North Butterfield was nothing like what Rory had expected.
She and Lou waited for him at The Coffee Spot, since there were limited meeting places in Simpson, especially those that were open at seven in the morning. When a tall, thin man in a really nice suit walked into the shop, Lou jumped to her feet.
“Nutter Butters!” she cried, grabbing him in a hug.
He groaned, although he hugged Lou back. “I thought we decided you’d retire that nickname.”
“You suggested it, but I don’t remember agreeing.”
As the two exchanged friendly greetings, Rory studied North. He looked so young. His floppy, thinning hair was light blond, and his trendy, black-framed glasses just made him look like a kid playing dress-up. Lou thought he was Ian’s best chance, though, so Rory decided to withhold judgment and give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Rory Sorenson”—Lou grabbed the lawyer’s arm and dragged him the few feet to their table—“meet North Butterfield. Rory knows guns, and North wins cases. There. You’ve been introduced.”
As Rory shook his hand, North smiled. She was struck by how sweet his expression was. From Lou’s description, Rory had expected him to be smooth and sharklike.
“Thank you for coming,” Rory said.
“Glad to help.” His gaze flicked toward Lou’s boss, Ivy, who was currently manning the counter and overtly listening to their conversation. “Should we all head over to the sheriff’s office together? That way, we could talk during the drive.”
“Sure,” Lou agreed. “But it’s going to have to be someone else’s vehicle. Callum dropped me off this morning.”
“We could take mine, but it’d be a tight fit in my standard cab.” Rory followed the other two toward the door. “Haven’t you replaced the pickup that burned yet?”
North stared at Lou. “Burned?”
“Long story.” Lou patted his arm. “We’ll catch up after you take care of Ian.” She looked over her shoulder at Rory. “Callum and I are having a little disagreement about that. I have my eye on the cutest 1952 International pickup, but Cal is whining about safety and the lack of air bags, and claiming that I gave him veto rights. I don’t remember saying that, but, then again, a lot of words leave my mouth. It’s hard to keep track of them all.”
“Who’s Callum?” North asked as they made their way to a smaller, new-looking SUV. Apparently, there had been an unspoken agreement that they were taking his car rather than all squeezing into the front seat of Rory’s truck.
“That question falls under the tell-you-later umbrella,” Lou said. “Want me to drive so you can take notes?”
“Please.” North climbed into the back seat. Once the doors were closed, he pulled a notepad from his briefcase and said, “Now tell me what I need to know.”
Eyeing the pad of paper, Lou said, “You’re rocking it old school.”
“Paper can be burned,” he said, uncapping his pen. “Electronic files, on the other hand, can always be recovered.”
Rory could relate to that—her life had been full of those types of rules. The fact that he was thinking along those lines made her trust him a little more. “Okay. Where do you want me to start?”
“How about with Lou’s murder victim?”
“Hey!” She shot him an irritated glance before returning her gaze to the road. “Just because I kicked him doesn’t make him mine!”
“You kicked a dead guy?” There was no horror in his tone, only mild interest.
“Not important. Rory, you start, and I’ll interrupt if I think you’ve missed anything.”
Taking a deep breath, Rory began.
* * *
It took a long time. North filled page after page on his legal pad as Rory talked, with Lou interjecting something every so often.
“Who would’ve thought a sleepy little mountain town could be such a hotbed of murder and intrigue?” North asked after Rory finally fell silent. Since Lou didn’t add anything else, Rory assumed that they’d covered everything North needed to know. They’d been sitting in the SUV in the sheriff’s department parking lot for the past twenty minutes. For a while, the only sounds were North’s pen scratching against the paper, the rustle of turning pages, and his mutterings.
“Okay,” he finally said, making Rory jump. North opened the door and unfolded his lanky frame as he exited the SUV. “Showtime.”
Watching as he slipped and slid across the snow-packed surface of the parking lot toward the main entrance, Rory bit the inside of her lower lip. “He didn’t say anything about whether he thinks Ian has a strong defense or not. Do you suppose that’s a good sign or a bad sign?”
