“I’ve got this,” Ian told her the next day, blocking the doorway to the back room. “Just stay up front and run the shop.”
Setting her jaw, Rory said, “That’s not right. I have to at least help.”
“No, you don’t.” Using his bulk, he moved her back a few steps. “Your nightmares are bad enough already. Besides”—he looked over her shoulder at something behind her—“I have help.”
“Hey, Ror,” Soup said, and she spun around to face him. Her argument with Ian had distracted her enough that she hadn’t even heard the beep of the door alarm. Soup was grinning as he crossed the shop. When he reached her, he slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into a sideways hug. “I’m here and ready to clean. Put me to work.”
She opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, the door opened again, and Junior bounced through it. “Morning, Rory! You’re looking fine today.”
“Watch it,” growled Steve, who’d followed the other man at a more sedate pace.
“It was a compliment,” Junior said with an exaggerated sigh, even as he kept his eye on Steve’s big mitts.
“There’s a fine line between your compliments and disrespect,” Steve grumbled before looking at her. “Hey, Rory.”
She blinked at him. “Between taking care of my animals, and now this, I’m not going to get out of watching your kids, am I?”
He gave her a rare grin. “Nope. Don’t worry, though. The sitter usually survives.”
“I’m not worried about my survival,” she muttered, but her words were drowned out by the guys’ chatter and Al’s entrance. “Is everyone coming?”
“Everyone who’s not on duty,” Ian said, his voice a little tight. “Soup, if you don’t get your fu—flipping arm off of her right now, I’m going to rip it off and beat you with it.”
All the guys, including Soup, laughed, but he lifted his arm off her shoulders and even took a few steps away from her for good measure, holding his hands in a “don’t hurt me” gesture.
As they moved toward the back-room door, Rory started to protest again. “I really shou—”
Ian’s short, hard kiss stopped her midword. The men hooted and catcalled, but she barely heard them. He pulled back and grinned at her stunned face before disappearing into the back room with his crowd of firefighters. She stood frozen in place.
“Whoa,” she muttered, her fingers touching her mouth. Finally shaking off her Ian-induced stupor, she turned to start her day.
* * *
The shop was busy. Rory figured it was a mixture of the nice weather, the shop’s hiatus, and morbid curiosity that brought in what seemed like the entire population of Simpson to look at guns. Within just a few hours, all her patience and saleswoman skills had been sucked dry. When the front door opened yet again, her head whipped around so she could glare at the newest arrival. Once she saw it was Chief Early, her expression softened into something that wasn’t quite a smile—she’d lost that ability an hour earlier—but was as close as she was going to get at the moment.
“Chief,” she called over the buzz of chatter coming from the other customers. “Are you here to check out that Peacemaker?”
He made his way over to the counter before speaking at a normal volume. “Actually, I’m going to help clean up in back, but since I’m here…”
Her frown returned. “You don’t have to clean, Chief.”
“Sure I do.” Leaning one arm on the counter, he grinned at her, unfazed by her scowl. “I never want to be the type of chief who sits back and makes my men do all the dirty work. Besides, I know that you’ve been the reason Doris has let me in the door after I bought a new gun—several times, in fact. I’m happy to do this for you, Rory.”
Embarrassment made her cling to her glower. “If I didn’t encourage you to buy guns, Doris wouldn’t have a reason to toss you out onto the lawn. You don’t need to do this, Chief.”
“Yes, I do.” With another quick, completely unoffended smile, he headed for the back.
“Well, you’re getting an extremely discounted price on that Colt, then!” she yelled after him. Early waved as he closed the door behind him, and she stared at the spot where he’d disappeared. When an easily identifiable smell wafted toward her, she sniffed at the air.
“Are they painting?” she asked out loud, wondering if she’d go into the back room at the end of the day to find a completely remodeled space. That wouldn’t be a bad thing. Neither was having a shop full of guys who would have her back if necessary, she admitted to herself. Everything that had happened with the attempted burglary, and Rave and Billy, had her on edge. It was reassuring to have reinforcements nearby, just in case.
“Um, Rory?” She reluctantly turned her attention to Phil. To her surprise, he didn’t have a new trophy girlfriend hanging off his arm this time. “Wilt keeps telling me I should replace my Glock with a Springfield XD. What do you think?”
