Christyne Butler - The Sheriff's Secret Wife

Imagining the look on Gage’s face when he found his sister dancing on the bar was priceless, but Racy wouldn’t do that to Gina. Besides, Gage hadn’t been back to The Blue Creek since the baseball play-offs melee.

Coward.

“No, those are the Blue Creek Belles. They didn’t perform last night, but they dance as well as serve up food and drinks.” Racy reached beneath the bar to lower the volume on the sound system. “I’m giving you the six tables in that area.”

The relief on Gina’s face switched to panic again. “Six? Are you sure?”

Racy grabbed menus and a large tray. “I’ll be here if you need help, and the other girls will pitch in if things get busy.”

“I really appreciate this.” Gina leaned forward and propped her forearms on the bar. “I was going stir-crazy at home.”

“It must be nice being back with your family.”

Oh, real smooth. Try to get her to talk about her brother without coming right out and asking.

Gina leaned against the bar. “It is good to be home after being gone most of my life to private schools and then college. With Gage finally out of the house, I grabbed the converted attic, complete with its own bath.”

Racy’s hands stilled over the beer bottles in the under-counter cooler. “His place on the lake is done?”

Gina nodded, tucking a long strand of hair behind one ear. She opened the menu, studying the items intently. “Can you believe it? He’s been working on that log house forever.”

Four years, but who’s counting? “Well, I’m sure he’s happy to finally be in his own bachelor pad.”

She had no idea how big of a place Gage had built, but she’d bet her entire Vegas winnings it came complete with an oversize hot tub, pool table and a king-size bed for all six-feet-plus of him.

The memory of another king-size bed, her body pressed deep into the cool sheets with Gage’s hot, hard body draped over—Stop!

Racy groaned and yanked the bottles from the cooler. Doing nothing since Vegas but studying and working should’ve erased the memories of that crazy night, but no, they remained bright and strong and ever-present in her head.

“Hey, boss lady.”

Racy looked up.

Ric Murphy, one of her security team members, stood behind Gina. “Max needs to see you in his office.”

“Okay.” She turned to Gina. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“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?”