Some Like It Hot

An incredulous laugh escaped her. “Are you bamming me? They’ve been apart seven years and he still thinks—what?—that she’ll come back to him? When he acts like that?”

“She and Curt have been married seven years,” the petite brunette corrected. “Mindy and Wade have been divorced damn near nine now. But you’ve got the basic idea right. He simply won’t admit she’s never coming back.”

Sunlight flooded the front end of the bar for an instant as the door to the street opened; then the room regained its usual atmospheric dimness once again when it slowly closed behind the new arrival. A no-nonsense voice Harper would know anywhere said, “Let’s go, Wade.”

Like a compass needle seeking true north, she swung around to watch Max Bradshaw stride up to the bar. He wore his usual uniform of knotted-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life black tie over a khaki shirt with shoulder epaulets. A gold-toned badge was pinned to his chest, and gold, black and green shield-shaped patches, each sporting a spread-winged eagle and the Razor Bay Sheriff’s Office designation, decorated his shirt’s sleeves above the hems that bisected the solid mounds of his biceps.

His jeans, soft and worn almost white at the seams, might have seemed incongruous with the crisp professionalism of his upper torso if not for the black web utility belt that bristled with the tools of his trade—including a deadly-serious-looking gun. Or perhaps it was his no-nonsense, you-don’t-even-wanna-mess-with-me attitude that so efficiently negated any slacker-dude vibe the near-shabby jeans might have otherwise suggested.

She watched him put a big hand on Wade’s shoulder—and shivered, remembering how crazy-aware she’d been of it hovering just above her own back when he’d escorted her to her cabin from the hot tub. “Let’s go,” he said again.

Wade shook him off so abruptly that he himself staggered—then glared at Max as if it were his fault. “Why the hell don’t you take him in,” he demanded, jutting a petulant chin in Curt’s direction.

Max reached out to steady him before the other man lost his balance entirely and replied evenly, “Because the call I got said Mindy and Curt were just sitting here minding their own business when you showed up and made a scene. Since I’ve been called out dozens of times to deal with this exact same situation, I have no reason to question the information.” He gave the other man a level look. “Now, you can come with me peaceably, or I can drag your ass out of here in cuffs. It’s your choice, Wade.”

“Fine.” Tugging the neckline of his stained T-shirt away from his Adam’s apple, Wade twisted his chin, stretching it first to the left, then to the right. “Whatever.” And he shambled toward the door, with Max’s hand planted between his shoulder blades to guide him whenever he hesitated.

At the door Max reached around Wade to pull it open. Sunshine splashed into the room again. Then the two men stepped out into the afternoon and disappeared from view as the door swung shut behind them.

Blowing out a quiet breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding, Harper turned back to her companions. “I am simply amazed no one has snapped that man up.”

“Who?” Jenny asked. She blinked then, and sat a little straighter. “Max?”

“Yeah. Oh, I know he’s not the most sociable guy in the universe, but he’s big, he’s built, and God knows the man is competent at everything he does. I find that seriously sexy.” Seeing her new friends gaping at her, she stilled. “Come on. I can’t be the only woman in town who finds him attractive.”

“Um...yeah, you kind of are,” Tasha said. Then she shook her head. “That is, he is an attractive man. He’s built like nobody’s business.”

“And he’s got a killer smile,” Jenny contributed. “But he’s kind of stingy with it.”

“And like you said,” the strawberry blonde concluded, “he’s not exactly Mister Social.”

Jenny snorted agreement, and Tasha looked at Harper. “Max is just so sober and intense. Not to mention disinterested—and I guess between all of that, it scares women off. Because now that you mention it, I can’t say I’ve seen him with a particular woman since he came back to town.”

Harper planted her chin on her fist. “For some reason Max and Razor Bay are linked in my mind. Where did he come back from?” It was all she could do not to squirm in her seat. For the first time since she’d taken over the job of assessing grant applicants for Sunday’s Child, she felt a hint of shame for pretending ignorance. God knows she’d thoroughly studied the foundation-generated dossiers on every Cedar Village board member.

Still, she had a job to do. And much as it bothered her to be duplicitous with Tasha and Jenny, her friends would likely find it odd if she didn’t show an interest.

“He spent years in the Marines—mostly in war-torn countries.” Tasha gave her head an impatient shake, her curls quivering with the motion. “But he’s been back for years, and as I said, I can’t think of a woman he’s ever paid special attention to. Not that I don’t see him talking to different ones occasionally, but it’s usually more like they’re talking to him and he’s mostly just listening. I don’t recall ever seeing him look as though he were with one of them, ya know?” She looked at Jenny. “Can you think of anyone?”

“Nope. I can’t put him with anyone, either. Which is odd, when you think about it. Because I know he’s kind of a lone wolf and all, but there’s sure as hell nothing asexual about him.”

“No shit,” Harper murmured.

Jenny grinned at her. “Oh, good, you do swear.”

She tilted her head slightly to study her friend. “And that’s a good thing?”

