Книга - The Risk-Taker

The Risk-Taker
Kira Sinclair


All returned POW Gage Harper wants to do is forget.He certainly doesn’t want to tell the tale of his heroism to the tabloids, not even to Hope Rawlings – the only girl Gage has never been able to resist. But Hope needs his story to get her dream job – and she’s willing to do anything to get it…












About the Author


KIRA SINCLAIR’s first foray into writing romance was for a high school English assignment. Nothing could dampen her enthusiasm … not even being forced to read about the Scottish laird and his headstrong lass aloud to the class. Although it definitely made her blush. Writing about striking, sexy heroes and passionate, determined women has always excited her. She sold her first book in 2007 and hasn’t looked back. With seven books currently available, and more on the way, she still can’t believe she gets to make her living doing something so fun. She loves to hear from readers at www.KiraSinclair.com.




The Risk-Taker

Kira Sinclair







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


I’d like to dedicate this book

to all the men and women who have been wounded

serving and protecting our country.

Thank you for your service.

Your sacrifice is not in vain.




1


A HEAVY FIST CONNECTED with his jaw. Gage Harper’s head snapped backward and the crowd, pressed tight against the raised platform, roared.

All Gage heard was the rush of adrenaline as it poured through his body. It drowned out the words that had been haunting him all night. “In a war that brings mostly sad news, tonight there is a brighter story to tell.” Someone should tell the solemn man who delivered that statement to the world that bright and war should never be used in the same sentence.

But Gage wasn’t going to be the one to do it.

Instead, he squared his feet beneath him and countered the blow he’d received with several of his own. Head, gut, kidneys. This wasn’t the sort of place that worried about rules. The backwoods fighting ring was exactly what he needed to distract him from the memories he didn’t want.

Micah’s flag-draped casket being loaded into the transport for home. A hard-eyed insurgent yelling into his face before ripping both of his thumbnails outwith pliers. The screams of his friends as they endured torture.

Torture he could have prevented if he hadn’t screwed up.

Yeah, this was a great use of a Thursday night even if he’d had to drive an hour out of Sweetheart, South Carolina, to find it. The blessed numbness would be worth every fist to the face.

Grounding his weight onto his left leg, Gage lashed out with a roundhouse kick. Channeling all the frustration, rage and guilt built up inside him, he put more power behind it than he’d meant to, aiming straight for the guy’s gut. He was finding it difficult to hold back after months of fighting for his life. Those kind of hard-won instincts were a bitch to get rid of. Luckily the other guy blocked.

Scenes he thought he’d dealt with flashed across his mind. Gunfire. Smoke-filled hallways. A dark, dirty cell with barely enough room to lie down. Tanner, a fellow Ranger, bloody and broken before they’d even been thrown into that room, moaning in pain. Needles. Knives. Pliers.

But he didn’t break. He hadn’t told them a damn thing.

Gage ground his teeth and pushed the memories away. Nothing could change what had happened to Tanner.

Or bring Micah back. The man he’d met in jump school was gone. Killed when his gun misfired while cleaning it. That, more than anything, was what bothered him about his friend’s death. He knew Micah. Had trained with the man. Micah could disassemble, clean and reassemble his weapon in his sleep. They all could. Dying in battle, that he could have dealt with. They’d all signed up for that possibility. But not some freak accident.

That anger, grief and skepticism were what sent him out into the scorching desert looking for the same kind of fight he’d found tonight. Something to silence the racing thoughts and numb the pain he didn’t want to deal with. He’d gotten a distraction, all right. And several good men had been pulled straight into hell with him.

He never should have watched the national news story his mama had saved. The latest in a long line of shouldn’ts.

Who knew she could operate the DVR? When he left for basic training twelve years ago she could barely get a DVD to play. He’d been looking for something mindless, like old football games or episodes of CSI. Instead, he’d found hours of news stories detailing his capture and high-profile rescue from Taliban insurgents.

The worst had been the leaked propaganda videos. The close-up shots of his own dirt- and blood-streaked face as they’d forced him to deliver their messages to the U.S. government. He could still taste the bitter words, hated himself for saying them even if he’d done it to save Tanner from more torture he wasn’t strong enough to survive.

He’d wanted to turn them off. Should have. But couldn’t. What those slick news anchors with their perfect white teeth hadn’t said was that what happened was entirely his fault.

His thumbs began to throb where his missing nails should have been. Gage clenched his fists tighter, asking for more. He relished the pain. The reminder. His injuries were nothing compared to Tanner’s. If he hadn’t let grief and a mindless need for a distraction blind him to the warning signs …

If he hadn’t taken unnecessary risks and pushed them all straight into a trap, his buddy wouldn’t be lying in a hospital bed looking at months of rehab, learning to live without a limb and the possibility that his military career was over.

The guy in front of him, clearly some gym rat trying to show off the muscles he’d honed in air-conditioned luxury, twisted on his heel and threw out a leg aimed straight for Gage’s head. He easily blocked the kick, letting the other guy’s foot glance off a shoulder.

He could wipe the floor with this guy. It had taken Gage less than ninety seconds to pick up on his weaknesses, and if they’d been in the middle of the desert instead of a crude ring made from worn padding, plywood and rope, he wouldn’t have hesitated. But he wasn’t there to defend his life or a set of ideals he wasn’t even sure he believed anymore.

He was just there to forget. And the quickest way to that was to let this guy beat the crap out of him so he could concentrate on something other than pointless regrets and decisions he couldn’t take back. Besides, he didn’t need the prize money these guys were after. Better to let some struggling father win the pot so he could buy something nice for his family.

Gage’s lip split. Blood splattered across the floor. His head wrenched sideways and something in the audience caught his eye. The familiar flash of green-gold eyes and dark blond hair he hadn’t seen in twelve years.

Well, unless you counted dreams. And he didn’t.

Hope Rawlings. His belly tightened, a sensation that had nothing to do with the repeated blows he’d taken. Gage twisted, skillfully maneuvering his opponent so he could scour the faces surrounding them. But whatever he’d seen was gone.

Or maybe he was imagining things. Was it crazy that he would think of her now that he was back?

Given their history, yes, it probably was. Although, while he was reviewing regrets …

In that single moment of distraction the force of Gym Rat’s fist exploded across Gage’s left cheekbone. The pain reverberated through his entire face. The crunch of bone on bone burst in his ears.

“Shit.” He spat out with a mouthful of blood. Well, the guy had gotten his attention again. With a sigh, Gage resigned himself to a good tongue-lashing when his mama saw him at breakfast in the morning. And decided there was no way he was letting this guy win. The next guy could take the purse.

HOPE RAWLINGS WATCHED Gage get the crap beat out of him. For fun. She tried to stay dispassionate about it. After all, it wasn’t a new occurrence for him. Well, this underground, full-contact fighting for money was—maybe she could turn this into an exposé on men shedding their suits in an attempt to connect with their inner caveman—but not his penchant for finding trouble.

If they awarded medals for that … Instead, he had the Bronze Star, Prisoner of War Medal and Purple Heart. Just the thought of what he’d gone through to get those made her chest ache. And her head swell to the point of explosion. She fought against the urge to climb into that ring, snatch him by the ear and drag his ass out. Hadn’t he given them all enough heart palpitations recently? But that wasn’t her place. Not anymore.

