Romantic Times

by Christina Skye

  “And?”

  He waited a beat and ground out, “They threatened to cut off your hands with a meat cleaver.”

  Her face lost every ounce of color. Finally. That got through to her.

  But Peggy McCormack was a tough nut to crack. “Kate had no right hacking into my personal email, or to forward those emails to you.”

  “Your sister loves you and is smart enough to be scared for you.”

  She drew in a breath, giving him a chance to add, “Look, can we discuss this somewhere other than the middle of the lobby?”

  “Where?” she asked, vibrating with outrage. “My room?”

  He nodded. “It’d be more private.”

  “You had your chance, Marshal Justiss, and you flubbed it. I don’t need you, and I sure as hell don’t want you breathing down my neck right now. I need to focus.” She pulled out her phone and ignored him.

  If he wasn’t so concerned that those threats were real, he might admire her damn-the-torpedoes attitude. “Stubborn,” he mumbled, signaling for one of his cousins to shadow her. He was meeting the hotel manager in five and then doing a walk-through of the ballroom to see if they needed to make any changes to their protection detail. From the length of the line of people waiting to check in, he figured he had a little time before she would head up to her room.

  A little while later, he strode out of the hotel manager’s office, veering off toward the main ballroom. The Excelsior had been family-run since Louis “The Lip” LaFica first opened its doors, but so far he hadn’t met any of the LaFicas. He wondered if the family made it a point to stay out of the public eye, or if it was just working for a living that they were avoiding.

  “Heads up,” Tom warned. “Line’s moving.”

  Ben was about to head back to the reception area when John said, “Peggy’s meeting with the bake-off coordinator, then will be registering for the bake-off. You’ve got time.”

  The main doors to the ballroom were locked, so he went around to the side. There was only one set of double doors and three other doors. Still, he covered all of the bases, asking and receiving approval from the manager to use the hotel’s security tonight and over the next few days as needed.

  Come hell or high water, he was going to keep that stubborn woman safe. A tall order, but he was up to the challenge and had his crack team as backup. If their Garahan cousins hadn’t already had firefighting careers, he and his brother might have tried talking them into joining the U.S. Marshals.

  He and Matt had started up a security company when the word came down about their suspensions on vague and unsubstantiated charges. But so far the jobs had been small compared to this venue. They’d been relieved when two of their cousins became available after being ordered to take some of the vacation time they’d been stockpiling.

  With a tap to his earpiece, he communicated to his team, “Meeting in five… supply room by the freight elevator.”

  “I’ll be meeting with the bake-off staff in fifteen minutes to get a final list of the contestants and their roommates,” Ben said. “Tom, scope out the upper ballroom where the bake-off kitchen stations will be set up. John, check out all of the hotel bars. Matt secure the wing where Peggy’s room is located.”

  “She’s the last room in one of the new additions,” Matt said. “The corridors and corners are poorly lit and don’t show up on the hotel security cams.”

  “It might be our first security gig,” Tom said, “but as long as one of you is either with Peggy or have eyes on her, what could possibly go wrong?”

  The Justiss brothers shared a look. “Murphy’s Law.”

  Tom grinned. “Anything that can go wrong.—”

  “Will,” his brother finished. “at the worst possible moment.”

  “Yeah,” Matt said, “like rappelling off the Apple Grove water tower.”

  Ben chuckled. “We kicked your collective asses.”

  “Mike was just off the disabled list at his firehouse,” Tom said.

  “Pat was an ARI—alcohol related incident—waiting to happen,” John reminded them.

  Ben smiled. “It was his last night of freedom.”

  “You still haven’t fessed up,” Tom said.

  “I still can’t believe he let one of you goad him into that swan dive off the rail,” John added.

  Ben and Matt shared a look, and Ben said, “His cast looked great with his tux.”

  The Garahan brothers promised to settle the matter when the job was over and Peggy was safe. “She needs us,” Tom said.

  “Yeah,” Matt agreed. “But I think the real problem is she doesn’t want to want us—especially my brother.”

