“Time I have, sweetheart,” he said.
She frowned at him, and he catalogued the fact that she didn’t like his nickname. Fair enough. It was a little demeaning, and he held up his hands as if surrendering. “Sorry. I’m sorry. But I have time. I have a few jobs I do for the city, but we can go over that if you think you want to hire me.”
He cursed himself for being such a jerk. “I’m a nice guy, really.”
She nodded and ran her hand over her hair as if to smooth it back. Her hand moved to tuck her hair, and Gage appreciated her beauty in that moment. He finished his pizza, and said, “Okay, I’ll go and let you decide. You have my number.”
Shaking his head as his thoughts started berating him, he walked back toward the front door.
“You didn’t ask how much the pay was,” she said behind him.
He paused and turned back. “How much?”
“You tell me, Mister Sanders. I’m unfamiliar with hiring people to make sure I get home safe.”
“Oh, honey,” he said, unable to help himself. “I’m not just a person. I’m a man. A Marine. And if you hire me, Ricky will never bother you again.” He opened the door but didn’t step through it. “You decide what you need, and we’ll talk price.”
“But what would you charge?” she asked, her footsteps hurrying toward him as he stepped onto the porch. He took his shades out of his breast pocket and situated them on his face. It really was beautiful here, and he didn’t want to go back to Peach Tree. Or the city. Or Whistlestop Shores.
No, he liked Carter’s Cove, and he just needed to figure out a way to have enough work to stay here.
“Twenty per hour,” he said. “You decide how many hours you need me. Put together a sample schedule, that kind of thing, and we’ll talk again.” He went down her steps without looking back, because while he wanted the job, he didn’t want her to know he wanted the job.
He climbed on his bike and started her up, the loud roar of the engine filling this tranquil neighborhood. With his eyes hiding behind the mirrored shades, he could watch Sheryl, and even from a distance, he saw the distaste roll across her face.
Gage grinned as he backed out of her driveway and gunned his bike down the road. He honestly wasn’t a jerk, but he was who he was, and she should know it before she hired him. He drove around the island a bit, getting away from the larger crowds, which mostly stuck to the downtown area.
He stopped by the grocery store and bought apples and pears to make a tart, and he put together a delicious dessert. Through it all, he couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss on that porch with that blonde woman.
“What do you think?” he asked his dog, who lay right on the line he’d established for her, just outside the kitchen. Britta didn’t answer, of course, and he tossed her a small chunk of hot dog and went back to cleaning up while the tart baked.
And thinking about Sheryl.
“Enough,” he told himself as the timer went off and he pulled his tart out of the oven. It was perfect—and he didn’t want to eat a bite of it.
His first thought was to take it to Sheryl and apologize, ask her to please hire him, and he’d see her at two o’clock the next day. Instead, he left it to cool on the counter, and he went down the hall in his much more run-down beach cottage to go to bed.
After all, being on the ferry by six a.m. came pretty early in the morning.
“Morning,” he said to Walker Hardwicke as Gage stepped from land to ferry. He rode with Walker almost every day, rain or shine. The man never deviated from much of anything, and this morning was no different. He wore a Florida Falcons hat to cover his bald head, a pair of sunglasses though it certainly wasn’t too bright yet, and he wore a pair of black shorts with a white shirt that had the ferry logo on the chest.
“Morning,” he said, the clipboard in his hand already. He moved around and checked things off while Gage yawned. He worked the ferry system until one, which left him enough time to run home and make a sandwich for lunch before grabbing the tart and heading further inland to The Heartwood Inn.
Sheryl, shockingly, had not called or texted him last night. He’d probably scared her too much. Or offended her. Neither of which he actually wanted to do. Sometimes, he was just rough around the edges. Being raised by a single mother and following his pops into the military had done that to him.
His last ex-girlfriend’s words echoed through his mind. You can usually get more with sugar than vinegar.