“Well, first off, I think that it’s good you’re concentrating on arming yourself rather than the blond of the month. As far as the Springfield goes, it is a good gun—reliable, really smooth trigger, and a pleasure to shoot. The most important question, though”—she unlocked the display and pulled out the XD, placing it in its case—“is which you like better.” Rory got out a Glock 22, as well, and pushed both cases toward him, along with two boxes of ammo. “It’s a beautiful day. Go out to my range and kill some paper.”
He grinned, his face lighting up at the thought of doing some shooting. Rory could relate. Following him out the front door, she pointed him toward the range and called for Jack. When he trotted toward her, she held the shop door open.
“C’mon, Jack,” she said, and he bounded into the store, brushing against her legs on his way. Even though the dog would probably stay by his chickens, Rory would rather he not be roaming the property when someone was shooting. Jack immediately trotted over to his dog bed in the corner and lay down.
Dodging customers, she made her way over to the back-room door and pounded on it with her fist. When Junior stuck out his head, she told him, “The range will be hot in about five minutes. Could you let the guys know not to get excited when they hear gunfire?”
“Got it. I’ll pass it on.”
“Thanks.” Rory attempted to peek around him, but Junior blocked her with his body. For a slight guy, he could sure make himself into a wall when he wanted. “How’s it going in there?”
“Great.” Still keeping his body in her line of sight, Junior closed the door before she could see anything.
“Excuse me,” the male half of a couple she didn’t recognize said. “Which gun would be best to take with us hiking, in case we run into a bear?”
“This one.” Rory moved to the other side of the room, the couple following, and pulled it out of a display.
The man looked nonplussed. “Pepper spray?”
“It’s the big can of the strong stuff, so it’s called bear spray.” She set it on the counter, since the customer didn’t seem inclined to take it.
“I’d feel more comfortable with a gun.”
“You wouldn’t after the bear attacks you.”
“I’m a good shot,” he huffed. “I’d hit it before it reached us.”
“Doesn’t mean the bear will go down before it can do some damage.” Rory nudged the bear-spray canister closer to the couple’s side of the counter. “When bullets are fired, there’s a greater chance of injury to the humans involved than when bear spray is used. U.S. Fish and Wildlife even did a study. You know what’s even more effective?”
“What?” the woman asked.
“Avoiding bears altogether. They’ll generally stay away from you as long as they know you’re there. Make lots of noise when you hike. Don’t rely on bear bells—they’re not loud enough. And don’t carry smelly food in your packs.”
“If you stumble over an animal carcass,” Grace Wiltshire piped up from across the room, “don’t hang around to check it out. A bear or mountain lion might not be done with their dinner.” Of course all the locals were listening. It was like Simpson television—and no one could ever resist tossing in their own two cents.
“You’ll want to hike during the day,” Bob, Grace’s husband, added. “Wildlife is out and about between dusk and dawn, usually.”
“Don’t climb a tree to get away from one. Black bears are great climbers.” At George Holloway’s contribution, Rory looked at the big, bearded man in surprise. He rarely said more than two words to her. If he wanted to handle a particular firearm, he’d generally point and grunt.
“Since all of you seem to have this information session handled,” Rory said, not at all reluctant to hand over the customers to the locals’ care, “I’m going to order lunch for my volunteer work crew.”
“What are they doing back there?” Bob asked immediately, as if Rory mentioning the firemen working in her back room opened the floor for questions.
“Making some improvements,” she hedged before picking up the phone. To forestall any questions, she kept it pressed to her ear as she looked up the phone number for Levi’s.
After she tapped in the number for the restaurant, the female half of the couple brought the bear spray to the register, while her significant other sulked on the other side of the room. Rory rang up the spray while giving Bonnie her order. She hesitated, glanced at the back room door, and then doubled the amount of food. If all the firemen ate as much as Ian, then she would need a mountain of barbecue to feed the group.
Once the couple left, the other customers gradually made their way out of the shop. A few bought odds and ends, and George got three-inch Magnum shells, but most shuffled out empty-handed. Rory wasn’t too surprised, since she’d figured most of the people there wanted information, not anything she was selling.
As George paid for his shells, Rory asked, “How are you liking your Saiga-12?”
His grunt sounded positive.
“Did you do some modifications on it?”
