her eyes, and that only made her fret more. It was crazy how attached she’d grown to this man since last summer, and then in earnest, just this past week. Not dependent, for a change—not attached out of survival, as she’d become with way too many guys. Rather, emotionally tied up.

  It was a strange space to be in with a man, caught in the no-man’s-land between friends and lovers. Serious lovers. If it weren’t for the baby, all she’d need was some minuscule sign that this could be real, and she’d be head over heels for him at the snap of his fingers. In it deep and fast and reckless, as she hadn’t been since she’d been fifteen, and mixed up with her very first love. She hadn’t fallen for James this way, nor any of the other men between her first love and Casey. Those in-between guys . . . she’d needed them too badly to fall.

  Real, giddy love required surrender and trust and a touch of wonder, and such things were luxuries she hadn’t been able to afford during her toughest years. Now, though . . .

  Even amid the recent drama and the upheaval of new motherhood, even unsure how she’d make ends meet or where she’d live, her heart felt treacherously ready to tumble for this man.

  They’d both spaced out, and the sound of the front door opening made Abilene jump. Miah appeared shortly. He looked tired and annoyed. Footsteps followed and his dad stalked through the den, heading toward the office with his phone in his hand, looking too cross for chitchat.

  “No luck?” Casey asked Miah.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. Jason chased him, but the guy was armed.”

  Abilene’s hand flew to her lips.

  “Jason’s fine—they were sky shots, he thinks, but he quit following all the same. Said he heard a vehicle start up down the road and take off due west, but that’s about it.”

  “A dark pickup, no doubt,” Casey said.

  “Got my money on it.” Miah sank into the rocker, tilting his head back and sighing his exasperation. “Man, this pisses me off. Got a whole bunkhouse full of spooked hands now, thinking we’ve got a poacher or a thief or a pervert on the loose.”

  “Well, you might.”

  “What about the security cameras?” Abilene asked.

  “Dad’s checking them now, and there’s deputies on the way, to get Denny and Jason’s statements, and cruisers headed downtown, to look for the truck. I’m not holding my breath, though.”

  Casey swore softly.

  “Maybe it’s personal,” Abilene said. “Somebody who has a beef with one of your employees,
maybe?”

  “Personally, I bet it’s a burglar. A bold one. If this asshole’s spying on any of the girls, or stalking somebody, why would they be taking pictures of the stables?”

  Abilene nodded, feeling a little calmed by that. Burglary was impersonal, at least.

  Miah thumped the arms of the rocker with his fists, looking like a man who’d be too keyed up to sleep tonight. “I’m gonna go see if my dad’s found anything on the security tapes.”

  Casey watched him go, looking agitated, then stood himself. “I’ll be back. I want to see what the tapes might have to show.”

  She nodded. “I’ll probably get ready for bed.” Mercy was already out cold.

  “Yeah, you might as well. I think we can safely let our guards down, if only for the night.”

  She hesitated, unsure if she needed to tell Casey he was welcome to join her, or if it was implied by now. She imagined it was the latter—the condoms he’d bought at the drugstore with her weren’t exactly subtle, as signals went.

  “You can, um . . . you can join me, if you want,” she said. “When you’re done down here.”

  He nodded once, gaze skimming her body in a thoughtless, restless way. “I will. Right after I make sure Miah gets a stiff drink.”

  “Good idea.” She held Mercy to her chest and stood. “See you if I’m not asleep.”

  Casey stepped close, rested a hand on the baby’s back, and leaned in to kiss Abilene. On the lips, not the cheek. She watched him disappear down the hall with a broad grin overtaking those same lips, and the smell of him lingering about her.

  Mine, she thought, with a bolt of ferocity she’d forgotten she could feel for anyone other than Mercy. That man was too many things—reliable and mysterious and goofy and a little dangerous; cute one minute, then handsome, then so sexy it made her pulse spike. Loyal and wild, and just a touch sketchy.

  A hundred mismatched things, she thought.

  And mine. If only in my dreams.

  Chapter 17

  Upstairs, Abilene laid the dozing baby in her crib, changed into her pajama bottoms and a tee, and settled under the covers, waiting. Perhaps twenty minutes later she heard steps, then water running in the bathroom. She’d left the door ajar, and Casey slipped inside. Finding her awake, his expression changed from pensive to soft in a breath. He smiled faintly and came to sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Anything?” she asked.

  “Not a lot. It was the same guy Miah chased, though. He recognized his build and his jacket, from the tape. At least that narrows it down to one confirmed white male creeper, and not a whole team of them. After last year’s casino drama, this town needs another criminal conspiracy like it needs a drought.”

  “You get a drink into Miah?”

  He shook his head. “He went out to talk with the deputies and his workers.”

  “Should we be worried? For tonight, I mean?”

  “I don’t think so. Guy’s a coward, and those shots were probably designed to scare Jason off, not to actually hit him.”

  “That’s something, I suppose.”

  “I’m with Miah—a burglar seems like the most obvious explanation.”

  “And not a very good burglar,” Abilene wagered. “He’s been caught twice now.”

  “Say the word and we’ll get you and Mercy out of here.”

  She considered it. “To where?”

  “My place, maybe.”

  His place . . . There was an appeal to that, a dangerous one. He’d begun feeling like more than a friend and boss these past few days, more than a lover, even. Her growing attachment made it unwise, and beyond that, she didn’t want to uproot the baby any more than necessary, or give James any reason to doubt the stability of his daughter’s situation.