Years ago she would have been right beside him, turning blue in the face as she unsuccessfully attempted to talk him out of whatever dangerous scheme he’d hatched. They’d been friends since Gage stole her sippy cup and hit her over the head with it. They were neighbors. Their parents were best friends. They were best friends. Or had been. Once.

He’d been home for a couple days and was already jonesing for a hit of adrenaline. It had taken a long time for Hope to learn that she’d end up the only one hurt by hitting her head against that brick wall. Gage did what he wanted and always had. Screw anyone who stood in his way or challenged him.

That didn’t make watching the smackdown any easier. Especially knowing the physical hell he’d just been through. When, exactly, would he finally say uncle? When would he have enough?

Although watching Gage was far from a hardship. They might have been friends, but she wasn’t blind. Even as a teenager he’d been gorgeous, and knew it. Girls, attracted by the pretty face and edge of danger, had thrown themselves at him. She’d been right there beside him, dismissed by the ones who bothered to notice she was even there.

The familiar spurt of jealousy came out of nowhere. Hope pushed it down. She hadn’t liked the reaction then and she definitely didn’t like it now.

Wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts, everything he had was on display. War might have left him with scars—visible and unseen—but it had definitely honed his body into something beautiful. The way he moved should have been a sin, all smooth grace and deadly calculation.

The guy he was fighting was an idiot if he couldn’t see the way Gage sized him up. His stomach muscles bunched as he went on the attack. Shoulders and biceps strained. He maneuvered the other guy into a corner, limiting his opponent’s range of motion. His thighs and calves flexed with every step.

Hope tried not to notice, but it was hard to tear her gaze away.

Gage was vibrant. Alive. Electric. Just being close to him always left her with the same warm buzz, like a contact high. And yet, it scared the hell out of her, too. He attacked everything so hard—life, love, danger, war. That kind of intensity was intimidating and draining for anyone standing in the fallout zone.

Dammit, when would this match end?

She wasn’t here to ogle him or reminisce. She was here to interview him. He’d been avoiding her ever since he got home two days ago. Hope tried not to take it personally—he was avoiding everyone. But it still hurt.

Although, considering the things they’d both said the last time they’d spoken … she wasn’t surprised. If it wasn’t for the phone call she’d received three days ago she might have been avoiding him, as well. But she couldn’t.

Gage Harper was her ticket out of Sweetheart.

“You want a permanent position with us, Ms. Rawlings?” Mr. Rebman had asked. He was the managing editor for the Atlanta Courier, a gruff man who’d only spoken to her once before for about sixty seconds—the length of time it took him to say her experience managing the Sweetheart Sentinel for her father did not make her a journalist. He was a real winner, but the man had the power to grant her every wish.

She’d practically tripped over her own tongue answering, “Yes, sir.”

“I understand that Gage Harper is from your hometown.”

And immediately Hope’s stomach had seethed with sickness.

Somehow she’d found herself answering, “Yes.” At least she hadn’t told the man that they’d grown up together.

“He’s refusing all interview offers. If you can get me an exclusive, I’ll consider finding a place for you here.”

Hope frowned as Gage landed another punch. So here she was, in the middle of backwoods South Carolina on a Thursday night, stalking Gage.

That sick feeling was back in the pit of her stomach.

With a sigh, Hope melted into the back of the crowd. In her four-inch heels—out of place amid the roughed-up cowboy boots—she could still see the ring just fine. Enough to know Gage had stopped playing cat and mouse and was finally going in for the kill. His opponent, a guy who never stood a chance, dropped to the floor with a groan and stayed there.

Gage bounced on his heels away from the guy, staying alert for any sign of deceit. As the nice man who’d spilled beer on her jeans had explained, there weren’t any rules so dirty fighting was more than allowed. But the guy stayed down. Some in the crowd cheered and some booed.

An older guy who looked to be in charge jumped into the ring. He announced Gage as the winner, using his loud voice instead of a PA system to combat the crowd. Hope got the impression this was a traveling circus and that kind of equipment would have been a little too expensive to abandon if the cops showed up.

The guy at the door, probably a recent graduate from a halfway house, only let her in after she told him she was with one of the fighters and pointed out Gage. Even then, the way he’d eyed her with skepticism made her uncomfortable.

The crowd shifted. Someone called out demanding another fight. And with a smile and a nod of his head, the guy in charge waved the next fighter into the ring with Gage. Apparently, this wasn’t the kind of place that worked off brackets. No winner-against-winner here, Gage was going again.

Hope groaned and closed her eyes, but she couldn’t keep them that way for long. Not with the sound of flesh on flesh ringing in her ears again. Her overactive imagination was far worse than watching the beating. She cracked one eyelid.

Like before, Gage played with the guy for a few minutes, sizing him up. He took a few shots and gave a few back. It was clear, at least to her, that Gage had his opponent’s number. So it surprised her when he left himself wide open for an uppercut beneath the chin. His back hit the floor with a resounding crack.

A man close to her groaned. He passed a handful of bills across to another guy wearing a gleeful grin. Gage didn’t move. The crowd was thick enough that she couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or just stunned.

Her heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest, an echo of the panic she’d felt when news of his capture had come into the newsroom just a couple weeks before.

Here she’d thought his rescue would cure her of the unwanted reaction. Apparently not.

Hope fought against the mass of people, trying to get closer to the side of the ring. The breath she hadn’t realized she was holding leaked slowly from her parted lips when he finally started to stir. His hands spread wide on the floor and he pushed upward. His head hung between those straining shoulders, as if it were too heavy for him to hold up.

Her gaze searched him for signs of serious injury. She jostled the handful of men standing between her and the ring. She yelled, demanding they let her through, and slapped at the ones who didn’t listen.

Gage finally picked up his head. His gaze connected with hers through the flimsy barrier of ropes. The same punch she always felt hit her, as if she’d been the one taking shots to the solar plexus. But just like always, she ignored it.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His right eye was already swelling and bruising. Hope’s hands curled around the edge of the ring floor. The sharp pain of a splinter pierced her left palm.

His golden-brown eyes flared with recognition and something warmer before narrowing down to indecipherable slits. He frowned and asked gruffly, “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.”

In one lithe movement that belied the fact that he’d just been knocked silly, Gage bounded up from the floor and over the ropes. His feet slapped the dirty cement beside her. Several men around them smacked his back and shoulders, offering encouragement he obviously didn’t need.

The man deserved an Academy Award to go with his other decorations. “You threw the match,” Hope breathed out, the realization hitting at about the same time the shocked words fell from her lips. Why the heck would he do that?

His frown deepened. A few people around them stared and grumbled ominously. Gage grasped her arm and pushed her ahead of him through the crowd.

People parted to let them pass. She glanced back to look at Gage because they sure weren’t moving out of her way. They hadn’t done it any other time she’d slipped through the rowdy crowd. After seeing his expression she had to admit she didn’t blame them. If he’d raked her with that hard, cutting expression she’d have gotten the hell out of the way, too.

And if he hadn’t had a death grip on her upper arm she might have done it now.

Her heel caught on a crack in the floor. Before she could stumble Gage was there, keeping her from twisting an ankle by pulling her back against the wall of his chest.

His hard, sweaty chest. A shiver rocked through Hope. She just hoped he was too preoccupied to notice.

Dumping her out into the chilly February night, he finally let her go. This time she did stumble, letting the building catch her. The metal siding rattled. In the distance a peal of female laughter was cut short.

