Gena Showalter - Can't Let Go

“You do realize all these changes and additions will eat up my profits, right?” Thousands of dollars would be spent on cameras and installation, plus the ongoing salaries of four new employees.

“If something were to happen to your bar, you’d make zero profits. But, to supplement your income, you can begin hosting daytime events. Think about it. The bar is closed mornings and afternoons every day of the week. You can offer private parties, showers, whatever. The possibilities are endless.”

The Strawberry Valley book club did need a bigger place to get together. And the local matchmaker wanted a venue for the meet and greets she was hoping to host. But everything Jude suggested meant more work for Ryanne, and she was already overtaxed.

Still, he was right. What if she made enough money to pay for all the security additions, salaries and upgrades for her travels? Excitement sparked.

“The panic button you mentioned,” she said. “It will be linked to Blueberry Hill PD? Strawberry Valley PD? Grapevine PD?”

A muscle jumped underneath his eye. “None of the above. The signal will go to LPH Protection. We have monitors in place 24/7. Someone there will notify 911 as well as call Daniel, Brock...or me.”

Delicious, drugging warmth spilled through her. Getting personal with Jude Laurent... “Are you saying you’ll drop whatever you’re doing in order to save a damsel in distress?”

His nod was immediate. “I will. So will they.”

“Well, hiring the right employees will take time.” Am I really going to do this?

“I know. That’s why I’ll be acting as a bouncer in the meantime.”

Her heart leaped, a thousand butterflies taking flight in her stomach. Jude...nearby every night... “There’s a slight problem with your plan. You make my customers uncomfortable.”

“Good. They’ll be on their best behavior.”

“Or they’ll leave and never return.”

His wide shoulders hiked in a shrug.

Such a contradiction, this man. Helpful, but indifferent. Kind, but aloof. Smoldering, but standoffish.

“All right,” she said, and sighed. Safety first. “You have permission to proceed. With everything.” She couldn’t help but add, “After I hear my daily compliment.”

One brow arched. “Rescuing your cat wasn’t enough?”

“Our cat. We’re co-owners.” She’d almost said coparents, but had stopped herself in time. No reason to remind him of the daughters he’d lost.

“Fine.” His lips compressed, and he gave her his patented I disapprove look. “You want a compliment, you get a compliment. You are a...singular woman.”

She waited for him to say more. He didn’t.

Well. “Singular woman” was as good a compliment as any, she supposed, and maybe kinda sorta better than she’d anticipated. “Just so you know, I’ll expect something a lot more personal tomorrow.”

“Why?” he grated. “Why do you care what I think about you?”

Make a man laugh, and he’ll have a good day. Teach a man to have fun, and he’ll have a good life.

Remembering her plan, she twirled a lock of hair around her finger and batted her lashes at him. “Don’t be silly, praised one. I just like to watch you squirm.”

CHAPTER FOUR

FOR THE NEXT WEEK, Jude did his best to avoid the too flirtatious, too happy Ryanne. An impossible task, considering he worked at the Scratching Post each of the seven days, installing cameras in the morning, checking food deliveries in the afternoon, acting as a bouncer in the evening and helping care for Belle every minute in between. The pregnant, very grumpy cat hadn’t yet given birth.

Ryanne had texted him a few times, too. Random invitations to do ridiculous things.

Let’s go to a finger-painting workshop! We’ve GOT to improve our employer-employee relations.

His response? How will finger paint help us?

Duh! Our bodies are the canvases and we get to paint each other. (You know, a little hands-on learning. Or big. Yeah, probably big.)

No.

Not just no, but hell, no.

Her next text had read What about a petting zoo in the city??? (I promise I’m not the animal you’ll be stroking.)

Again he’d replied, No.

Movie? I’ll pay AND share my popcorn w/you.

Another solid No.

She texted him a gif of a cartoon character sobbing.

Avoiding this woman had begun to prick at his pride. He’d once been part of a military unit known as the Ten. Ten soldiers sent on the most dangerous missions—secret missions that would never be talked about in history books. They’d killed the enemy and rescued other soldiers amid impossible odds of survival. Amid it all, Jude, Brock and Daniel had seen and done things no human should have seen or done. It changed them.

Brock now tried to make everyone he met fall in like with him, since he couldn’t like himself. Daniel kept all newcomers at a distance, too afraid of losing another person, and Jude...he tended to numb-out, and live life on autopilot.

He craved autopilot. But Ryanne had twisted him into a million little knots, and none of those knots helped him stay numb.

Despite her—or because of her—he pushed himself to his limits, wanting to get the job settled as soon as possible. As soon as he finished installations, he would make Brock front man. That way, Brock would receive a notice when something went wrong at the bar, and Jude could finally wipe Ryanne from his mind.

Already he’d spoken to Martin Dushku, who’d thrown more shade than a decades-old oak. He’d lied with a smile, misdirected with ease and hid his threats behind false concern.

Jude felt sorry for the man’s wife. The pair had been together for thirty-one years and had two adult children. A twenty-seven-year-old son named Filip and a twenty-three-year-old daughter named Paulina; they also had a four-year-old grandchild named Thomas.

Filip, Thomas’s father, was in prison for manslaughter, with only a year left on his sentence. Interestingly enough, Jude had been unable to find any mention of Thomas’s mother.

When Jude had first walked onto the construction site, two goons had closed in fast to frisk him, as he’d known they would. Of course, they hadn’t found the small metal pins sheathed in the heels of his boots. More than that, Jude himself was a weapon. He could turn any innocent object into a weapon, as well. An ink pen, a keyboard. A paper clip. A chair.

After coming up empty, the men escorted him into a luxurious trailer, where Dushku perched behind a desk. The conversation had been short and anything but sweet.

“Both the Scratching Post and its owner are under my protection,” Jude had said. “You won’t like what happens if you harm them. And keep your stable off Ryanne’s property. The next time someone sells a ride at the Scratching Post, a live stream will be the least of your troubles.”

Dushku had chuckled, not the least bit intimidated. “You must be mistaken. I value women and would never take part in prostitution. And I certainly wouldn’t do so on Miss Wade’s property. I’ve heard about her problems with the local PD.” He’d sighed, as if weary. “If sex and drugs are being sold at the Scratching Post, I’m sure authorities will believe Miss Wade is the one responsible.”

“I didn’t say anything about drugs,” Jude had grated.

The man’s amusement had bloomed into a smirk. “I’ve already looked into you, Mr. Laurent. You were a good soldier once. A husband and father. Now you’re a cripple with nothing to lose—except another leg.”

Behind him, one of the guards had snickered. “What do you call a man with one leg? A pogo stick.”

Laughter had abounded while Jude simmered in his seat. Rage and grief had bubbled in his chest; the two emotions were always there, rooted deep in his heart, but some days were worse than others. How dare this scumbag mention Constance and the twins!