Safe Heart (Dreamspun Desires Book 102)

by Amy Lane

She nibbled on her lip with delicate teeth. “Perhaps,” she said honestly. “I… I was… am so very afraid to love. Perhaps that extended to you too.”

  Cash swallowed. “I don’t want to be free from love anymore,” he said with resolve. He’d left Glen Echo, the best man he’d ever met, alone in a hospital.

  Cash Harper had to be a better man than that.

  He stayed long enough to clear things up with Clive and make things square, and to set up a recording date with the rest of his band—in a year. Clive and Buddy gave him the resources to find Brielle, and he spent four months living in hotels and boning up on his internet skills enough to do that.

  Until he found her, had a place and a mission, a way to get Glen on board, he hadn’t wanted to come back. He’d fucked up this man’s life so badly, in so many ways. He needed to bring something with him. He needed to bring an offering to prove he wasn’t the fuckup he’d been that day in Jalisco.

  And Glen had beaten him to it.

  Glen had found her without Cash’s help.

  And part of this was devastating, because Cash had nothing.

  But part of this was tremendous, because it meant Glen had never stopped thinking about him.

  Cash could live with that—with Glen still thinking of him. Which meant Cash had to come to Glen with the only gift he could muster: his resolve to stay. His grown man’s ass doing what needed to be done, like Glen Echo did.

  It was all Cash had, and damned if he wasn’t going to make it work.

  Behind him, Glen’s chest rose and fell evenly, his breath settling into a pattern of sleep. Cash took the hand on his hip and drew it to his chest, and Glen, apparently too tired to protest, pulled Cash into his embrace, holding him tightly, back to front, the same protectiveness Glen had offered in Las Varas, and later in Enrique’s store keeping Cash safe now.

  Cash was only a little stupid. He’d had this twice and had run away. Now that he remembered it—Glen’s strength, his smell, his heat—Cash wasn’t going to run away. Not this time.

  Clutching Glen’s hand to his chest, he closed his eyes and concentrated on letting Glen’s smell permeate his skin.

  Never. He was never going to leave this again.

  Wheels Up

  GLEN pounded another swig of coffee and tried to wake up.

  “I’m flying, right?” Spencer asked as Damien hovered over the cream-painted Cessna Grand Caravan with the green Gecko Inc. logo painted on the tail. Damien was doing preflight, Spencer had been filing the flight plan, and Glen had been talking to Elsie, the other pilot for Gecko Inc., trying to finalize the relatively light workload they had going in the next four days.

  “So if Spencer has to come back, he’ll bring Damien with him—”

  “He will not!” Damien called from behind the Cessna. “Send Spencer early, let him help Elsie out for three days, and if we’re done before Spence gets back, we can get a hotel and chill.”

  “What if we need our asses bailed out?” Glen argued.

  Damien moved around the plane, his limp apparent but not pronounced, and set his hands on his hips. “Since when have the two of us together ever needed bailing out? One at a time? Yeah, sure. That’s trouble. Do you think because I’m not living in the mancave we don’t work like that anymore? Jesus, Gecko, get over yourself.”

  Glen glared at his back as Damien turned to resume his task. “So you’re saying that we fuck up less together than we do by ourselves?”

  “I’m saying.”

  “So essentially you’re blaming Donner Pass all on me ’cause I wasn’t there.”

  “I’m blaming Donner Pass on God—he’s the one who smacked my fuckin’ helicopter.”

  “So you’re blaming Hole in the Rock on me?”

  “God’s got that one too, asshole,” Damien sang. “Bangladesh—that was you. Who rappels out of a helicopter for a blowjob? Riddle me this, Batman.”

  Cash snickered, and Glen forgot himself for a moment and let out a grin before he remembered he was trying not to be susceptible to Cash right now.

  “It was a world-class blowjob,” Glen said with dignity. “What about that Coast Guard thing—”

  “Still God!” Damien muttered, but then he added darkly, “With a little help from our CO, who couldn’t read a weather chart to literally save our fuckin’ lives.”

  “Yeah, the CO gets his fair share there,” Glen agreed, remembering the way Damien had barely pulled their cargo plane out of a steep dive. They’d felt the whitecaps tagging the bottom of the plane, and their subsequent loud-assed bitching got them pulled off of cargo plane duty, which had been assigned as a punitive measure for disobeying orders anyway.

