Authors: Mia Kay
Before he signed the lease, Gray read the first page. The rent was criminally low, even by Fiddler standards, and Maggie was his landlord. Great. She’d get wind of this scheme and he’d be homeless.
Wait. I have a home. In Chicago. Where my job—my real job—is waiting on me.
“What have you gotten me into?” he grumbled.
“Hey! It beats watching the History Channel and reading detective novels. It’ll be fun—you know, once she’s safe and I’m married.”
“Once she’s safe and you’re married, I’m going home. When exactly does the
fun
start?” Gray asked as they stood.
“It won’t be all work,” Nate said. “You know us.”
He returned to Faith’s side without a backward glance. Gray sat at the corner of the bar and watched Maggie, who was in the middle of a quiet conversation with a mountainous man. Though her words were inaudible, he relaxed under her attention. It reminded Gray of the last time he’d visited Fiddler.
Ten years ago he’d flown in to attend a double funeral. Ron and Ollie, the twins’ father and grandfather, had died when their private plane had crashed in a storm.
Everyone in town had hovered over the siblings, intent on helping. Instead, Maggie had comforted each of them, bending her head in conversation, hugging them, sending them home with leftovers. When they’d been with their closest friends, Nate had been the shaky one. Maggie had let him lean on her while she’d whispered in his ear.
* * *
Realizing he was staring, he wondered who else might be watching her, or worse, watching
him
watch her. He looked up, hoping to catch an unguarded gaze in the mirror. He could be done with his job in five minutes and then relax until Nate’s wedding.
There wasn’t a mirror. His gaze flew to where she was working with her back to the room, oblivious to who was behind her or what was happening. She smiled as she walked over.
“Do you want another?”
He did, but now he was working. He couldn’t drink on the job. “Water?”
“Sure,” she said as she delivered the bottle.
Nodding his thanks, Gray left his post and walked past Nate’s table. Taking the chair in the far corner of the room, he watched every man with new suspicion. Early patrons left for home and were replaced by others who, given their clean clothes, had gone home first. Who spent too long at the bar? Who stared too hard?
He also watched her, getting past the curiosity she’d always inspired and recalling his objective observer skills. That’s what let him see the change in her when no one was looking, the way her smile faded and her gaze shifted from man to man in suspicious assessment. Then she’d catch someone looking and flip a switch, softening her grip on the towel in her hand, tossing it over her shoulder and forcing her smile to sparkle. Just like the funeral, hiding in plain sight.
Damn it, Nate was wrong. She wasn’t ignoring the threat. She was terrified.
Squaring his shoulders and straightening his spine, Gray forced away his warm memories of Fiddler and counted how many times she put on her carefree mask.
She was wearing it a few hours later when she laughed and half-pushed the last persistent patron out the front door. Gray was exhausted just from watching her and relieved when the forced smile faded. Wanting to give her peace, he joined Nate and Faith in cleaning tables and turning chairs.
She went down the hall, and her voice drifted behind her. “Gray. I hope you don’t mind, but I put sheets on the bed and stocked your kitchen with some basics.”
“Thanks,” he replied as he handed Nate the chair and conducted reconnaissance while she wouldn’t catch him.
Empty, the room told a better story. Years of elbows had worn dull spots in the bar’s finish, and generations of work boots had mottled the brass foot rail. The floor was scratched from patrons who’d tracked in sand and gravel, and the leather cushions on stools and chairs were shaped to each occupant’s behind. They loved this place. Did one of them let that carry over to obsession with her?
“The guys and I will help you unpack tomorrow,” Nate said. “There’s a company truck in the garage. The keys are in the ignition.”
Gray nodded. This was surreal. Five days ago he’d been a wounded FBI agent recuperating in Chicago. Now he was posing as a business manager and moonlighting as a bodyguard. To keep from laughing at the lunacy, he indulged his curiosity. “I don’t think I’ve seen a bar with a ten o’clock last call, especially on Saturday,” he called down the hall.
