The Sheriff's Secret Wife

“I’ll be here.”

Racy grinned and headed for the stairs that led to the second floor and her boss’s office. Hopefully her office in a few months. A former musician, Max’s band once had a couple of hits on country radio. He’d owned The Blue Creek since the early eighties and had joked about retiring ever since Racy had started working here. And after eight years of waitressing, then bartending and finally managing The Blue Creek, she was ready for the next step.

A step that had been only a dream until she had returned from Vegas with fifty grand in poker winnings.

And another ex-husband.

Her footsteps faltered on the top step. No, not a husband. Ex or otherwise. Her and Gage’s twelve-hour marriage was a mistake, a lapse in judgment that she’d fixed and tried—erotic memories notwithstanding—to forget.

She stopped at the office door and knocked, waiting for Max’s response. At the sound of his gruff bark, she entered and froze.

Dressed in jeans, cowboy boots and the same leather bomber jacket he’d worn for years, Gage Steele stood at the large window behind her boss’s desk. He turned, leaned against the frame and stared straight at her. At least she thought so. The ivory Stetson he always wore was pulled low, shielding his eyes.

The Marlboro Man. In the flesh. Minus the cigarette, of course. Mr. Perfect wouldn’t dare to do anything that might be considered a weakness.

“You wanted to see me?” Her tone was sharp, but Racy was glad she got the words past the sudden tightness of her throat.

What the hell was Gage doing here? Was it Gina?

That’s stupid. Of course, he’s here about his sister.

“Ah, there’s a pair of scissors at the barbershop waiting on me.” Max rose from behind his desk. He tugged a coat over his Western dress shirt. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”

“I thought you wanted to talk,” Racy demanded.

Gage stayed silent as he moved out of the older man’s way.

“Be nice.” Max’s words were low, his lips barely moving beneath his bushy gray mustache as he walked toward Racy. He grabbed the door to pull it closed behind him. “And don’t make a mess of my office.”

“Max—” He disappeared before Racy could say another word. She stared at the door for a long moment before the sound of a throat clearing had her whirling around.

“What do you want?”

Gage pushed away from the window. A deep breath expanded his shoulders. His open jacket revealed a dark red chambray shirt over a black thermal pullover. The undone buttons on both shirts showed off the strong column of his neck. Even in the dead of winter the man’s skin carried a glow of deep bronze. A glow she remembered he had over every inch of his—

Racy mentally slammed the door shut on the memory. “Well?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and crossed the office to where she stood. “We need to talk.”

His low voice caused a shiver to dance along her skin. She crossed her arms over her chest.

Dammit, the aged gray sweat jacket again.

Gage’s sweat jacket. Normally, she never left her place with it on, but Gina had shown up while she was studying and she’d forgotten to take it off. She doubted he even remembered how she had come to own it, but she wasn’t going to take that chance. Thankful for the tank top she wore underneath, a quick zip and the jacket was off her shoulders. She used the sleeves to tie it around her waist.

His eyes followed her every move. “Why’d you do that?”

Yeah, like she was going to tell him she was crazy enough to hold on to this thing all these years. “It’s hot in here.”

An unreadable emotion filled his blue eyes. He blinked and it was gone. But his gaze stayed on her as he moved forward until the toes of his boots grazed hers.

She didn’t budge.

For the first time since that weekend in Vegas, she and Gage were alone. Something they’d managed to avoid all these months. Oh, they’d seen each other. It couldn’t be helped in a town the size of Destiny, but they hadn’t spoken.

Until now.

“What are you doing in my bar, Gage?”

The brim of his Stetson grazed her hair. “I thought this place belonged to Max.”

Not for long. “On paper. I’m the one who keeps it running.”

“Always to the point, aren’t you?”

“What I am is busy.” She broke free from his hypnotic gaze and again crossed her arms. A few side steps had her resting her backside against Max’s desk. “So, why did you scare my boss out of his office?”

Gage turned, his clenched fists visibly pressing against the creased leather. “We need to talk about a couple of things—”

“And one of them is your sister.” Racy cut him off with a wave of her hand. “You went to Max about her working here, and what? Called in an old family favor? But he told you to deal with me. So, go ahead. Give it your best shot.”

“My best shot?”

“In convincing me to fire her, but I’ll give you my answer right now. No way.”

His mouth pressed into a hard line, then he said, “This is the last place Gina should be working.”

She cocked her head to one side. “Because?”

“The girl has a master’s degree in twentieth-century British and Irish studies.”

“And that’s going to hinder her in carrying a trayful of burgers and beer?”

“Dammit, Racy! She’s not equipped to deal with the horny cowboys and college kids that come in here.”

“Unlike me, you mean.”

“You certainly have a way of keeping them in line.”

From anyone else, she might’ve taken that as a compliment. Coming from Gage, it sounded more like an insult. “If you’re referring to that brawl in October, I was handling everything just fine until you walked in.”

“Including Dwayne. After I stopped his fist with my face.”

She fought against a grin and lost. “You should’ve ducked.” Her tone turned serious again. “Look, I wasn’t going to let Dwayne use a lopsided loss by his team as an excuse to start a fight. Besides, his right hook didn’t shake you up too bad.”

“It hurt like hell.”

Let it go. You don’t want to go there. “Well, I’m sure the ample attention one of my Belles heaped on you led to a speedy recovery.” Too late, dammit!