Colton Storm Warning

by Justine Davis

  He tried to focus on what they were here for. “We’re lucky it hasn’t gotten too cold yet, or they’d be really sluggish, and clustered in deep water.”

  “So they’re prepping for winter?”

  “Feeding up,” he said with a nod. “Just in different places. Springtime, you can catch them as fast as you can reel in and recast just about anywhere. It’s like a frenzy.” As they reached the lake’s edge, he scanned the water. There were several boats off the point, so the fish must still be striking.

  “Is that a problem?” Ashley asked, looking at the other anglers.

  At least she’d thought about it. That was progress, he supposed. “No. I know who they are.”

  She blinked and turned to look at him. “All of them?”

  He nodded. “They’re all locals or regulars I’ve seen before. Typical, this time of year.” At her expression, he couldn’t help chuckling. “You hang out in big cities too much,” he teased.

  “There are advantages,” she said, “but disadvantages, too. I like the idea of knowing all the people around you.”

  Yet again, she surprised him. But he kept it to himself as he pointed at a spot a few yards out in the water. “There’s some brush right around here that ends up underwater when the lake’s full, like now.”

  “Good hiding place,” she said.

  “It’s a little tough to cast out that far from here onshore, but it can be done.”

  “Shall I take that as a challenge?”

  He gave her a sideways look. “Not from me. I don’t generally fish from here. I’m too lazy when there’s a perfectly good boat around.”

  Something shifted in her expression, and he couldn’t read it at all. “Sorry to disrupt your routine.”

  His words could have been taken as a complaint, although he couldn’t see why she’d think something like that would be important to him now, on the job. But something in the dark depths of those chocolate-brown eyes had him grabbing for a response. And the moment it came out, he regretted both the words and the rough note that had come into his voice.

  “There’s nothing about you that’s routine.”

  To his relief, she didn’t reply to his ill-advised admission. She just gave him a curious look, as if she weren’t quite sure how to interpret what he’d said. He couldn’t believe that. Hell, she was probably more than used to guys hitting on her. She probably—

  Damn.

  Hitting on her?

  Client. Protocol. Rules of conduct.

  The warnings pealed out in his mind. And once he’d led her to the spot where she could cast out a lure and still be mostly hidden, he backed away from her. Again, she gave him that curious but unrevealing look.

  He scanned the area behind them, listening carefully. There was a slight breeze today, but nothing that would have masked the approach of anything the size of a human being.

  He turned back in time to see her finish rigging the pole and the bright spinner lure he’d suggested she try first. She’d done it competently. More than competently.

  “Who taught you to fish?”

  “My father, first. He likes sport fishing, although he’s more of a salt water guy.”

  Of course he was. Probably prize marlin fishing or something.

  But she’d said first. “And second?”

  “A tribal member in Alaska was generous enough to share some of their knowledge with me. Once I proved I was up to it, of course.”

  She flicked a glance at him with those last words, and he suspected she thought she was having to prove herself again. And he supposed, in a way, she was. She was certainly shattering most of those assumptions of his.

  “Why were you in Alaska?”

  “I spent a couple of months visiting an isolated area that needed a medical clinic built, so the one doctor they had would have a central location and facilities.” She smiled then, as if that memory were a special one. And that made him want to know more. As if what was special to this woman was important to him.

  “You spent two months there?”

  “I hadn’t planned to, but Dr. Kallik changed that. She’s brilliant. In those two months, she taught me a lot about rough-and-ready medicine.” She gave him another sideways glance. “I even assisted her on a couple of operations, when she needed more hands.”

  He nearly gaped at her. Yet he could see it—she was cool, calm and brilliant herself. What other unexpected skills did she have?

  His mind immediately careened into the gutter and he clamped his jaw tightly to keep from letting something beyond foolish tumble out of his mouth. He watched her silently. She was obviously familiar with the equipment, and while her first cast was off a bit, the next was better. But she still wasn’t happy with the location. He saw her studying the top of the brush that stuck up out of the water, and the next thing he knew she startled him completely by wading hip deep out into the water.

  “If I’d known you were going to do that, I would have brought waders.”

  “I’ll dry,” she said briefly, clearly unconcerned.

  Chalk another one up in the surprise category. Ashley Hart was just full of them. She didn’t look at him but was completely intent on her next cast. This one she apparently put where she wanted for she let it drop. He would have, too, if he’d hit that spot.

  There was something about her intensity, her focus, that had him thinking odd things. Like about the amount of research she must do to be as knowledgeable as she appeared. About her apparent ability to see both sides of an issue, even one where she had strong feelings or convictions. About the love in her voice when she spoke of her parents, as if they were an ordinary, loving mother and father instead of one of the richest couples in the world. Although that, he supposed, said as much about them as her.

  He nearly laughed at himself when he felt a jab of envy. His own father had been far too busy and involved with the business to take his son, or any of his kids, fishing. His mother told him he’d always had plans to teach him, but after the triplets had been born his dad had, understandably Ty supposed, focused utterly and entirely on making enough money to support a family that had suddenly numbered seven.

