The rest of the afternoon was quiet, so Rory had a chance to switch out the plastic safety button on Fire Chief Winston Early’s Mossberg shotgun with a steel replacement. As usual, working on the gun soothed her, although she couldn’t completely shut off her rambling thoughts. To her, the intruder’s absence the past night was a good thing. She wasn’t sure why it had provoked Ian’s anger.
Once she was done with the replacement, she called Chief Early and left a message that his shotgun was ready to go. It was after four by then, and the shop was still dead. Rory eyed the pile of paperwork she hadn’t quite managed to complete, but she knew she was too twitchy at the moment to concentrate. Anything she attempted to do would only need to be redone later.
She was dusting—not a great distraction, but it was something she couldn’t really screw up—when Ian returned. Feeling the usual stomach lurch of excitement, Rory studied his face. Although he didn’t look much happier than he had before he’d left, he did appear more controlled. She turned back to the display case and squirted the top with the vinegar and water mixture in her spray bottle.
“Did you accomplish what you set out to do?” she asked, wiping at the glass with her rag.
“No,” he grumped. Since she was standing on the other side of the counter, he took a seat on her usual stool by the cash register.
Wiping the glass with more force than was probably necessary, she tried to wait him out. After a solid minute of silence, she couldn’t take it anymore. Dropping her spray bottle and rag onto the top of the display case, she demanded, “Well?”
“Well, what?” His hard expression had softened a little, and the corners of his mouth twitched.
Rory gave him her best glare. “Why’d you go storming out of here earlier, all mad and cryptic?”
That killed any amusement in his expression. “I had told Billy.”
“Told him what?”
“About the deer cameras. That I was going to stay with you if they didn’t work.”
She looked at him for a few moments before her brain clicked into gear. “So you thought Billy was the one trying to break into the shop?”
Ian shook his head. “Not Billy. We were standing next to the bar in the clubhouse when we were talking about it, though. Some of the other guys were close enough to overhear.”
“So you think one of the Riders is my trespasser?”
“Maybe.” His frown deepened as he tapped his fingers on the newly cleaned counter. “They could’ve talked to someone else, too. They gossip worse than the guys at the station.”
“Seems to be a county-wide epidemic.” When he looked at her, she elaborated, “Gossiping.”
His laugh was gruff. “No kidding.”
“I comped Belly a hundred bucks to shut down the rumors about…” She belatedly closed her mouth when she realized what she was admitting.
“Rumors about…?” he echoed, cocking his head.
“Never mind.” There was no way to stop the heat from warming her cheeks. “So you went to the clubhouse this afternoon?”
This time, his chuckle was low and knowing. “I’ll just have to guess what those rumors were, then. And, yeah. I talked to Billy, but he doesn’t think any of our guys is the one who’s been coming around here at night.”
“Do you? Suspect any of the Riders?”
That brought the return of his frown. “Not anyone in particular. I wondered if Zup was trying to get back at you for making him look like an idiot, but I doubt he could avoid getting caught four nights in a row. He’d be more likely to stick his stupid face right up to your gate and smile for the security camera.”
She laughed, and a snort escaped. “Oh, man. I can just imagine it.”
After his grin faded, he asked, “Do you have any idea who it might be? Anyone giving you trouble?”
Taking a moment to flip through her mental directory, she finally shook her head. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Rave’s a little bitchy, and Zup is…well, Zup, but most of the Riders are polite and low-maintenance. They know what they want and how much they’re willing to pay for it. Easy.” The Riders, as a whole, could also be very, very scary, but that was nothing new. Since she’d taken over the store, she’d regularly dealt with people who frightened her, and had gotten pretty good at hiding her reactions.
Ian glanced around the shop. “I can see the temptation. To stock an armory for the price of a pair of bolt cutters.”
With a scowl, Rory protested, “It’s a little harder to get past my security than that.”
“I know.” He held his hands up, as if deflecting the heat from her glare. “And whoever’s setting off your alarm is figuring that out, too.”
“But you don’t think he’s given up on the idea.”