  “Shut up, Matt.” Ben looked at his team. “Synchronize your watches.”

  “Spy-stuff.” John grinned. “It’s 14:55.”

  “Nope,” Tom said. “14:57.”

  Matt looked at Ben, who said, “15:00 UTC/GMT.”

  Everyone reset their watches to match Ben’s. “We meet back here at 18:00.”

  Chapter Two

  “Hi, sis!”

  Peggy McCormack frowned at her phone and the sound of her younger sister’s voice. “You’ll never guess who I ran into.”

  There was a telling pause before Kate said, “Don’t be mad.”

  Peggy had to dig deep for a calm she didn’t feel. “Why would I be mad, Katie? Because you went behind my back and called the one man I never wanted to see again?”

  “I swear I—”

  “Or because you hacked into my email?”

  “I was looking for a supply order that might have gone to your email instead of the diner’s main email account.”

  “And that makes it okay?” It was a good thing her sister was in Ohio.

  “No,” Kate whispered. “But Sis, an email came through the main account a little while ago… it scared me spitless.”

  The catch in her sister’s voice cut through Peggy’s anger. “Nothing is going to keep me from competing in this bake-off.”

  “That’s why Grace convinced Mom and me to hire the Justiss brothers to act as your bodyguards.”

  “They brought two of their Garahan cousins.”

  “Tyler, Dylan, or Jesse?” Kate asked.

  “Not the Texas Garahans,” Peggy told her sister. “The New York Garahans.”

  “Even better,” Kate sighed. “The FDNY Garahans. Who came? Mike, Tom, or John?”

  “Tom and John.”

  Kate sighed. “Sorry I’m missing out on all of the fun.”

  “Someone has to run the diner.”

  She could hear heavy footsteps behind her. “Look, Kate, I’ve got to go. But I’ll call you later.”

  “Okay, but you have to fill me in on tall, blond, and dreamy!”

  Peggy agreed, then pressed the button for the elevator. The footsteps sounded closer. Was it someone connected to the threats?

  Maybe it’s Ben… the only man she’d ever sent a pie to…damn him for taking a little piece of her heart with him after Grace and Patrick’s wedding. It was that damned crooked smile. Maybe it was his snug-fitting jeans… or the Stetson. She sighed, knowing it all was all of the above, plus the way his hazel eyes lit up that time in the diner when she’d walked toward him with a pie in each hand.

  “Hmmpf,” she mumbled, “He was more interested in my pie.”

  “What was that about pie?” a familiar, deep voice called out from behind her.

  She blew out a breath, relieved and, at the same time aggravated that it was Ben. She ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. Honey B. had cut it right before she left for the bake-off, and she wasn’t used to the lack of ponytail yet.

  “Miss McCormack.” Ben sounded frustrated as he put his hand out to stop the elevator door from closing before he could get on.

  What kind of man doesn’t send a thank-you? She wondered. The kind who isn’t interested.

  “Peggy?”

  She glared up at him. “You are in my personal space.”

  He didn’t move an
inch. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And don’t call me ma’am.”

  “All right, Miss McCormack.”

  “And don’t call me miss,” she told him. “It’s Ms. McCormack to you.”

  “All right, Miz McCormack,” he drawled. “About those email threats…”

  The elevator chimed and she bolted as the doors opened. “Just some whacko trying to get me to back out of the bake-off.”

  “Will you?”

  She didn’t answer right away, or slow down until she’d reached the door to her room. “Not on your life.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” he asked, obviously hoping for clarification.

  “Take your pick. I’m here to win.”

  “Why is winning so important?” He sounded genuinely interested.

  “Time’s up, Marshal Justiss. I’ve got to get ready for the cocktail reception.” She opened her door, slipped in, and slammed it shut in his face. The grumbling coming from his side of the door had her smiling.

  *

  Peggy didn’t understand why the man protecting her didn’t even try to blend in. With his height and the white Stetson he wore, he was easy to pick out in a crowd.