The clatter of mops and brooms and the squeaky wheels of a bucket almost drowned out her answer. “The guys are tired after a long day of work or chores. We’re open ’til midnight on Fridays, but otherwise we close early. We don’t want to make anyone miss work or church the next morning. That’s not why we’re here.”
Next to him, Nate silently parroted the last sentence, ending on a wink.
Gray snorted and shook his head. “That’s an interesting philosophy.”
“Are you laughing at me?” Maggie asked, as she dragged the broom across the floor and whacked her brother with the handle. “Or is Nate mocking me again?”
Gray was glad to see the honest humor behind her smile. It vanished when someone knocked on the front door. An officer walked in and over to the group without waiting on an invitation. “Everything okay? I saw the lights.”
“Everything is
always
okay, Max,” Maggie drawled. “I just closed. Can’t clean in the dark.”
The younger man stared at Gray, clearly assessing. Gray stared back, noting the man’s wide stance and the hand resting on his sidearm.
“You’re new,” the patrolman said.
“You caught him,” Maggie said. “He came to kidnap me and I talked him into mopping the floor first.” She pushed the man’s shoulder, but he remained immovable. “Seriously. He’s a friend of the family. Ease up, RoboCop.”
Max stayed put. “Nate, do you need me to hang around?”
“No.” Maggie bit the word out, and then softened it with, “thanks anyway.”
She shooed him out, locked the door and returned to them, her chin tucked to her chest and her shoulders square as she charged toward her brother. The twins had always argued in identical fashion—deep breath and jump in.
“Call off the babysitter brigade,” she said.
“If you’ll let me hire someone to watch you,” Nate countered.
“A
bodyguard?
Nathan! I’m surrounded by men who treat me like their little sister.”
“Dammit! You’re
my
sister. You’re my responsibility. I let you down once.”
Her head snapped back like he’d struck her. “I’m my own responsibility. You’ve heard Glen. Flowers aren’t against the law. They can’t do anything unless it escalates.”
Gray’s molars ground together as heat climbed his neck. He’d be talking to the police chief first thing Monday. The judge would be next. Nate might not ask for special treatment, but Gray would call in every favor the family had accumulated over the years. No one was going to get close enough to harm her.
“I’m sorry, Gray. You’re probably exhausted, and now you’ve walked into another—”
Her sentence stopped on a sharp inhale, and he dropped his lashes to hide his eyes. Too late.
She wheeled on her brother. “You told him, didn’t you?”
“He needed to know what he was getting into.”
“He’s not
getting into
anything. These guys would never hurt me.” Her shoulders squared. “I’m tired of policemen following me around. At this point, I don’t know who the boogeyman is and who he isn’t.”
Nate’s posture mirrored hers and Gray stepped between the siblings to stop the brewing fight, as he’d done several times before. The worst, until now, had been when Maggie had narrowly defeated Nate in a dump truck race and he’d accused her of cheating.
“Maybe it’s not such a bad idea to have more eyes on the place,” Gray reasoned. “You’re worth a lot of money.”
Guilt washed over him as Maggie’s eyes darkened and her chin dropped. He tugged the broom from her hands and nudged her onto the stool he’d pulled closer.
“What is it?” Putting a hand on her shoulder, he found all curves and no sharp angles. In worn cotton and denim, she was the human equivalent of his favorite blanket. He wanted to burrow his fingers into the softness. Instead, he squeezed gently. He knew full well the fragility of the bone under his thumb. “Tell me.”
“Money?” she echoed his whisper. “I don’t want to think about one of my friends terrorizing me for
money
. I don’t want to think about one of them doing it at all. I can’t.”
She trembled under his fingers as a shadow flitted through her eyes. For a moment, she looked the way he felt going down a hallway. Then her mask came back. She had to be tired of fighting.
Gray handed her the broom. “Let’s finish so you can get some rest.”
They completed their chores in silence, and Nate and Faith left for home. Certain Maggie was safe for the night, Gray entered his new address into the GPS. Shifting into gear and pressing the accelerator made him whimper. The first pothole sent his shoulder into a spasm, curling him over the wheel.