Gage stood in front of her, his legs planted wide, arms crossed over his chest. Unruly dark brown hair, longer than she’d expected, fluttered in a gust of wind. Hope shivered again, but this time it was because seeing him standing out in nothing but a pair of shorts made her cold. Spring was definitely on the way, but it was still close to forty this late at night. It didn’t seem to bother him. Which bothered her.

He pinned her in place with the glittering intensity of his stare. That was new. And she wasn’t sure she liked it. Where was the laughing, mischievous boy she remembered? The one whose favorite pastime was talking her into things that inevitably got them both in trouble?

Hope gathered herself, crossed her own arms to fight the sudden feeling of being exposed and stared right back.

Gage Harper might be able to intimidate a lot of people, but not her. She knew his darkest secrets—at least the ones from his childhood. She’d seen him cry when his dog was hit by a car. And she knew exactly how to get under his skin.

She didn’t think he’d changed that much in twelve years. So she waited, knowing that saying nothing would eventually drive him crazy. If there was one thing Gage hated, it was silence. He needed action, movement, motion.

It only took a couple minutes for him to ask, “Why?”

“Hello to you, too, Gage. It’s nice to see you home. Yeah, my daddy’s doing fine, thanks for askin’. The cancer scare was difficult, but he’s in remission now,” she answered in the sweetest, kill-you-with-kindness voice she could manage.

He ignored her point and breezed right over the niceties. “Why were you looking for me? And for God’s sake, why here? Do you know how dangerous this place is? Half the guys here are ex-cons and the other half just haven’t gotten caught yet.”

He was exaggerating. So none of the men inside would be up for Teddy Bear of the Year, but some of them had looked decent enough. She might have felt out of place, but not in danger.

“Please. I’m a journalist. I can handle myself.”

Gage laughed. The sound wasn’t what she remembered—his laugh had been loud and deep—but was brittle, with a sharp edge that could have sliced straight through skin. “You are not a journalist.”

Hope jerked at the punch of his words. They shouldn’t have mattered. Who cared what Gage thought? But they did. Probably because he, more than anyone, should have understood how much they would hurt. And maybe he did.

“Running Daddy’s paper hardly qualifies you as a journalist. I’ve been home for two days and haven’t seen your name on a byline yet.”

Hope tried to rein in the temper she could feel bubbling inside her.

“Does my degree from Clemson make me a journalist, then?” she growled.

The minute the words left her mouth she regretted them. She watched as the expression on his face shut down, his eyes going completely blank. He took a single step backward. He didn’t move far, but she realized there was more to the distance than merely putting inches between them.

He’d wounded her on purpose, but she’d done it accidentally. She should have known better. Not getting into Clemson was a sore spot for him. With that single statement she’d brought them straight back around to a history neither of them wanted to rehash.

“What do you want, Hope?”

Even his voice was distant.

“To interview you,” she said, unsure how to reverse what she’d carelessly done. She could feel the opportunity to tell his story slipping through her fingers. It frustrated her.

His gaze swept across her. The contempt that grazed her made her want to walk away, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.

“I’m not giving interviews.”

Even before Gage had shown up in Sweetheart, the reporters had begun crawling out of the woodwork. Several national news teams had taken up residence at the local B and B and their satellite-equipped trucks were permanently parked on every corner of the town square.

The propaganda videos released by the insurgents had made Gage Harper an overnight media sensation. The camera loved every dirty, bloody, defiant inch of his beautifully distant face. The same cuttingly intense expression filling his golden eyes had captured a nation.

And then he and his men had been rescued. Not since Jessica Lynch had there been such a media storm surrounding the capture and rescue of a U.S. soldier.

Just about every citizen of Sweetheart had been stopped and questioned about Gage—his childhood, his parents, his sister. They’d even interviewed elementary school kids who hadn’t been born when Gage left and never met the guy. But in the absence of a real story, they were trying to fill in with whatever they could get their grubby hands on.

Didn’t he realize that saying nothing could be worse? People filled in the blanks, anyway, with whatever they were given—whether it was fact or fiction.

The influx of reporters had become a nuisance and the town council had even called an emergency session to discuss how to deal with them. They’d hoped when Gage came home and spoke that would be the end of it. But Gage refused to talk to anyone.

Hope had thought she—and the Sweetheart Sentinel—would be the exception to Gage’s no-comment policy. Apparently not.

“But this is for us, Gage. Everyone wants to hear the story from you.”

“Well, then I guess everyone’s going to be disappointed. Something the citizens of Sweetheart should be used to where I’m concerned. I’ve been disappointing them for years.”

“That’s not true.”

Gage raised a single eyebrow. It was all he needed to call her a liar, although she would have argued that terrorized would have been a better word than disappointed. Pranks like rolling the wedding gazebo, putting potato flakes in the flower beds lining Main Street so they puffed up with the morning dew and numbering three goats 1, 2 and 4 before releasing them into the high school had earned Gage a reputation.

But that was before he became a war hero.

“I’m not talking to you or anyone else, Hope.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything he just shook his head. And began walking backward, away from her.

Hope could tell that he was determined. A lot had changed, but she’d seen that expression on his face enough times to recognize it. Every time she’d tried to talk him out of some hare-brained scheme.

However, she could be just as stubborn as he was. She wasn’t going to let anything stand between her and her escape hatch out of this town.

Not even Gage Harper. Maybe especially not Gage Harper.




2


THE TOWN WAS CRAZY. That was all there was to it. All around him chaos reigned. Although, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise since he’d grown up in Sweetheart, where Valentine’s Day was sacred, and folks started celebrating a week in advance. Twelve years away had managed to blunt Gage’s memories.

He now recalled why he never visited at this time of year.

A group of men, most of them town-council members, were yelling at each other from the top of several ladders. “No, yours needs to go down on the right, Hank.”

“I said up, Billy! You got cotton stuck in your ears again?”

Gage had mixed emotions when it came to the red banners with the white-and-pink cupids being hung on all the lampposts down Main. As a child, he’d thought the cupids looked like big blobs of cotton candy. His daddy, the mayor, had not been amused when at six he announced his opinion at the dinner table with the entire council present … and started a heated discussion about the need to update town decorations.

On the other hand, he’d used the excitement surrounding this week to snag more than one kiss beneath those banners. And why did that thought bring up an image of Hope Rawlings? She’d definitely never been one of those girls. Not that he hadn’t wanted her to be….

“Gage, great to have you home,” Billy Carstairs yelled as he passed between two of the men. “Boy, what happened to your face? That’s not from … what happened, is it?”

As Billy looked down at him from ten feet in the air, his grip on the lamppost slipped. The banner he was holding swung precariously and Billy wobbled. The sight of him grasping the post, his cheek pressed so tightly against the metal that he vaguely resembled a smushed bulldog, might have been amusing if Gage hadn’t been worried he was about to have to catch the man—all two hundred and fifty pounds of him.

“No, sir,” he answered, sighing in relief when Billy regained his balance.

All around him people turned, not to watch the averted disaster, but to look at him. It was a sensation Gage just couldn’t get used to. His neck permanently crawled from being watched. He was only a few weeks removed from an environment where that feeling usually heralded a burst of flying bullets. He’d learned to listen to those internal warnings that told him danger was coming so that he could prepare.

In Sweetheart danger tended to involve overprotective daddies with shotguns, women with wedding bells and babies on the brain and a potential shortage of beer on Saturdays during college football season. Now that could start a nasty riot.

Just one more thing he’d had to adjust to upon returning stateside.