  Which was the epitome of their military career, actually.

  Good times.

  “Are you done bragging?” Preston asked, coming back to the plane after taking his dogs for a jog. Preacher—a blocky boxer/retriever mix with a head the size of a beach ball and a disposition as solid as bedrock, kept tight to Preston’s heels. His other dog, Colonel, was a rangy cross between a German shepherd and a boxer. Glen had requested Skeet, but Colonel had a soft spot for Spencer, and Skeet had actually graduated to police work. Colonel had been a rescue, a failed police dog who could sniff out drugs but who also thought perfume was a drug and so were dog treats. Preston was trying to find a place for Colonel because he was so very well-meaning, but his success rate was just under the department minimum.

  When Spencer saw the dogs, he ambled over and dropped to a squat in front of the big guy. Preacher was wholly devoted to Preston, but Spencer and Colonel—they seemed to be destined for love.

  “I’ve got treats,” Spencer said, the humility uncharacteristic. “Can I give him some?”

  Preston’s mouth thinned. It was so against training protocol, but like Spencer was a sucker for dogs, Preston seemed to sense something very doglike in Spence.

  “Make him sit, and walk away first,” Preston said. “He’s at work.”

  Glen waited patiently as Spencer did basic training exercises with his brother’s dog, and Cash said into his ear, “That’s an unlikely friendship.”

  Glen nodded. “I halfway think Preston thinks of Spence like an unruly pit bull. Scary-looking but not really ferocious, you know?”

  Cash chuckled. “Yeah, I get that.”

  The dog’s behavior completed, Colonel got called over to get his treat, and Preston stroked Preacher’s wide head as it rested by his knees. “Spencer needs to take this dog,” he said.

  “Apartment doesn’t take dogs,” Glen reminded him for the umpteenth time.

  Preston glared at him, unimpressed. “You could always move.”

  Glen opened his mouth, but Preston shook his head.

  “No. Don’t argue. No words. You and Damien throw some bullshit around. Me and the dogs will be in the corner, ignoring you.”

  Cash watched Preston stalk to the hangar, dogs at his heels, and smirked. “Can’t say he’s not honest.”

  “No, you can’t.” Glen closed his eyes and took another swig of coffee. Cash’s body next to his the night before had been sweet—so sweet. He’d slept—probably better than he’d slept since Las Varas—but getting up that morning had been hard. His back and shoulder hurt from denying himself pain meds, and his heart hurt from denying himself hope. Spencer was going to fly them down, and the three of them were going to do some recon on the poor little island that was currently getting itself an unneeded mansion makeover. Then they were going to do a rescue—but after that?

  Well, just like with any op, he couldn’t let himself think about after that.

  Right now what they were going to do when they got there was going to depend on what they found—but Glen hadn’t forgotten. There were gorillas with guns and confused kids on happy juice and… and….

  And Cash, promising to glue himself to Glen’s side and never to leave again.

  Glen almost preferred the gorillas with guns, really.

  Those he knew what to do with.
r />   There was a gentle tap on his shoulder, and he turned to Elsie. Pint-sized at 5’3”, bronze-skinned, apple-cheeked, and irre-fuckin’-pressible, Elsie was the sunshine to Spencer’s shadow—and she knew it.

  “How you assholes doing?” she asked, her cheeks bobbing impishly.

  “Well, some of us are tight and some of us are loose, darlin’,” Glen responded, his heart lightening just from her smile. “You’ve probably got your choice of assholes here on this airfield.”

  Elsie grunted. “We have got four very macho gay men on this airfield.” She gave a bored look to the man at Glen’s side. “And Cash. But only three of you are assholes.” She glanced at Cash again. “That I know of.”

  “Some of us are trying to work a little higher than the asshole, ma’am,” Cash said, dimpling prettily. “Some of us would be flattered to be called buttcracks, or even nipples.”

  Elsie let out a cackle. “God, kid—I’d love to hate you, but damn, you’ve got a pretty mouth.”

