To Catch A Player (Second Chance)

by Piper Sullivan

  “Agent Witherspoon just called. Andrea. We got the warrant to head down to Mexico and get Jarrod.”

  Her eyes rounded in surprise. “That’s great, Jackson!”

  How could I have avoided falling for a woman who got so excited for me? I could see now that I had been powerless from the beginning. “It is. Except we leave in sixty minutes. Fifty-six, now.”

  “Oh.” That one word held so much damn disappointment I thought I might drown in it. “I guess that means our barbecue sauce escapades have to be postponed.”

  “I’m tempted to have a literal raincheck drawn up, just to be sure.”

  Reese’s lips curled into a smile and she bumped her shoulder against my arm. “Be careful.”

  “I’m always careful, but now I think I have more of a reason to be. Don’t I?” It was the coward’s way to get her to talk. Now that the moment was here, though, I had no clue what to say.

  “Do you?”

  “I think I do,” I told her honestly and rested my hands on her shoulders so she had no choice but to look in my eyes and see what I was trying to tell her. If only my mouth worked like it should. “And when I get back, I think we both have some things to talk about.”

  There it was, that hint of fear I’d seen in her eyes a few times over the past few weeks. When she was happy or content and then she’d remember something, like it suddenly wasn’t real. Maybe she didn’t think it would last.

  All that mattered to me was that she doubted us.

  “You don’t have to say that, Jackson. You’ll be careful, which means you’ll be fine.”

  “You tellin’ me that or yourself, sweetheart?” My hands slid up and down her shoulders, trying to soothe us both for a situation I had no experience with.

  “Both, I guess.”

  “I will be fine, Reese. I’m damn good at my job.” She smiled softly but there was still that sadness there that I couldn’t get rid of. “I’m telling you that so you won’t be surprised when I come back and my first stop is your doorstep.”

  “Cake or pie?”

  “Yes. And you.” A sexy little blush stained her cheeks. “And to talk. The question is, will you be ready to listen?”

  She let out a shaky breath and I could see the uncertainty in her eyes just as I saw the desire that she wanted to be ready. That was enough. “I’m going to try like hell to be ready, but that’s all I can promise.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” I told her and pressed her body up against the brick wall of Black Thumb. The time for talking was over, we could pick that up when I got back. When life returned to normal.

  Right now, I had to get my fill of her—enough to last me a few days, maybe a week if Jarrod proved to be as elusive south of the border as he had been in the continental United States. And that was just what I did. I dove into her mouth and tasted her, teased her while my hands roamed up and down her back, making sure they remembered every inch of her.

  This kiss, it was more than goodbye. More than be careful. It was the start of something. I could feel it, dammit. And, yeah, it scared me, but I also wanted it. Badly.

  “Jackson,” she panted when I pulled back. “Be safe.”

  “I have to. How will I get another of those kisses if I don’t?” The last thing I saw before I went home, grabbed my go bag, and left for Mexico, was the sight of Reese’s sexy smile, soft and sweet and unsure. Vulnerable.

  Only one word came to mind. Mine.

  Reese

  Jackson was in Mexico. He wasn’t on vacation, and he wasn’t necessarily safe, either. He was down there in the modern-day wild west, chasing down a bad guy. It was his job and it was admirable work. Honorable work, even.

  But none of that made this any easier for me, because I was worried. Worried as hell. Worried like crazy, and the only thing I could do was hole up in my kitchen—at home or at work—and prep for the final competition at the end of the week. But cooking was the perfect job for a person who was a professional worrier, especially one worried about something like chasing down a dangerous killer in what was basically a war zone.

  “I can’t do this!” It was so damn frustrating, having all these feelings you couldn’t do anything about except feel them. Which brought on another, scarier realization. I really couldn’t do this, constantly worrying if Jackson would come back from work. It was too much, especially with Aunt Bette on my plate. “Damn.” And I’d been so close, too.