Everyone he passed smiled and greeted him by name. Half the people he didn’t even think he knew. Pride shone out of every pair of eyes. A far cry from the frowns that had followed in his wake during his teenage years.

The men probably hoped he’d stop to chat. Maybe offer a hand so they could casually ask him the question everyone wanted to know. What happened? Every single one of them wanted details. Or thought they did. What they really wanted was some romanticized view of what he’d been through. The drama. The rescue. The Hollywood version where everyone survived and no one had permanent scars. They didn’t want the truth.

Which was fine with him since he wasn’t willing to give anyone that. Although he had to admit this pedestal they’d set him up on chafed. It was lonely up here with nothing but his guilt for company.

He had no idea where he was going, but he’d needed out of the house before his mama made that disappointed, exasperated sound in the back of her throat one more time. She’d taken one look at his face and shaken her head, working out her frustration on the waffle batter she’d whipped up just for him.

Gage almost wished she’d yelled at him the way she would have when he was younger. At least then he could have gotten it over with and moved on. Instead, she went straight from the waffles to scrambled eggs and then French toast, all the while making that damned noise. He hadn’t eaten this much breakfast since basic training when he’d been burning calories faster than he could shovel them in.

The sign for his sister’s sweet shop, Sugar & Spice, loomed ahead. Maybe he’d stop in and see her. Although, Lexi was just as likely to chastise him and try to feed him as their mother was. But at least it gave him a purpose. He wasn’t used to twiddling his thumbs while everyone else around him worked.

A bell tinkled when he opened the door. The scent of chocolate assailed him as his sister called, “Be right out.”

“Take your time, Lex,” he hollered back, letting her know it was only him and not a customer.

He was perusing the baked goods, truffles, fudge and caramel apples lined up neatly behind the long glass counter when the bell chimed again. Gage glanced up at the young guy who entered. He didn’t look familiar, but then judging by his age, if he was local he probably would’ve been thirteen or fourteen when Gage left so that shouldn’t surprise him.

Everyone had changed. Including his sister who was coming out of the back, wiping her hands on a red-and-white-checkered towel tucked into the waistband of her matching apron. He’d seen her over the years so her gradual growth into the beautiful woman before him hadn’t completely blindsided him. But it had been at least a year since he’d last seen her. Her hair was longer. Maybe a little lighter. She’d lost another few pounds, something he didn’t think she’d needed to do, but convincing Lexi of that was like talking to one of the lampposts outside.

“Gage,” she said, smiling and rushing around the counter to give him a huge hug. She was always like that, exuberant and affectionate with the people who mattered to her. Sometimes he worried about that. She left herself so wide-open…. But she was a big girl and had managed fine without his meddling for a while now.

Pulling back, she held him at arm’s length. A frown pulled at the edges of her wide mouth. Growing up she’d been all big eyes and mouth, both features overwhelming even her slightly pudgy face. Now she’d grown into the features, giving her an edge of uniqueness. She’d never be classified as typically beautiful, but in his mind she was better—even if he was slightly biased.

“You’re here two days and you’ve already found trouble. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I would have thought you’d had enough of that for a little while.”

Gage grasped one of her bouncy curls and tugged. Her hand shot to her scalp as her head tilted into the torture. But she was laughing as she said, “Ow, don’t make me tell Mom.”

“Oh, she knows. I got waffles, scrambled eggs, pumpkin muffins and French toast as punishment.”

Lexi scowled. “How the heck is that punishment? Sounds like she did everything but kill the fatted calf.”

“Don’t worry, that’s for dinner tonight. Please say you’re coming because if I have to endure any more of the fawning I think I’m going to scream.”

Lexi had moved out of their parents’ house years ago into a cute little cottage on the lake. Because this was one of her busiest seasons, he’d only seen her briefly his first night home. Gage definitely could have used her as a buffer against their mother’s ebullient praise and their father’s silent, watchful gaze. He almost wished his dad would say something already—like how he’d screwed up once again.

“It’ll cost you,” she said, grinning evilly, spinning away from him to the customer waiting patiently at the other end of the counter. “Head into the back. I’ll be there in a few. What can I get for you today? Are you shopping for someone special?”

“What are these?” The guy pointed to some fancy chocolates set apart from the rest of the displays. Gage bit back a smile, listening with half an ear as his sister launched into a lecture about the herb-laced aphrodisiac chocolates she specialized in.

Shaking his head, Gage slipped behind the red curtain that separated the industrial kitchen and office space from the main display area. Up front the store was all quaint ambience. Iron scrollwork chairs and polished tea tables. Hand-carved wood-and-glass display cases. She’d even gone so far as to distress the pieces to make them look antique and give the place an artificial air of history. Behind the curtain was the land of efficient stainless steel.

She’d been open for about six years, and according to his parents was doing very well. A few years ago she started selling some of the more exotic concoctions on the internet. He was glad.

The low rumble of a male voice and the lilting sound of his sister’s laughter drifted back to him. One minute stretched into five. And then ten. Gage wandered the kitchen, tempted to open the doors to the double oven to determine what smelled so damn good. But he didn’t. He’d been chased away with a wooden spoon often enough to know better.

Instead, he grabbed a spoon and dipped it into a large bowl of melted chocolate. Closing his eyes, he breathed, “Heaven.” It had been a very long time since he’d tasted something so good. Gourmet chocolate wasn’t exactly normal fare in the mess hall.

Finally, Lexi slid through the curtain. She shot forward, smacking his spoon away just as he was going in for another taste. “That’s a food safety violation, you idiot. I’ll have to throw the whole batch away if you put that spoon back in.”

“No one will know. I won’t tell if you don’t.” Lexi glared at him, but there was no heat behind the empty gesture.

“Who was that guy?” Gage asked, using the spoon he’d licked clean to point up front.

Lexi shrugged, but he didn’t miss the faint pink that stained her cheeks. “Tourist in for the week.”

Oh, no. He knew that look on his sister’s face. From twelve to twenty-six it hadn’t changed. She was terrible at hiding her thoughts—or her interest in the opposite sex. “Men don’t usually come to Sweetheart for Valentine’s week alone, Lex.” He tapped the end of her nose with the edge of his spoon. “Don’t let this week go to your head.”

Her eyes, as dark as the chocolate he’d just tasted, dulled and she frowned. “Like I could.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gage asked.

“Nothing.” Lexi waved her comment away, the short spurt of sadness disappearing almost as quickly as it had come up. “So Mama’s seen the shiner … has Daddy?”

She crossed over to the long line of work counters, pulling out a tray of the biggest strawberries he’d ever seen, and began dipping them into the vat of melted chocolate. She placed them on a waxed paper–covered tray and then drizzled white chocolate and a thin strand of caramel across the surface. Gage’s mouth began to water.

“Uh … no,” he said, scooting closer to better position himself for a sneak attack.

She eyed him and without even breaking the routine of dip-and-drizzle repositioned her body as a barrier between him and those strawberries. “You gonna tell me what happened?” she asked, picking up the first berry and handing it to him. “Be careful, it’s still wet. Consider that a bribe to leave the rest of my inventory alone. I’m worried I’ll be short this week as it is.”

Gage took a huge bite of the strawberry, the perfect combination of tart and sweet. It was also the perfect excuse not to answer her question. Telling her what he’d been doing would lead to why he’d been doing it, and he just didn’t want to go there. Especially with his baby sister.