So he’d get this shift over with, get his tart, and see if he couldn’t sweeten Sheryl Heartwood on the idea of hiring him.
Chapter Three
Sheryl admired the new bark as she pushed and swirled it around in the bed that bordered the scenic walkway between the swimming pools and the tennis courts. This wasn’t the most-used path, but it deserved to be beautiful too, for anyone who chose to come down this way.
She exhaled as she stood up, dusting her hands on her pants though she wore gloves. She loved getting her nails done, and the gloves were essentially to ensure she wasn’t just throwing money away at the salon.
Her back pulled, and sweat beaded on her forehead and the back of her neck. She wiped her face, sure she’d just scraped bark across the bridge of her nose. She didn’t care. She just needed to get cleaned up and get back to the office where she ended every one of her shits. She had paperwork to do, and schedules to attend to, and supplies to order.
She’d brought out a golf cart with a small wagon hitched to it, and she started gathering up her tools and trash. She’d spread sixteen bags of bark in the past couple of hours, and she pulled the golf cart to the last spot where she needed to pick up the empty bags. It was in the dipped curve of the sidewalk, and she literally felt like the only person on the grounds in that moment.
A sound clicked behind her, almost like the chain on a bicycle, and she turned to see who was coming so she could get out of the way.
The sidewalk remained empty. The branches of the tree farthest from her waved, but the air was absolutely still. No wind. Not even a breeze coming off the ocean. If she were down on the beach, there would at least be a whiff of a breeze.
Her skin crawled, and her heart started to pound in the back of her throat. She swiped the empty bags from the beds she’d barked and mashed them in her hands. She’d been thinking about Gage a lot since he’d roared off on that sexy, sleek, scary motorcycle.
That kiss.
Those hands.
The bike.
The man had a lot to admire, but he wasn’t really her type. At all. Not even a little bit. She didn’t like being talked down to, and she didn’t like the peace on her street being disrupted by a loud motorcycle.
Of course, the peace on her street had been disrupted with the appearance of Ricky’s truck parked outside her place. And now she was fairly certain he was just down the path, watching her.
She felt his eyes on her, and her fingers started to shake. Punching down the bags, she hurried to get behind the wheel of the golf cart. She’d sat down when she heard that clicking again, and she couldn’t help turning to look over her shoulder.
Sure enough, Ricky stood there, his hands on a the handlebars of a bike and a dark look on his face.
“Leave me alone,” she called to him. She started the golf cart and jammed her foot on the accelerator, telling herself not to look back. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.
She made it back to the groundskeeping shed, but Ricky knew where that was. He could simply ride his bike on over. Thankfully, Barry was there.
“Hey,” she said. “Can you clean this up for me? I have a conference call with my sister I need to get to.”
“Sure thing,” he said, still winding up a hose he’d been using. He flashed her a smile, but Sheryl couldn’t return it. She hurried into her office, intending to close and lock the door behind her. She’d hide out here for a little bit, then go up to the restaurant and get a late lunch. She could hang by the pool until Celeste left the hotel. Maybe she could s
leep at her sisters’ place tonight too. Gwen and Celeste shared a house, and they had a spare bedroom.
“There you are,” a man said, and Sheryl screamed, her arms flailing out in front of her as she turned back toward the hallway she’d just entered from.
The man there grunted, and her hands met something hard and metallic just before whatever he held hit the floor.
“It’s me,” Gage said over her screaming. “Gage.”
She cut off the shriek ripping her throat and stared at him. Their eyes met, and he certainly didn’t look happy. His gaze dropped to the floor, and Sheryl followed his lead.
“It that a…pie?”
“It was a tart, actually,” he said. “I made it for you to help this apology go more smoothly.”
Something clanged behind him, and Sheryl’s panic reared again. “Just come in,” she said, grabbing onto his elbow and hefting him into her office. She slammed the door behind him and locked it.