“No.” He was once again leaving fingerprints on her freshly de-printed glass as he drummed his fingers slowly. “I don’t.”
Crossing over to stand across the counter from him, she grabbed his offending hand. “I’m going to tell Ivy at The Coffee Spot to put your fingers in the grinder if you don’t quit smudging my counter.”
As quickly as before, his hand flipped over and he captured hers. “Bloodthirsty.” Tugging her fingers toward him, he kissed the tips and released her hand. “I like it.”
“Uh…” Rory couldn’t figure out why he had this kind of effect on her, that the simple touch of his lips to her fingertips could reduce her to a blathering idiot.
“Fire training’s tonight at seven.”
She blinked at the non sequitur. “That’s nice.”
“I’d like you to come.”
“No.” Rory was already shaking her head before he’d even finished his sentence.
“Why not?”
“I have to watch the shop.”
“You have the deer cameras, your regular security cameras, a big dog, four dead bolts on each door, and I saw at least three chains and padlocks on your gate. The only other thing you could do would be adding land mines and electrifying your fence.”
“I looked into the electric fence,” she admitted, a little wistfully. “The soil is too dry and rocky to get a good ground, though, at least for the voltage that would provide the greatest deterrent.”
He eyed her for a long second. “You didn’t mention the land mines. I’m hoping that’s because they’re not even an option.”
“Of course I don’t have land mines.” Rory examined her polish-free, close-trimmed fingernails.
“Ror…”
“No land mines.” Unable to hold his steady gaze, she stared at his shoulder. “Maybe a trip wire or two.”
“Hooked to what?”
“Nothing lethal,” she said defensively. “A couple CS gas grenades and some flashbangs.”
Although he sighed, Ian looked to be fighting a smile. “So you can come with me tonight then.”
She tried to hold her exasperated look, even though she wanted to laugh. “You are as tenacious as a badger.”
“Yup.” He stood up and stretched. “Lock up, and let’s go.”
“I need to take care of the chickens.”
“So take care of the chickens, lock up, and then we’ll go. If you get a move on, we’ll have time to get some dinner.”
“Dinner?” She’d been moving toward the door, automatically obeying his authoritative tone, but the word brought her to a standstill. “So, is this a…date?”
“Of course not. It’s training.”
“And dinner.” Rory eyed his innocent expression with suspicion.
“We both have to eat. Look at it more as a biological need than a social interaction.”
The term “biological need” did not soothe her ruffled nerves in the slightest. “This is a bad idea. Why do you want me to go to training, anyway?”
“You might find volunteering interesting.” His expression was ultrasincere, but she didn’t trust his motives for a second. “We learn lots of fun stuff at training.”
“Uh-huh.” Eyes narrowed, she crossed her arms over her chest. “What’s the real reason?”
His choirboy expression dropped away, and his frown returned. It was a relief to see that familiar scowl. “I don’t want you here alone.”
“What about the locks and alarms and cameras?” she mocked. “Didn’t you just talk about how safe it was?”
Ian leaned on the counter, adding forearm smudges to the fingerprints already there. “All this”—he jerked his chin, indicating the shop—“is replaceable. You’re not. There are too many people who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you for what’s in your shop.”
“But if I’m here, pointing my Python at some intruder’s face, neither this”—she swept a hand toward the shop’s contents—“nor I need to be replaced.”
“Ror. Quit being stubborn and go do your chicken thing. I’m hungry.”
She didn’t move at first, but she was hungry too, and she knew that Ian was not going to leave until she agreed to go with him. Plus, although she didn’t want to admit it, a big part of her was thrilled at the thought of spending more time with Ian—though if she called it a date, even in her head, nervous excitement would short out her brain. But going to a restaurant with a good friend—that was something normal people did, wasn’t it?
Taking a deep breath, she accepted that she was going to be eating a meal with Ian Walsh at a place that was not home. For tonight at least, she was going to be normal.
“Fine.” Pivoting toward the exit, she stomped outside. When the cold air hit her face, she realized she was just in jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt. Muttering to herself, she reentered the shop. As she hurried to the back room to get her coat, she tried her best to ignore Ian’s smirk.
