Burn It Up(10)

All that left her with were theories. She watched his arm again, letting one hatch, feeling a flush creeping up her neck.

“Deposit ready?” he asked.

“Locked in the register.” Duncan liked to review each night’s receipts, then go to the bank himself. How had Casey put it? The man had a hard-on for accounting.

“Then let’s get you home.”

She pulled her jacket from the cubby under the counter. “Seems silly that you’re bothering to crash at the ranch—you’ll only be there for, like, four hours by the time the sun’s up.”

“Probably.” He pulled his sweater over his head. “But tomorrow’s a big deal. You think I’m leaving your side the first day your ex is loose?”

“He can’t know I’m staying at the ranch yet.”

“But why take chances?” Casey zipped his hoodie.

“Duncan’s not working three to two all by himself tomorrow, is he?”

“No, Raina agreed to come down and close—almost every night this week, in fact.”

Abilene’s neck warmed at that, some weird mix of shame and gratitude. Her former boss was more than happy to have retired from bartending. “That’s awful good of her.”

“I bet part of her secretly misses it. Must get boring, busting only Duncan’s balls all the time.”

She laughed. “Still, it’s insane how nice you’ve all been, bending over backwards to look after me and Mercy.”

Casey shrugged as he headed for the fuse box, then switched all but the security lights off. “That’s what you get for ever going to my brother for help in the first place, honey. Now you’re stuck with the whole goddamn bunch of us . . . Though the irony of it is, he helped you to begin with because you were carrying his old prison buddy’s baby. Now he’s trying to help protect you from the guy. Kind of f*cked-up, but hey, it’s Fortuity.”

“Effed up or not, I’m really grateful for everything. And I hope it doesn’t go on for too long.”

“Me neither. For your sake, that is.” He headed for the back and she followed. They grabbed their helmets by the door.

The temperature had dropped, way down to freezing to judge by how their breath fogged the night air.

Having already survived one trip on the bike, Abilene clambered aboard behind Casey with passable confidence. She was pooped, looking forward to bed, and hoping the baby was having what Christine called a “merciful night.” But the moment the engine started up between her legs, all that fatigue rattled away in the brisk February breeze. She squeezed Casey tight and had to remind herself not to confuse vibration with arousal.

It didn’t help. The noise and the wind swallowed her, left her feeling alive and awake in a way unique to being on a motorcycle. Suddenly it made sense, why people would want to live their waking lives on these things. So much freedom, without any windows standing between you and the world. All those stars overhead, no roof to hide a single one.

And a warm, strong man in your arms, she thought, hugging Casey’s middle. Did he get pleasure from feeling her at his back, as anything more than a reprieve from the winter air? She hoped so. She was a mom now, and his employee—thoroughly unsexy roles, but she hoped some shadow of his old crush had lingered.

Yeah, right. Not after he’d seen her give birth, seen her grouchy and frustrated at two a.m. She knew, from hearing Miah and Christine talk about him, Casey wasn’t historically a guy who stuck around and did the right thing. He was kind of like Abilene in that way—always adrift—except it sounded like he’d been in control of where he wound up. In addition to his record, he’d been a card counter in Las Vegas for a while, which struck her as the shadiest thing you could probably do for a living without actually breaking the law.

The wind found her hands through her knitted mittens, and she inched them into the pockets of his hoodie. He felt good against her. Warm, strong, and big. Big enough to make a girl feel feminine and protected, but not so big that it was intimidating.

As she held on to him, she wondered how it’d feel, being in his lap. Her thighs around his hips, his excitement right there, against hers. His hands on her waist. Just to feel a man like that again, right there against her . . .

Not just any man. Your boss.

What had James said to her, back when they’d been together? If you’d ever gone to college, you’d have lost a good professor his tenure. He’d been teasing, and at the time she’d laughed. She knew she had a type—you could only make the same mistake so many times before you had to admit it was more than a coincidence. But it wasn’t funny anymore. Not now that she had Mercy to think about.

The scattered lights of Fortuity fell away behind them, the bike’s headlamp the only glow to be seen until the lit gate of Three C appeared as the highway curved. This was her last night like this—closing up late, riding home out in the open, be it in a car or on this motorcycle. Tomorrow, she had to start watching her back. She tried to soak up every second that was left, but in a blink, Casey was parking by the fence.

He helped her down after he cut the engine. “Not so bad, right?”

“It was fun. Worth the frostbite.” The automatic porch light came on when they neared. Abilene dug her keys out of her purse as they mounted the steps and let them both inside.

“Man, we missed some good dinner,” Casey said, shutting the door behind them. “What do you think? Meat loaf? Pot roast?” The house was warm and smelled impossibly good, like gravy and rosemary. Someday Abilene would have a little home that offered Mercy this experience—comfort and hot meals and nice smells. A fireplace, holiday traditions.