Flynn fought to
keep his attention on the boring conversation he’d somehow gotten pulled into with Janet Haynes, the one member of his staff who didn’t pretend to like him.
“I heard your brother is involved with one of the Zabrinski girls. Mia, right? Count your lucky stars it wasn’t Meg,” Janet said, invading Flynn’s personal space in a way he didn’t mind at all with Kat but felt repelled by when Janet got too close. “That woman is one vindictive beech.”
She changed the word but her meaning was clear.
“I’ve met Meg several times and that’s not a word I’d use to describe her,” he said. “She’s helping to raise four children whose mother died. So, kind, friendly, and family-oriented are the words that come to
my
mind when I think of her.”
“Well,” Janet said huffily. She pulled back to a more appropriate distance. “You must not have heard about her vendetta against Ken Morrison. Pure spitefulness. The two of them got it on when he led a backpacking trip one summer, and twenty years later she calls foul. Starts tossing around the R-word.” She spelled the four letters under her breath. “They had consensual sex. Kenny told me all about it. You know how young gals are attracted to a man in uniform.”
Flynn looked down at his red shirt and jeans—he hadn’t had time to launder his khakis. “Not really.”
The man’s file told a different story. “I take it Morrison never made a pass at you or acted the least bit inappropriately?”
Janet downed the remaining two inches of beer in her glass then reached for the pitcher. “I’m a big girl. Consulting…I mean, consenting…adults should be able to do whatever they want without it becoming news, right?”
“Even if they work together?”
“Damn right. As long as their personal relationship doesn’t get in the way of their working relationship, whose business is it?”
He’d naively spouted the same bullshit when he and Darla started dating. And look how well that turned out. Darla managed to hang onto her job while Flynn moved halfway across the country.
As attracted as Flynn was to Kat, he’d made up his mind to keep his feelings for her in his dreams. Was it a little weird how he’d traded a nightmare he couldn’t fix for hot sex with a woman he couldn’t have? Probably. He’d be paying some shrink overtime if he had the time and money for psychotherapy.
Janet picked up the empty pitcher as if she were going to take it to the bar for a refill. Instead, she shoved it his way. “New guy pays. It’s tradition.”
A boldface lie, but he didn’t call her on it. He used the excuse to leave the table. He headed toward the pool table instead of the bar and handed the pitcher to a waitress as she walked past. If Janet wanted to risk a drunk driving citation, she could do it on her own dime.
“Could I get a glass of water?” he asked the attractive young server, tucking a five-dollar bill under the pitcher. “I’ll be over there watching the game.”
“The roust, you mean?” the woman asked with a saucy wink. “Kat’s killer with a stick.”
Intrigued, he elbowed his way through the crowd for a better view.
“Six in the corner pocket,” Kat called as she aimed the cue with careless but obvious precision.
Snap. Whap.
“Nothing but net,” Brad said with a groan. He rubbed the top of his smooth dome as if it were a crystal ball that might somehow predict a different outcome. “Why do I always buy your ‘I got lucky’ routine?”
Kat flashed Brad a sweet, completely unapologetic grin. She glanced Flynn’s way, too. An internal trigger of primal desire made his breath catch in his throat and his groin tense. So much for good intentions, he thought. Damn. She wasn’t making this selfless-monk routine easy.
“Flynn.” A familiar voice yodeled above the bar noise.
“Tucker.” Flynn waved and headed toward the entrance. Flynn had texted Tucker an invitation to join him at the bar after his appointment with the orthopedic specialist. When Tucker didn’t reply, Flynn had assumed the appointment left him too wiped out.
Half a second later, Flynn realized Tucker wasn’t alone. Amanda Heller, Molly O’Neal’s granddaughter, held the door open so Tucker could move forward on his crutches. When she stepped in behind him, Flynn swore every male head in the place swiveled like a bobble head dog.
Skintight jeans showcased the six-foot blonde’s America’s Top Model legs to perfection; apparently, her ruby stilettos were enough of a rarity they created a buzz among the women, too.
“Amanda. Good to see you again. Come join us.” Flynn pointed to the SAR team’s table where the others had gathered to re-hash Kat’s win.