The air-conditioning wheezed until he gave up and rolled down the window. It was cooler outside anyway, and the air was clean. After ten years in Chicago, he’d almost forgotten the crisp bite of country air. He’d certainly forgotten the quiet. Ghostly shadows of rail and barbed wire fences bordered the road, and behind the barriers empty fields hinted at livestock occupants. Wide dirt lanes interrupted the fences and led to large, well-lit houses peeking from behind massive trees.
In five hundred feet, turn left
, the GPS bleated.
“Shit.” He slammed on the brakes and listened as his possessions crashed into the front wall of the container. His motorcycle would probably be in pieces.
He turned left when commanded to do so and braced for a rutted lane. Instead the tires crunched on fresh gravel, and the tracks were so straight he could have removed his hands from the wheel.
Hardwood trees towered over the driveway. Behind the trees, a rail fence separated the manicured shoulder from wild pasture. The jagged peaks of the Sawtooth Mountains loomed in the distance.
The lane opened into a lawn. The stone house blended into the foothills, and its wide windows overlooked the front yard. Window boxes overflowed with early flowers, and lights shined as if someone was expected home.
Parking in the garage, Gray swung the door open and peered inside before stepping into a kitchen with slate floors, oak cabinets and stainless steel appliances. It melted into a living room full of large, comfortable furniture draped with crocheted throws. A stone fireplace dominated the far wall, and thick wool rugs warmed hardwood floors. Windows and French doors showcased an expansive view.
He switched on all the lights to check two extra bedrooms and a guest bath. The other end of the house was the master suite. A huge bed mounded with pillows faced another wall of windows and French doors.
The master shower was straight out of a high-end spa. Without hesitation, Gray stripped and climbed in. The temperature was easy to learn but the dials for the jets were more confusing. Eventually he found a combination that left his muscles weak with relief.
After his body was relaxed, he reduced the pressure and then stopped it altogether in favor of a soothing, warm rain. Standing under the water, he considered his options.
The smart thing would be to go home now. Except for Nate’s worry...
Besides, he owed it to Ollie and Ron. Nate’s grandfather and father had always treated Gray like another son. They’d shaped his adult life almost as much as his own father, and he’d never had the chance to tell them.
Thinking of them took Gray back to their funerals, where he’d sat behind Nate, next to Kevin and Michael, and watched the twins hold hands so hard they’d both had bruises. But they’d never cried.
Gray had seen Maggie’s composure crack once, and only then because he’d walked into the kitchen pantry in search of paper towels and met her tear-filled gaze. She’d barreled into him, wrapped her arms around his waist and hung on for dear life.
At twenty-five, never having experienced loss, he’d had no idea how to help. He’d patted her on the back simply because he’d had nowhere else to put his hands.
Now he was different.
* * *
How could Nate be oblivious? Gray had seen the twin telepathy work firsthand when Nate had been tossed from a final exam in Nebraska for cackling at a joke Maggie had heard in theater class—in Seattle. Why didn’t he see how her body language changed when no one was looking?
Which, granted, wasn’t often. Those men watched over her like a daughter or a sister. But if she caught them doing it, she cracked a joke and offered them a refill. One large man had carried a case of beer from the backroom, and she’d thanked him but shooed him away, swatting him with her towel and telling him he’d worked hard enough this week. Even with the patrolman she’d hidden behind sarcasm and scolding as she’d pushed him out.
She won dump truck races, consoled everyone else rather than dissolving into tears and worked alone behind the bar. If she knew he was here to guard her, she’d fight him every step of the way to prove she wasn’t afraid.
In the end, her fear swayed him. He knew a thing or two about being afraid. About hiding.
Lying made his job more difficult, and it made him feel like shit, but he’d do it. To protect her, he’d lie.
Chapter Two
“Maggie, are you listening to me?”
“Mm-hmm. Elephants would be great.”
“Elephants? For a bridal shower?” Tiffany looked over her shoulder. “What do you see back there?”