  “Let’s wait and see what the Sheriff’s Department has to say. Maybe they’ll catch the guy. I’d hate to put us both through the trouble if it gets resolved.”

  He nodded. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. You gonna be able to sleep tonight?”

  With Casey beside her? “Yeah, I think so. If you’re sticking around.”

  Another nod, and something in his expression shifted. It was more than glassy-eyed lust. Something fiercer, and every sweet thing he’d said to her in the car echoed in her memory, warming her through. I’ve never been for anybody what I’ve been for you two. And no man had ever been for Abilene quite what Casey was becoming.

  No doubt she’d wanted this man, each and every time their bodies came together, but tonight felt different. Like a change in the atmosphere.

  A change in me, she knew. She felt more for him than she’d felt for a man in years and years, and she hoped he’d feel it right back in the way she welcomed him inside her tonight.

  She shivered at the thought, excited. It was chased by a little pang of residual guilt—a by-product of her upbringing—but then, as always, that pang transformed, charging her as Casey joined her under the blanket.

  He studied her face and throat. “What do you need tonight?” he whispered. “Comfort, or distraction, or . . . ?”

  “Both.” She drew him close by the collar, and in a breath he was up to speed, exactly the man she needed. His hands were warm on her ribs, and his eyes closed as he brought his mouth to hers. He felt restless and hungry, and in no time his hands were urging her, directing her. He sat up, cross-legged, drawing her onto his lap, hugging her legs around his waist.

  It was the deepest kiss of Abilene’s life. The hottest, and the sweetest. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, hugged their centers together, and still she needed him closer. Needed to feel his strong, warm body on hers, to hear him, smell him. She let her hands roam as they wished, exploring his arms and chest and back.

  It had been ages since she’d wanted a man this way. With abandon and ferocity instead of cautious curiosity. Even when she’d seduced James, she’d managed to be passive about it. But she trusted Casey so implicitly, the old role no longer fit. Every other lover she’d had had been like a lion or a wolf or some other skittish beast to be approached with deference, won through submission. But this man . . .

  She wanted to be on top of him, just like this. To rub her body against his in whatever ways felt good, and to hell with whether it made her look aggressive or impolite. Sick of playing the helpless little girl part, she wanted to feel like a grown woman for the first time. Wanted to take, instead of be taken.

  Casey drew his mouth back, smiling broadly, eyes crinkling. “You’re different tonight.”

  “I feel different.”

  “I like it,” he whispered.

  “So do I.”

  He held her face and kissed her hard.

  Her hand found the headboard and she held his shoulder with the other, and began to move. He was hard, and she drew her own excitement against his in tight, needy motions, swallowing his moans as they kissed, until his head dropped back, eyes shut tight. He looked overwhelmed, and his breaths were coming in panting gasps. She’d known sexual power before—a cowardly, manipulative, roundabout sort of power. But nothing like this. She felt as if she were riding a wild animal instead of merely taming one.

  “Fuck, honey.” His palms held her waist, eyes still shut, lips parted. She traced the lower one with her fingertips, kissed his chin and jaw and throat, his ear.

  “Where’d you come from?” he murmured, barely loud enough to hear.

  “You make me want things. Want to do things.” Not to merely let things happen to her. She didn’t know how to tell him what a revelation this was, so she let her body do the talking.

  After another minute’s friction, he panted, “I’m gonna fucking catch fire. Let’s get our clothes off.”

  She knelt between his legs, plucking at his shirt’s snaps. In a few clumsy seconds they got that off, and Casey shed his tee while Abilene worked his belt buckle open. He finished the job, shoving his jeans and shorts away. Abilene ditched her bottoms and shirt and bra, sitting naked before him now. She didn’t care about her
belly or breasts or stretch marks or any other thing. All that mattered was the gleam in his eyes as he surveyed her bare body—pure awe and lust.

  She studied him right back. She’d never stared at a man this way, so openly. It had seemed more feminine to steal shy glances. It had seemed more like her, in keeping with that persona she’d hidden behind for so long. But Casey knew better. He’d known she was pregnant by a violent criminal and maintained a crush on her through it all, so it wasn’t her more obvious charms that had attracted him. Precisely what it was, she couldn’t say, but ditching the shy-girl act was like stripping away more than her clothes. Like that tired old victim costume she’d relied on for way too long lay in tatters on the floor.

  So she let her eyes feast, loving every detail of him. His skin was pale, freckles still lingering on his forearms and face, and tinted pink here and there, a blush that went far beyond his cheeks. The hair on his chest and between his legs was golden brown, and he had two moles on his left pec, one on his throat, each the color of toffee. A mauve smudge of a scar marred one thigh—a souvenir from a gunshot wound, though that was all she knew of its origin story.

  His cock was hard, flushed dark, the skin of his head gleaming smooth and taut in the light of the reading lamp.

  She saved his eyes for last, their blue looking dark, deep. Through all the scrutiny, he lay still, hands on his thighs. His lips were still parted, and his own curious eyes abandoned their exploration to meet hers.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “For what?”

  “For letting me just . . . look at you.”

  “Thanks for the same. You’re beautiful.”

  She smiled and looked down, shy in a grateful, authentic way. “Thanks.”

  “You’re perfect.”

  She met his gaze. “So are you.”

  His hand drifted slowly to cup the base of his cock, caressing the underside in slow, faint strokes. “I want you.”