A sigh slipped from her lips, and she carefully avoided the splattered fruit on the floor as she moved over to her desk. There was barely enough room for the two of them, plus the mess on the ground, and Sheryl stumbled into her chair.
“You seem on-edge,” Gage said.
“I am on-edge,” she said acidly. “You would be too if someone was stalking you.” She gave him a dirty look. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to apologize,” he said, knocking on her desk as she didn’t have another chair in her office. She didn’t need one, as no one came in here with her. “And I was hoping you’d offer me the job.”
Sheryl scoffed, though she didn’t have anyone else for the position, and the thought of going home alone was absolutely terrifying. Wasn’t happening. She didn’t want to involve her sisters more than she already had, and Celeste would ask a thousand questions—and not only about the stalker.
“Okay,” Gage said, his voice a little too high. “I’m sorry about the tart. It was actually really good. I think you would’ve liked it.” He stepped over to the door and unlocked it.
“What kind was it?” she asked.
“Apple and pear.”
“Where did you get it?”
He stooped to pick up the pan, and Sheryl turned to get a roll of paper towels from the closet behind her. She crouched to help him as he said, “I didn’t get it anywhere. I made it.”
“You made it?” She stalled in the scooping of pie filling into the pan he held. “Like…you baked it?”
“That’s right.” His dark eyes sparkled, and Sheryl thought she could probably get lost in eyes like that. You know, if she even liked this guy, which she did not.
“When?”
“Last night.”
“How long does it take to make a tart like this?” He’d left her house about eight, and she knew he worked early at the ferry.
“I don’t sleep much,” he admitted.
In that moment, he became real, and Sheryl ducked her head and she continued to clean up. With all the filling off the floor and in the pan, he straightened. The mood between them sent beats of awkwardness into the air, and Sheryl wiped her hands as Gage clearly stalled at the door.
“I need you,” she finally blurted. “I don’t want to stay here and waste time, and I can’t go home by myself.”
Gage considered her, those dark eyes seeing so much more than she wanted him to. “Twenty dollars an hour?”
“Yes,” she said. “And I want you to come home with me and stay for dinner.” Her nerves fired through her system. “I want to take a nap, and you can chill on the couch or something. I have a cat, but she won’t come out.”
He simply looked at her, and she had no idea what he was thinking. He wore a perfect mask, and it was almost unnerving. “I have a dog I need to swing by and get, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind. I love dogs,” she said, her heart taking courage. “So you’ll do it?”
“What’s the job description, exactly?” he asked. “I feel like we need to go over specifics.”
“I don’t want to be alone,” Sheryl said, thinking that summed things up pretty nicely. “I don’t want to be afraid at work. Or on the way home from work. Or at home.” Her throat was so dry, but she continued anyway. “I want to go to the fun events on the island this summer, but I can’t, because I can’t come back to my house alone, in the dark.”
She swallowed and met his eyes. Sympathy swirled in his eyes, as well as a definite edge of darkness. Oh, yes, Gage Sanders was not to be trifled with, and Sheryl really liked that he was big and strong and capable of protecting her.
“So you want me to show up here at two, and take you home, and then do whatever you’re doing or whatever you want to do.”
“About that, yeah,” she said, her voice on the edge of a quiver. She hated that she’d allowed Ricky to unsettle her so much.
“All right,” he said. “If I can bring my dog along for some things, I’m in.”
“No problem,” Sheryl said. She reached for her purse. “Did you drive? Or do you have a helmet for your dog?”
Sheryl sat on her back steps, smiling as Gage threw a ball for his dog. The mutt could only find it in the sand every other time, but she sure seemed to be having fun. Sheryl had originally thought she’d take a nap, but she hadn’t been able to fall asleep with Gage in her house.
So she’d gotten up to find him dozing on the couch, his dog all wrapped up in his legs. It reminded her that Gage was human—until he’d spoken with his eyes still closed. “I know you’re there,” he’d said.