  A spurt of jealousy slithered up from the pit of her stomach as he smiled at a petite redhead. It would have to be her toughest competitor—Internet cooking sensation, Sofia Stellini. As if the woman needed the marshal to add to the group of men gathered around her. With her bright red hair, tiny black dress, and killer heels, the woman stood out among the more conservatively dressed black-clad women in the room.

  Peggy made a mental note to ask her friend Rhonda at the Apple Grove Gazette to research the name of the idiot who had decreed that the little black dress was the only option to wear to a cocktail party. Her friend was great at digging up facts. Rhonda had been the one to find Ms. Stellini’s Internet cooking videos. Cait, another friend, had been the one to update her hourly as to the number of views.

  Sofia’s red hair and bright green eyes distracted the viewer from the fact that her cooking skills weren’t quite as dazzling as her cosmetically whitened smile. Peggy was positive she and Kate could cook rings around the woman—given the opportunity.

  Ben’s deep chuckle entwined with Sofia’s husky laughter turning Peggy’s stomach upside down. She’d wanted to ask Ben a couple of questions, but couldn’t do that now. She did an about-face and walked over to the open bar, smiling at the bartender pouring a glass of red wine.

  He nodded when the person in front of her gave him a tip, then smiled at her. “What can I get for you, pretty lady?”

  She wasn’t used to being the one served—she and her sister were the ones who did the serving at their diner. “I… uh…”

  “The red’s full-bodied,” he said, not realizing Peggy was worried about a certain redhead currently captivating Marshal Justiss.

  Peggy shook her head.

  “Do you prefer a crisp white?”

  Sofia’s laughter drifted across the ballroom during a lull in conversation. “I’d like two-fingers of Jameson, please.”

  “On the rocks, coming up.” He reached for a short, square glass.

  A glance over her shoulder had Peggy digging deep not to fly across the room to yank Sofia’s hair. “Up, please.”

  The bartender grinned at her. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Don’t call me ma’am,” Peggy bit out. The man’s eyes widened, and she realized how harsh she sounded “I’m sorry… Jason,” she said, reading his name tag. “It’s been a long day. Where I’m from, it’s an insult to call a woman under the age of forty ma’am.”

  He chuckled as he poured. “You’re making that up.”

  His laughter eased a bit of the tension shimmering in the ballroom air. “Nope. Are you from around here?”

  “Yes, ma’am—um, miss. Just north of the city.” As he handed her the glass, he asked, “You?”

  She smiled. “Ohio.”

  “That’s a world away from here.”

  “You can say that again.” She smiled and left a tip on the top of the bar.

  “I get off at midnight, if you’d like to go for a walk down the Strip. It’s mighty pretty at night.”

  “Thank you.” She beamed, “I’d love—”

  “Miz McCormack seems to have forgotten her promise to discuss her latest culinary creation with me.” Ben’s voice rumbled from behind her. “I’m from Sweet and Savory Magazine.” He extended his hand past her shoulder to shake the bartender’s hand. “I couldn’t help overhearing you’re a native of Nevada. I’m from Colorado.”

  When she tried to step around Ben, he waylaid her with a hand to her elbow. “I’ll be right with you, Miz McCormack, just need to grab a beer.”

  Biting her tongue to keep from telling Marshal Justiss what she thought of his ploy to keep her inside the hotel, she didn’t see the waiter bearing a large tray of empty glasses headed her way.

  The bartender called out a warning as the tray bumped against her shoulder knocking her into Ben. She nearly pitched to the floor, but Ben took the brunt of her weight, steadying her so she didn’t fall. “Never let your guard down,” he warned.

  “How was I supposed to know that waiter was going to hit me with his tray?”

  But Ben wasn’t listening. He was speaking quietly into the headset she’d only just noticed. “Sorry,” he apologized, turning back to her. “I missed that. What did you say?”

  Unnerved by the possibility that someone had jostled her on purpose, reminded of the details of the last two threats she’d received, she answered, “It’s not important.”