“It’s a sign that North is in the zone,” Lou said, turning to face Rory so she could give her a level look. “When North is in the zone, he’s pretty much unstoppable, so Ian’s as good as free.”
Despite Lou’s confidence, Rory still had a niggling feeling of doubt trying to choke her. “He looks so young.”
“Ror.” Lou put both hands on Rory’s cheeks, turning her head so their eyes met, and, in the process, squishing her cheeks together. “Stop fussing. Ian shouldn’t have even been arrested with such flimsy evidence. He’ll be fine.”
“I’m not…” Her voice was muffled from Lou’s hold on her face, so Rory shook off the other woman’s hands before continuing. “I’m not fussing. Oh, I forgot to tell North that Chief Early emailed me the picture and the invoice, so we have electronic copies as well as the printed ones I gave him. Do you think I should run in and tell him?”
“No.” Lou reached for Rory’s face again, but Rory leaned back out of reach. “I think you need to settle down and let North do his job.”
“Okay.” Rory had to agree that she was acting more like one of her chickens than her usual calm self. It was just that it was Ian. “Okay. Can you stay here and wait with me?”
“That’s the plan.” After a few moments of silence, Lou asked, “Want to play I-spy or something?”
Rory gave her a confused look. “I spy on what?”
“No.” Lou laughed. “It’s a kids’ travel game. You know, I spy with my little eye…something green.”
“What?”
“Never mind. It’s not that much fun anyway.”
Rory felt like she’d just failed some sort of social-interaction test. “We never traveled much when I was little.” Or, you know, ever.
“Really?” Lou leaned forward, and Rory watched the other woman’s hands carefully, wondering if Lou was going to grab her again. “What was it like for you growing up? You never say much about your family, so all I have to go on are crazy stories from The Coffee Spot customers, and I never trust the accuracy of those. In fact, I usually believe the opposite of the rumors floating around Simpson. The local gossip mill is not known for its accuracy.”
“By the local gossip mill,” Rory said, “do you mean the fire department?”
With a laugh, Lou agreed, “Pretty much, yeah. And I include the dive team in that.”
“That’s how you met Callum, right?” Although Rory really was curious about the odd pairing, her main motivation was deflecting the topic of conversation away from her.
“Yeah.” Her eyes went soft. “I figured he couldn’t stand me at first. For whatever reason, he was always there to witness my most embarrassing moments, and he had this look he would give me.”
Rory knew that look. It was one of the most intimidating things about Callum.
“But then he volunteered to help me with the HDG—I mean, the Willard Gray case. When everything started happening—my stalker and the fire and my stepfather and everything—he was always there. It kind of freaked me out.”
Rory hadn’t been expecting that. “Freaked you out? Why?”
“I grew up pretty sheltered and spoiled,” Lou explained with a grimace. “I had to learn how to take care of myself once I moved into that little cabin up here. And Callum, he’d wrap me in blankets and pull me around on a little sled if I let him.”
Blinking, Rory said slowly, “O-kay.”
“That sounded crazy. Sorry.” Lou laughed again. “I guess I was just afraid of slipping back to being that soft, dependent person.”
It was Rory’s turn to laugh—just a dry bark of a sound, but a laugh nonetheless. She was glad Lou was waiting with her. If she’d been alone, Rory wouldn’t have lasted two minutes before storming the jail. “I don’t think there’s any danger of that.”
“No?” Lou’s usually confident expression was unsure. “It’s just so easy to let him take care of the unpleasant stuff.”
“No. You’re definitely not helpless in any way. I’ve heard you stand up to Callum several times, and he kind of intimidates me,” Rory admitted.
Lou looked shocked. “Seriously? I didn’t think anyone intimidated you. You run a business by yourself, hold your own with macho mountain men who think you have to have a penis to know anything about guns, and you even went Dirty Harry on armed bikers breaking into your shop. You kind of kick ass and take names, you know.”
Flushing, Rory looked out the windshield at the building in front of them. “That’s the simple stuff. I wish I could talk to people as easily as you do.”
