Hot as Hell (Deep Six 0.5)(43)

Shiiiiittt!

And this was why Bran insisted his relationship with Maddy remain exactly as it was. She provoked the part of him he was most ashamed of.

“One of the girls just crossed the bridge and is headed our way,” Mason said, his big shoulders tense as he angled his rifle through the open front door and scanned the face of the fort for additional movement.

“One of the girls?” Maddy’s voice broke, the sound of the fear she’d been holding at bay bubbling up through the crack.

Bran could feel her come up beside him. She spotted the blond girl with the ponytail hustling over a little dune at the same time he did.

“It’s Sally Mae!” she cried, throwing an arm around his waist and hugging him tight. “Oh, thank heavens she’s okay!”

Her relief, her excitement was catching. So even though he knew better, he hugged her back. Just as he’d suspected, the instant he had her in his arms, he didn’t want to let her go.





Chapter 8


7:36 p.m.…

“Oh, come on!” Maddy huffed. “It’s not like I asked you to skin your neighbor’s cat. So you can stop with the googly eyes. I just asked to come with y’all to rescue Donna and Louisa.”

“No.” Bran shook his head while sliding out the magazine on his machine gun to check how many bullets he had left. Or at least that’s what Maddy assumed he was doing since that’s the reason the movies always gave for that particular move.

Sally Mae had managed to escape her captor’s clutches when he was dragging her across the grassy parade grounds inside the fort. The way Sally Mae told it, a bit of cat and mouse had ensued with him chasing her, and her hiding in various places before she was eventually able to make it to the entrance. Her pursuer had stopped there, not daring to follow her further. And after seeing the light on in the ranger’s station, Sally Mae had headed straight for it. Now she was sitting on Rick’s bed, drinking the bottle of water Maddy had pressed into her hand and watching them with wide, red-rimmed eyes. But she was especially watching Bran, who was being obstinate and tyrannical and…and…male.

Truly, Maddy was tempted to smack the handsome right off his face. Of course, if she was being totally honest with herself, some of her temper might have a smidge to do with that whole “pen pals” comment.

I mean, pen pals? Really?

If he believed that, he was crazier than a catfish carrying a canteen, as her grandma used to say.

“Those girls out there don’t know you from Adam.” She pointed to the front door. When he simply lifted a brow, she curled her finger into a fist. “What if they don’t understand that you’ve come to save them?” she continued, infusing her voice with determination. “And what if that causes them to do somethin’ silly? Like, not obey your orders? Or run off the first chance they get? Or…or…” She searched her brain frantically, but it’d run out of examples. “Or somethin’ else equally foolish?” she finished with far less oomph than she would have liked.

“That’s a lotta hypotheticals,” he said.

Her jaw clenched. It would be so easy. Just pow! And there would go the handsome. In her fantasies, at least. In real life, he’d probably look even more tough and delectable with a fat lip. Ugh.

He slammed the magazine back into his weapon. The move made his biceps bunch, drawing Maddy’s attention to the tattoo inked onto the skin on the inside of his forearm. For RL the scrolling black letters read. And she knew it was both a testament and a promise to a fallen teammate. Rusty Lawrence’s horrific and untimely death was the reason Bran and the others had retired early from the Navy. And their pledge to Rusty to live life to its fullest was the reason they were all now determined to find the lost treasure of the Santa Cristina.

And see! That’s not the kind of stuff people who are mere pen pals share with each other!

As soon as she had the thought, she brushed it away. Stay on target. Stay on target. Right. When all else fails, fall back on Star Wars references.

“Bran…” She took a step toward him. Up close, she was struck again by just how powerful he was. Big enough to hunt a bear with a switch. Another of Grandma Bettie’s favorites. A smarter gal would’ve taken one look at his scowl and backed down. But Maddy had been dealing with overgrown buttheads her whole life. “I know the ins and outs of Fort Jefferson. I have a mental blueprint”—she tapped her temple—“right up here.”

“And how’s that?” Bran asked, but she could tell he wasn’t really interested. He was just humoring her while he planted his foot on the kitchen chair and checked the knife strapped to his calf.

“I studied up,” she said. “I was plannin’ to give the girls an in-depth tour and history lesson tomorrow.”

And there you go! This trip wasn’t totally about me bein’ selfish and wantin’ to get within spittin’ distance of you. I was goin’ to make it educational too.

Her conscience immediately answered with a snidely worded, Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, sister.

Sometimes her conscience really needed her smarty-pants ass kicked.

“No,” Bran said again. Just that single syllable spoken with the utmost authority.

Maddy wanted to shove her hands on her hips and scream, Well, who the hell died and made you King Shit? But she’d learned long ago that another old saying was true: It was easier to catch a fly with honey than vinegar.