Maggie dragged her attention to the pregnant party planner/drill sergeant sitting next to her. Years ago, her father would’ve scolded her for facing the back of the church and giggling with her friends before the service. But he wasn’t here anymore, and she’d be damned if she’d look at the altar until the choir was in the loft. Every time she walked in here, she remembered too many things—confirmation, funeral processions, standing up there alone with her knees knocking under her Vera Wang wedding gown.
Rather than dealing with the memories, she faced backward and dealt with her suspicions. Beyond her closest friends was a crowd of people she saw every day. And every day she considered them suspects, only to rule them out. Then she moved on to the people at the library, the hospital, the quarries, the mill. One by one, she always ruled everyone out. She’d known these people her whole life. None of them would hurt her. Would they?
For six months, she’d counted on her intelligence to solve her problem. She’d watched people, asked questions and called the florist. It had gotten her nowhere. Sure none of the guys could keep quiet, she’d waited. Now she was relying on habit to keep her moving while she tried to find a reason for this slow torture.
Refusing to wallow, she focused on Tiffany Marx. “Sorry, Tiff. I thought we were still talking about the nursery.”
“Nope. I’m thinking we could do a theme with melon colors—honeydew green, cantaloupe orange, lemon yellow.”
“And I think pregnancy cravings are affecting her more than she wants to admit. It’ll look like a Baskin-Robbins blew up,” Charlene Anderson drawled.
“Well, you can’t do a black bridal shower. It’ll look like a funeral.” Tiffany bit her lip. “Sorry.”
“It’s not a dirty word,” Maggie said, smiling at her softhearted friend.
She’d walked into her college dorm and into an immediate friendship with Charlene Watson and Tiffany Wright and, following Nate’s example, had dragged them to Fiddler for vacation. After she’d introduced them to Kevin and Michael, dragging hadn’t been necessary. And now her best girlfriends were married to her best guy friends. Each woman had a unique role in their friendship. Tiffany was the conscience, Charlene was the sass, and Maggie was the glue. While they’d each rubbed off on the others, those roles never changed.
Faith joined the discussion. “Well, not red. It’ll clash with my hair in the pictures.”
Maggie was glad to see her almost-sister-in-law take an interest in the party since, after all, it was
her
shower. Besides, she needed to start socializing instead of staying cooped up in her office or holed up with Nate.
“A darker green?” Tiffany offered.
“No,” Charlene snapped, glancing at Maggie from under her brows.
Maggie rolled her eyes. She preferred Charlene’s sarcasm to overprotection. “It’s been ten years, Char. It’s not an outlawed color, and it’s pretty.”
Past Charlene, Fiddler’s matriarchs clucked over their multigenerational families in adjoining pews. Maggie knew those women gave thanks every Sunday that they didn’t share the Mathis family’s misfortune. It had started years ago, when her mother abandoned her husband and toddler twins. After two funeral services and three burials, Maggie had offered a happy ending only to yank it away at the last minute.
But now, for the first time in two generations, a Mathis had picked a winner. Nate’s impending wedding to Faith Nelson promised a brighter future and that the half-filled row bearing the family’s name would finally fill with the next generation of towheaded, wriggly Mathis children.
“Maggie? What time do you want us at the house to set up?”
“Umm, how about—”
Wait. This was a good chance to get Faith used to being a hostess, and everyone used to Faith being the hostess.
“What time would you like everyone at the house for setup, Faith?”
“Ten should be good. It’ll give Nate a chance to have his coffee and get out of the way.”
Maggie nodded, smiling in encouragement. Faith ran a company. She could plan a party. She just needed practice.
“And melon colors?”
“I like the bright colors. They’ll look springy. Thanks, Tiffany.”
Charlene changed the subject to lunch, and Maggie drifted again. More concerned gazes darted to the front pew and then away.
Poor Maggie.
She could almost hear them.
Nate’s getting married and her friends are starting their own families. Where will she sit? She can’t have her own pew without her own family. She’ll have to stay on Nate’s row and get pushed farther and farther away.
It was the same unspoken question every Sunday. And every week, she repeated the vow she’d made ten years ago, standing alone at the altar explaining why she wouldn’t be saying
I do
. She was Anne Mathis’s granddaughter, and she could be strong—at least when everyone was looking.