“Please,” Lou snorted. “Most of what comes out of my mouth is just straight-up embarrassing. I just keep talking, hoping that whoever’s listening will forget the stupid thing I just said.”
Rory wondered with amazement if, at the ripe age of twenty-five, she was having her first girl talk. “Well, I don’t think you have to worry about being soft or useless, that’s for sure.”
“Thanks.” After a moment of quiet while they both stared at the entrance to the sheriff’s department, Lou said, “I wonder what’s going on in there.”
“I can’t think about it.” The possibilities were making Rory sick to her stomach. “Can we talk about something else?”
“Of course.” A slow grin lit Lou’s face. “We talked about my relationship status—how about yours?”
“My what?” She turned a blank face to Lou, who rolled her eyes.
“Your relationship,” Lou repeated slowly. “The one with the currently imprisoned bundle of hotness, with the tattoos and bunker gear? Oh, and those eyes. How do you even get within ten feet of him without forgetting your own name?”
Her cheeks warmed to an inferno level of heat. “I don’t…um, what?”
“Fine. I’ll put it bluntly. What’s the deal with you and Ian?”
It appeared that girl talk was a lot more uncomfortable than it had seemed in the books she’d read. “No deal, really. He just feels…protective, I guess? Because of what happened in the shop.”
“Uh-huh.” Skepticism bled from Lou’s tone. “I don’t think so. I think he’s had a thing for you for years, and you’re the reason he stays away from the club women.”
Rory felt like she’d been pistol-whipped. He turned down other women…for her? They hadn’t even kissed yet. They’d been on one non-date date! “Why would you think that?”
“He told us. Well, he implied it.”
Her mouth was open, but she was having trouble speaking. In fact, she was having trouble breathing. “He actually said he had a thing for me?” she asked when she finally managed to force out some words.
“Not exactly, but he pretty much admitted he avoids the women at the club because he has feelings for someone, and you’re the only woman he voluntarily spends time with. I’m no math genius, but even I can add one and one and make two.”
Rory blinked. “It’s just so…implausible. I mean, someone like me with someone like Ian? He could have anyone he wanted.”
“Well, you’re the only woman I’ve ever seen him take on a date.”
Although Rory considered denying knowing what Lou was talking about, she’d run their dinner at Levi’s over and over in her head enough times that she was pretty sure she couldn’t lie about it convincingly. “That was a non-date date. Ian and I agreed.”
After staring at her for a long, open-mouthed moment, Lou burst out laughing. “Sorry!” she gasped once she could speak again. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just laughing because I had a ‘non-date date’ at Levi’s, too! Maybe they should market their restaurant as the place to go when you’re uncertain about the status of your relationship.”
Something about the confines of the SUV, coupled with the stress of the past twenty-one hours, made Rory want to confide in Lou. “I’ve never had a boyfriend,” she blurted before she could reconsider.
Lou shrugged. “So? A lot of people just date casually until the right person comes along.”
“No.” Shaking her head, Rory felt her stomach clench as she clarified. “I’ve never even gone on a date—except for the non-date date with Ian.”
“Never?”
“No.” She couldn’t look at Lou, afraid the other woman would be staring at her as if Rory was a freak—which she kind of was.
“Wow. How’d that happen?” The casual friendliness had returned to Lou’s voice, so Rory dared a glance toward the driver’s seat. She was relieved to see that Lou’s expression matched her tone. “I mean, you’re really nice, and you like guns, which I imagine is a turn-on for a lot of guys. Plus, it’s not like you never meet anyone, since people—mostly male people—are in and out of your shop all day. It’s like a dating buffet line for you.”
That startled a choked laugh from Rory. “I was homeschooled.”
“So? I’ve known a lot of homeschooled kids, and they managed to meet people. School isn’t the only place to mingle.”
With a frown, Rory realized the conversation had circled back around to her upbringing, despite her attempts at redirection. How had Lou managed that? But this time she felt comfortable enough to admit, “My parents didn’t trust many people—or any, actually, so I wasn’t allowed to have friends come over to our house. As I grew older, Mom and Dad got more and more paranoid, so eventually they stopped going to anyone else’s homes, too. Or anywhere, really.”