“It’s not good or bad—well, unless you’re one of those high school boys who can’t seem to string a sentence together without saying some variation of fuck every other word. It’s just that most everybody does to some extent, but since we’ve met, you’ve just been so damn...perfect.”

“I have not!”

“Yeah, you kind of have,” Tasha said. “You have gorgeous manners, amazing posture—did you go through childhood balancing books on your head or something?—and you always dress exactly right for the occasion. Plus, you sound educated and—let’s face it—rich girl when you speak.”

“Yes,” Jenny agreed. “For an American, your accent is not quite but very nearly British sounding.”

She smiled. “Okay, I’ll cop to that one. Because we moved so much as kids, my brother, Kai, and I often had tutors. And when we did stay in one place long enough to go to a local school, as with our tutors, the English spoken and taught there leaned heavily toward the Queen’s version. I’ve been told I kind of retained the cadence, if not the actual accent.” She took a swig of her beer, then shook her head. “I’m nobody’s rich girl, though. My grandparents on my father’s side are quite well-to-do, and my dad did okay for himself as well, although he didn’t attain their income bracket. But me, personally? Not even close.”

“Ah, but you’re talking to a couple of girls from the wrong side of the tracks,” Tasha said cheerfully. A man passing behind her bumped her chair, and she hopped it in a little closer to the table. “Well, Jenny actually started out on the right side, but circumstances dumped her in my part of town when she was sixteen.” She flashed Harper an easy whatta-ya-gonna-do smile. “So we’re easily impressed.”

Her laid-back acceptance made Harper realize their assessment of her wasn’t a you’re-not-one-of-us judgment; it was simply a recitation of their impressions. She took a sip of her beer and leaned back in her chair. “I spent a good deal more time with adults than kids my own age growing up, so I suppose I don’t sound quite like your average American thirty-year-old. But I can start swearing up a storm if you want.”

They both flashed her unrepentant grins, and she grinned right back.

Then she sobered and gave them a curious look. “Razor Bay is small, and I haven’t seen an overabundance of hot guys our age in the short time I’ve been here. So, weren’t either of you ever even a little tempted by Max? I thought teenage girls were fascinated by the broody Heathcliff/Vampire Edward type.”

“He wasn’t around when Tash and I were in high school, and when he did come home we were both way more interested in improving our futures. So the idea of him as potential dating material never even occurred to us in our impressionable years. Besides, I like guys who make me laugh,” Jenny said.

Tasha nodded. “Same here. And Max just isn’t my type.”

Harper studied her. “What is?”

The strawberry blonde grinned. “I like ’em tall, charming and fun,” she said slowly. The words had no sooner left her lips, however, than her gray-blue eyes darkened as if a thick cloud had suddenly blown across the sun. And her mouth, with its exotically fuller-than-its-counterpart upper lip, tightened. She made an erasing motion. “No, I take that back—I’ve sworn off a type. I have awful taste in men.”

“No, you don’t,” Jenny said firmly. “You had awful taste once. One time, Tash.”

“Well, considering that one time landed my ass in a Bahamian jail,” Tasha retorted coolly, “I think it’s probably enough, don’t you?”

Hello! Harper straightened. That sounded wildly intriguing. But one look at the rigid set of Tasha’s shoulders—not to mention the other woman’s blind-eyed attention to the wineglass in her hand—and Harper knew better than to pursue the conversational bomb that had just rolled onto the table between them. Not even the crystal green and blue waters of the canal at low tide were clearer than the vibe Tasha was putting out that she’d spoken unthinkingly—and this was not a subject she cared to discuss.

So Harper gave the other woman a cocky smile to lighten the mood. “I guess this means my Hunky Deputy and The Handcuffs fantasy is all mine, then, yeah?”

Her new friends laughed, and the tension that had hovered like a noxious mist over their table for a moment dissipated. “Oh, yeah.” Tasha gave her a lopsided smile. “Which is not to say I don’t wish you the best with it.”

“Absolutely,” Jenny agreed. “And should it ever come true for you...well. We expect details.”

“Lots and lots of details,” Tasha said. “Because Jenny’s right. Max is far from asexual, and I for one would love to know if he’s one of those tell-a-girl-exactly-what-he-wants-from-her-in-bed kind of guys.”

Harper stilled. Oh, hell. Like her imagination wasn’t active enough.

That was the last image she needed planted in her brain.

CHAPTER SIX

MAX STOOD IN front of the open refrigerator Saturday morning, absentmindedly scratching his stomach above the cutoffs he’d pulled on when he’d rolled out of bed. When it came to breakfast choices, there wasn’t a lot to select from. The fridge was empty except for a few cans of Coke, fewer bottles of Bud, a lonely, nearly gone quart of milk that might or might not still be drinkable and an assortment of condiments that ran heavily on the mustard and pepper sauce side.

He could always throw on a shirt and some flip-flops and go to the Sunset Cafе to get himself a big plate of the Fisherman’s special, he supposed. And in truth, bacon and eggs and hash browns, with a side of toast and jam sounded awfully damn good right about now.

But if he scrounged something up here, he could get an earlier start on the home improvement project he’d been planning for his next day off.