And now...maybe she didn’t want to stick around and sit on Nate’s row. Maybe she had plans of her own. No one ever considered that.
“What are you staring at?” Charlene grumbled as she looked over her shoulder. “Wow. I’d stare, too.”
Maggie focused her gaze. Gray had entered the church.
When Nate had suggested hiring his best friend as a business manager, she’d never expected him to accept. He’d always been intent on life in the big city, and Fiddler was so far from that it might as well have been the moon.
Over years of summers she’d watched him morph from a gangly teenager to a determined upperclassman and then into an exhausted law student. After each visit, her grandfather had praised his intelligence and his drive, and her father had been glad freewheeling Nate had found such a levelheaded friend.
She’d wanted to tell him that at the funerals, but when he’d found her in the pantry, she hadn’t been able to do anything but hang on to him and cry.
There’d been all sorts of hints that he’d end up a sexy man, and she’d not been wrong. He didn’t walk, he
strode
, angling his broad shoulders with the grace of an athlete as he moved through the crowd in the narthex until he reached Reverend Ferguson. Then he gave the elderly pastor his full attention.
Just like he’d done with her last night. From the moment he’d walked in and remembered their jokes, until closing when he’d put his large, warm hand on her shoulder and helped her avoid a fight with Nate, he’d made her feel like she was the only person in the room. And she’d found it hard to concentrate on her customers. Gray’s laugh had filled the bar, overwhelming the chatter and filling a spot in the crowd she hadn’t realized was vacant. “It’s just Gray Harper,” she said as she caught his eye and beckoned him forward.
He shook his head.
“Chicken.”
She mouthed the word and grinned.
The taunt worked. He strode up the outside aisle and slid beside her as she turned around.
“Good morning,” he said.
God, had his eyes always been
that
blue, or was it the effect of the shadows under his eyes? The charcoal blazer and indigo shirt certainly enhanced his carbon-black hair and fair complexion. But the angles in his face were sharper than she’d remembered, and his clothes didn’t fit him well, as if he’d lost weight. Had he been sick?
“Did you get settled without a problem?” she asked, chalking her shiver of worry up to friendly concern. She’d feel the same if it was Kevin or Michael.
“I overslept.” He muffled a yawn. “Are you all right this morning?”
This wasn’t a man who’d slept much at all. If he could lie in church, she could too. “Better, thanks. The truck’s okay?”
His nod was slow and careful, as if his head hurt or he expected pain.
“The cab would hold my mom’s Prius, but yeah, it’s fine. I’m worried about finding it though. There are so many Mathis trucks out there it’s going to be like hunting for a specific penguin in Antarctica.”
She smothered her laugh and watched his eyes sparkle. “You’re number seven. Look under the driver’s side window.”
His gaze changed from humored to assessing. “You look good in yellow, Maggie.”
“Thanks.” She resisted smoothing the skirt of her favorite dress. The bright color and soft fabric usually lifted her spirits. Today it hadn’t helped. The arrival of Abby Quinn, her oldest girlfriend, did a better job. Maggie leaned around Gray and returned the woman’s infectious smile.
“Abby, you remember Gray Harper, don’t you?”
He turned and offered his hand. “It’s nice to see you again.”
Abby’s greeting was limited to a handshake and a nod before she turned to wave at the other couples. Gray draped his arm across the back of the pew.
“She still doesn’t talk?” he whispered.
Hoping he didn’t hear Tiffany’s squeak from two rows back, Maggie shook her head. “It’s getting better, though. She’s been running into more places and situations where it’s unavoidable.”
The choir filed into the loft, and he moved his arm from behind her as the service began.
She was accustomed to men, even ones who were taller and broader, but for an hour Maggie did her best not to notice how long Gray’s legs were or how he smelled like an apple orchard at harvest. All her work was shot to hell when they recited the liturgy and his quiet, clear voice rolled over her skin like hot fudge over ice cream.
“And now please stand and pass the peace of Christ to neighbors,” Reverend Ferguson intoned.