* * *
“Isn’t the whole point of a motorcycle club to, you know, ride motorcycles?” Rory asked, eyeing Ian’s SUV. The older Ford Bronco sat alone in the shop’s parking lot.
Instead of taking offense, he gave an amused snort. “Out here, we get four months to ride, six if we’re masochistic. Either way, March is not one of those months. I tried on that nice afternoon last week and ended up spending most of the day at an arson call in borrowed bunker gear.” He opened the passenger door and waited. Jack, the traitor, followed and sat on Ian’s foot. Her dog, apparently, had a full-blown crush on the man. Honestly, Rory couldn’t blame him.
“Um…I think I’ll take my pickup.” Rory’s nervous gaze darted toward the pole barn where her vehicle was stored. Ian had opened her door. That was intimidatingly date-like.
“Ror. Get in.”
With a last, longing look at the pole barn, she moved toward the Bronco’s open door. She blamed her compliance on all the survival drills her parents had run. When Ian barked orders in that drill-sergeant tone, she had to obey, thanks to twenty-two years of her parents’ conditioning. Rory ignored the tiny part of her that said she got in the SUV because she actually wanted to go on this not-date date.
After Rory climbed in, Jack put his front feet on the running board, prepared to jump into the SUV with her.
“Jack. Off.”
With flattened ears and a pathetic whine, he returned all four feet to the ground and slunk a few feet away from the Bronco. Ian closed her door and circled the truck.
Chewing her bottom lip, she looked at her unhappy dog. Jack wasn’t used to being left at home without her, and his bewildered expression made her nerves return with a vengeance. What was she thinking? She needed to get her behind back to her bunker and cook the meatloaf she’d planned for tonight. There was hamburger thawing and everything.
“This isn’t a good idea,” she said when Ian hopped into the driver’s seat. Her right hand felt for the door handle.
“Yes, it is. We’ll eat, maybe talk to another human being or two, see if you like fire training, and then head home. You might even have fun.” He cranked the engine. “Rory, don’t even think about bailing.”
That stupid commanding tone worked its magic again, and her hand returned to her lap as he drove through the gate. When they came to a halt right outside the fence, she reached for the door handle again.
“I’ve got it,” Ian said, opening his door and jumping to the ground. “Do you have your keys?”
Patting her coat pocket, she felt the lumpy bulge of her key ring. “Yes.”
“Good.” He gave her a grin. “Be right back.”
The SUV was angled so she could watch him in her side-view mirror as he pulled the gates closed, then locked them with the multiple chains and padlocks. While he worked, the deer cameras flashed as they photographed him.
By the time he returned to the Bronco, he was scowling. “I hate those cameras,” he growled, releasing the brake. “They’ve completely fu—uh, messed up my night vision.”
“At least we know they’re working.” Now that the gate was secured behind them and the option of running was, if not impossible, at least more inconvenient, Rory relaxed a little. “I might have a new picture to use as wallpaper for my computer, too.”
At Ian’s grunt, she bit her lip to hide a smile.
* * *
They ended up at Levi’s, as did most of Simpson’s residents. There wasn’t much choice, really, with most of the other restaurants closed until May. Rory made a beeline for an open booth in the back, grabbing the bench on the far side of the table so her back was to the wall.
“Shove over,” Ian grunted, trying to sit next to her. When she didn’t budge, he used his body to slide her along the seat until she was wedged between the closed end of the booth and Ian’s substantial bulk.
“What’s wrong with that side?” she asked crankily, waving a hand at the empty seat across from them.
“I don’t like to have my back to a crowd,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the small, but busy, restaurant.
“Me neither,” she admitted, shifting back and forth on the seat in an attempt to claim more room. It didn’t work. All Rory managed to do was brush her hip against Ian’s. Flushing, she tried to focus on her menu.
“Ian,” a deep male voice said, making her raise her head. Sheriff Rob Coughlin and his teenage son, Tyler, stood next to their booth, and Rory mentally chastised herself for getting so distracted that she hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings. Her parents would’ve been so disappointed. It was especially surprising that she’d missed Rob’s approach—with his formidable build and rugged, striking features, he was not a man who was easily ignored by any woman with a pulse.