Instead, he chose to distract her with a less revealing confession. “I’ve been home two days and I’m already bored out of my mind. I’m not used to an entire day with no purpose. I need to … do something.”

“And you thought going to Baxter to fight in some underground ring would help?”

Gage nearly choked. “How do you know about that?”

“Hope is one of my best friends.” It was Lexi’s turn to pop him with the back of a spoon. “You don’t think she’d mention seeing you at a place like that?”

He hadn’t realized Hope had become that close with his sister. Growing up, it had been he and Hope who’d been inseparable. And although they hadn’t talked in years, he wasn’t sure he liked the idea of Hope being so chummy with Lexi.

Lexi dropped the last berry onto the tray. “What the hell were you thinkin’? You shouldn’t have walked off and left her there, Gage. She could have gotten into some serious trouble.”

She wasn’t saying anything Gage hadn’t already thought. He’d been halfway home on his dad’s vintage Harley before his temper had cooled enough that his brain kicked in. When would he learn to stop and think before erupting?

He’d turned around and gone back to look for her, but she’d already left.

It was nice to know she’d gotten home okay, though. One weight out of many he could let drop from his shoulders.

“She never should have been there, Lex.”

The punch of anger and disappointment he’d felt last night when he’d realized why Hope had followed him resurfaced.

He called himself ten different kinds of fool for the brief spurt of excitement and anticipation when he’d seen her. You’d think being told you were an idiot with a death wish and having your declaration of feelings thrown back in your face would have killed any desire to have her.

Apparently not.

Even now he could remember that last night, twelve years ago. They’d been at the gazebo. It had been late, close to midnight, the town long past quiet and asleep. But he was wired from enlisting, excited about the possibilities of the life he was about to start, and hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d called her and asked her to meet him.

Watching her walk down the aisle surrounded by the ghost of empty chairs had galvanized something inside him. Suddenly he wanted—needed—her with him on the adventure he was about to start. Hope had always been there for him, with an eye roll, rebuke or encouragement depending on what the situation needed. When he’d screwed up and lost his scholarship to Clemson, and couldn’t escape his dad’s wrath, she’d been there to tell him everything would be fine. She had faith in him when no one else, including himself, did.

But when he’d needed her the most she’d completely flaked on him. He could still see her wild-eyed reaction to his confession that he loved her. He hadn’t meant to tell her, it had just slipped out.

Part of him had always known she’d reject him. He must have asked her out a hundred times, but the answer was always the same. The first time they’d probably been eight or nine and it had quickly become a running joke between them. He’d ask her out in the most ridiculous, cheesy ways possible. And she’d always say no.

Even he wasn’t exactly sure when it stopped being funny and started being real. But Hope hadn’t noticed the difference and he’d been too much of a coward to make her see.

Even back then everyone thought he was so strong. Her rejection had been the one thing that scared the hell out of him.

She’d been so angry with him that night. Upset that he’d enlisted. Angry that he’d done it without talking to her about the decision. And when he’d wrapped his arms around her and told her he loved her she’d pushed him away.

Exactly what he’d always feared. But he’d survived her rejection and a heck of a lot worse since then. His thumbs throbbed dully as if he needed the reminder.

Why was he reliving the memory? Probably because seeing her last night, being in this place especially around Valentine’s Day, brought everything rushing back.

It shouldn’t bother him that she’d followed him to that fight with ulterior motives, but it did. “She came looking for a story, just like all the other buzzards circling around this place.” He despised the bitterness in his own voice.

“Not like all the others. Hope is a friend, Gage. The two of you used to be real close. If you’re going to talk to anyone, it should be her. Hope is family.”

He snorted. “She’s far from that.”

Lexi frowned at him, narrowing her eyes. “I have no idea what happened between you two, and I don’t wanna know, but nothing she could have done makes leaving her in a place like that okay.”

With a sigh, Lexi switched the subject. “Since you’re so bored, I’m sure Mama would be happy to find you a job. Cupid’s Couples starts tonight with the matching. Did you put your name in?”

“Hell, no.” The last thing Gage needed was a week full of candy hearts, wilted flowers and awkward dinners with a stranger. And even if he had grown up with most of the single women in the town, after twelve years away they were all strangers. “I just escaped one hell, why would I sign up for another?”

“Didn’t you hear? They’re donating all the money raised to the Wounded Warrior Project in honor of your friend Tanner.”

“Well, fu—” Lexi glared at him “—dge.” He’d planned to ignore the whole damn thing. Stay at home and refuse to attend. But now, there was no way he could blow the events off. Showing up was the least he could do for Tanner.

Before he could ask Lexi for suggestions on how he might help, the front bell rang again. And again. And again. Feet shuffled against the polished floor. Several voices rang out, “Hello!” and someone slammed a palm down onto the display case, rattling the glass countertop.

“What the hell,” Lexi grumbled.

In full-on big-brother mode, Gage followed quickly behind her, but didn’t get farther than the curtain before Lexi slapped her hands onto his chest and pushed him backward.

“Get back. Get back,” she ordered, her eyes full of fire.

Gage caught enough of a glimpse to recognize the horde of reporters who now filled Lexi’s store. Jostling for position at the counter, they held high-powered cameras with special lenses, pens poised above notepads and video cameras with blinking red lights.

Damn, he hated the media.

He really wished one of the other guys would get released from the hospital. Not just because he needed them to be okay, but because then maybe some of these vultures would start circling their lives for the details about the capture and rescue.

He let his sister shove him deeper into the kitchen. “You can slip out the back door. Take the alley,” she suggested.

Considering the alternative, that was exactly what he was going to do. “Make ’em buy something. The most expensive item you have in the store. And then tell them I’m staying at the old Jones place out by the lake. It’s still empty, right?”

“Yeah.”

The place had been abandoned for as long as he could remember, but it was on the far side of the lake on the outskirts of town, which meant he’d have at least an hour of peace before they realized Lexi’s lie and headed back.

Unfortunately, he had to walk straight across Main in order to get back to his parents’ house. Which meant he needed to find some place to lay low until the plague was gone.

Gage glanced up and down the alley. The bridal salon was two doors down from Sugar & Spice, but the thought of going in there made those cameras look almost appealing. Scent of Woman might have been an option, Lanie’s mother had always loved him, but he really didn’t want to smell like a flower the rest of the day. Which also left Petals, the florist, out.

His eyes skipped across the back door to the Sweetheart Sentinel, and then jerked back again. The newspaper. Probably the last place the journalists he was trying to escape would look for him. So the first place he should hide. It had been a long time since he’d seen Mr. Rawlings, although he wasn’t sure the man had ever liked him much.

But Gage was willing to take his chances.




3


DARTING DOWN THE NARROW passage, Gage grasped the back door and pulled it open. He half expected to walk into chaos—probably thanks to false Hollywood portrayals. Instead, everything was quiet. Oh, there were people working. He could hear the hushed rumble of voices, the clack of keyboards and the faint buzzing of a telephone.

He rounded the corner to a cubicle and stuck his head inside. Erica McNeil looked up from her computer screen, a startled expression on her face. “Gage Harper. What are you doing here?” Her shy gaze darted away from his. “How’d you get in?”

“Back door.” He grinned and leaned against the hard metal edge of her cubicle wall.

“What happened to your face? Is that from …” Her voice trailed off, her eyes widened and a faint blush crept up her pale cheeks. Everyone either wanted all the details of his capture and torture or they wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened. Apparently Erica was in the latter group.