  Which meant it really was time to get back to work. For the moment, that meant stepping up my game if I wanted that first-place win this weekend. And I did. I really did. If I was doomed to be a romantic failure, then I was determined to become a professional success.

  My beef had been cooked to perfection last weekend, but the Texas beef classification was vague and that hadn’t even been the worst of my sins, in my own opinion. The guys who’d placed first and second had really kicked my ass on the sauce, which was disappointing and disheartening to admit since sauce was kind of my thing. What I needed to do was stop thinking so traditionally—and maybe do a little more thinking about food and less about men, which sounded remarkably like something Aunt Bette used to say when she’d caught me daydreaming as a kid. Which was always.

  Thoughts of adolescent daydreaming pulled me right back down the path of worrying about Jackson, wondering if he was safe or if someone had him in their sights. I wondered if he had a gun with him. If he was even alive. He’d been gone two days already and there hadn’t been any texts or calls—not that I had expected there to be, but I’d hoped.

  I had really, really hoped.

  And look where that got you, my conscious poked viciously. Hoping was what had gotten me in this predicament in the first place, hoping Jackson wanted to talk about us. A real us. A serious and real version of us.

  But he hadn’t called.

  I let out a heavy sigh and turned back to the ingredients laid out before me. I had bigger choices to make.

  “That sigh sounds like… a lot.” Rafe’s familiar voice brought a smile to my face and I turned to see him smiling back.

  “Hey. I thought you had an out-of-town training coming up?”

  “Two days after you take the pork ribs and the overall trophy, I leave. I need to judge this for myself.” He patted his ridiculously fit midsection and grinned. “Make sure everything is up to my standards.”

  I let out a loud laugh. “You have the culinary standards of a frat boy.” When he pretended to look offended, I shrugged. “Which is perfect, because that’s about where my skills are today.”

  “I’ll have my barbecue without the pity party, thanks.”

  I glared at Rafe, but there was no heat behind it because he was right. Absolutely friggin’ right. “It’s not pity,” I insisted stubbornly. “I’m feeling a little defeated, I guess, after this weekend. My meat was good, really damn good, but theirs was better. And the sauce completely blew me away. Me, Rafe!”

  “Sorry to say it, but the other sauces had more creativity than yours. That Bloody Mary barbecue sauce was fantastic. In a blind taste test, I would’ve guessed it was yours.”

  “Thanks, I think.” That only confirmed what I already suspected, but it didn’t make me feel any better. “I just need to do better. Hungry?”

  “Always.” Rafe patted his belly with a sigh and my shoulders relaxed. Rafe was a friend. He was slowly becoming the closest thing to family I had left. “You okay?”

  I nodded and tried to flash a smile I didn’t feel, but it failed. Miserably. “Yeah. More worried than I should be. About everything.”

  “Jackson?”

  I nodded. “Among other things, yeah.”

  “Bette?”

  I nodded again. “And the competition and my business. Everything,” I said again on an even heavier sigh that did nothing to lighten my burden .

  Rafe slung an arm around my shoulder and turned me away from my table of ingredients and toward the food on the stoves. “Why don’t you tell me all about it while you whip me
up something delicious?”

  I snorted a laugh. “Delicious? You were at the competition this weekend, maybe you ought to go somewhere else.”

  “Wow.” He stood and stared at me, his arms folded over his chest. “One third-place finish is all it takes to steal your thunder? I’m shocked and disappointed.”

  Even though I knew he was joking, his words hit their mark. “No, I’ve still got my thunder, dammit.”

  “That’s right,” he said and turned me toward the first simmer pot he saw. “Listen, Jackson will be fine. He worked cases worse than Jarrod’s all the time before coming here. He’s a certified badass. Almost as badass as me.”

  I rolled my eyes at the never-ending battle between police and fire departments. “Can we just agree that you’re both pretty and have great hair?”

  “Sure, as long as you also admit I run into burning buildings. No gun and no judge’s signature necessary.”

