He looked up suddenly and caught her staring. An unexpected white noise suffused Harper’s mind, making it go momentarily blank—an occurrence so rare she couldn’t even remember the last time she was at a loss for words. But as she fell into his level yet heated gaze, her mind was one big void.
Then she remembered the conversation she’d been wanting to have with him. “The day I interviewed for a volunteer position at the Village, Mary-Margaret raved about how good with the boys you are.”
He gave her a pleased look. “Yeah?” The cork pulled out with a little pop.
“Oh, yes. She thinks you’re the best.” Harper inspected the glasses he’d brought to see if they should be washed before they used them, since men rarely thought of the niceties. They looked fine, and, passing two to him, she added, “She mentioned that you totally get them because you had a rough childhood yourself—and they respond to that.”
His hands stilled for a moment, then he set one of the goblets aside and poured wine in the other. He handed it to her without a word.
Okay, not real encouraging. She took a sip for courage, studied his blank expression...and plowed on. “Would you be willing to tell me a little about that?”
* * *
H
ELL
,
NO
!
Okay, probably not the thing to say out loud, but...shit. Max faked concentration on getting the cork back into the wine bottle to give himself a minute.
Christ on a stick. Everyone and their brother in this burg knew his story, and he really liked that Harper regarded him through eyes untainted by his old garbage. But here she was, looking so pretty and crisp in slim white pants and an ultra feminine little white top splashed with blue and purple watercolor-like flowers, asking to hear all about it. Her sincerity shone like a flipping beacon from her gold-shot olive-green eyes.
And, dammit, as much as he’d rather simply admire the smooth upper slopes of her gorgeous breasts rising above the top’s squared neckline, he just couldn’t say no to those eyes. He blew out a breath. “My dad dumped my mother and me for Jake’s mom when I was just a toddler.”
The blade of the knife she held poised over several green onions froze midchop as she gazed at him, all sympathy. “Aw, Max, I’m sorry. That had to be tough, having a father only on alternate weekends and holidays.”
He couldn’t prevent the cynical laugh that escaped. “There were no weekends or holidays. Once he left us for the second Mrs. Bradshaw, we didn’t exist. I grew up watching him being a dad to Jake, but he looked right through me.”
“The bastard!”
Her prompt outrage on his behalf warmed him. He knew it shouldn’t. Hell, he’d come to terms with his father’s dysfunction years ago. Still, her support was...nice. He liked it.
“I’m glad you at least had your mom.”
This time he swallowed his snort, but the warmth faded. “Sure,” he agreed neutrally. “At least I had her.”
She paused in the chopping she’d resumed to study him. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing—” But he couldn’t lie to that straightforward don’t-kid-a-kidder gaze. “Mom was...bitter.”
Harper’s eyes narrowed. “How bitter?”
“Pretty damn,” he admitted. “I don’t think a day went by that she didn’t remind me of what Jake and his mother had stolen from us.” Was it hot in here all of a sudden? “Hand me one of those beers I brought, wouldja?”
She grabbed a Bud out of the little dorm-sized fridge, twisted off the cap and passed the bottle across the bare-bones plywood counter. “Wow. It’s a wonder you and Jake are as close as you are.”
“Yeah, well, that’s new. We hated each other’s guts growing up. And that was my fault.”
“Sounds more to me that it was your father’s.”
“Oh, Charlie’s fathering skills sucked, no doubt about it.” Then he corrected himself. “Well, not entirely, I guess. Up until he left Jake and his mom for the third Mrs. Bradshaw, they only sucked with me. He looked like he was a really good dad to Jake. And it wasn’t the old man who bullied him.”
Jesus, dude, shut up!
What was she, a fucking truth serum? She hadn’t demanded every single detail; what the hell was he doing providing them anyway?
“Max Bradshaw, did you pick on your little brother?”
His shoulders crept up. “Yeah.”
“How old were you?”
“When I started? I dunno, maybe eleven?”
“So you were a little kid.”
“I was old enough. And nobody knew better what it felt like to have a father who no longer considered himself your dad. I knew exactly how crappy Jake felt and I was happy about it!”
