“My shift doesn’t end until three.” She swallowed around the nerves clogging her throat and forced the edge of her mouth to quirk up. “By the way, thanks. I’d never have gotten the top up in time on my own.”
“No problem. I was on my way to Angie’s and I saw you waging war out here. It would have been ungentlemanly not to stop.” He smiled fully this time, dimples drawing deep lines through his face, clearly aware of their charm. “Relax, I won’t bite.”
“I suppose that would also be ungentlemanly.” Beth didn’t bother to hide her laugh. She could do this. She could interact with another human being like a normal person. Why this human being put her so on edge, she had no idea.
“Unquestionably. How long have you been working for Angie?”
Beth peeled herself away from the door. “Nearly five months now.”
“That long? I can’t believe we haven’t run into each other before now.”
“Well, I used to work the closing shift. I didn’t start working the morning shift until just recently.”
“Yeah, that explains it. Coffee after noon keeps me up half the night.”
“You could always order decaf.” Beth pulled one leg up underneath her so she could turn to face him better.
“Coffee without caffeine? Blasphemy. Like beer without alcohol.”
“Just plain wrong, of course,” Beth said, relaxing into the silly conversation.
“Surely you’ve never had the poor taste not to enjoy coffee in its natural state.”
“Of course not.” Mischief quirked her lips. “Strictly a tea drinker.”
“Water and mulch? You’re breaking my heart.” Braden’s face set into a serious frown. “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”
Laughter bubbled out of her. “No. I enjoy a salad as much as the next girl, but every now and then, you just have to have a steak.”
“Filet?” He asked, as if it were the most important question in the world.
“Mmm, not bad. But when I want a steak, it’s prime rib all the way.”
“Marry me?”
“Red meat is hardly a basis for a lasting marriage.”
“But it’s an excellent foundation for dinner. How’s tomorrow night?
He said it casually, as though they were still joking around, but his expression charged the space between them with an intensity the storm outside couldn’t match.
“I don’t think…” Beth hesitated. Since she’d started at the café, several of the customers had tried to chat her up—a few had even left their business cards—but she’d never given any of them a second thought. So what had changed?
“It’s just dinner. There’s a great restaurant just a few blocks from here. They have some of the best steaks in Portland.”
Beth forced herself to glance away before she said something stupid. She should turn him down. She was more comfortable than she’d been in a long time; things were finally starting to feel normal.
Don’t complicate things, Beth.
But even with all the logical reasons she could come up with to turn him down, she couldn’t force a polite refusal past her lips.
As if sensing the opportunity, Braden plowed forward. “You wouldn’t leave me to dine alone, would you?”
“It would probably be rather unladylike.” Oh God, she wasn’t saying no. Her life was far too complicated for this, eventually he’d have questions, want to know about her past. What then? Dammit. For the first time in a really long time she wanted to let a charming, handsome man take her out. There had been times when she wondered if she would ever feel that way again.
Not fair.
“Most unladylike.” Braden reached out and tucked an errant curl behind her ear.
Beth hesitated. She could feel the heat of her skin where his fingers brushed in retreat. Say no. Her brain supplied the words, but her lips stubbornly refused to cooperate. Instead, she dragged her gaze from his hopeful brown eyes and fixed them just over his left shoulder. “It’s stopped raining, we should get going.” Before he could say anything, Beth slid out of the car, relieved to be back out in the open.
***
Push or retreat? Braden wondered. Which would work best with this woman?
He had the damnedest feeling that if she said no, he wouldn’t get a second chance. For whatever reason, she was hesitating. He could exercise a little patience, put her at ease and try again.
“Come on, I’ll walk you back to Angie’s,” he said.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I was headed there anyway. Besides, I’ve got the umbrella.” Braden reached into the backseat and pulled out the umbrella she’d tossed as they’d thrown themselves into the car. “Got the keys? We’ll lock her up and get going before the rain starts up again.”
She fumbled, but produced the keys from her pocket. “Right here.”