Years ago, Maggie had given up thinking it was weird to shake hands with people she saw every day. Today, with Gray here and his warm hand closing over hers, it took on a special significance. Then she turned to her friends. Charlene waggled her eyebrows. Beyond her, Tiffany flashed a conspicuous thumbs-up. In the background, every person in town craned to get a look at the newcomer on the front row—the guy sitting next to Fiddler’s only jilted spinster.
After the service, she urged him out into the aisle and away from her matchmaking friends. She stopped at the first single woman she found. This should stop the gossips. Introduce him to a pretty girl and use his title when she did it. Everyone would understand then. He was business. For the Mathis family, business always came before pleasure. Always.
“Gray, this is Amber Kendall. She teaches second grade, and her dad works at the lumber mill with Kevin. Amber, Gray’s our new business manager.”
She watched the two of them get acquainted. Amber
was
pretty, and friendly too. She had a good education, and she was settled in Fiddler. She dated. Gray could date her.
There. See. I’m not interested. It doesn’t matter how blue his eyes are, or how tall he is.
When Amber left, Gray turned back to her, and Maggie cleared her throat. “The diner does great coffee and pie in the afternoon.”
“Oh-kay,” he drawled, looking between her and Amber. “Got it.”
Okay, so Tiffany’s matchmaking skills hadn’t rubbed off on her. Why would they? Maggie spent most of her time with married quarry men. She pressed forward. “And we do Sunday lunch at Nate’s house. You’ll be expected, but we’ve got room for another, if you want.”
“How about I get her number first?” Gray asked.
“I have it, if you—”
He held up his hand. “I can do it myself, thanks. I’ll see you at Nate’s.” He walked away and was quickly swallowed by a well-meaning crowd.
He really was tall, and his warm hands and deep, chocolate-sauce voice made her fingers twitch.
No, Maggie. He’s an employee now. You don’t date employees. Or employees’ children. Or your broker, your banker, or your lawyer. No one who’s dependent on Mathis money.
She walked out the opposite door and to her car, alone.
As she drove to her childhood home, now Nate’s home, Maggie rolled down the window and blared her stereo. Things were going well. Nate was happy. Faith would be a great Mathis wife, and Gray could be Nate’s business sense. The two of them would balance her impulsive brother and make sure the businesses were secure. Nate wouldn’t need her anymore, and she’d have a chance to do something else. Finally. Everything would be fine without her.
She waited until after lunch to start Faith’s first lesson. As they cleared the table, Maggie broached the week’s schedule. “Faith, do you think you can come into town at noon on Wednesday? The library auxiliary is meeting about their fund-raiser. It would be a great time to get you involved.”
“I can’t,” Faith said as she stuck her head in the refrigerator. “The ITD’s bridge bid is that day. Nate and I will be tied up watching the computer to see if we win.”
“Sure, of course. Well then, Thursday is the UMW meeting at church. They’re starting to make plans for Christmas in July.”
“Nope.”
“I get it. I’m not nuts about it either, but the older women love it.”
Faith turned to her, frowning. “Nate said he’d talked to you. He didn’t, did he?” She sighed. “Of course he didn’t. Maggie, I’m not good at this party stuff, and I’m not going to do it.”
What?
“Sure, it’s got to be difficult driving back and forth. Once you’re here, though...” Maggie trailed off as Faith shook her head. This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. She’d planned on handing over the reins for
years.
Grandma had promised.
It’s not forever, Maggie. Your dad will get remarried.
And when he didn’t, her father had promised.
When Nate gets married, Maggie, his wife will want to step in. She’ll have the house, the name. You can stop then.
Faith was still talking. “Okay, that’s the last of it. Ready to start on the dishes?”
Maggie blinked and looked around the room at Faith, Char, and Tiffany, who were waiting on her to tell them what to do. They were always waiting on her. Everyone was. They always would be. Her throat closed off to block the scream.
“Why don’t you let me do them? Go on into the living room and enjoy the game.” She forced herself to smile. “Seriously. Go. I’ve got this, and you guys should have a little fun before Monday.”