Taking Chances: Tangled Up Part 14

"I'm the guy who is going to help you get the lights back on in this town. You're a crew of six guys. You can't do all these jobs!" Gary exclaimed.

Randy took a step forward, too. Bree moved more directly between them. She put a hand on Randy's chest. "Randy, don't."

"These are my people, Bree," Randy said, not looking down at her.

"Don't make me handcuff you," she warned him. Randy was a big guy. He outweighed her by at least a hundred and fifty pounds and towered over her. But he was tired and sore and a little drunk. If she caught him off guard, she could flip him. Or she could Taser him.

Both options made her heart pound, and she had to fight the urge to grin. That would be completely inappropriate.

She felt Gary move in behind her. She'd Taser his b.u.t.t, too.

She turned and put a hand on his chest as well. "Gar-" she started.

"I get it," Gary said to Randy. "You want to be fixing all of it. You want to do all the work. I get it. I'll switch with you if you want. We can work on the school; you can do the homes."

Randy strained against Bree's hand. Another pump of adrenaline hit her bloodstream. If he swung, she was definitely in the way. She primed her nerves to react quickly when Randy started the motion. "Randy," she said warningly, "back down."

But Randy's eyes were on Gary. "No," he finally said.

Bree frowned. "I don't want to lock you up. We need you," she told him. At the same time, she pushed on Gary. He finally took a step back.

"It's your call," Gary told him. "But you can't do it all. If you want the houses-"

"No," Randy said again, interrupting. "I can't."

Bree felt the tension drain out of him all at once. He stepped back, and his shoulders slumped forward. Her hand dropped to her side, but she kept her eyes on him. "Randy?"

He finally focused on her. "I can't do the houses, Bree," he said. "I want to. I feel like s.h.i.t about not doing them. But I'm glad Gary is here doing it because I can't."

Bree moved to face him completely. "I know. I get that. But they're not all that bad. Some are-"

"My house. It's bad."

Bree nodded. She'd been by his house. It was bad. She knew Randy and his wife and daughter were living with his mom at the moment. "I know. I'm sorry."

"And part of me wants to get back over there and rebuild it. And another part of me can't handle that, and all I want to do is throw myself into other stuff. More neutral stuff. Like the school and the buildings on Main. Which is great, because those things need done first. We have a place to stay. We're fine. We're safe. The businesses need fixed before the Bronsons come to town. But then another part of me resents that all that is more important than my house and family."

Bree pressed her lips together. Dammit. This wasn't beer or fatigue or being territorial.

"What's your address?" Gary asked.

"Three twenty West Starling."

Bree glanced at Gary.

The other man nodded. "Oh. f.u.c.k."

Bree looked back at Randy. He blew out a long breath.

"Randy?"

"Gary was at my house today," he told her.

"Did he mess something up?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No."

Bree looked at Gary again. "What am I missing?"

Gary looked pained. He ran a hand over the back of his neck.

"What am I missing?" Bree asked again.

"The house is a loss. There's no use doing electrical work," Randy said. "Gary had to tell me."

"I didn't know it was yours," Gary said, his voice tight.

"I know. Doesn't matter," Randy said. He sounded tired.

"It does matter," Gary said. "And I'm sorry."

Bree looked back and forth between the men.

Gary looked apologetic, and Randy looked sad. But neither looked like they were ready to beat the c.r.a.p out of the other anymore.

"Tell you what," Gary said. "I'll buy the bacon and pancakes."

Oh, so they had heard her.

"Then I'll get the coffee," Randy said.

"Sounds good."

The two men turned toward the diner and headed inside together.

Bree watched them go, then looked around. The other guys were gathering their things and heading for their trucks or following Randy and Gary in to breakfast. She puffed out a breath. Well, that was anticlimactic.

She headed back for her car. Her shift was over, and she should head to bed, too, but she was too worked up.

The juice was still coursing through her system, and there had been no flipping and handcuffing to expel any of it.

She needed another outlet.

Max.

Her first thought was of the man who had been on her mind almost constantly since he'd rolled back into town and brought a h.e.l.l of a storm with him. No matter what he and Kit said, Bree was becoming more and more sure that her new feelings for Max were not just a product of the storm.

Yes, she'd told him that was why she'd kissed him in Colorado. She'd believed that was the reason when she'd said it. Or she'd believed that was a really good excuse, at least. Kissing him on that snowy slope had taken her by surprise as well. It had been spontaneous and, yes, had followed on the heels of the fear that she'd seriously injured herself, maybe permanently.

In those scary moments, she'd wanted Max. Not because she needed an outlet for the adrenaline, but because he was . . . Max. The person who made her feel safe and loved and good no matter what was happening.

And wanting him so much, realizing that she wanted him in the scary, bad moments as well as in all the good, fun moments, had freaked her out more than the idea of spending the rest of her life in a wheelchair.

She'd been taught to live life fully, boldly, loud and large. She'd known, always, that being with Max would mean a different kind of life. How could she choose that? How could she choose a quiet, easy life when the whole reason she was alive was because her brother wasn't?