“Nope. I ran into a door.”

Her already-large eyes rounded more with surprise … and then narrowed to slits. Erica was about six or seven years older than he was and had babysat Lexi a few times. She always had been gullible.

“Stop harassing Erica.”

Hope’s voice sounded behind him. Gage smiled, although Erica was the only one to see it because before he spun around, he’d wiped it clean.

Adopting an air of innocence, he turned slowly to look at her. Her hands were balled into fists and lodged firmly on her hips. Her toe tapped against the worn carpeted floor, drawing his gaze down the long length of her legs. Up and down, up and down, the red sole of her black high heels flashed like a beacon.

He always had been a leg man and he had to admit Hope had a nice pair. Was it his imagination or were they even more toned than before?

Gage forced his gaze back up her body, taking in the tight skirt, silk blouse and matching suit jacket she wore. She looked like a high-powered businesswoman. Someone ready to take on the world and stomp it beneath the spiked heel of her shoe.

She was seriously overdressed for the Sweetheart Sentinel. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Hank, her father, wearing anything that resembled a business suit. Not even a blazer when he’d been honored by the town council as citizen of the year. He wondered if anyone had told Hope that. Not that he cared.

“I wasn’t harassing anyone, was I, Erica?” he asked, shooting her a disarming smile over his shoulder.

Erica’s gaze swung between them. Without answering his question, she swiveled in her chair, giving them her back and returning her focus to her computer screen.

Hope eyed him. He noticed how her gaze lingered on the damage to his face. But unlike everyone else, she knew exactly how he’d gotten the injuries. And unlike everyone else, she didn’t remark on them, but turned and walked away.

He followed. How could he not? The view of her tight rear was so tempting. The slit at the back of her skirt swished back and forth as she walked. It brushed against the inside of her thighs. Gage couldn’t tear his eyes away. Desire, hot and hard, punched through him. He almost stumbled.

After a quick, calming breath, Gage followed her inside the office just in time to watch her sink gracefully into the chair behind a large desk. The blotter was perfectly clean. Two folders, neatly labeled, sat to her left. A matching tape dispenser, stapler and hole punch were lined up beside them along with a cup of pens and a basket of paper clips. Just like her flawless suit, there was no clutter.

He wanted to loosen her up. To unravel that elegant twist in her hair and tousle it with his fingers. To pop open a few of those tightly closed buttons so that he could see the lace camisole beneath. To scrape everything off her desk and lay her out beneath him …

Oh, crap, where had that come from?

“Are you here to give me that interview, Gage?”

Clearing his throat and tossing the unwanted fantasy away, he dropped into the chair across from her. “Hell, no.” He sprawled, his long legs reaching beneath the desk to brush against the toe of her shoe.

She pulled it back. Gage’s lips twitched.

“Then why are you here?”

“I’m hiding.”

“From whom?”

“Does it matter?”

She studied him for several seconds before slowly saying, “Yes, I think it does.”

Gage shrugged. “Some reporters tracked me into Lexi’s store. I have no idea how they found me.” He placed his elbows on the opposite edge and leaned halfway across her desk. She started to back away, but stopped herself. He stared straight at her, hard and deadly, just for the fun of watching her eyes flash indignantly. “Any idea how they could have known I was in there?”

Hope’s mouth tightened with annoyance. “You’re kidding, right? Your photograph was splashed on every news outlet for weeks. They’ve been camped out here since before you were rescued. Unless you walk around town with a paper bag over your head, you’re doomed.”

“Don’t you think the paper bag would defeat the purpose? I mean, isn’t that a little conspicuous?”

Hope’s mouth twisted into a pitiful approximation of a smile. “Funny. And as much as I’d love to help you—” her tone of voice called that statement all kinds of liar “—we have a business to run, Gage. So unless you’re here for official reasons—”

“I’m not giving you an interview.”

“—you need to leave.”

She stood up from her desk, tugged at the hem of her skirt to make sure it was straight and walked around to stand expectantly beside him. Gage didn’t move. Instead, he turned his head and got a great view of the curve of her hip and ass. Why would he want to leave? He was perfectly happy right here.

Slowly, his eyes tracked upward. His head dropped back so he could see the tight expression on her face. Old habits died hard and he wanted to do something completely inappropriate to wipe it away. “You’re going to throw me out? In my time of need?”

“You forget, I know you’re about as helpless as a rattlesnake. And if I needed a reminder, you gave it to me last night. Out.” She hitched a thumb over her shoulder toward her open doorway.

Reluctantly, Gage unfolded from the chair. But instead of going around the opposite side, he crowded into Hope’s personal space. She didn’t back down. He’d always admired her tenacity. It probably made her a damn good journalist. Well, it would have if she’d had the chance to sink her teeth into any stories.

Dread and anticipation coiled through him as he realized he was the story she’d decided to sink into. A vision of her pert mouth stretched wide as her sharp teeth dug into his naked hip almost made him groan.

He wanted to grab her, to pull her into him and kiss her until he forgot everything but the feel of her mouth. It wasn’t a new desire, although he hadn’t felt it in a very long time. How inconvenient for it to suddenly resurface.

She must have realized something had changed because she stepped back. Her spine pressed into the wall. Her palms flattened against the uninteresting tan surface. The drab background only served to emphasize the stark contrast of her pink-tinged skin and watchful, wary green-gold eyes.

She drew in a deep breath, her breasts rising against the tight confines of her jacket. She held it for several seconds before blowing it slowly out again. That kind of control had always fascinated Gage. Hope was so … contained.

She didn’t need anything or anyone. When they were younger he’d thought of himself as the one exception to that rule. It had always made him feel special, especially when he couldn’t seem to do anything else right. But, as it turned out, she’d been able to cut him out of her life with little fuss.

He closed the space between them. Her body stiffened.

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to. Her scent surrounded him, something sweet with a hint of spice running underneath. Perfectly Hope. He could feel the heat of her. It warmed him in a way that even the hottest day in the middle of the desert hadn’t been able to do.

Her lips parted. He didn’t think it was intentional, but the motion still drew his attention.

Instead of doing what he wanted, Gage reached up and poked her straight in the ribs.

She wheezed, a sound halfway between laughter and surprise, and bent sideways away from his finger.

“What are you doing?” She slapped his hand away and he let her.

“Rumpling that perfect exterior.”

“What perfect exterior?”

“The one you’ve expertly crafted to make people forget that you spent years loudly telling everyone just how far you were planning to get from this place. Funny, looks like you didn’t get quite as far as you’d hoped.”

The flash of hurt was quick and immediately covered with narrow-eyed pique. But he saw it. And regretted that he’d caused it.

But he shouldn’t. The fact that anything he said had the power to wound her was surprising. Although it didn’t exactly change anything.

He moved in closer. He was tall, and as Hope was wearing heels, they were almost perfectly matched. Gage brought his mouth to the tender shell of her ear and whispered, “I know exactly who you are, Hope. Your most intimate secrets. The sound of your laughter. The smell of your favorite shampoo. How you nibbled the cap on your pen during tests. Did you know I spent years fantasizing about getting my hands on you?”

He pulled back, studying her for some reaction, although he wasn’t exactly certain what. Maybe surprise. Or distaste. Or possibly even interest. He didn’t find any of those things, just an alert cautiousness.

She wanted something from him. It should have felt better to be able to deny her. Just like she’d denied him so many years ago. When he’d finally gotten up the courage to tell her that all those times he’d asked her out hadn’t been a joke. That he meant it every single time and had wanted her for years. And each time she’d uttered the word no it had wounded him just a little.