“Sheriff.” Ian, his face expressionless, gave the other man a stiff nod. He warmed visibly as he turned to the teen. “Hey, Tyler.”
“Hey,” the boy responded, keeping his head down.
After returning Ian’s nod, Rob focused his gaze on Rory. She wanted to squirm, but forced herself to remain still under his careful scrutiny. “It’s Rory, right? Rory Sorenson?”
Although it had been phrased as a question, Rory was sure he knew perfectly well what her name was. He’d even visited her shop a couple of times, needing a part his usual source in Denver hadn’t been able to supply immediately. Both had been innocuous visits, during which Rory had struggled to keep her gaze from darting to the back-room door, where her less-than-legal inventory was hidden. It hadn’t helped that talking to a good-looking guy, especially one who could arrest her, made her tongue-tied on the best of days. The sheriff hadn’t ever expressed more than a polite but cursory interest in Rory or her shop, and she was really hoping to keep it that way.
“Yes,” she belatedly replied, flushing. “How are you?”
“Busy,” he said easily.
“I’m sure.” Rory still felt awkward. Once again, she resisted the urge to wriggle in her seat. “With the fires and that dead body in the reservoir and…uh, Lou’s stuff and everything.” Her flush heated even more. Stupid nonexistent social skills. Ian’s laugh didn’t help, even if he did try to turn it into a cough halfway through. Under the cover of the table, she pinched his leg. Hard.
He jumped, covering her hand with his so her fingers were flattened against his thigh and unable to repeat the pinch.
“You’re the lady with all the guns?” Tyler asked suddenly, jerking Rory’s attention away from the rock-hard thigh muscle under her palm.
Why did the kid have to bring up my semi-illegal business in front of his sheriff dad? Resisting the urge to send Rob a nervous glance, she kept her gaze on Tyler instead. “Yeah. I mean, I have a gun store.”
“Awesome. Do you have, like, Uzi machine guns and shit?”
“Tyler!” Rob barked. “Language.”
“No.” Again, she stopped herself from sending the sheriff a nervous look. “I wouldn’t sell any fully automatic weapons unless they were registered in the U.S. before the 1968 Gun Control Act was passed.” As Tyler stared at her blankly, she risked a peek at Rob. He rubbed his hand over his mouth as if hiding a smile, and Rory relaxed slightly…at least until Tyler asked his next question.
“So, are you two, like, dating?”
“Yes.”
“No!” She glared at Ian before turning back to Rob and his too-nosy son. “This isn’t a date. It’s just us satisfying a biological need.”
Rory wasn’t sure if Ian was choking or laughing. Just to be on the safe side, she patted his hunched back. When she looked up at Rob’s face, his startled expression had her reviewing her last comment in her head.
“Oh!” Her blush before was nothing compared to what was burning her face now. “No! Not that kind of biological… I mean, eating! We were both hungry. That’s it.”
Tyler made a muffled sound, his hand hiding his grin in an unconscious imitation of his father. Squeezing her eyes closed, Rory wondered how she’d stumbled into blurting unintentional sexual innuendo in front of a teenage boy. Her gaffe shouldn’t have surprised her, though. She was clueless when it came to kids. They baffled her. Even when she’d been young herself, they’d seemed like an alien species, complete with their own language. She avoided them when she could. Owning a gun shop helped with that, since her customers were all over eighteen and rarely brought their offspring along.
Rob cleared his throat, and she realized she must have missed a chunk of conversation.
“Sorry. What’d you say?” she asked, tucking a section of hair behind her ear. In a fit of vanity, she’d pulled it out of her usual ponytail and brushed it out before their date—or non-date, or whatever it was. Now it kept tumbling into her face, annoying her. Rory wished she’d brought the ponytail holder along.
“Just that we’ll see you later.”
“Okay. Yes. Good-bye.” This was why she stayed home. Unless guns were the topic, Rory felt like she was wandering around a conversational swamp, complete with quicksand and alligators.