“And this surprises you?” she asked gently, wiping her hands on a towel and reaching to graze her fingertips across his knuckles. Until he felt her touch he hadn’t realized he’d curled his hands into fists on the temporary countertop. “After spending all those years seeing your father being ‘a really good dad’ to your little brother while he pretended you were invisible?”
He pulled his gaze from where her fingers rubbed his to meet those warm eyes. “It was wrong.”
“Yes.” She straightened, her fingers sliding away. “But you know what was a lot worse? A father who was all or nothing with both his sons. A mother who wouldn’t let you forget an injustice she should have been shielding you from.” She shot him a crooked smile. “And you can’t tell me Jake didn’t get his licks in.”
For the first time since she’d started this conversation, he felt a smile tug up his lips. “No, can’t tell you that. Jake wasn’t shy about fighting back. Guy’s got a mean right hook—and a knack for drawing blood with words.”
“So it wasn’t as one-sided as you’d have me believe. And maybe things really do happen for a reason. Because, just look at how good it’s made you with troubled kids. You always seem to know exactly what to say to them.”
He’d never considered it in that light and found the idea oddly comforting. Feeling somehow lighter, he squared his shoulders, tipped his bottle up and took a long, satisfying swallow of his beer. Then he settled deeper into his stool and watched Harper cook him a nutritious meal.
He couldn’t recall anyone ever going to so much trouble just for him, and it really got to him. Who would have thought that she and Jake being so concerned about him eating right would mean so much?
The balsamic-and-butter-tossed Swiss chard turned out to be really tasty. He’d been prepared to eat enough of it to be polite, but he actually went back for seconds. The whole meal was great, from the baked salmon to the wine-poached pears. Apparently, good for you didn’t have to mean tasting like cardboard.
After dinner, he insisted on washing the dishes. Harper dried, and when the last one was put away, he took her by the hand and led her to the living room. They’d barely gone ten steps beyond the plywood breakfast bar, however, when he swung her around to face him. “So, about me putting out for my dinner,” he murmured. Sliding his fingers along her jaw, he tilted her face up to his, her soft skin a sensory banquet beneath his fingertips. And lowered his head to kiss her.
He’d intended to keep things light, maybe even playful, which, okay, was kind of a stretch for him. But there was just something so damn combustible about their chemistry when mouth touched mouth. Harper’s lush lips softened and parted beneath his, and she promptly pressed her body against him, winding her shapely arms around his neck and holding him close. The next thing he knew, he had her pressed up against the living room wall, his fingers plunged into her glossy curls to tilt her head to the position he desired as he slanted his mouth wider over hers and challenged her tongue to a duel.
God,
she tasted good, and, groaning, he leaned into her harder. Her hands slid up to grip his head, her fingernails scraping through his hair, scratching against his scalp.
Breathing heavily, he pulled back and stared down at her. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her lips parted, ruddy and swollen from the force of his kiss. With a rough sound, he bent his head to kiss her again, hard and fast, then dipped his knees to press an openmouthed kiss on the underside of her jaw. He sucked the soft skin there between his lips, then pressed additional hot, suctioning kisses down the length of her throat, leaving a path of tiny red stains that faded almost before he left the next one. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t be thrilled with marks she’d have to explain or wear a turtleneck to conceal.
Reaching the base of her square neckline, he pressed a kiss to the creamy brown slopes of the breasts he’d been admiring all evening where they rose above a narrow edge of pleating. A gritty sound climbed his throat at the pliant give beneath his lips and the soft, needy moan that Harper made.
“Let’s move this to my bedroom.” His voice was hoarse, and he reached to pull her hands out of his hair—just as his cell phone sounded its
Law And Order
theme song ringtone.
“Shit!”
“Noooo,” she moaned.
Straightening, he dropped his forehead to hers. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I have to get that. It’s work.”
She sighed, then nodded, and Max went to go answer his call.
For the first time since coming home to Razor Bay, he was sorry—really, really sorry—that he’d joined the damn sheriff’s department.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“H
APPY
BIRTHDAY
,
BRO
.”
“Thanks.” Trying to act cool, as if birthday wishes from a guy he’d battled with for too many years didn’t tickle him on a deep-down, more-masculine-shade-than-pink level, Max pushed open his screen door and stepped out onto the porch, closing the front door behind him. “You didn’t have to come get me—I could’ve met you at The Anchor.”