He was so close that he could see the golden flecks in her eyes. The leery burn of them. He stared straight into her and said, “Disappointment’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

SHE FUMED, SILENTLY, UNABLE to move away from the wall even after he’d gone. Her body shook with a combination of anger and relief.

“Was that Gage Harper I just saw leaving?”

Her dad walked into her office and plopped down into the chair Gage had just occupied.

His silver-brown hair was disheveled, as if he’d either just rolled out of bed or spent the past several hours tugging at the thinning strands. Hope wanted to think that it was the latter, but she was afraid it was the former.

Her dad had been spending less and less time at the paper in the past few years, making her life even crazier than it already was. They were a small operation, so on a good day she was CEO, bookkeeper, referee, marketing, content and traffic cop all rolled into one. Usually at once. It was amazing she didn’t get brained by one of the balls she constantly juggled.

Which didn’t sit well with her. She’d tried to talk to him about his lack of interest but he just changed the subject or ignored her.

She’d come home right after college, almost seven years ago, to take care of him and the paper while he recovered from cancer treatment. The surgery and the months of chemo and recovery as he regained his strength had been difficult on them both, but he had been in remission for years now.

The problem was that while his energy had returned, his interest in the Sentinel hadn’t. She’d gently suggested he look for a buyer. But he’d gotten angry, telling her not to be silly, that it had been in their family for over a hundred years.

What was she supposed to do? Let her family’s heritage crumble around her from neglect? She was stuck. The only way out involved getting a job that removed her from the equation completely and forced his hand.

“Yes,” she growled, glaring at her dad.

He did a double take, finally looking at her for the first time since he’d walked into the room.

“Well, there’s no reason to be snippy. I just asked a simple question.”

He was right. The person she was really angry with had already fled the scene. Taking out her frustrations on her dad wouldn’t help. Especially since they already had enough unresolved issues.

Taking a deep breath, Hope offered, “I’m sorry,” and tried to put a smile with the words.

She must have been at least partially successful, because her dad smiled back. “No problem, pumpkin. I know you’re under a lot of stress.”

Okay, now the anger was pointed squarely at him. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. Do you know what would lessen that stress?”

“A night out?”

“No!” Hope stalked across her small office and propped her hip against the desk so she could stare straight into her dad’s eyes and pin him to the spot. “You being here! That’s what would help my stress level. How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want to run the paper?”

His eyebrows dropped over narrowed eyes. “I don’t remember asking you to.”

“You didn’t have to. Who do you think the staff come to when they have a problem or question and you’re not here?”

“So don’t answer them, Hope. They know how to reach me when I’m off site. Don’t pin your own relentless need to pick up every burden you walk past on me. Tell them no.”

Hope growled low in her throat.

“Anyway, that’s not why I came in here.”

Needing some space, Hope slipped around her desk and sank into the waiting comfort of her chair. She wasn’t up for having this argument—again—today. Not after her encounter with Gage. Nothing she said ever changed the outcome, anyway.

“I was cleaning out the safety deposit box and found this.” Her dad held out a burgundy velvet box. “Thought you might want to wear it to the cocktail party tomorrow night.”

Slowly, Hope reached across the desk for it. Before she’d even touched it she knew the nap on the box would be soft and worn. It had been … years since she’d seen it.

The hinges creaked as she lifted the lid. Nestled against the dark red satin lining was a beautiful necklace-and-earring set. The large ruby teardrop pendant hung from a delicate gold chain. The links gleamed with age and care. The earrings were smaller ruby teardrops with diamond chips at the top. Both pieces were heirlooms and had been given to her mother by her father’s grandmother when her parents had gotten married.

The last memory Hope had of the set was when she’d been eight—no, maybe nine—and watched as her parents prepared for the Cupid’s Couples charity party. She’d wanted desperately to go, but they’d told her she was too young.

Later that month her mom had died in a car crash.

The familiar pain lanced through her. It had been over twenty years. She wondered when the loss would stop sneaking up on her.

“I thought you’d sold these,” she breathed softly.

“Why would I do that?” her dad asked, incredulously.

She shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve just never mentioned them so I assumed you didn’t have them anymore.”

“Your mom liked me to keep it in the safety deposit box when she wasn’t wearing it. I decided to leave it there until you got older and I could give it to you. Your mom wanted you to have it on your wedding day.”

Her wedding day? Even the mention of it gave her heart palpitations. “Whoa, I’m not even dating anyone.”

Her dad gave her a tiny frown. “I know. But I wanted to see you wear them and thought this was the perfect occasion. I know you’re going to the party. Maybe they’ll be a good luck charm and you’ll catch some nice man’s eye.”

“Dad, I do not need a man.”

Her dad was buying in to the town propaganda just a little too much for her peace of mind. Sure, Sweetheart embraced the hearts-and-flowers thing with gusto. The image pulled in tourists from nearby Charleston and Hilton Head and had provided them a sustaining source of income when the textile mill outside of town shut down more than twenty years ago.

The town was the perfect setting already, providing a charming, small-town romantic escape for couples and honeymooners. The Cupid’s Couples events had been going on for over fifty years.

But this was reality and her life in particular they were talking about. Marriage wasn’t part of her plan, at least not until her journalism career was back on track, which wasn’t going to happen as long as she was stuck at the Sentinel.

“You’re putting your name in for Cupid’s Couples at least, right?”

Hope sighed. She could lie to her dad… “I hadn’t planned on it.”

“Why ever not, Hope? Your mom would be disappointed in you.”

She sucked in another breath against the surprise. How could she argue with him? She had no idea if her mom would be disappointed or not. She’d been too young when she died to really know her. She’d only seen her through the eyes of a child, not an adult aware of more than just her own selfish desires.

They were talking an awful lot about her mom today. Hope couldn’t remember the last time her dad had mentioned her … Probably not since his own illness and recovery.

That entire experience had been difficult for her—the prospect of losing her only remaining parent. Even now the thought sent panic skittering just beneath her skin. Wanting to change the subject, Hope returned to something that had been bothering her since he’d said it. “Why were you cleaning out the safety deposit box?”

He glanced away from her, suddenly finding something incredibly interesting on the wall behind her head. “No reason, really. It was a chore I’ve been putting off for a while. It’s so easy to forget what’s in there.”

Leaning across the desk, Hope grasped her dad’s hand. His startled eyes shot to hers.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” he answered without flinching.

“Thank you for Mom’s jewelry. I’ll wear it tomorrow.”

Happiness stretched across his face. “Wonderful.” Pulling his hand out from under hers, her dad stood and headed for the door.

He turned, and with that mischievous glint in his eyes that always left her feeling slightly uneasy, he said, “Maybe you can use their glitter to catch Gage’s eye. He’s always had a thing for you and it would be a coup for our little paper if you could get an exclusive interview.”

Yeah. She’d get right on that. And worry later about disappointing her dad by giving the story to the Courier.




4


HOPE WAS ALWAYS AMAZED at the Cupid committee’s ability to completely transform the basement of St. Luke’s. For as long as she could remember the cocktail party that kicked off the weeklong festivities had been held at the church. Tonight everyone who had paid to be paired—and a few who hadn’t—would be matched with an eligible man or woman for Valentine’s week. They’d participate in events and go out on dates. The hope being that after the week some of the couples might find they were perfect together. Hope had other plans for the man she’d nominated and the week she’d purchased.