  “Fine, Rafe. I admit that you do your job and you do it beautifully.”

  He grinned, pleased at my half-assed attempt at praise.

  “Seriously, he’ll be fine. So stop worrying.”

  “I’m not worried,” I told him as I whipped up a shredded prime rib sandwich. “Today’s special, just for you.”

  “Damn, I love Tuesdays and that leftover prime rib.” He smiled even as his stomach growled, and that was all the praise I needed. “Extra sauce, thanks. And some of that bacon jam, if you’ve got any left over.”

  “Just made a few dozen jars last night.” Okay, it had been twelve dozen jars, but no one needed to know that. My obsessions were my own, thank you very much.

  “Too bad you couldn’t have created this sauce before the calendar nonsense, you could have saved us all.”

  “And deprive myself of the fun of watching you all avoid the women in search of eye candy? And said eye candy? I don’t think so, Rafe, not even for you.”

  “Traitor.”

  I shrugged. “Doesn’t count when it’s for charity.”

  “Interesting rules of yours, Reese. Tell me more.”

  I flipped him off and Rafe just laughed. “Keep messing with me and I’ll put ketchup on this.”

  His face churned in disgust, just as I knew it would.

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “Jackson had better hurry up and get back. I don’t like this cruel woman you’re turning into, threatening such awful things.” The man had a serious hate-on for ketchup, and especially on barbecue sandwiches.

  “This isn’t because of him, Rafe, this is what you get when you torture the hand that feeds you.” Smiling, I handed him the plate holding the big sandwich dripping with barbecue sauce and two handfuls of thick-cut sweet potato fries. “That’s just fun.”

  “Just an idea: Maybe tell Jackson how you feel the next time you see him? Save the rest of us this whole sad bastard routine.”

  “Jackson knows I like him. We spend enough time together and his ego is intact. Believe me.”

  Rafe sighed. “You’re in love with him and he’s in love with you, but you’re both too scared and too stupid to do anything about it.”

  I frowned, not understanding his anger. “Hit close to home?”

  “Hell, yeah. Don’t be stupid, Reese. Jackson is a good guy and he’s invested in this town. He’s here to stay.”

  I nodded because I understood what Rafe was saying, but that didn’t help when it came to one inescapable truth: Jackson wasn’t here now. And there was no guarantee the ATF, the FBI, or even the Marshals wouldn’t offer him the opportunity of a lifetime. “We’ll see.”

  Reese

  “Thanks for spending some time with me today, Aunt Bette. I had a good time.” I flashed a small smile in the face of her confused expression.

  She clearly wanted to correct me and tell me she wasn’t my aunt, but Bette couldn’t be entirely sure. “Thank you for visiting with me, young lady. It was a special moment that was all ours.”

  Young lady. No different than ‘hey you, over there’ or any other vague greeting. As far as she was concerned, that was who I was—just some woman who had nothing better to do than interrupt her time with the friends she did remember.

  I smiled gently and stood. “Thanks for your time,” I told her and turned my back to her, hiding the way her words lanced at me like a knife. It was time to get out of this room and out of this building before I did something I hadn’t done in years—break down and cry.

  “How did your visit go today?” I swear, the administrator was a ninja, jumping around without making a sound.

  I shrugged off the thoughtful question. “She’s not getting better and there’s nothing I can do about it, so it went as well as can be expected.”

  “It’s not completely hopeless,” she said gently. “She still has good moments.”

  No matter how good her prognosis was or how logical the other responses were, it just wasn’t worth it. “I know you say that, I just wish a few of those moments took place when I was here and able to appreciate them.” I realized what a bitchy statement that was and paused. “Sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”

  “It’s all right. This is hard on everyone.”

  Understatement of the century. “Thanks again. For everything.” I rushed through the exit before she could find anymore words of encouragement that wouldn’t have any such effect on me. Nothing but time would make this close to okay, and it would be a long damn time before that happened.