After the usual chaos of rounding up two extra chairs and moving empties to make room on the table, Flynn introduced the new arrivals. “Amanda is Molly O’Neal’s granddaughter. Tucker’s the crazy person setting up the new zip line you probably read about in the paper.”
Kat returned in time to catch the tail end of the introductions. “Amanda? So nice to meet you. I’ve been off for the past couple of days. How’s Molly?”
As the two discussed Molly’s prognosis, Flynn flagged down the waitress for another pitcher and two fresh glasses. “So, Tucker, what did the bone doc say?”
Tucker made a face. “Sprained, not broken.”
Before Flynn could clap his pal on the back, Amanda coughed, pointedly.
Flynn blinked in surprise when his friend’s cheeks turned a dull red.
Have I ever seen The Full Mountie blush?
“Apparently in my case, a sprain is the new broken. He’s making me wear this ugly freakin’ boot he stole from Frankenstein’s closet,” he said pointing to the oversize molded plastic boot crisscrossed with straps.
“For how long?” Flynn asked.
Tucker took a healthy gulp of beer. “Just long enough to go bankrupt.”
Flynn frowned. As close as they were, certain things—like personal finances—didn’t come up all that often. Tucker seemed to travel in five-star elegance and never denied himself a new toy if one caught his fancy, so Flynn had assumed his friend made good money in his off-season gig.
“Surely your investors will understand.”
Tucker shrugged. “We’ll see.” Guy-speak for “Not here. Not now.”
Flynn had to ask. “What are you going to do?”
“Humble myself and beg the Goat to come rescue my ass.”
Goat. Justin Oberman.
Flynn swallowed hard. This would break an unwritten rule that said: Never mess with another team member’s off time.
Tucker turned toward Amanda. “So, funny coincidence. Amanda’s grandmother sees the same occupational therapist as I do. Turns out we’ve both been hijacked by circumstances beyond our control. Right, Amanda?”
The woman in question took a small sip of beer. “Hijacked. Good word. Mother ordered me to stay here until Grandmother dies
or
…” she paused dramatically. “Hell freezes over. Whichever comes first.”
Flynn noticed Kat’s look of utter mortification.
Before he could reach out to squeeze her hand, Tucker let out a loud hoot and slapped the table. “Sounds like my mother’s side of the family. What is it about money that turns people into such assholes?”
He held out his glass and everyone at the table toasted—even Amanda, who added, “The Heller-O’Neal clan takes dysfunction to a new level.” She grabbed the now-empty pitcher and cried, “Next round’s on me.”
Kat turned her empty glass upside down. “Sorry. I hate to run, but I promised my son lasagna from Rocco’s.” She consulted her phone. “Our order should be ready.”
Flynn stood. “I’ll walk you out. I didn’t get a chance to ask you about the status of those grants you’re working on.”
A lame excuse, but the only one that came to mind. He missed seeing her in the office. A lot more than he wanted to admit.
“I haven’t shot anybody, yet, but I’ve come close a couple of times.” She waved to her workmates and paused to rest a hand on Amanda Heller’s forearm before leaving. “Really good to meet you, Amanda. I’m so glad your grandmother has family here, now. If I can help in any way, please call. Molly has a special place in my heart.”
She smiled then started toward Flynn. The crazy riot going on inside him took every ounce of effort he possessed to keep his reaction from showing on the outside.
“I’m glad you could make it tonight.”
“Me, too. I’ve missed these Friday night get-togethers.”
Was it his imagination? Or did her tone hold an element of wistfulness, too.
“The office isn’t the same without you.”
She pulled her keys from her purse. “Three days of home-schooling reminds me of why I’m not a teacher.” She rolled her eyes. “And this historical monologue thing Brady is doing may well kill us both.”
He didn’t know what she was talking about so he put out his hands in confusion.
“For their history project, each student picks an historical figure to research. Then, they write a monologue that they’ll deliver in costume as if they were wax figures that come to life.”
“Wow. We never did anything that creative when I was in fifth grade. Who’s Brady researching?”
“George Washington. His classmate—a girl he likes—is Martha. He won’t admit it but the idea of sharing the stage with Chloe Zabrinski has him tied up in knots.” She let out a tormented groan. “I really have to dash. Thanks for organizing this.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her. “No problem. You know, Tucker’s dance troupe does some complicated theatrical-type performances. He might be able to give Brady some pointers.”