  Then he slid into simply watching her. He didn’t know how much time had passed when a faint rustle behind them snapped him out of his fascinated scrutiny, of her focus, her concentration, the grace of her movements, the curves of her slender body. His head snapped around toward the sound, and a moment later, he saw a pair of gray squirrels busily foraging for the nearing winter. He scanned farther, saw nothing, went back to the squirrels. He heard the same sound again, as one of the animals dug through some downed leaves.

  Breathing easily again, he turned back. He glanced at his watch as he did so, startled to see well over an hour had gone by. He looked up as Ashley let out a whoop of triumph. In short order, she reeled in a respectably sized white bass. His instinct was to help her unhook it, but he quashed it. He had the feeling she wouldn’t appreciate help she didn’t need. He did dig a stringer out of the fishing gear bag he’d brought along.

  “Move fast,” he suggested. “If they’re striking, they’re hungry.”

  “So am I.” She was grinning so widely he couldn’t help but grin back at her.

  She did as he’d suggested while he put the fish on the string and dropped it back into the water. She caught three more in short order, while Ty stood there marveling at the pleasure she took in the simple act. And she never even blinked at handling the fish. Clearly, she wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. Or her feet wet.

  “Nice work,” he said as they packed up the gear. “We’ll eat well tonight.”

  Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know much about bass, but I’ve heard...”

  “People who don’t like the taste don’t know how to fix it. More exactly, they don’t know how to trim it.” She arched those delicate brows at him. He g
rinned at her. “You caught ’em, I’ll cook ’em.”

  “You cook?”

  “Only things I’ve hunted down myself, like any good caveman,” he said, deadpan.

  She burst out laughing. Yeah, he liked that. Too damned much.

  “Then the real question is, who gets to clean them?” she asked.

  “We’ll split them up.”

  “Before we split them up?”

  It was his turn to laugh, and she looked just as pleased as he’d felt when she had. With the feeling that he was wading into water much deeper than the thirty-five feet of the lake, he turned and led the way back to the cabin.

  Chapter 21

  “Any reason not to use this?”

  Ashley blinked. She’d been watching with fascination as Ty worked. He seemed at home in the kitchen—this one, at least—and it was a pleasure to watch. Of course, he was a pleasure to watch anyway, doing anything.

  Except ordering you around, she reminded herself sternly. And, if she were honest, it also bothered her when he left the cabin periodically, with his usual cautions and reminders about how to contact Elite in case of emergency. He was doing regular reconnaissance, which reminded her of why she was here. Why that was upsetting, beyond the obvious, she didn’t want to think about.

  What, you want to pretend you’re just off on a vacation with him?

  But now he’d stopped in the middle of prepping what would apparently be a sauce for the fish, holding up a bottle of white wine. It took her a moment to realize he was asking if she had any problem with alcohol.

  “Oh. No.” She wondered why he’d asked, if it was routine or if he suspected she had a problem. She did not. She almost had, when she’d been at college and it had been rampant, but she hated the aftermath so much she rarely drank more than a couple of drinks in an occasional evening.

  She’d watched with interest as, after they’d cleaned, scaled and filleted the fish, he’d shown her the reddish flesh along one edge. “That’s what gives it the taste some people don’t like,” he’d explained, and trimmed it away.

  Now he poured about a cup of the wine into the pan and raised the heat. He’d sautéed the salted and floured fish in the skillet and then covered it while he peeled and cut up garlic and a lemon, half of which he squeezed for juice, the other half he cut into thin slices. He didn’t consult a recipe, so he’d clearly done this before.

  “Have to settle for dry oregano, since it wasn’t on the stocking list,” he said, as he added butter to the pan, then the seasonings.

  “It already smells wonderful,” she said.

  And when she took her first bite, her eyes widened. “Oh. My, that’s good.”

  “Must you sound so surprised?”

  It was such a perfect imitation of her own intonation earlier that she nearly burst out laughing. “Touché,” she said, and took another bite. The flavors were an amazing blend, and the fish light and flaky. “Except for my mom’s swordfish, this may be the best fish dinner I’ve ever eaten.”

  “Considering where you’ve likely eaten, I’ll take that as a great compliment.” Then, with a warm smile, as if he’d liked that she’d given her mother the exception, he added, “And I’m sure your mother’s swordfish is amazing.”

  “You—” She cut herself off in more than a little shock when she’d been about to say, You’ll have to try it sometime. She never ever broached that subject with a man. Never brought up the possibility of taking him home to meet them. It was part of her vetting process. If a guy asked to meet her parents within the first three months, she knew he was after something.

  But that was a guy she was dating. Not a guy her parents had hired to protect her.

  “She loves to cook,” she said instead, rather inanely. “I think she looks forward to their cook’s vacation more than he does.”

  She was watching his face to see if he reacted to the fact that her parents had a full-time chef. He didn’t. Normally she would have thought he’d developed an excellent poker face for his work, but she’d seen him surprised—and annoyed.