“It’s your birthday, dude. Everyone deserves extra good treatment on their big day.”
He’d neither grown up in a household that ascribed to that idea, nor had he ever taken the day off as if his birth were something special to be celebrated. But he could sure get used to both those things in a red-hot hurry. He liked the way it made him feel.
A lot. “Let me just lock up, then I’m ready to go.”
“Yes!” Jake jerked in a victory fist. “At
last
someone besides me who thinks their house oughtta be secure before they just waltz away, one-horse town or not.”
Max grinned at his brother’s New Yorker sensibility. “Razor Bay isn’t exactly a hotbed of crime,” he said. “But I’ve gone out on enough calls for the places that have been broken into. And I don’t ever want to feel the way those folks did.”
“Wouldja tell that to Jenny? Because she treats me as if I’m a big-city idiot whenever I try to say anything.”
“As opposed to the regular idiot the rest of us think you are?”
Jake’s fist shot out in a quick, hard jab to his arm. He immediately shook out his hand. “Damn, you’re like hitting a brick shit house—it hurts me a helluva lot more than it hurts you.”
“Well, it
is
my birthday.”
His brother grinned. “True. And you look very spiff. I see you took my advice.”
He glanced down at his club clothes. “That the birthday kid has to dress like someone’s going to drag him to a hot restaurant at any minute? Yep.” He checked out Jake’s duds. “You look all right, yourself.”
Jake made a rude noise and struck a pose, modeling his own sharp outfit. “I look a damn sight better than ‘all right,’ bro.”
Inside The Anchor ten minutes later, Jake stopped him as he started to stride past the bar. “Have a look at the brew list,” his brother commanded, jerking his chin up at the overhead blackboards. “You gotta try at least one beer that’s not a Budweiser on your birthday.”
Willing to give it a shot, he looked up, studied the boards, then admitted, “I have no idea what to choose.”
“Hey, barkeep!” Jake yelled. “I’ll take a Fat Tire in the bottle—and what brew besides Bud can you recommend with a nice cat piss bottom note? It’s my brother’s birthday, and I wanna give him a special treat. But we can’t wander too far away from his preferred taste.”
The patrons were pretty much equally divided between cheering or booing Jake’s Budweiser trash talk. And Max was taken aback at the number of people who shouted out cheerful Happy Birthdays to him, half of them nodding at his clothes and adding, “Lookin’ good, Deputy!”
Laughing, Elise, the bartender, waited for the hubbub to die down before promising to send over something he’d enjoy.
It didn’t take long for the waitress to deliver their beers to the booth they’d snagged. After dealing out coasters, she set a longneck bottle in front of him along with a pint-style beer glass. “Elise said to tell ya you oughtta be supporting your local breweries instead of sending all your beer allowance to other states.”
“We have a local brewery? I mean, I know they’re all over the state, but
local
local?”
“Hell, yeah. Silver City right in Silverdale.”
“How could I not know that?”
“Because you don’t drink anything but Bud, and you go to places where you can dance instead of to breweries,” Jake said, picking up his bottle of Fat Tire.
The waitress lifted Max’s bottle and poured it into the glass. “This is Ridgetop Red, an ale she thinks you’ll like. It took Gold in the
altbier
class at the North American Brewer’s Association.”
Nudging the glass on its coaster closer to him, she looked at him expectantly. He realized she wasn’t walking away until he tasted it, and took a sip.
The flavor flowed smooth and rich over his tongue and down his throat, and he lowered the glass. “Damn,” he said. “That’s good.”
“Yes!” Jake crowed, and the waitress nodded.
“Damn straight.” She gave him a “good boy” pat on the shoulder, collected the money Jake passed her and smiled her thanks when he told her to keep the change. A second later she was dashing off to answer the hail of a patron down by the dartboard.
Max was relaxed, laughing at an Austin story his brother was relating and getting ready to flag the waitress down to order another Ridgetop Red when the cell phone he’d set on the table rang. He didn’t even look at it.
Jake gave him a funny look. “Aren’t you going to get that?”