  Cash was startled into a guffaw, and Glen found that he absolutely had to look at him. He hadn’t heard Cash Harper let out a belly laugh once in the entire time he’d known him. It was an honest sound, a little braying, a lot giggly, and… and wholesome. Not affected or jaded or trying to be tough.

  That sound from Cash’s mouth was 100 percent real.

  Glen’s heart made an actual noise as it softened.

  Elsie tagged Glen on the arm. “Shut your mouth, pretty boy, you’re catching flies.”

  Glen swallowed and tried to pull himself back to the headspace where he didn’t care. “He’s got an average mouth,” he lied. “But you go ahead and kiss up to him. I’m sure he’ll sign your CD.”

  Elsie’s next cackle held a little bit of schoolgirl to it. “He’d better if I’m covering your worthless ass in the air while you go off and tilt at windmills.”

  Next to him, Cash sobered. “Thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how to thank you all enough—”

  Elsie’s horror was palpable. “He’s getting serious, Glen! Make him stop!”

  “Kid, you want to thank her, sign her damned CD, but God—don’t say anything.”

  Cash glared at Glen, the challenge in his eyes palpable. “In all my many years—”

  Glen smirked and Cash smacked his arm before resuming.

  “In all my many years upon this planet, I have never known two souls more deserving of humble thanks. My lady, my knight, I am, above all else, your humble servant.”

  And then, with a flourish, he knelt on one knee.

  Elsie couldn’t breathe. She was making weird wheezing noises and snorking like a pug and smacking Glen’s arm hard enough to bruise, and Glen—oh man. He had to. He let out a chortle loud enough to surprise the two dogs.

  “Well done, junior,” he said. “You’re fucking welcome.”

  Cash popped to his feet and grinned, then gave Elsie a concerned look. “Is, uh, she going to be okay?”

  “No,” Spencer said, coming up alongside his longtime flight partner and looping an arm over her shoulders. “But that’s normal.”

  “Don’t be an ass, sweetheart, and give your big sister a kiss.”

  After five months as roommates, Glen had figured out that Spencer had a couple of hidden soft spots, and one not so hidden.

  The not-so-hidden one was Elsie.

  He smiled—a genuinely warm expression without a trace of sarcasm or irritation—and kissed Elsie’s cheek. “Love ya, sis. Take care of my girl, okay?”

  “Joshua might take exception to that,” Glen said dryly, thinking of Elsie’s adorable—and totally straight—boyfriend.

  “Joshua knows she’s my girl in the air,” Spencer said mildly. “He gets her all the other times.”

  “Totally true,” Elsie confirmed. “Now I’ve got my itineraries, and I know how to get in touch with all of you losers if something goes south.”

  “And Buddy’s going to get us a helo in Baja,” Glen confirmed. “So Spencer really can fly back, and I might even lend you Damien.”

  “Damien’s fine!” Damien called, finishing the preflight check. “Damien’s chipper, Damien’s one hundred percent ready to go.”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t!” Glen called back. “I said I might send you to Elsie to work you to death!”

  “What did we just say about how splitting up the team only makes the disasters happen?” Damien challenged. “Elsie can handle it. If there’s an avalanche or something, we can plan from there. Spencer, did you and Preston get all the supplies and packs?”

  “Yes, boss,” Spencer affirmed smartly. “Can we get this road on the show?”

  “That’s our cue,” Glen said quietly to Cash. “Go get your shit and pick your seat.”

  Cash’s mouth twisted. “You think I’m not sitting next to you?”

  “I’m sitting next to Damie in the copilot’s seat!” Glen told him, a little outraged.

  “Spencer’s sitting next to Damie in the copilot’s seat.” Damien smirked.

  “Are you tired of talking about yourself in the third person yet, asshole?” Glen snapped. “And why does Spencer—”

  “Because you look like shit, Gecko,” Damien said, his tone brooking no argument. “You still haven’t recovered from the night of the Husky Chorus. Sit next to Cash, pretend you like each other, and stop bitching at all of us. You are not the only competent pilot on the tarmac, O Mighty Lizard! Get used to it.”

  Glen glared at him through narrowed eyes. “Remember when you were all hurt and sad and you didn’t talk? I miss those days.”

  “You do not. You said I was as much fun as a battery-acid enema.”