“Whoa, and I thought my parents were crazy, with my homicidal stepfather and all.” Lou winced. “Sorry for calling your parents extra-crazy. Didn’t I warn you about my whole ‘talking’ thing?”
“It’s fine.” Although she wanted to reassure Lou, Rory couldn’t manage a smile. “I know they were nuts. It was pretty obvious when they—” She bit down hard on the next words, not letting them escape. As friendly and easy to talk to as Lou was, there were things too private, too painful, to share.
“Well,” Lou said when it became clear that Rory was not going to finish her sentence, “if it’s any consolation, my mom encouraged a creepy family friend to stalk me.”
“Really?” Although she’d known about Lou’s stalker burning down her house, and her stepdad trying to kill her and Callum, Rory hadn’t known about Lou’s mom’s involvement. “That’s…not right.”
Lou laughed, although it had a hard edge of recent hurt. “Definitely not right. Okay, enough serious talk. Tell me more about guns. I want to bring Callum to your shop and blow him away with my extensive knowledge.”
“I can do that.” Rory felt her shoulders lower as she relaxed. She’d hadn’t even noticed how tensely she’d been holding herself during the conversation. “What do you want to know?”
* * *
Although their gazes often strayed to the building in front of them, the time passed fairly quickly, considering. Lou was a quick study, as Rory had noticed during the other woman’s visit to the shop, and she picked things up easily. The sun was out, warming the inside of the SUV, and talking about guns soothed Rory almost as much as handling them.
“Shoot,” Lou muttered, glancing at her watch. “I’m going to have to leave soon, or I’ll be late for work. Ivy’s not a pleasant person to deal with on the best of days, so she’s a real b—uh, bear when I’m not on time.”
Rory cocked her head curiously. “Why doesn’t anyone want to swear in front of me? Ian corrects himself, too, and Steve hits the guys—Junior, mostly—when they curse while I’m in hearing range.”
“I’m not sure.” After regarding her closely, Lou said, “I think it’s because you have this young, sweet, and innocent look going. You know, since your eyes are so big and the rest of you is so small. It makes me feel like I’m swearing in front of a kid.”
“Thanks?”
“I can swear if it makes you feel better—darn, crap, suck.”
Shaking her head, Rory felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “Those don’t count.”
“I know. I just couldn’t do it. See if Ian’ll talk dirty to you.”
That brought the flaming blush back with a vengeance. “He doesn’t…we wouldn’t…I mean…argh!”
“Sorry!” Lou laughed. “You’re just really fun to tease.”
“Did you want me to take you back to the coffee shop?” Rory asked, desperate to change the subject. She didn’t want to leave their vigil, but Lou had been kind enough to stay with her in the SUV all morning. The least she could do was make sure she got to work on time.
Glancing at her watch again, Lou bit her lip and looked at the sheriff’s office. “Let’s give it a couple more minutes, and then I’ll really need—hang on!”
One of the main doors was opening, but the sun reflected off the glass, making it impossible to see who was emerging. The tall, skinny form of North came out first, his head turned so he could talk to the person behind him over his shoulder. Rory held her breath as she watched the second man step outside—it was Ian!
She was out of the SUV and half running, half sliding across the parking lot toward the men before she even realized what she was doing. Self-consciousness set in when she was five feet in front of them, and she tried to stop, but her boots couldn’t find traction on the ice. She tipped forward, the ground rushing toward her face, and she braced for the impact. Instead, a hard hand latched around her upper arm and hauled her back to her feet.
“Thanks,” she said breathlessly, staring at Ian. He still held her arm, although his grip had softened.
“No big hug and kiss for your favorite man fresh out of the slammer?” he teased, grinning.
The ever ready blush reemerged. “Not now that you made it all weird,” she muttered, making him laugh. “Are you out for good?”