“Nah. If it’s important they’ll leave a message.” Not feeling the least bit tempted to be his usual responsible self, he shrugged. Hell, the last time he’d let the phone interrupt a good time, it had kept him from getting lucky with Harper. So, no. He wasn’t answering. “And if they do that, then I’ll decide if I actually want to listen to it or not.”
Jake reached over and snatched the phone off the tabletop, hitting the talk button. “Max Bradshaw’s phone.”
Max stared at him. “What the hell, Jake!”
His brother shrugged. “Hey, I thought it might be important.” He held the cell out to him. “It’s a kid named Nathan from the Village.”
“What are you, my fricking social secretary?” Max muttered under his breath, but reached for the phone. Nathan had been pretty upset the last time he’d talked to him, and there was no way he could turn his back on the kid if he needed him. He brought the phone to his ear. “Hey, Nathan.”
“I’m sorry to bug you, man,” the teen said, “but d’ya think you could come out here? Something’s happened, and I really need to talk to you.”
He felt surprisingly disappointed at the thought of cutting his birthday celebration short but blew out a breath and nodded, even though Nathan couldn’t see him. “Okay. It’s going to be a while, though. I’m away from my car, so I have to go home first to get it, but—”
“I’ll take you,” Jake said.
“Hang on.” He covered the mouthpiece and looked at his brother. “You don’t have to do that.”
“You just going out to the Village?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You live in the opposite direction. I can take you and hang around while you talk to the kid, and maybe we can continue this when you’re done. If not, I’ll call Jenny to pick me up, leave you my car and collect it at your place in the morning.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Liking the idea of maybe picking this up again, he uncurled his hand from around the speaker. “I’ll be right out.”
“Dude. Thanks. I’ll be in the activity room.”
He repeated that to Jake as they headed out. “Odd place to meet. The activity room’s hardly ever empty.”
“Maybe that means whatever the kid’s problem is, it’s not too serious,” Jake suggested.
“I hope not, both for his sake and mine. It would be nice to resolve this quickly.”
“Amen to that, Deputy D.” Jake grinned at him. “Here’s to getting back to drinking good beer ASAP.”
Since nothing was very far from anything else in Razor Bay, in what seemed like no time they were striding down the hallway to the activity room. “Whoa. Door’s shut,” Max said over his shoulder to Jake, unable to mask his concern. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.” Turning the knob, he pushed it open.
“Surprise!”
Max’s heart seized like a blown engine at the roar from a couple of dozen throats. It shocked him so much, in fact, that he had an awful feeling he might have pulled his gun if he’d been wearing it.
He rarely had PTSD-type symptoms anymore, but occasionally he had to fight the shoot first, talk later instinct that was prevalent in war. As it was, he froze for a second, gaping at all the people yelling and laughing on the other side of the door.
“Deputy Dawg was so into his b’day being
his
day, he damn near didn’t answer the phone,” Jake said with a laugh to the group at large, nudging Max forward into the room.
That’s when the word
surprise
finally unjumbled in his mind. Sank in and made sense. Holy fucking shit. This was a surprise birthday party.
For him.
Warmth and an emotion that felt almost like—no, who was he fooling, that
was
—happiness replaced his confusion, and he turned to his brother. “You arranged this?”
“No. Harper did.”
His heart smacked up against the wall of his chest, and he barely heard Jake’s “My and Nathan’s job was to get you here” as he located her standing next to Mary-Margaret by the windows. She smiled at him and mouthed,
Happy birthday
.
With a single purpose in mind, he headed straight for her.
The boys mobbed him before he made it halfway across the room and dragged him over to a table in the corner laden with cold cuts and bread, fruit and veggie platters, potato salad and bowls of chips, crackers and dips.
“Dude, lookit all the food!”
“Did you see this
cake?
‘Happy Birthday, Deputy Dawg!’ How epic is that?”
Very—and undoubtedly Jake’s contribution.
“There’s soft drinks in the coolers, too. Mary-Margaret said we couldn’t have any until you got here. But you’re here now, so I guess that means we can dig in, right?”
“Surprised ya, huh?”