  Glen knew his eyes went wide. “I said that?”

  “Yes, asshole. You said that. Right before you disappeared in Mexico. Thanks for that, by the way.”

  “Wow,” Glen said to Cash, greatly cheered for some reason. “I am a real dick.”

  Cash rolled his eyes. “Get on the plane, O Mighty Lizard, before someone steps on your tail.”

  Glen scowled at him, but he did start steering the crowd toward the Cessna Caravan. “Only Damien gets to call me that,” he said, although he couldn’t recall Damien calling him that before. It was a good one, though—gecko, lizard, get it? He paused at the stairs to let Damien and Spencer get on first. Preston usually flew in the back with the dogs, because he didn’t have to participate in the conversation over the noise of the engines. He plugged in his earbuds and listened to music and played games on his tablet.

  Would have driven Glen crazy, but that was Preston.

  “Mm….” Cash pretended to ponder. “I don’t think so.”

  Glen waited for Cash to climb up. “Take it easy, Elsie!” he called before he disappeared into the plane. “Remember, contact—”

  “I’ll contact you if I need anything. Get your ass inside, Glen Echo, so you can come back and micromanage from home.”

  “Your boyfriend’s a fuckin’ saint!”

  “I’ll tell him so! Now go!”

  Glen got inside and realized that he really didn’t have any choice about sitting next to Cash. They wouldn’t be tight up against each other since the walkway was between them, but the walkway wasn’t that fucking wide. Preston and the dogs would be in the next row behind them, then their packs in the row after that. The rest of the interior had been made to hold emergency supplies. Everything from parachutes—God forbid—to cold-weather gear and scuba equipment was stored neatly in boxes, along with bedding and dog food. There was room for a stretcher along one side of the plane and a jump seat at the foot, just in case. The Cessna Grand Caravan was meant to hold ten to fourteen people, but Gecko Inc. really wasn’t a taxi service—it was a rescue service, and that’s where Glen had put his startup money.

  “Ooh… fancy!” Cash murmured as he checked the arm compartment of his chair and found chilled water and soda. He checked the other side and found the snacks that Glen and Damien stocked as a courtesy. “You guys really do fly right.”


  “You should see what we did with that Black Hawk Damien used to drag us out of Agujero en la Roca with. You wouldn’t recognize it now.”

  The helicopter had been bought from a farmer because Damien had been desperate for a way to get Glen down the mountain after they’d dug him out of the rubble. By the time he’d gotten Glen and the other victims of that brutal aftershock to the hospital in Guadalajara, the thing had been belching black smoke as well as practically flying sideways. If Damien hadn’t been Damien—and desperate to get Glen and Preston to safety—he never would have made it.

  “Cleans up nice?” Cash asked. “Some of us do, you know.”

  “You clean up fine.” Glen kept his voice mild, not wanting to admit how good Cash looked. He’d combed his brown hair carefully, then put a little bit of Spencer’s product in it and tousled it, and he looked mussed and delectable, and it wasn’t fair. Glen still remembered the warmth of his body, how good it felt to wrap an arm around Cash’s chest and have the man in his bed. “And what did you mean, ‘I don’t think so’?”

  “Hm?” Cash found a soda that apparently really rang his flippin’ bell and cracked it open as Damien and Spencer warmed up the plane and contacted the tower.

  “I said only Damien got to call me that, and you said you didn’t think so.”

  Cash studied him for a minute, and then his eyes flickered to Damien and Spencer in the front of the plane, and then to Preston right behind them. Nobody was paying them any attention, and Glen got the feeling they were very much alone.

  “Remember that night in Las Varas, and I was trying to be all tough about not needing anyone and not wanting any commitments, and how that was only a hookup?”

  “Yeah.” Glen swallowed, his chest tight.

  “That’s not what I want anymore.”

  Glen tried to breathe. “Exactly what do you want?”

  “I want exclusive. We’ve got a six-month head start on it—why the hell not? And when I say exclusive, I mean I am very, very territorial, and there is no pet name I won’t co-opt.”

  Glen scowled mulishly. “Damien and I—”

  “Are brothers, bonded, share the same DNA…. Look, I get it. I’m just saying you are going to make room for me.”