Apparently the theme this year was red and gold. Someone had tacked large panels of dark red crushed velvet along the walls, camouflaging the peeling beige paint beneath. Swags of gauzy gold material hid the boring acoustic-tiled ceiling and caught the light from the hundreds of candles burning on the tables, bouncing it back onto the crush of people milling below.

Normally St. Luke’s was big enough to comfortably hold the entire town, but with the addition of tourists even the huge basement was stretched to capacity. Although no one—young, old, single, taken—would miss Matching Night. Too much gossip.

One of their reporters was moving through the crowd, ready to report all the drama. Tonight she was more likely to be the story than the one recounting it. Not that she intended to tell anyone her role in what was about to go down.

Not if she expected it all to work … Butterflies fluttered uncomfortably inside her belly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been nervous. Maybe college. Yeah, probably over some major exam.

And, really, this wasn’t much different. When she thought about it, her reaction was normal. An assignment. A test. That’s all this was. It had nothing to do with Gage or the fact that she’d pulled a sizable chunk out of her rainy day fund to ensure she had an entire week of his undivided attention.

Pressing a hand to her tummy to calm the butterflies, she stood on tiptoe and tried to find her friends.

She spotted Jenna, the town’s only caterer and one of her best friends, by the large—and temporary—bar, and waved. When Jenna noticed her she mouthed “everything okay?” Jenna gave a single nod that was at odds with the frown lines creasing the middle of her forehead. But before Hope could move that way one of the tux-clad waitstaff was pulling her away.

Hope debated whether to go after her, but decided Jenna was probably just stressed and interrupting would only add to that.

“Over here,” Lexi called out, waving from a table halfway across the room. Hope pushed through the crowd, slipping into the last empty seat.

Around the table their friends greeted her—Macey, Willow, Jade, Lanie, Regan and Tatum. Normally, Jenna would have been part of their group, but she was obviously busy tonight.

They were an eclectic bunch. She’d known Willow, Lanie and Jade from kindergarten, and despite a few hormone-fueled moments during their teenage years, they’d always been close. Tatum had joined their group when she moved here to buy Petals. Willow, always worried about making everyone feel welcome, had adopted her. She shouldn’t have worried. Tatum could be abrasive, but you always knew where you stood with her and everyone rather liked her. Macey, a bit older than the rest of them, was Willow’s business partner.

Despite the difference in their ages, Hope and Lexi had always been friends, growing up on the same street. Although, Hope had been even closer to Gage. At least until he left. After Lexi opened Sugar & Spice right behind the newspaper offices their friendship had quickly rekindled. At first Hope had worried Lexi would hold a grudge for how her friendship with Gage had ended, but she’d never even mentioned it. Hope was glad because she really liked Lexi.

“What have I missed?” Hope asked, eyeing the line at the bar and calculating whether she had time to grab a martini before the festivities started.

“Not much,” Tatum groused. “No catfights yet, but I pray that ends pretty quickly.”

Lexi just rolled her eyes. “You know you don’t have to be here.”

“And miss all the excitement?” Tatum exclaimed, her eyes round with mock innocence as she gulped down her whiskey and seven.

Tatum had grown up in Detroit and didn’t always get the idiosyncrasies that came with living in a small southern town—like antiquated traditions that went back generations. But she always attended, even if she needed some liquid courage to get through the experience.

“You know, one of these years I’m going to pay to put your name in just so I can see you squirm,” Lexi threatened, a gleam in her eye.

Willow leaned across the table. “This year. Please, do it this year. I need the entertainment.”

“Don’t worry.” Tatum rattled the naked ice in her empty glass and eyed the bar line. “I brought my checkbook just in case I needed a get-out-of-jail payment. I’m not interested in any of the men in this town and I have no intention of being forced into a torturous week with one of them.”

“Oh, come on, they aren’t that bad. There must be someone you’re interested in.” Jade plucked the glass out of Tatum’s hand and plopped her mostly untouched amaretto sour in its place. Tatum took a sip, grimaced, eyed the bar line again and drank some more.

“You forget. I deliver flowers to the wives when they feel guilty and the mistresses when they don’t.”

Hope just shook her head. Weren’t florists supposed to be romantics? To have perpetual smiles and sunny dispositions? That definitely did not describe Tatum.

“What about Gage?” Macey’s soft voice piped up. Lexi frowned.

“What about him?” Tatum asked.

“Well, he’s a war hero. Just home, so you’ve never met him and definitely haven’t delivered any flowers to wife, mistress or girlfriend. What’s wrong with him?”

Tatum’s gaze shifted to Lexi for a moment. Pain and guilt filled her eyes before flitting away. What the heck was that about? “Nothing. I’m sure he’s great, but I don’t do soldiers.”

“Who do you do?” Regan asked.

Willow shocked them all by adding, “You know if it’s girls we’d be fine with that.”

Tatum sputtered, choking out, “No,” as she tried to inhale her drink.

“Just checking.” Willow shrugged.

Gage slipped up behind his sister, wrapping her in the kind of hug that left Lexi bent over. “Save me,” he pleaded.

The butterflies took flight again inside Hope’s belly.

“Can’t. Breathe,” Lexi wheezed out, swatting at his arms clamped around her body.

His shoulder muscles flexed against the straining seams of his jacket. He was wearing his dress uniform, although Hope almost wished he hadn’t. It was … too much. He looked too good in it.

Something white flashed, drawing her eyes down to his hands and the bandages wrapped around his thumbs. Paired with the uniform they were both reminders of what he’d been through.

That he’d almost died.

A familiar temper that she thought she’d dealt with years ago punched through her. Logically, she realized she shouldn’t be upset with him for serving his country. And, really, she didn’t want to be. He’d made an honorable career choice.

One that had almost killed him.

Hope rolled her shoulders, and fought the urge to reach out and touch him—to make sure that he was real and there, instead of stuck in some dark hole in the middle of a hostile country.

To her, enlisting had been tantamount to Gage signing his own death warrant. She knew him too well. He was constantly pushing boundaries, testing himself and everyone around him. And it wasn’t as if he’d been destined for a desk job. Oh, no, it had been the front lines or nothing for him. From the moment he’d signed up his intention had been to get that Ranger Tab. And he’d done it.

But the thought of losing someone else she cared about … Hope just couldn’t do it.

Not that it had mattered any when the phone call about his capture had come into the newsroom. She hadn’t talked to him in twelve years and it had still felt as if her world was suddenly spinning out of control. She couldn’t concentrate on anything and didn’t sleep more than a couple hours at a time until he’d been rescued.

So he was home and safe with only a few scars to show for the adventure. That status quo wouldn’t keep, and Hope knew it.

The butterflies swarmed up her throat, choking her. She swallowed them back down. And jerked her gaze straight up to Gage’s. He watched her, frowning.

Throwing her a dark glance, he grabbed a chair from another table and spun it close. “Gage,” Lexi yelped when he picked her up, chair and all, to make room. Her embarrassed gaze darted around. “What are you doing?”

With a negligent shrug, he set her down again and insinuated himself between Hope and Lexi. “Hiding.”

“Well, you suck at it,” Hope said. “You stick out like a sore thumb.”

Willow gasped at her unintended pun. Hope cringed inwardly and fought the urge to look at the appendage she’d inadvertently brought into the conversation. Her nose wrinkled. Gage’s eyes narrowed.





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