  The real question was, if he did have that poker face, why was he letting her see that surprise, that annoyance...that humor? He wasn’t at all the stiff-lipped sort she was used to on her parents’ security staff. Yet he seemed no less trained, and certainly no less capable. Perhaps the more personable, more human approach was part of his style, to put clients at ease.

  That he was always on the job was pounded home when, after the kitchen was cleaned up in a quick joint effort and he’d started a fire in the fireplace, he left again, this time stepping out into the fading light of dusk. She wondered if he really expected to find something—or someone—or if it was just part of the routine. Part of being thorough.

  When she heard him coming back, she quickly sat down near the crackling fire, so he wouldn’t come in and notice she’d been pacing the floor the entire time he’d been gone.

  “Ever thought about a guard dog?” she asked when he came in.

  “Often,” he said as he shed his jacket. She looked away from the weapon on his belt. She wasn’t repelled, it was a tool of his trade, nothing more, but once again it reminded her of why they were here. Why they were together at all. “My boss is thinking of adding one or two to the staff.”

  “My parents have a pair at home. They’re wonderful.”

  He walked over and laid another log on the fire, then sat in the chair opposite her nearest the hearth, probably for the warmth after his trek outside. “What are they?”

  She quashed the silly wish that he would have sat next to her on the couch and answered evenly, “Malinois.”

  He nodded. “Good dogs. Smart, strong, quick and if need be, lethal.”

  “You forgot beautiful and intense.”

  He smiled. “That, too.”

  “It always amazes me how they can go from playing to on duty in a split second.” Kind of like you.

  She inwardly rolled her eyes at herself as she compared him to a dog. Then again, every adjective they’d applied to the animals applied to him, too. And she didn’t know which unsettled her more, the lethal if need be part or the beautiful part.

  Of course, what unsettled her most was the thought that the lethality might be necessary. She wasn’t used to walking around worrying about everything around her, watching constantly for anything out of the ordinary, looking for threats. And she didn’t like it. But she also knew the fact that nothing had happened was no guarantee nothing would. There were times when, as much as she had come to like this place, she understood that isolation wasn’t always a good thing. Because the only targets out walking around were her, and Ty.

  “What’s Wichita like?” she asked abruptly, before she said something seriously stupid.

  “Biggest city in the state. Started as a trading post on the Chisolm Trail. Incorporated in 1870. Nicknamed Cowtown, and Wyatt Earp was the law there for a while.”

  She blinked at the four-sentence history lesson. “Wow.”

  “But now,” he went on, stretching out those long strong legs, “it’s the Air Capital of the World.”

  “Air capital?”

  “Beechcraft, Cessna, Stearman all started production there in the early days. Learjet, Airbus and a few others followed.”

  “I had no idea.” She studied him for a moment. “I suppose that doesn’t surprise you.”

  He shrugged. “I only know it because I live there, and was born in Kansas. Ask me about, say, Cleveland, which is about the same size, and all I’d know is it’s on Lake Erie and home of the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.”

  “More than some would,” she said with a smile.

  For a brief moment, he stared at her, and she wondered why. Then she saw a muscle in his jaw jump and he looked away, into the fire.

  Into the fire.

  She’d heard the phrase countless times, in
various contexts. But at this moment, sitting here with him, so close and yet so distant, she could only think of one. She’d been raised to have the courage of her convictions, but also to be beyond cautious about people who would mask their true goals behind a facade of friendship or caring. She’d been burned more than once, but she’d learned. Every time she’d learned, become even more cautious, until her walls were high and solid.

  Yet here she was now, part of her wanting to leap right into the fire she sensed between them, the fire hotter even than the one he was staring into. She’d been attracted to men before, but she rarely allowed it to take root because so many times it went sour, or she found out they’d had a plan all along, that usually involved access to Hart money.

  It had never been as powerful as this. So powerful all her usual walls and defenses seemed useless. All her self-lecturing, all her telling herself it was the circumstances, the imposed isolation that was causing these feelings were failing miserably.

  “What was it like, growing up an only child?”

  She gave a start, both because of the abrupt and unexpected question and because his voice had sounded just like hers had when she’d asked about Wichita to keep herself from saying something she’d regret. It took her a moment to formulate a reply, which in itself felt odd. She usually had quick answers to almost everything. This man truly did discombobulate her.

  “Good and bad,” she finally said. “Good because you got all the attention, bad because you got all the attention.”

  He smiled at that, and the odd tension eased a little. “I get that. Being one of six gave me a lot of cover.”

  “It was hard,” she confessed, “being the sole focus of all their hopes and expectations. At least, until I realized that their biggest hope trumped all the rest.”

  “Which was?”

  “For me to be happy.” She was a little stunned. She almost never talked about that with anyone.

  He looked at her steadily then, one corner of his mouth curving upward. “Consider another assumption blasted. Your parents sound great.”

  “They are.” That, at least, she could say with full faith and force.