“Great.” He reached in, pressed the lock button and swung the door shut. “Got everything?”
“Yeah.”
Braden gently cupped her elbow and steered her toward him; it was subtle but he felt tension seize her muscles beneath his touch. “Careful, there’s a man-eating pothole just to your right.” He forced a smile for her benefit. One day soon she’d tense in anticipation and pleasure, rather than nerves. His hands itched with impatience. It would be so easy to rest his large hands on her slender hips and back her up against the nearest vertical surface. He had to forcibly tear his mind from the way her hips would feel under his palms. He wasn’t a teenager, he could wait until she was ready or at least until they weren’t in public. Until then, plan B—conversation.
“Have you lived in Portland long?” They turned the corner out of the parking lot and headed up the street. People were beginning to emerge from shops and restaurants, hurrying up the sidewalks to get back to their cars.
“No. I moved here just a few weeks before I started working for Angie.”
“And before that?” They paused, waiting for the light to change.
She paused, as though considering her answer carefully. “Traveling mostly. I was pretty burned-out when I graduated from college. I decided to take a little time to decide what I really wanted before I threw myself into the workforce.”
Braden glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He’d bet everything he owned she knew exactly what she wanted to do. It was another question he’d find an answer to…later. “What? No ambitions toward a career in the coffee business?”
She laughed. “God, no! I love Angie, but there are days when I just…” She made a frustrated gesture with her hands. “Argh! Days when customers are never happy, the espresso machines are on the fritz, my feet ache and all I can think is that I am never, ever, going to wash off the smell of burned coffee.”
“And to think, you don’t even take advantage of all the free caffeine.” Bit by bit her nerves were fading—she smiled more, became more animated.
“You’re right. I should quit tomorrow.”
“Hell, don’t do that. Angie would have my head.” They rounded the corner; the Grind’s flag was waving from an overhang at the top of the next block. “You must like something about it. You’ve been there almost six months.”
“I like Angie. She’s easy to work for.”
“You’ve got to be kidding! Angie? Easy to work for?”
“No really. She’s tough, and she likes things done her way, but you always know where you stand with her and I always feel like she looks out for the people she works with. It’s nice.”
“That sounds like Angie.” Not quite ready to get back to the café, Braden slowed his pace a little. “But I still couldn’t work for her,” he muttered.
“She takes a lot of pride in her business. It shows in everything she does, from the way she plans the menus, to the way she maintains the café. It’s easy to see why she has so many regular customers.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything about the Grind is inviting, from the comfy sofas to the way the building was
restored. The café itself is amazing, the ceiling tiles and moldings all look original, everywhere you look there’s something interesting, something old. Even the door is interesting and different. I’ve worked there six months and I still find new details. Somebody took a lot of care with the building.”
Braden placed a careful hand at the small of her back and reached around her to pull the door to the café open. “That somebody would be me.”
“What?” She waited for him as he paused in the entry, propping the wet umbrella in the corner.
“Edwards Construction did the renovation. It’s our family business. The Grind was one of the first projects I worked on with my father. That’s how I met Angie.”
“You did an incredible job.”
Warm with pride, Braden trailed Beth into the kitchen.
“Hey, Ange.”
Angie glanced up, shrewd gaze assessing them in one quick sweep. “Oh, good. You haven’t drowned.”
“I’m sorry. Braden helped me get the top up, but we waited in the Jeep until the rain stopped. Did things get busy?”
“It’s fine. Come take over for me, I want to get the soup on the stove.” Beth went to work putting together what looked like a variety of sandwiches.
Angie grunted as she pulled a large pot of soup out of the built-in fridge.
“Let me help with that.”
Angie’s glare stopped Braden before he’d taken a half step toward her. “I’ve got it,” she snapped. “Been doing this long enough without you, haven’t I?”
Braden held his hands up in surrender and watched, more than a little amused, as Angie hefted the pot of soup onto the stove and flicked on the burner. While she was preoccupied, Braden tried to subtly slide toward Beth.