Her adventure-loving, curious, and brave brother had died at age eleven from a rare form of leukemia. She'd come along ten months later. She was the replacement child for her parents, the thing that kept them going, the thing they poured all their love and pa.s.sion and purpose into.

But she couldn't keep chalking up her feelings to adrenaline when it came to Max. It was hurting him. That was obvious. And it was hurting her not being with him.

That was the thing that made her the most certain her feelings were for real. She didn't want to go out for a ride or a run or storm chasing with him. She just wanted to see him.

And, okay, kiss him some more.

But in the absence of storm clouds and barn rafters, that had to mean something.

Which was exactly what she was going to prove to Max.

The idea of convincing Max that she really did want him made her feel . . . wiggly. Or itchy. Or something.

And she loved it.

Bree knew that was probably a strange reaction. But she'd never fallen in love before. She'd heard about it, though. That had to be what this was. She wasn't sleeping well. She hardly had an appet.i.te-except for gummy bears, of course. She couldn't concentrate because she was thinking of him. She felt energized, like she was waiting for something exciting to happen, as if the next day was her birthday or Christmas. Or as if it was the night before a big trip with Max. The night before they took off together on their adventures was better than Christmas Eve.

He'd said no more kissing. He'd said that he didn't want to mess around and just be her newest thrill. But something had changed for both of them in that ditch. She didn't care what he said. Yesterday, when he'd looked at her in the barn, when he'd been barking orders at her and acting all protective and worried, he hadn't been the same guy she was used to hanging out and goofing around with. This Max was . . . more.

She was grinning as she headed to the station and changed out of her uniform. She'd get to bed soon. But maybe not alone.

She was still putting her hair up as she jogged down the steps of the police station. Max wasn't answering his phone, but this was Chance. It would take her fifteen minutes to find him. Tops. Ten if she started at the coffee shop and asked Ruth if she'd seen him. The fifty-something shop owner had always had a soft spot for Max. Bree knew that Max would have stopped in for coffee and that Ruth would have given Max the third degree-how things were going, if he was eating enough, if he had a girlfriend, and what his schedule was like for the day. The last was the only thing Bree didn't know the answer to.

Eight minutes later, Bree was making a beeline for Max across the square. He was at the gazebo, sipping the French roast with cream that Ruth had made for him and flipping through pages on a clipboard.

Bree slowed, taking it all in. He was in a pale-blue b.u.t.ton-down shirt, the sleeves pushed up on his forearms and the front open to reveal a soft gray T-shirt. His faded jeans showed off the powerful thighs and tight a.s.s she had somehow been missing over the past few years, and his work boots had clearly seen a lot of time on work sites. He somehow looked relaxed, yet ready to take charge of whatever came up at the same time.

He looked like he always did. But today her heart stuttered. Bree's attention went from his wide shoulders to his a.s.s and finally settled on his hands gripping the clipboard.

Those hands.

They'd picked her up. Literally and figuratively. They'd clapped for her. They'd caught her. And now they had made her feel unmatched pleasure.

She knew it didn't make her a good person, but she wasn't sure whether she cared if he had a girlfriend.

"Morning," she said brightly as she came up beside him.

He looked up. "Morning." His low, gruff voice made a hot shiver trip down her spine.

The gruffness might have been because it was early, or a lack of caffeine. But it also might be that he was feeling a little bit of what she was feeling. Of course, if he was feeling even a little of that, he'd already be taking her clothes off.

"Thought you worked through the night. Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked.

His gaze ran over her from head to toe, almost as if he didn't mean it to but couldn't help it. She liked his eyes on her. Even if he was trying to fight the urge.

"I'm on my way there now," she said with a nod.

He went completely still.

She moved closer and touched his arm. "When were you last in bed?" She stroked her hand over the corded muscles. The hair on his arms made her palm tingle, and his skin was so hot.

His arm tensed under her touch, but he didn't say or do anything.

She ran her hand up over his biceps, appreciating for a moment how thick it was, then up to his shoulder. His solid, hard shoulder.

Bree registered the muscle jumping in his jaw one second before he dropped the clipboard, grabbed both of her wrists, and pushed her up against the side of the gazebo.

Max pressed close, his whole body against hers, hard and hot and strong. This was good. This was very good.

He stared down at her, and Bree took a long, deep breath.

"I told you no more of this," he practically growled.

"I decided not to listen to you."

He paused a heartbeat, then shook his head. "Dammit."

She swallowed hard, trying to calm her breathing so it didn't look like she was panting over him.

But she was.

He looked pained.

"What?" she asked softly.

"You like this."

"Having you up against me? Yes, very much."

His hands squeezed her wrists. "You don't mind my holding you like this?"

Bree arched closer. "Max?"

"Yeah?" His voice was even gruffer.

"If I didn't like it, you'd be on the ground right now."

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he narrowed his eyes. "You're going to bed alone, Bree. And you're going to stop talking about your bed with me."

She shook her head slowly, as if she truly regretted what she had to tell him. "I don't think that's going to happen."

"The alone part? It f.u.c.king better," he said roughly.