  So, I headed back to the only thing in my life that still made sense. Work.

  An hour after visiting with Bette, I had the kitchen good and steamy, with several pots of ideas simmering away while I got biscuit dough ready for tomorrow. It would be a nice surprise, since I’d be sweating it under a plastic tent in the Texas heat all day. It was almost enough to make me forget.

  Forget the gossip that had started a couple days ago—the gossip that said Jarrod had arrived at the county jail nearly three days ago, that he was making calls to any and everyone in town who might be able to scrape together enough for his ten million dollar bail. It was all anyone could talk about.

  That and wondering where the hero detective was who’d hunted him all the way down to Mexico and brought him back to make sure his victims received justice. The longer he stayed away, the more they speculated about what had happened. Odds were on Jackson falling in love with a Mexican heiress and retiring from law enforcement.

  I didn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it, but with nothing else to go on, I was left with the most likely scenario. If something bad had happened, Tyson or Antonio would have said something, and Rafe had already stopped by to let me know Jackson was alive and uninjured. The knowledge should have made feel better, knowing no harm had come to him while doing his job, but it didn’t. Instead, it made me angry.

  Angry that I’d fallen for his lies again.

  Angry that I’d fallen for him. Again.

  Pissed off that he hadn’t called. Or texted.

  Even more pissed off that I was surprised he’d done it.

  Again.

  Well, I didn’t need to see the message written in neon lights, it was received. Loud and clear.

  It was a good thing I’d found out now, anyway, before I did something stupid like track him down to make sure he was all right and not traumatized from whatever had happened in down in Mexico. Instead, I turned my focus to the competition and to the real idea of selling my own line of southern sauces. I wanted to win tomorrow, and not just one or two specialty categories—I wanted the big prize.

  “Hey. You’re here.” There was surprise in Maven’s voice and I turned, not bothering to hide my emotions. “How is Bette doing?”

  “The same,” I told her honestly. “Anything happen I need to know about?”

  “Besides selling out of just about everything? Nope. Glad to see you’re already replenishing the supplies.” She laughed at the glare I sent her and that one act of familiarity, of sameness, made me smile.

  “That’s good news.
I’m making biscuits for tomorrow.”

  “Very cool. I’ll go close out the register before I head home.”

  “Thanks,” I told her, and whatever else I’d been about to say died at a loud pounding on the back door. “What in the hell is that?”

  “Maybe Prince Charming is hot and horny for you.” She wiggled her eyebrows and made a shooing motion for me to answer the door.

  “That’s doubtful.” Still, I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

  Janey stood there with a teenaged assistant, surrounded by black bags filled with what I assumed was photography equipment.

  “What in the hell is all this, Janey?” The woman must have lost her mind if she thought she could interfere with my kitchen right now.

  She froze and sent me a confused look. “I told you we were doing the Hometown Heroes photo shoot the night before the final cook-off. That’s tonight. Right?” She looked to her assistant for acknowledgment and he nodded.

  She had told me, but with everything else, I’d forgotten. And because I didn’t know Jackson was available. To shoot. I didn’t have to see him to know he’d entered my space because I felt him, the way his very presence sucked all the oxygen out of the room. The way his big body took up all the space. “Fine. Do your shoot, but stay out of my way.”

  “Sure.” That one word from Janey was tinged with uncertainty and I instantly felt bad.

  “Sorry, Janey. I forgot. Just tell me what you need and I’ll do my best to work around you.” It took all the willpower I had not to look up at Jackson when he entered my orbit, but I managed. “Okay?”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

  “Great.” It took close to an hour for Janey to get lights set up in two different spots and I managed to work around her and her small crew, for the most part. I even managed to avoid Jackson. For the first hour.

  “Hey.” He stood less than a foot from me, towering over me and blocking my light.

  “Hey,” I said, that one word short, choppy, and angry. “I’m glad you’re okay.” That much was true. I was still angry and hurt, but there was now relief where the worry had been.