By the time Laura flipped the sign and unlocked the front door to foot traffic, the display counter was filled with pastries, and Fig had finished the installation. She and Laura headed to the office to upload the software to connect the sensors and the cameras.
Katie busied herself measuring out coffee and starting the machines. When she turned back to him, a washrag in her hand, she cleared her throat. “So, you and Laura…?”
How she’d decided there was something going on when Laura had pretty much ignored him while she worked, he didn’t have a clue. “I’m just here to make sure she’s safe.”
“Yeah.” Katie’s mouth pressed into straight line. “That’s why she’s blushing and walking a little funny today.”
Preacher’s eyebrows shot straight up. His own face heated at her coarse words.
“I only work the mornings,” she said, “but I heard all about what you did yesterday.”
Hopefully, not everything. “I stopped in for lunch. Anyone would have stuck around to help after that rock was thrown.”
One eyebrow rose. “Yeah, maybe.” Her gaze went to the boarded-up window. “Edna at the hardware store said you bought the plywood for the window. And now, you’re here with your friend to install alarms… Seems like you’re taking a personal interest.”
He cleared his throat. “Just being neighborly.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So, you’re one of those bounty hunters.”
Preacher shifted on his feet. The woman was sure a nosy thing. “I am.”
“Catch anyone I’d have heard of?”
“Maybe.”
“Were you part of the crew that busted Barney Whitcomb?”
“I was hired right after that bust.”
“Nasty piece of work, that.”
He wasn’t sure if she was talking about Barney and his survivalist buddies or the raid on his compound, so he just nodded.
At that moment, the office door opened, and the sounds of Fig and Laura talking as they approached had Kate glancing their way.
Preacher drew a deep breath. The woman would’ve made a fine criminal interrogator.
Fig glanced at Preacher. “We have a meeting to get to.”
Preacher frowned and glanced at Laura. He didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone.
She shook her head. “You have work. I have work. And now, thanks to Fig here, I have a nice little button under my cash register that will alert the sheriff, if I need help. Go.”
Preacher glanced at Fig who gave him a wink.
“I’ll see you there,” she said. “Remember, I like the bear claws.”
Laura moved behind the counter, pulled out four boxes from under the counter, then began filling them with donuts. “Mixed, right? And kolaches?”
He nodded.
She glanced at Katie. “And would you mind getting him a cup of medium roast, black?”
“Sure thing, boss,” Katie said, and moved away to pour a cup.
Laura slid the boxes across the counter. “Here you go.”
“Aren’t you going to ring me up?”
She rolled her eyes. “After everything you and Fig did for me? Forget it.”
He leaned over the counter, intending to give her a quick kiss, but the bell above the entrance of the shop chimed. He closed his eyes for a second then gave her a wry smile. “I’ll see you later. If anything happens, big or small, call me.”
She gave him a solemn nod. “I will. Later.”
As he left, balancing the boxes and his coffee, he mused that a lot had changed in twenty-four hours. Yesterday, he’d been cussing himself for stumbling all over his dick. Today, he felt more confident that he was in a good place; that he hadn’t managed to make any mistakes where she was concerned. And look where he’d spent the night. If he’d managed to get through last night’s date with a kiss goodnight, he would’ve been more than satisfied. That he’d held her in his arms and knew what it felt like to sink all his inches deep inside her felt like a miracle. Like he’d won the Preakness, the Superbowl, and the Stanley Cup, all rolled up in one.
That good feeling lasted all the way to the office. He was whistling when he strode inside the trailer carrying the donuts.
“Yeehaw, I think our boy got laid.”
Chapter 7
Preacher nearly stumbled, and the stacked boxes tilted and began to slide away. Marti grabbed for the save and swung the boxes toward the table.
Lacey took them and chuckled as she set them down. “Marti! You know these guys don’t like to talk about their sex lives.”
Marti smirked as she plucked a kolache from one of the boxes and took her seat. She patted the empty folding chair beside her. “Preacher and I are tight. He knows all about my guy. It’s only fair he spills the beans on his new squeeze.”
“I liked you better when you didn’t like talking,” Preacher muttered. Still, he sat beside her and reached for a napkin and a honey-glazed apple fritter.
“Jesus Christ,” Cage said glaring at both women who were still grinning ear to ear.
“It’s all my fault, Bud,” Fig said. “I told them the two of you looked starry-eyed every time you passed each other. Plus, you both pulled up in your vehicles at the same time in front of the shop.” She shrugged when Preacher gave her an evil, sideways glance.
“We were not starry-eyed. That’s ridiculous.”
“And you didn’t want to give her a kiss before you left? Sure looked like you were leaning in…”
He’d had no idea she’d stuck around long enough to witness that.
Lacey and Marti chortled. “Damn, wish I could have seen that,” Lacey said, then drummed the table. “Another one bites the dust,” she sang.
Preacher huffed breath. “I was just sticking close to make sure she was safe.”
Marti elbowed him in the side. “There’s close and there’s—”
“Are we finished?” Cage asked. “Seriously. We have assignments to make, and I have two interviews with prospective hires today.”
“And you have to make it out of the office in time to go to Elaine’s OB appointment this afternoon,” Lacey said then licked her fingertips.
“Both new prospects are male, right, boss?” Dagger said, his tone hopeful.
“They are,” Cage said, his tone even. Then he crossed his arms over his chest. “Fig, let’s review the list.”
Fig slid her fingertips over the tablet in front of her.
“Any high value targets?” Cage asked.
“One. Frank Ludlow. Twice convicted felon out of Bozeman. Skipped his court date where he was supposed to stand trial for battery and attempted murder. Two-hundred-thousand-dollar bail.” She turned her tablet to show a picture of the guy. He had small beady eyes, pockmarked skin, a large hook nose, and a strip of hair maybe an inch and a half long on top of his bald head, looking like he was trying to grow a mohawk.
“We got anything on him? Have we reached out to any of his family or friends?”
She nodded. “I spoke with his sister. Linda Cameron has a vacation home near Yellowstone that’ll be forfeited if he isn’t brought in on time. She’s motivated to help find him. Gave me a list of what she called his ‘low-life friends’ for us to check out.”