This time, the grunt was accompanied by a nod. His earlier loquaciousness had apparently been short-lived. Despite his usual silence, Rory liked George. According to local gossip, his father had been as much a hermit as Rory’s parents. Except for his volunteer work with Search and Rescue, George didn’t seem to have any social interactions—no friends or girlfriends, at least as far as any of the townspeople knew. Rory didn’t really pay attention to the gossip. She just knew that George seemed like a kind man who really liked guns. That was good enough for her.
“Bring it in sometime. I’d like to see what you’ve done.”
She chose to interpret his wordless response to that as an “okay.”
“The price has shot up on those, so you were smart to get it when you did.” She handed him his receipt and the bagged shells. “Guess you’re a trendsetter.”
Although it was hard to tell beneath his beard, Rory was pretty sure a corner of his mouth ticked up for a second. She was rather proud she’d managed to get George Holloway to smile.
* * *
They’d eaten everything.
Rory blinked at the empty containers spread over the counter that had held an obscene amount of food less than an hour earlier. It was a good thing she’d doubled the order. She had a feeling that she could have tripled it and the guys still would have consumed everything. Since she still wasn’t allowed in the back room, they’d spread out around the front of the shop, sitting on stools or the floor to eat.
An arm wrapped around her from behind, and she resisted her instinctual reaction to drive an elbow into the belly resting against her back. When Ian’s voice spoke quietly in her ear, she was glad she hadn’t assaulted him.
“Did you get anything to eat?” he asked.
“Barely.” She stared at the empty cartons, still flabbergasted by the crew’s ability to eat. “I had to dodge stabbing forks, and I think Junior tried to bite me when I reached for the mac and cheese.”
Overhearing this, Junior winked at her. “I’ll bite you anytime, baby.”
As Rory felt Ian’s body stiffen, Steve whacked the back of Junior’s head. Thrown off balance by the unexpected blow, Junior had to stumble forward a few steps so he didn’t fall on his face.
“Hey!” he yelled, indignant, but Steve just shook his head.
“You’re lucky it was me and not Walsh who did that,” Steve told him. “He’d have used a two-by-four.”
“Or a crowbar,” Ian growled. Although the others chuckled, Rory was pretty sure that Ian wasn’t joking.
“So, how’s it going in there?” She jerked her head toward the still-closed back-room door.
“It’s shaping up nicely,” Al said, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. “I think you’ll be happy with it.”
“I’m sure I will.” This confirmed her impression that they were doing a full remodel, rather than the general hose-down she’d initially expected. “You guys didn’t need to do all this.”
“Of course we did, little sister.” Soup patted her on the head. “You’ll be right there with us when we help Junior move, or paint the LT’s house. It’s just what we do.”
“Well, thank you.” The heat at her back felt nice, and she leaned into Ian before she realized what she was doing. When she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip, so she relaxed again, accepting that she was participating in her first PDA—well, second, after the earlier kiss.
“Back to work,” the chief barked, gathering paper plates. “Thanks for lunch, Rory.”
There was a chorus of thanks from the other guys.
“I’ll clean up.” This time when Rory pulled away from Ian, he let her go. She took the stack of plates away from Early. “It’s the least I can do.”
As the other men disappeared into the back room, Ian hung back. “Sounded busy out here earlier. How’s the grand reopening going?”
“Good.” She shrugged. “I do better with a few customers than a big crowd, though. I tend to get…cranky.”
With a laugh, he brushed back a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. “It’s part of your charm.”
When she just rolled her eyes at that, he laughed again. “Better get back to work.” Before she realized what he was doing, he leaned in and kissed her. She immediately worried that she must taste like the barbecue she’d just eaten, and then all rational thought dissolved. By the time he pulled away, her brain was fuzzy.
Judging by his heavy-lidded eyes, he was in a similar state, although he had the presence of mind to back away from her. If it had been up to Rory, they would’ve spent the entire afternoon kissing, while the other firemen finished up the back room.
“See you later,” she said, giving an embarrassingly goofy wave as he pulled open the door.
“Later.” Ian imbued the single word with so much suggestive promise that she blushed. With a grin and wink, he was gone.
After watching the closed door for much too long, she shook off her silly giddiness and went to work cleaning up the remains of lunch. As she separated the burnable trash from the plastic, she tried to think of something other than Ian. It didn’t work. Her crush had swollen to elephant size, and she was fully in its grip.
When the front door opened, she looked up with relief. She’d rather deal with customers than her own soppy thoughts. Once she recognized the two men who’d just entered, however, she changed her mind.
“Anderson,” she greeted the first man, hoping her poker face was hiding how much she disliked him and his brother, Wilson King. They were obviously related, with the same pale skin and receding hairlines. Anderson was the older of the two, and slightly…more than his sibling—a little taller, broader, more outgoing, smarter. Wilson seemed content to trail behind in his brother’s shadow.
“Rory.” Anderson’s eyes swept the shop with a covetous intensity that made her uncomfortable. “Heard you had some excitement here a few days ago.”
She made a noncommittal sound before asking, “Can I help you with something?”
“Yeah.” King’s pale blue eyes met hers. “We were hoping to take a look at that back room of yours.”
“Not sure why you’d want to see that.” Leaning on the newly cleaned counter, she feigned a casual stance. “Besides, it’s out of commission today. I’m getting some remodeling done.”
The lines on his face sharpened with irritation. “Everyone knows you keep your ‘special’ inventory back there.”
“Not sure what ‘everyone’ is talking about.” She kept her voice even, her words slow. “That’s just where I do my cleaning and repair work.”
His jaw tensed and then relaxed as he forced a smile. “I heard you’re not going to be doing business with the Riders anymore. I thought we could come to an…arrangement. Maybe we could help to fill that gap.”
“There’s no gap.” That came out with more of a snap than she’d planned, so she took a breath and mimicked his fake smile. “Were you looking for something in particular? If you don’t see it here”—she gestured around the shop—“I can probably order it.” Since there was no way either King brother would pass the background check required to purchase a firearm, she was safe from having one of her guns end up in Anderson or Wilson’s meth-dealing paws.
Anderson didn’t even glance around at the displays. “I was thinking about something a little more…ghostly.”
Keeping a blank expression locked in place, she shook her head. “What you see out here is what you get.”
“I see,” he said, biting off the end of each word. He wasn’t even trying to hide his fury now. “You’ll deal with MC trash but not with us.”
Rory hid her flinch. It seemed like she hadn’t even dealt with one threat before another came crawling out of the woodwork. The King brothers were bad news. With them as an enemy, there’d be nowhere safe left in Simpson. “Like I said, what I have available is out here.”
“Dumb bitch. You’re picking the wrong side. From what I hear, Billy’s losing it, the Riders are a fucking mess, and the members are turning on each other like a pack of starving dogs. We’re picking up all the pieces they’re dropping. Soon, we’re going to be the most powerful men in Field County. You really don’t want to piss us off.” With a menacing look, he stormed to the door. After Wilson stared at her for a few seconds too long, he followed his brother. When the door banged shut behind Wilson, she let out a breath and flicked on her computer screen so she could watch the camera footage of the parking lot. The two men got into a Jeep and left abruptly, the tires flinging melting snow and gravel behind them as they roared through the open gates. Long after they’d disappeared, Rory sat and watched the empty parking lot, her stomach churning. With an abrupt motion, she pushed the power button on the monitor, darkening the screen.
It was probably hypocritical of her, but she’d had no problem selling to the Riders before the burglary. Although she’d known they weren’t saints, their criminal actions had been vague and unconfirmed. The King brothers, on the other hand, would never leave her shop with one of her guns in their hands if she could help it. Meth was a dirty business, and she didn’t want to be responsible for arming the brothers. She just needed to figure out a way to remain neutral.
Jumpy from the Kings’ visit, she started when Phil barreled through the front door, his face glowing from the still-brisk temperature and the joy of shooting.
“The Springfield is awesome, Rory.”
“Obviously.” She glanced at the clock. “You’ve been out there for almost two hours.”
“I came in when you were picking up food and grabbed some different ammo,” he said, putting some empty boxes by the register. “I wanted to see if I could get it to jam.”
“Did you?”
“Nope. I put five hundred rounds though it, and it just kept firing.”
“What’d you think?”
“It’s great. I like the trigger even better than my Glock.”
“You going to make the switch, then?”
“Nope.”
“No?” She eyed him with slight surprise. “I thought you were in love.”
“It’s a nice gun.” Pushing the Springfield’s case toward her with some reluctance, he shrugged. “My Glock’s a nice gun, too. I trust it. I know I could drop it in a mud puddle, and it’d still fire. We have a relationship. I like how comfortable and familiar it feels in my hand. If I replaced it with the Springfield, I feel like I’d be leaving a faithful, reliable wife of many years. How would I know that the new woman—as great as she seems—would stand behind me like my wife would? No.” He gave the case a final, slightly mournful pat. “I’ll stick with my Glock.”
Sliding the Springfield’s case out from under Phil’s possessive hand, she set it behind the counter to clean later, once her back room was hers again. “I think you’ve made the right choice for you, Phil. I commend you on seeing past the seductive new gun and sticking with your faithful partner.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a quick grin. “By the way, I took your advice and asked Donna out.”
Rory blinked, pausing in the middle of ringing up the ammo he’d used. “I advised you to ask out Donna?” It had been a rough few weeks, but she didn’t remember giving any relationship advice to anyone. That would be like a turtle giving tips on how to high-jump.
“Not Donna specifically,” he clarified. “You said to quit trying to turn the women I date into something they’re not. Donna moved here from Connor Springs a few months ago. She’s hot, and she can outshoot me.”
“Sounds like the perfect woman,” Rory said, a little thrown by the conversation. Was he expecting more relationship advice? She hoped not. She hadn’t even known she’d given the first batch.
“She really is.” Phil’s grin grew dreamy around the edges. “Thanks for giving me that push.”
“You’re welcome?” Clearing her throat, she gave him his total.
Phil paid and left, thanking her another several times. When the door closed behind him, her breath left her lungs in a relieved rush. The silence of the empty front of the shop was wonderful.
For a while, she cleaned the displays and counters. The quiet was occasionally broken by thuds, swearing, and laughter coming from the back room, making her curiosity grow until she was itching to sneak a peek through the door. Rory managed to resist the urge, and she redoubled her cleaning efforts.
The front door swung open, and, for the second time that afternoon, her smile died when she saw who entered. This time, it was Billy, Zup, and another Rider she didn’t know by name. His ruddy, broad face looked familiar, though.
“Billy,” she greeted flatly, resuming the faux-casual stance she’d taken when the King brothers were in the shop. It seemed to be the day for visits from dangerous men.
“Rory.” Billy strode toward her, his face impassive. The other two silently spread out to other parts of the shop, checking out the displayed guns with exaggerated interest. Rory didn’t like that. It was impossible to keep watching all three at once. This wasn’t like when they used to come in to check out the back-room merchandise. They, even clueless Zup, were moving with a sense of purpose that scared her silly. Her heart beat too quickly, and she barely managed to keep her fear from showing on her face.
“Hey, guys!” she yelled, trying to keep her voice casual despite the volume. “Billy’s here to visit!”
It wasn’t even a full three seconds before Ian was charging through the door, followed by the other firemen. Zup and the unnamed Rider dropped their pretense of looking at the display cases and faced the six men. There were a few moments of stillness so tense that Rory half-expected a tumbleweed to roll through the shop.
“Billy.” Ian was the first to break the silence. “What do you want?”
“Just came to talk to one of my suppliers, Ian,” he said smoothly, holding his hands in a gesture of innocence. “Wanted to make sure there weren’t any hard feelings because of all the recent…unpleasantness between us.”
It was strange hearing words better suited to a politician coming out of Billy’s mouth.
“There are,” Ian said, crossing his arms across his chest. “Lots of hard feelings.”
Zup shifted, drawing Rory’s attention. “What are you doing?” she asked, making him turn in her direction.
“What?” he asked defensively, and her eyes narrowed.
“Did you just steal something?” She pushed away from the counter and started to circle around to the other side. Anger rushed through her, pushing aside the fear. What right did they have to invade her shop and try to take her guns, leaving her feeling scared and helpless?
“No!” He moved toward the door, holding his hands open to show they were both empty. “See? I didn’t take anything. We’ll just leave.”
Backing toward the door as well, Billy shook his head, feigning regret. “Guess we’ll just have to find a new supplier.”
“You do that,” Rory said flatly, stopping her forward charge when Ian put his hand on her arm.
The third MC member was also heading for the door, and the Riders exited under seven pairs of watchful eyes. As soon as the door closed behind them, Rory leaned over the counter to turn on her monitor, twisting the screen so she and the firemen could watch the three figures hurry toward an SUV.
“They’re in a rush,” the chief muttered.
“What’s he doing?” Soup asked, leaning closer to the screen, watching as Billy pulled something out of his pocket. “Is that a cell phone?”
“Isn’t Billy the head honcho?” Al asked, also getting closer to the monitor. “I wonder who he’s calling?”
The nameless Rider got into the driver’s seat, reversing the SUV out of its parking spot within seconds.
“Everyone’s flying out of here today,” Rory muttered. Her stomach twisted with unease. The Riders’ visit seemed strange and pointless, but Billy wouldn’t have risked coming to her shop without a reason. She moved toward the area where Zup had been acting squirrelly. There was a Taser display there, but it didn’t look disturbed.
Although…there was something off about it. Cocking her head, she took another couple of steps closer. The corner of a small box stuck out from behind the display. It hadn’t been there before. “Why would he leave something…?”
Suddenly, everything clicked. The answer flashed in her brain, lit up with bright warning lights, but she couldn’t get the words out fast enough.
“Out!” she yelled, whipping around to start shoving the guys toward the back, and closer, door. “Go! Billy’s cell phone—move! Bomb!” She finally shouted the important word, but they weren’t responding right. Unlike a normal group of people, the guys didn’t panic and rush for the nearest exit. Instead, they all concentrated on getting everyone else out of danger first, and she found herself propelled forward until she was at the front of the pack and closest to the door.
Ian! her brain screamed. Get Ian out!
“Ian!” The terror in her voice echoed through the room, mixing with the shouts and commands from the guys. Hands and bodies pushed her toward the exit, and she fought them, trying to turn, unable to leave Ian behind. He’d just yanked her, kicking and screaming, from her self-imposed hermit shell. How could she return to life without him? “Ian!”
“I’m right behind you!” His voice, though tight with tension, eased the panic rushing through her. “Go, Rory! Now!”
Her zombie-drill training kicked in, and she automatically reached for the door. Just as she yanked it open, she remembered.
“Wait! We forgot Jack!” she yelled, twisting around to see him. Jack lifted his head from the dog bed where he’d returned after lunch, his belly full from all the bits of food the guys had slipped to him.
“Rory, go! Get out!” Ian’s frantic voice shouted as her panic returned. She couldn’t leave her dog, the last remaining member of her family, the one who’d almost given his life for hers three years ago. She couldn’t run outside like a coward and allow her faithful companion to be blown to bits. Rory ducked around the men, dodging their well-meaning, grasping hands, until she was at the outside of the circle again.
“Everyone out!” the chief bellowed. “Go! Go! Go!” All the guys except Ian followed his command, rushing through the door in a well-ordered stream.
“Rory!” Ian yelled, reaching for her.
Twisting out of range, she slipped by him and ran toward the dog. “Jack!” He stood up and stretched. Panting with terror, Rory lunged for him, grabbing his collar and a handful of scruff, ignoring his yelp as she hauled him toward the exit. “C’mon, Jack!” she cried. Her breaths weren’t coming out right, sounding perilously close to sobs. She didn’t cry, though. Rory never cried. Making small noises that were definitely not sobs, she dragged her dog toward the door that suddenly seemed so far away.
Ian grabbed her from behind, his hands latching around her upper arms. He shoved her through the door. Pulling out of her grip, Jack jetted ahead, streaking through the back room and out the exterior door the guys had opened. Everything slowed, every movement of her legs felt like she was moving through thick syrup. Only her thoughts came in fast-forward, stupid thoughts like please let Ian and Jack be okay and I don’t want to die, not yet and please, God, I’d like to kiss Ian again, at least one more time.
“Let’s go!” the chief shouted from his position outside the back door.
Rory ran toward it, her muscles moving too slow but her heart racing too fast, feeling Ian pressing her from behind, urging her to increase her speed. She pushed, trying to go just a little faster, because Ian was behind her, and if she died, so did he, and she really, really didn’t want Ian to die.
Just as her foot touched the porch, the world went blindingly bright.
Suddenly, Rory was flying.