“All charges dismissed,” North said cheerfully. “The evidence against him was pretty tenuous, and the picture helped immensely, Rory. Nice work. I got the impression that the sheriff wouldn’t have even made the arrest if he hadn’t been getting so much pressure to make headway in the case.”
“I don’t want to break up this get-out-of-jail-free party,” Lou called from where she was hanging out of the SUV window, “but if I don’t get to work right now, Ivy is going to carve designs in my skin with a razor blade and then shove me into a vat of salt water.” When the other three just stared at her in horror, she made a move-along gesture with her hand. “Let’s go. Nutter Butters, you’re staying at the coffee shop with me. Between attacks of caffeine-deprived hordes, we’ll catch up. Do you have a vehicle here, Ian?” When he shook his head, she waved him forward. “Rory’s truck is at The Coffee Spot. We’ll take you there, and you can ride off into the sunset or find a place to celebrate your newly regained freedom or whatever. Right now, though, I need you all to move!”
They hurried to the SUV as fast as the slick parking lot surface would allow. When Ian slid into the back seat with Rory, she glanced away from him, feeling suddenly and inexplicably shy. Apparently, he didn’t suffer from the same reservations, since he immediately reached over and took her hand.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, and she bobbed her head in acknowledgment, still not making eye contact. “I mean it. North told me how hard you worked to get me out of there.”
With an awkward shrug, she said, “Lou got North here. That was the biggest thing. The guys at the station really came through, too—Soup was the one who remembered the photo.” She risked a glance at his face, and was even more flustered by his serious expression, so she babbled onward. “Next time the guys want to take a half-naked picture of you and hang it up at Station One, don’t give them a hard time about it. It might come in useful.”
His laugh was more of a snort. “Apparently.” He squeezed her hand, pulling it into his lap. “And you were the one who brought it all together. Did you have a chance to call Carrie?”
“Yes.” At the mention, she dug her cell phone out of her coat pocket with her free hand. “I should call her. She’ll want to know that you’re out.” Finding Carrie’s number in her recent-call list, she tapped the screen and held the phone to her ear.
“You have Carrie’s number on your cell?” he asked.
“Yeah,” she answered distractedly as she waited for Carrie to pick up on her end. “She’s nice. We bonded.” Carrie’s voice mail kicked in, and Rory left a brief message, letting her know that Ian had been released and the charges against him dropped.
“We bonded too!” Lou called from the driver’s seat. “Rory and me, I mean, not Carrie. I don’t think I know Carrie.”
“You’ve been busy in the past twenty-four hours,” Ian teased. “Proving my innocence, finding me a lawyer, female bonding…”
“Plus, I cleaned the storage room at Station One.” Rory dropped her phone back in her coat pocket.
His eyes widened. “The storage room? The one that looks like a tornado blew through it?”
“Not anymore.” She gave a satisfied smile. “It would’ve been better if I’d had a label maker, but it’s still much improved. You can actually see the floor now.”
“What’d the chief say?” he asked, scratching his jaw with the hand that wasn’t holding hers. His two-day stubble highlighted the hard angles of his jaw and cheekbones. Just when she thought he couldn’t be any more handsome, Ian managed to surprise her.
She moved her gaze away from his face. Looking at him was too distracting.
“Um…I left this morning before he arrived, so he hadn’t seen it yet.”
Ian groaned, but it sounded amused. “That’ll be interesting.”
Pulling into the coffee shop parking lot, Lou glanced in the rearview mirror at Rory. “Callum will kiss you on the mouth when he sees that storage room. The mess was making his soul itch.”
“He will not,” Ian said, his words clipped, his grip tightening.
“Ow,” Rory said mildly.
He looked at their joined hands and instantly lessened the pressure. “Sorry.” Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed a kiss on the back of it. As he opened the door, Rory stared at him, her mouth slightly open. She stayed frozen until he gave her hand a tug, pulling her out of the SUV after him.
As she straightened, she saw Lou was grinning at her. “Yeah. You’re totally the reason.” After that cryptic statement, she hurried toward the front door of the shop, towing North behind her.
“What does that mean?” Ian asked, still keeping hold of Rory’s hand as they headed for her pickup.
“No clue.” That might have been a lie. Rory had a slight clue what Lou meant, but there was no way she’d manage to explain without completely dissolving into a stammering, bright-red mess. Changing the subject seemed like the best tactical decision at that point. “Did you want to stop by Station One to let the guys know you’re out?”
“No.” He finally released her so he could circle to the passenger side of the truck. “You drive, and I’ll call.”
“Where are we going?” Rory dug her keys out of her coat pocket.
“Your house or mine, I don’t care.”
After a moment of consideration, she left the lot and headed toward her house. She needed to spend more time there, to reclaim it as hers. Plus, if she didn’t open the shop soon, her customers would think she was closed for good. Who knows what rumors were currently being ground by the Simpson rumor mill?
Since Ian was busy calling people and spreading the good news, Rory was able to stay quiet. She appreciated not having to make conversation, since that slight edge of tension had returned now that they were alone. Instead, she concentrated on driving, letting the familiar route home soothe her nerves. When she stopped at the locked gate, Ian extended his hand for the keys. Once she pulled them out of her pocket and handed them to him, he hopped out of the truck.
Jack was waiting for them, quivering with excitement as Ian unlocked and opened the gates. As soon as there was an opening big enough for him to squeeze through, Jack hurled himself at Ian, twisting and wriggling as he tried to get as close to the man as possible. Laughing, Ian paused with only one side of the gate open so he could affectionately ruffle the dog’s coat.
Stacking her hands on top of the steering wheel, Rory rested her chin on her hands and watched the two, smiling a little. For some reason, Jack was positively in love with Ian. Her smile slipped away as she studied the object of her dog’s affection. She couldn’t blame Jack, really. Somewhere along the way, her childish crush had morphed into something else, something so big it scared her when she thought about it.
With a start, she realized that Ian had opened the other side of the gate and was watching her with an amused expression, waiting for her to drive through. She checked for Jack’s location and spotted him curled around Ian’s legs, so she eased the truck through the opening. Instead of waiting for him to climb back into his seat, she continued to the pole barn. The time it took to store the pickup and secure the building allowed her a moment to collect her unbalanced and frayed thoughts.
Ian and Jack both waited for her on the back porch. The upward curl of Ian’s mouth made her wonder for a panicked moment if he could read her mind. She gave herself a sharp, mental reprimand and regained some of her composure.
He didn’t say anything as she unlocked the door and deactivated the alarm. The silence continued as they shed their outerwear and left it next to the back door. His coat hanging next to hers, and his boots lined up by her much-smaller pair made a homey, comfortable picture, a startling contrast to her normal, lonely life. Once again, she was forced to talk firmly to her brain, reminding herself that she liked her life as it was—no Ian required.
When Ian remained quiet while she moved the bookshelves and opened the steel door, she felt tension creeping in ropes up the back of her neck. Her fingers fumbled as she relocked the door. He was standing much too close to her, and she didn’t know if she could actually feel the heat from his body warming hers, or if that was her imagination. No matter how many stern talks she was giving her brain, her thoughts flew out of control.
At the base of the stairs, she couldn’t take another second. After flicking on the lights for the living area, she turned to glare at him. “What?”
He just raised an eyebrow in question.
“You haven’t said anything to me since we started driving here. What’s the deal?”
“I knew if I opened my mouth,” he said, “I was going to say things I don’t think you’re ready to hear.”
She blinked, started to speak, and then closed her mouth again. After a long pause as they stared at each other, she asked, “Are you hungry?”
His laugh filled the space. “Yes. Starved.”
“Sit.” She jerked her chin at the kitchen table. “I’ll cook.”
Ian did not sit. “I can help. I’m not much use in the kitchen, but I could, I don’t know, chop stuff or something.”
With a huff, she rested her fists on her hips. “You are hopeless at following orders. I’m not picking you for my partner for the next zombie-invasion drill.”