The last was Nathan, and Max hooked the inner bend of his elbow around the boy’s nape and hauled him close. He scrubbed his knuckles against Nathan’s scalp in a rough noogie. “I’ll say,” he said, turning him loose. “I ’bout had a heart attack, I was so surprised.”
They all laughed, and Nathan ducked his head, clearly pleased.
Max grinned at them, touched deep inside at their delight in pointing out all the details of his party to him. But he had a purpose burning bright, and he said, “Go grab yourselves that pop. I need to thank Harper for planning all this.”
He walked right up to where she stood talking to...someone, snaked an arm around her waist, yanked her flush against him, plunged the fingers of his free hand into the back of her hair and bent her back over his arm in one smooth move. Sealing his mouth over her little squeak of surprise, he laid a kiss on her.
Only the knowledge that he was in a room full of impressionable boys—all of whom were currently cheering and catcalling in the background—kept the kiss chaste, his lips safely, or at least mostly, closed. Her hands had grabbed his shoulders, and, cracking an eye open, he saw that hers, so close they were slightly blurry, were wide open. He grinned against her soft, soft lips and hauled her back upright. Then slowly, reluctantly, he lifted his head away with a tiny, final sip at the sweetness of her mouth.
“Thank you,” he said, smoothing back a curl that had flopped over her eye. “Nobody has ever done anything like this for me, and it’s the coolest thing ever.”
Color washed the apples of her cheekbones, but she said calmly in her blues singer contralto voice that never failed to lift the fine hairs on his body, “You’re welcome. It was a kick to put together.”
“Happy birthday, Max,” a feminine voice said next to them, and he pulled his gaze from Harper’s to see the woman she’d been talking to was Amy Alverez, the sheriff’s department dispatcher.
“Hey!” he said in surprise. “I didn’t see you there.”
“No foolin’,” she murmured and laughed.
“Wait a minute.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Jim didn’t need the extra hours?”
“Oh, he’s always happy for them. But I was Harper’s first call to make sure you had the day off.”
Amy’s husband strolled up, popping a bite of spinach-dip-covered cracker in his mouth. He chewed, swallowed and thrust out a hand. “Happy birthday, Max.”
Jenny danced up on the heels of their shake. “Bet we’ll be seeing that kiss on the Razor Bay Blog as Best Response to a Surprise Party Ever! Jake captured the money shot on his trusty camera.” She gave Max one of her ubiquitous hugs, and for once he didn’t feel all stiff and clueless as he returned it. “Happy Birthday, almost Brother-in-Law!”
Austin barreled over, came to a halt in front of him so abruptly it rocked the kid up onto his toes, then gave him a punch to the arm. “From me, too, almost Uncle—Oh, wait!” He grinned. “You’re already my uncle! But happy birthday. This is pretty epic, huh? Dad and Jenny and me gotcha—”
Jake, who had strolled up in the boy’s wake, sealed his hand over his son’s mouth. “Something you’ll see for yourself later,” he said over Austin’s head.
“Whoa. All this and I get a present, too? Kid’s right. This is epic.” And a little overwhelming.
But, God, in such a great way.
He was amazed at how many people had turned out for him and spent the next half hour making sure he greeted and talked to everyone. He watched the boys at the Village covertly watch Austin and his friend Nolan and girlfriend, Bailey—and vice versa. When several of the Village kids converged on the refreshment table at the same time as his nephew and his friends, he started over.
“You’ve played baseball with him?” he heard Austin say. “That’s buck, dude. I’ve been to a Mariners game with him, and he’s come to a lot of my games. But we’ve never played ball together.”
“Yeah, but he’s your uncle—so that’s even better,” Owen said, and Max realized they were talking about him. As though he were some hotshot sports star or something.
“You shoulda seen the most awesome baseball game ever,” Owen continued enthusiastically. “See, Harper knows shit-all about the game, and she tried to keep Nathan from second base by guarding him like a basketball player. And Max, he—”
No two ways about it, he thought later after he’d visited and laughed with every single person who’d come out just for him, had photos taken by Jake with all the boys, both individually and as a group, chowed down everything on the overloaded paper plate that Tasha had dished up for him, blown out candles and eaten a piece of chocolate cake with cream cheese frosting, then opened not one, not two, but a whole boatload of presents both large and small. This was simply: