Serving Trouble (Second Shot 1)

/> “You’re not a jerk,” she murmured once the door was closed and locked behind her. She headed for the front hall window to watch as he pulled away. “Not at all.”

And that was part of the problem. There was a point when she’d wanted to lose herself in the kiss. His mouth had claimed hers and it would have been so easy to let him possess her.

But she had a scar—­invisible maybe, still she felt it—­from the last time Noah had walked away. Not as big as the one left by Travis, though she knew it was thanks to sheer luck and Noah that her high school sweetheart hadn’t left a visible mark. Or as painful as the reminders of Morgan’s father, the man who’d left her pregnant. Still, she wouldn’t let Noah Tager carve out another piece of her heart.

“Josephine?” her father’s voice called from the den. She heard the whisper of sportscasters in the background.

“I’m home, Dad.”

She turned and walked into the room. Her father was in his recliner, remote in hand, watching a baseball game.

“Did Noah drop you off?”

“Yes.” She sat on the couch that had been the dogs’ favorite perch throughout her high school years. “My car needs some work.”

“I could lend you a hand sometime.”

She forced a smile. “That’d be great. Thanks. I think it’s the starter. Stupid Mini. I bought it used in Portland. Easier to park in the city.”

Her dad nodded slowly and turned to her. “So did Noah hear from your brother?”

The hope in his voice nearly brought her to tears. Had her father spent the last five years moving around this big, old farmhouse, watching his dogs pass away and worrying about her brother? Alone?

I needed you, Dad. I was alone too and scared to ask for help.

She reached over and placed her hand over her father’s rough, aged skin.

“No, Dad,” she said softly. “Not yet.”

Chapter Seventeen

“IF YOU WANT to keep working at the bar, I need to lock up your gun.” Noah pushed away his empty pie plate and stared across the kitchen table at his dishwasher. He couldn’t have her waving a weapon around in the back room. Next time she might accidentally shoot Josh and then they wouldn’t get another pie. And the youngest Summers brother knew how to bake.

“But Dustin’s close,” she said firmly. “What if he shows up at the bar? Or the house? You saw the picture. He could be out there right now.” She waved to the window.

“Caroline.” He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. Her slice of breakfast pie remained untouched on her plate. “I walked every inch of this property and half the neighbor’s last night. We only have ten acres. If he’d been out there, I would have seen him.”

“He sent the text not long after I found your barn,” she protested, withdrawing her hand from his hold. “He’s following me.”

“He’s not out there now. I’m not saying he won’t turn up. But when he does I don’t think it will be good for anyone if you have a gun. You scared the hell out of that raccoon last night and you didn’t even fire.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I heard the noise and I was so scared.”

He sat back in his chair. “Not everything is an attack. Not around here. You’re safe, Caroline. I’m going to make sure no one turns you in and I’m going to protect you from Dustin. You’ll just have to trust me.”

She nodded and withdrew the gun from the waistband of her pants. “I do. I know you’ll do your best to keep me safe and hidden. I’d feel better if I could help . . . but you’re right. It’s not just Dustin. Every noise feels like an attack is imminent.”

He took the pistol and removed the bullets. At least one of the women he was trying to keep out of reach of a madman wanted his help.

“But I’m keeping the job,” she said.

“That’s fine, Caroline. I’m going to take a shower and then sleep for a few hours before heading into work.”

He pushed back from the table, feeling the ache in his muscles from hiking until past dawn this morning. At some point, he needed a full night’s sleep. Maybe a return to the first few days back when he’d taken over the bar from his dad. He’d crashed after closing and slept until midmorning. Some days he’d gone for a run before opening the bar, but most of the time he’d fit in a little physical training or a trip to the gun club when April showed up. Simple, easy days. And there had been no chance to play the hero.

The floorboards creaked and groaned as he climbed to the second story. He headed for his bedroom, pulling off his T-­shirt as he walked. The walls were pale blue and covered in pictures from high school. There was a blank space above his wooden headboard where he’d once hung a “The Few. The Proud. The Marines.” poster. He’d ripped it down when he’d first walked into the room after returning home.

He scanned the other walls as he removed his boots and jeans. Dominic stared back at him from almost every shot. And Ryan was in most of them too.