Although he laughed, he did pull out a kitchen chair and lower himself into it. “Happy?”
“Yes.” She wasn’t thrilled with how he was smirking at her, but at least now she had the run of the kitchen without worrying about bumping into whatever rock-hard part of his body was blocking her way. Rory was wound up enough without adding unintentional contact to the mix. Digging in the freezer, she pulled out some beef stew and a loaf of bread. “Stew and bread sound good?”
“Is that your version of a frozen dinner?” he asked, nodding toward the container.
“Yeah. Since it’s just me, I make big batches of everything—stew, bread, soups, casseroles, whatever—and then I freeze them in smaller portions. That way, I don’t have to eat goulash for two weeks straight.”
“That’s homemade bread?” Ian eyed the loaf covetously.
“Yep.” She put the stew in the oven. “Neither of my parents could bake, so I figured out pretty young that I was the only hope for having anything like that. With the high altitude, it took me forever to figure out how to make good bread, but I was determined. I love fresh bread.”
“Me too.”
Rory could’ve guessed that by the way he hadn’t taken his eyes off of it. Instead of cutting the loaf in half, as she’d planned, she wrapped the entire thing in foil and put it in the oven next to the stew. Dusting off her hands, she said, “Done cooking.”
Grinning, Ian kicked the chair across from his so it slid away from the table. “Take a load off. That was some pretty intense work.”
With a shrug, she sat. Now that she didn’t have anything else to focus on except Ian, that strange, buzzing tension had returned. “After a busy day in the shop, it’s nice not to have to worry about actually making something.” Her legs twitched, and she couldn’t stop herself from jumping to her feet. “I have some venison sticks from Carson Beatty. Ever since I gave him a good deal on a Beanfield Sniper rifle, he brings me a big bag of it every year. I don’t have the heart to tell him I’m not a huge fan of venison. Want some to tide you over?”
“That’s okay. I can wait until the stew’s ready.”
Pausing in the middle of the kitchen, she shifted from foot to foot, unable to bring herself to return to her chair.
“Ror.” His voice was gentle, but the way he stood and stalked toward her made alarm rise in her chest. As he approached, she couldn’t stop herself from backing away from him. He advanced, his eyes fixed on hers, and she retreated until her lower back bumped against the counter.
Ian closed the last small bit of space between them in two strides. His hands cradled both sides of her face, tilting up her head so she couldn’t have looked away even if he hadn’t been holding her gaze captive. Leaning down, he rested his forehead against hers.
“You were pretty much all I thought about last night.” He huffed out a breath, and he was so close she felt the warm brush of air. “Hell, you’re pretty much all I think about even when I’m not in jail. I’m like a nervous kid around you, and you’re all composed and remote, so I never figured I’d really get a shot with you. When North told me everything you’d done, how you were fighting for me, even going to see Julius and being threatened by Billy—which made me insane with worry, but we’ll discuss that later—I was…floored. Floored and so fu—flipping happy. After more than a decade, that was the first time you didn’t seem like some unobtainable dream.”
“Oh.” As he waited, his forehead on hers, his gaze holding steady, she scrambled for words—any words, although the right words would be preferable. “I… I’m sorry. I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
Think, for one, with him that close. “Any of this. I’ve never dated, never really had close friends. I’m socially backward.”
His chuckle brushed her skin, making her close her eyes. In the darkness, she felt him even more, the press of his forehead, his palms and fingers. “No, you’re not. You have friends—half of Simpson, in fact. You just don’t realize the impression you make.”
Her eyes opened again so she could give him a skeptical look.
“It’s true. And the whole not-dating-before thing…well, that’s a plus for me.”
“What do you mean?”
His mouth thinned to a straight line before he admitted, “This way, I don’t have to kill all of your exes.”
Rory frowned. “I know I’m inexperienced, but that doesn’t seem like an emotionally healthy statement.”
“Fu—forget that. I never claimed to be emotionally healthy.” He leaned in so close that their mouths were just a hair away from touching. “For whatever it’s worth, though, I am crazy about you.”