“I can’t sleep,” she’d said. “Let’s go out to the beach.”
He’d gotten up while she made lemonade, and now she sat in the shade while Britta rooted around in the sand for the ball she couldn’t find. Gage ended up collecting it for her, and they came back to the deck.
“Phew,” Gage said as he sank down. “It’s hot today.” He picked up his glass of lemonade and took a long drink. “What’s on the summer calendar tonight?” he asked.
“I think it’s the hot dog roast,” she said, her distaste obvious in her tone.
“And we don’t like hot dogs?”
“It’s all teenagers and singles,” she said.
“Are you not single?” he asked, glancing at her.
Heat filled her, making her face feel like it had burst into flames. “I am,” she said. “But the hot dog roast is for singles in their early twenties. Not for us.”
He chuckled even as he nodded. “How old do you think I am?”
“Um.” She didn’t need to embarrass herself. “I know you served in the Marines for a long time.”
“Two decades.”
“And that you retired recently.”
He looked at her expectantly.
“Forty?”
“Close,” he said. “Thirty-nine.”
“Guess my age,” she said, shaking her head so her hair fanned out around her face. She ducked her head and looked up and him through her eyelashes.
He laughed, and Sheryl didn’t know the man was capable of such a sound. “Oh, I’m not playing that game,” he said. “I’m smarter than you think I am.”
“Fine,” she said. “But I’m a decade too old for the hot dog roast, if that tells you anything.”
“What about the bonfire?” he asked, and if Sheryl didn’t know better, she’d say he was flirting with her.
Flirting.
Impossible. Gage Sanders didn’t know how to flirt.
But he knows how to kiss.
Flames burst along every inch of her skin, and she looked away. “The bonfire is acceptable.”
“Great,” he said, groaning as he stood. “I think I’m going to go try to make that tart again.” He left her sitting on the back steps, utterly confused. He had so many pieces to him, and she was having trouble fitting them all together.
She reached over and patted Britta absently. “He’s kind of complicated, isn’t he?”
The dog just continued to pant. Sheryl pul
led out her phone and scrolled through her texts until she came to Abby’s name.
I need more info on this Gage guy….
Chapter Four
Gage whistled as he went to work the morning of the bonfire. “Morning,” he said to Walker, just like always.
“What are you so happy about?” the man asked, checking something on that clipboard.
“Nothing.”
“Right.” Walker scoffed. “You’ve shown up for two mornings in a row, smiling and whistling.”
“I’m capable of smiling and whistling,” Gage said.
“I suspected so,” Walker said. “I’ve just never seen it.”
Gage didn’t know how to argue with him. It wasn’t like he had a lot to smile and whistle about on the ferry. In fact, he was supposed to look imposing and intimidating.
“Erika and I are going to the bonfire tonight,” Walker said. “You’re welcome to come.”
“Oh, I uh….” Gage didn’t know what to say. “I’m going with a client.” Of course, the way he’d been thinking about Sheryl wasn’t exactly businesslike. He’d spent a couple of afternoons and evenings with her, and it was much better than trying to find something to keep himself and Britta busy in his non-working hours.
No, they hadn’t done anything earth-shattering. Time on the beach, then making her a new tart before she whipped up a meal of steak and grilled vegetables. Yesterday, she’d shown him the maritime museum, somewhere he hadn’t been on the island yet, though he’d lived here for the past couple of years since he’d retired from the Marines.
Spending time with her was easy. He could talk to her, though they hadn’t done much more than share about their families. Fine, Sheryl had done most of that. Gage hadn’t said a whole lot about anything.
He didn’t exactly have secrets. He just didn’t see the point of hashing over things he couldn’t change.
A voice inside him that sounded dangerously like his mother told him that he’d have to tell Sheryl something at some point, especially if he wanted to have a relationship with her. But he wasn’t sure that was what was happening.
Bodyguard, Not Boyfriend Page 2