She paused to look at the table where Tucker and Amanda appeared deep in discussion. “I’ll ask Brady. He can be shy around men, but I think he and Tucker hit it off okay the other night. Thanks.”
Then she was gone, and the same strange and unwelcome emptiness he’d been experiencing all week returned. He’d never felt such a powerful connection to a woman—even the woman he married and later divorced.
Which probably says a lot about why we’re not still together
, he thought.
Flynn told himself if Ryker could find the right girl in Montana, maybe he could, too.
Was Kat the one?
Potentially, yes. Maybe. But Flynn didn’t take anyone at face value anymore. And as much as he wanted to deny it, dark clouds flirted at the edge of Kat’s life. Grief from the loss of her mother? Or did she still have feelings for Brady’s dad? Maybe, deep down, Kat resented Flynn for taking the job that could have been hers if she’d applied.
A cold gust of wind drove him inside.
“Flynn,” Tucker called, motioning him back to the table. Most of the other SAR people had split to play pool or drift off. Only Janet remained nursing the dregs of the last pitcher.
“What’s up?”
“Amanda and I are talking about a collaboration.”
Flynn made his eyebrows lift and fall in a suggestive way that normally would have made Tucker laugh. Instead, Tucker scowled. “Not that kind.”
“What other kind is there with you?”
Flynn didn’t mean to be insulting, but he’d never known Tucker to have anything
but
a superficial, short-term sexual relationship with a beautiful woman.
“We could help each other. I need a place to live. The Graff is nice and all, but…kaa-ching.” He rubbed two fingers and his thumb together. “She can’t put her grandmother’s house on the market until she gets your fix-it list done. My construction crew is out of work until my permits come through. So…”
Amanda made a hurry-up motion. “What your slow-talking Southern friend is suggesting is we both share Molly’s two-bedroom guest home, where Tucker can keep an eye on the work and the workers while I run my grandmother to physical therapy and all her doctors’ appointments.”
“There’s a guest house?”
“The entrance is from the alley. You probably didn’t notice because everything is so overgrown.”
“Molly built it to accommodate visits from her family, who never showed,” Tucker said.
Amanda sent him a scathing look. “We’ve already established my family is more nuclear than nurturing. I can’t change that. Believe me, I tried.”
Tucker had the good grace to look embarrassed, but Amanda didn’t seem to notice. She had her phone out and was flipping screens with her thumb. “The doctor I spoke with today says Molly will need a minimum of three weeks in rehab.” She looked at Flynn. “Is it possible to get her house fixed up—repair all those things you found—in that time?”
They both looked at him. Flynn could read a “you’d better have my back” look in Tucker’s eyes. Amanda kept her emotions completely hidden.
“Sounds doable.” Not that he had a clue.
Tucker fist-bumped him.
“Fine. You supervise the workers and in return I’ll build your zip line a website and create the relevant social media feeds you’ll need to promote it. If there’s time, I might even throw in a Grand Opening media blitz that will make you enough money to make up for your lost time.”
Tucker looked at Flynn. “Sounds like a great deal, right?”
Flynn looked between them. What was he supposed to say? My best friend plays Mozart and dances like a porn star when he’s not fighting wildfires. He knows squat about running a construction crew.
But they both knew someone who did know construction
.
Amanda stood, picking up her black leather envelope style purse. “I need to use the facilities.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Please tell me they’re indoor, with running water.”
Tucker rolled his eyes.
“Straight back and to the right,” Flynn told her.
Once she was out of range of their voices, Tucker let out a long sigh. “I can’t decide if the ice princess is going to make things better or worse. What do you think?”
Flynn went for diplomacy. “Too early to call. What are your concerns?”
“Rich people don’t think like the rest of us. That’s what I think. But in this case, I don’t have a lot of options.”
“The Hellers are rich?”
“Top one percenters. But that’s Amanda’s problem, not mine. Once I get this zip line up and running and I’m cleared to dance, I’m outta here, too.” He made a zooming motion. “Sounds like a plan, huh?”
Flynn took his time answering, but eventually, he asked, “What have you got to lose?”
Tucker didn’t answer. His gaze remained on Amanda as she returned to their table. Flynn could honestly say he’d never seen that kind of look on his friend’s face. Interest, with a capital I.