Ian turned to Rob, the humor in his expression slipping away as he lifted his chin in farewell. “’Night, Sheriff. Tyler.”
They were quiet until Rob and Tyler had reached their booth.
“You can let me go now,” she muttered, tugging fruitlessly at her captive hand.
His hold didn’t ease. “Are you going to assault me again?”
“It was just a pinch. You’re acting like I caught you in a leghold trap or something.”
“Maybe you have.” The corners of his mouth curled up as his eyes heated. “I don’t see myself escaping your clutches anytime soon…or ever.”
Although she hated to admit it, smoldering-gaze Ian Walsh was even more appealing than smiley Ian Walsh. In the fluorescent glare of the restaurant, Ian didn’t look washed-out and pale like everyone else. His olive skin gave him a year-round tan, and his short but still unruly black hair caught the light in the most photogenic way. It was like he had a spotlight on him all the time, his startlingly good looks and magnetism pulling people’s attention. Instead of feeling even plainer in comparison, though, she almost felt like some of his beauty reflected back on her. The way he watched her with those heavy-lidded dark eyes made her feel like the female lead in a romantic movie. For once in her life, she could be the one people looked at with envy, rather than pity and curiosity.
Rory dragged her attention away from his too-tempting beauty. “It was just a pinch. You’re sort of being a big baby about it.”
He laughed, squeezing her hand and then finally releasing her. “I wasn’t talking about that.”
“Then what?”
“Never mind.”
Rory opened her mouth to demand an explanation. She hated when things went over her head. It made her feel stupid. Since the waitress chose that moment to arrive at their booth to take their order, Rory wasn’t able to get any clarification.
“Good to see you out of that shop of yours,” the server commented after she took their orders and then their menus. “You’re too young to be a hermit.”
“Thanks?” Rory said to her retreating back.
They had only a few seconds of peace before a scowling Belly Leopold was sliding into the empty seat across from them.
“Hi, Belly.” When the other woman just grunted in response, Rory asked, “Is everything okay?”
“How am I supposed to have any kind of success when the two of you are getting all cuddly at Levi’s?” the coroner barked.
“We’re not cuddling!” Flushing, Rory tried to create a cushion of space between her side and Ian’s, but there was nowhere to go, unless she climbed over the side of the booth. She seriously considered it, since she was reaching the limit of how much awkwardness she could take.
As if he could read her thoughts, Ian laid his hand on her leg right above her knee, letting its weight hold her in place. The warmth spread through her as her breaths came faster. Ian’s touch seemed to be directly wired into her nervous system.
Completely ignoring Rory’s protestations, Belly frowned at both of them. “Our bargain was just for the old rumors. You two are responsible for any new gossip you manage to stir up by getting handsy where anyone can see.”
“What?” Despite the weight of Ian’s hand on her leg, Rory practically levitated. “We’re not getting handsy!” It wasn’t until several people in surrounding booths turned their heads that she realized how loud she’d gotten. Even Tyler was grinning at them. Her face flaming, Rory sank back down in her seat, wishing for invisibility.
Glancing around at the interested faces, Belly threw up her hands. “I give up. There’s no controlling the rumors now.” She pointed a finger at Rory’s humiliated face. “And you’re still paying for half of that silver receiver, too.” With that, Belly slid out of the seat and stalked back to her own table.
“So…” Ian stretched out the word, turning what should’ve been a single syllable into four, all filled with innuendo. “You paid Belly to stop the rumors about us.”
Her shoulders twitched in an uncomfortable shrug. “Maybe. Not that it did any good.”
“Rory! And Ian! Awesome.” It was Lou’s turn to sit across the table from them, tugging Callum in after her. “I’m so glad you guys are here. Callum thinks I got the gun name wrong.”
The tightness in Rory’s stomach eased a little. Gun talk she could do. “It’s a Glock.”
“The 21, right?”
“Yes. The Gen 4 fit your hand the best.”
Frowning, Callum said, “That’s a big gun.”
With his stiff posture and perma-scowl, Callum intimidated Rory a little—actually, more than a little. She tried to shift in her seat, but Ian’s hand still held her in place.