  Ben frowned at her, but didn’t ask again. He was listening. “Roger that.”

  “I’ve got eyes and ears on you,” he advised, keeping his voice pitched low. “You’ll be safe until I get back.”

  She followed his line of sight and wanted to scream in frustration. Sofia smugly smiled in their direction as Ben walked toward her.

  “I can take care of myself.” Without a backward glance, she strode across the room, damning the marshal and his obvious attraction to Peggy’s antithesis: the petite, slender redhead.

  *

  “Tex’s intel ties Sofia Stellini to the LaFica crime family.”

  Matt whistled. “Gotta be her.”

  “Checking it out now,” Ben said, moving in Sofia’s direction.

  “Some guys have all the luck,” Tom groaned.

  “I need eyes and ears on Peggy,” Ben rasped.

  “On it,” Matt said.

  “Don’t let her leave the hotel,” Ben added.

  *

  Riding up to her floor, Peggy wondered why she couldn’t accept the fact that Ben wasn’t interested in her—or her blue-ribbon-winning pie. He hadn’t called her like he promised after Grace and Patrick’s wedding.

  As she stepped off the elevator, the possibility that he never intended to see her again hit her right between the eyes. By the time she’d reached her door at the end of the long, dimly lit corridor, her head was pounding. Concentrating on unlocking and opening her door kept the tears at bay. She had a contest to prepare for and no time to wallow in self-pity just because a jerk of a lawman preferred tiny redheads to statuesque blonds.

  “Yeah,” she said out loud, feeling marginally better about herself and the situation. “Statuesque.” Closing her door, she never even noticed the dark-haired man slipping through the exit door into the stairwell.

  Chapter Three

  Peggy moved around her kitchen station in a culinary dance all her own, captivating Ben. Scanning the perimeter, he watched the other competitors reaching for bowls and adding ingredients, but their movements weren’t smooth and sure like Peggy’s.

  Focusing on the job and ignoring the twitch in the middle of his chest, Ben noticed movement at the back of the kitchen area. He was on his feet and halfway to the hallway when he heard Peggy yell.

  “Hey, that’s my grandmother’s pastry cutter!”

  Signaling to his brother to secure the hallway
, Ben was a foot away when she grabbed her marble rolling pin and jabbed it beneath the thief’s chin. “Give it back,” she warned.

  The dark-haired man snorted. “Or what, Blondie? You gonna clock me up with your rolling pin?”

  Peggy’s eyes narrowed, as she raised the rolling pin. Ben snagged it out of her hand and knocked the thief to his knees. “Move an inch, and I’ll give it back to her.”

  “She’s nothing!” the man cried. “A nobody!”

  Since Peggy wasn’t paying attention to the man or his continued taunts, Ben figured she was thinking about her pie crust.

  “Did you call it in?”

  “Las Vegas PD is sending a squad car,” Tom answered.

  “What about the hallway, Matt?”

  “Last-minute delivery. Checks out.”

  “John?”

  “Rear and side corridors clear.”

  Relief swept up from the soles of his feet. He’d lecture Peggy later about the dangers of clocking someone on the back of the head with her five-pound marble rolling pin. If she put her weight behind it, and hit him just right… He shook his head. Later. Time to remove the disturbance, so the competitors could get back to their stations.

  The head of the committee reset the time clock as Ben hauled his captive through the ballroom doors. He should have realized that no one would have to carry in any weapons when the kitchen stations were loaded with them. Sharp knives, cleavers, nutcrackers and picks, and marble cutting boards and rolling pins.

  He’d have to watch his step if he planned on getting to know the woman who’d use a rolling pin as a weapon to prevent the theft of a beat-up, half-moon-shaped tool with a wooden handle back. What did she call it again? Oh yeah, a pastry blender. “I thought you plugged blenders in,” he mumbled, moving toward one of the side doors where hotel security had two men stationed to wait for the police to arrive.

  “You use it to cut butter,” his captive ground out. “Unless you are a peasant. Then you use shortening and cut it into a mixture of flour and salt.”