“Yes.” Lou’s grin was filled with glee. “It gives a big, satisfying boom.” Rory had to admire her resilience. In the past month, Lou had discovered a headless corpse, been stalked, had her home burned to the ground, and had almost been killed—twice. Rory imagined it took a lot to bounce back from all of that.
Callum didn’t look convinced of Lou’s choice of firearm. “Sure you don’t want the G36?”
When Lou sent Rory a questioning look, Rory said. “She didn’t like the sub-compact she tried.”
“Is that the one with the short barrel?” At Rory’s nod, Lou made a face. “Nope. It was too flippy.”
“Too what?” Callum glanced at Rory, apparently looking for a translation.
Rory obliged. “She found it hard to keep steady after she fired.”
“Yep. Too flippy.” Demonstrating, Lou pointed her index finger forward, mimed a trigger pull, and then popped her finger up toward the ceiling.
“I could take you back to Rory’s shop if you want to try a few other models,” Callum suggested.
For some reason, Lou looked positively infuriated at his suggestion. “Didn’t we have this discussion?” she asked sweetly, her tone not matching her deadly glare. “Something about me continuing to make my own decisions about trucks and, oh, I don’t know, what kind of gun I like?” By the end, the sweetness had faded, and her voice had deteriorated into something close to a growl.
“Fine,” Callum snapped, glowering right back at his girlfriend. “I’ll get you the 21.”
“Fine.”
The two of them stared at each other for a long moment. Then, as if they’d both heard a silent signal, they slid out of the booth.
“Bye!” Lou called over her shoulder, giggling as Callum grabbed her hand and towed her to the exit.
Rory stared after them, looking away only after they disappeared out the front door. “That was weird.”
Ian’s smirk was back in place. “Not really.”
She was seriously sick of his cryptic statements. “Explain.”
“Sure you want me to?” His expression was odd and hard for her to read.
“Of course,” she gritted. “That’s why I asked.”
“It was more of a demand than a request, actually.”
She wanted to kill him. Since she was unfortunately not armed at the moment, she settled for trying to murder him with her glare.
“They’re going to find some privacy.”
“To finish their argument?”
He gave her a look. “The fighting was over. They’ve moved on to making up.”
When comprehension finally dawned, a flush crept up her neck and over her face. She wasn’t sure if she was more embarrassed about the topic, or because it took her so long to get it. “Oh.”
His eyes were lit with humor and something else, something hot.
Even though she desperately wanted to drop it, Rory couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. “Why do they have to make up from that? It wasn’t much of a fight.”
He chuckled, but his expression still held that banked fire. “They’re new. Anything’s an excuse to make up.”
“Oh.”
The server arrived with their food, and Rory was so relieved by the interruption that she could’ve leapt over the table and kissed her on the mouth. Instead, she settled for thanking her with a little too much fervor.
“You’re welcome,” she said, although she gave Rory a wary glance.
Rory shoveled brisket in her mouth so she wouldn’t continue revealing how ignorant she was about relationships. After a few bites, she realized that Ian hadn’t started eating. Instead, he was still watching her thoughtfully.
“What?” she asked through a mouthful. Obviously, filling her mouth with food was not going to stop her from embarrassing herself.
“You were homeschooled, right?” he asked, finally taking a bite. His gaze stayed on her, though.
“Yes.” She focused on sliding her fork into her greens. The question felt like a criticism, but she knew she was sensitive about her lack of social skills, so she tried to keep the defensive scowl off her face. Ian was probably just asking to get to know her better. Wasn’t that why people went on dates? Or non-date dates?
“Did you go to college?” Even though they’d met over a decade ago, they’d been able to be friends only after her parents had died. She supposed there were still lots of things they didn’t know about each other.
“I didn’t go away to school, but I’ve taken some online classes. Mostly business ones—marketing, accounting, that type of thing. Stuff that can help me with the shop.”
“Huh.” That one syllable was loaded with meaning.
Narrowing her eyes, Rory turned her head to look at his profile as he studied his plate. “What?”
His gaze met hers. “Have you ever had a boyfriend?”
Her blush returned. She kept holding eye contact, but it was hard. She forced a shrug, hoping it appeared casual. “Not really.”
“Not really?”
Rory answered with another shrug. She turned back to her plate, stabbing her fork into a piece of meat.
After a short silence, he asked, “Have you been on a date before?”
The unchewed food went down with her panicked gulp, painfully scraping her esophagus and making her choke. Ian slapped her on the back with enough force to shove her toward the table and almost plant her face in her plate of food. Coughing, she turned her head to glare at him.
“Is that what you consider first aid, Mr. Fireman?” she rasped between coughs.
He lifted one shoulder. “It worked. You’re not choking anymore.”
“No thanks to the body blow,” she said, taking a drink of water. Her throat still ached, but the positive part of almost choking to death was that it had changed the topic, and she didn’t have to answer his humiliating question.
“So, is this your first date?” he asked, and she almost growled.
“You okay, Rory?” For the second time that evening, she was tempted to kiss someone who’d interrupted them. This time, it was Winston Early, the fire chief, standing by their table. The lines on his usually cheery face drooped a little with concern.
“Fine, Chief,” she told him with a smile. It was impossible to be rude to Chief Early. It’d be like kicking a puppy.
After a close scrutiny of her face, he returned to his normal jolly self. “Good. How’ve you been? I heard you had an unwelcome visitor a few nights ago.”
Her molars clamped together. Everyone in town seemed to have a direct line into the details of her life. Still, this was the kindly chief, so she tried to sound as nonannoyed as possible. Rory thought she probably partially succeeded. “Yes. I think that’s over with, though.” She ignored the quiet scoffing noise from Ian. “Stop into the shop when you get a chance. The Mossberg is ready to be picked up, and I just got in a Colt Peacemaker I think you might like.”
His eyes lit with interest even as he winced. “If I bring home one more, I’ll be sleeping on the couch indefinitely. Doris called me a gun hoarder the other day.”
“Okay.” Rory held back a smile. “Feel free to stop in and just look at it, though. It’s really pretty. Ivory grips.”
Squeezing his eyes closed as if he were in pain, Early groaned. “You’re the devil, Rory Sorenson.” Pivoting around, he took three steps away from their booth before tossing over his shoulder, “I’ll be in tomorrow.” Then he stomped back to his table, where Doris was waiting.
Ian huffed a laugh. “You’re like the antimarriage counselor.”
“Not really. Doris is okay.” She gave Mrs. Early a little wave. “She doesn’t really hate his guns. Doris just knows she’s the only thing keeping his addiction in check. If she didn’t fuss over every gun he bought, there’d be no holding him back. They’d end up living in a tent in the yard, because their house would be so packed there’d be no room to even move.”
He didn’t laugh at that like she’d expected. Instead, his gaze turned distant. “There are worse addictions than gun collecting.”
It was clear where—or to whom—his mind had gone. “Julius isn’t doing any better, huh?”
“No.”
Rory grimaced. “Sorry.”
“Has he been in the shop this week?” When she shook her head, he turned back to his food, jabbing at his meat as if it had offended him. “Figured. Don’t think he’s left his armchair for days. Someone’s supplying him with booze.” A muscle in his cheek flexed as he poked at his food some more.
Completely at a loss about what she should do, Rory reached out to pat his forearm awkwardly. He went still under her touch, and she wondered if he felt the same surge of awareness she did whenever he touched her. The moment stretched as they stared at each other. His focus on her was so complete, so intense, it felt like the imaginary spotlight that followed Ian had turned its beam on her. For a short time, she believed that she was the center of Ian Walsh’s universe, and it felt wonderful—and terrifying. The clatter of a dish broke the spell, and she pulled back her hand, returning it to her lap. Heavy silence covered their table, and she looked anywhere but at Ian. For some reason, people had been interrupting them for the entire meal. Why had everyone chosen now to leave them in peace?
“Dessert?”
Seriously, Rory thought, smiling at the expectant waitress, the people in this town have the best timing.