“Customers belong up front.”
Braden rolled his eyes. Damn, that woman had eyes in the back of her head.
Braden ignored her. “Is that tomato basil?” Angie’s silence was answer enough. “Aw, Ange, for me? You know it’s my favorite.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pressed a playful kiss to the side of her cheek.
“Back up, Edwards.” Angie angled her elbow into his ribs, forcing him to retreat. “You can go grab a table and buy a cup like everyone else.”
“I’ll just wait back here.” Braden met Angie’s disapproving glare with a grin. “Better company.”
“I resent that!” Marianne bustled through the door, carelessly tossing the tray she was carrying into the sink. Hands free, she pulled Braden’s face down for a kiss. “Hiya, handsome.”
“Out! This kitchen isn’t big enough for everyone.”
Braden opened his mouth to protest.
“Edwards…” Angie brandished her soup spoon in his direction, sending red droplets flying. He knew, without a doubt, she’d whack him with it.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go.” Braden let his dimples flash in a wicked grin at Angie’s smug expression. “As soon as Beth tells me what time to pick her up tomorrow.”
Beth paused in the middle of loading the sandwiches onto an empty display tray. “What?”
“Our date? You. Me. Steak. Tomorrow night, remember?”
Beth grasped the tray of sandwiches and made for the door. “I don’t think…”
Braden took a small step to block her path. “I’m not leaving until you say yes. Say yes, Beth.”
“Yes.” Her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open, as though shocked by her own answer. Before she could take it back, Braden charged ahead.
“Perfect. How’s seven?”
“Seven’s good. Where should I meet you?”
“I’ll pick you up. Let me just get a piece of paper to jot down your address.”
“I can meet you.”
“I don’t mind.” But even as he said it, he knew for some reason she did mind. It hardly mattered—she’d agreed to dinner, he didn’t care where he picked her up. “Okay, why don’t I meet you here? The Chop House is only a few streets up. If the weather cooperates we can walk.”
Marianne let out a low whistle.
Red blossomed across Beth’s cheeks, as though she’d just realized they had an audience. “Okay.”
Braden smiled, he would have gone for broke and given her a hug and a casual kiss goodbye but she had that stupid serving tray clutched in front of her like a shield. “Tomorrow, then.” He stepped fully out of her way and watched as Marianne followed Beth through the door, already shooting questions.
His laughter died in his throat when he caught Angie’s expression.
“Braden…” Angie let the threat hang in the air, lips pressed tight in disapproval.
“Relax, Angie. She’s a big girl.” His phone beeped twice, indicating a text message. He pulled it out and quickly checked the message.
Shit.
“Look, I’ve got to take care of this.” Angie’s expression didn’t change. Dammit, he didn’t have time for this. “I like her, okay? It’s only dinner. Would it make you feel better if I promised to have her back by midnight?”
“That’s not necessary.” Angie turned back to her soup, adjusted the temperature of the stove and began stirring furiously.
Regretting the sarcasm, Braden leaned over and gave Angie a quick hug and a soft kiss, “I’ll be careful, I promise.”
Angie glanced up at him, her face serious. “I can’t talk you out of this?”
“No.” The last of his humor fled. “Not this time.”
Something in his tone or expression settled her, because she gave him a quick nod of approval and removed a large plastic container from the cabinet next to the stove. “Give me a minute and I’ll send some soup home for you.”
Chapter Six
It took ten minutes for Braden to walk to his car from Angie’s; enough time to run the brief text message through his head fifty or sixty times.
“Eighty-seventh and Foster. Need pick up. C.”
According to Braden’s GPS, he’d have time to run the message through his head a couple hundred more times before he caught up with his brother. There was nothing menacing about the message, no 911 at the end indicating an emergency. The same text from any other member of his family would have sparked only an idle curiosity, maybe the anticipation of an entertaining story. But from Chase? It had him wondering how many stitches would be necessary.
Braden pressed the call button on the steering wheel and growled, “Dial Chase.” His call went straight to voice mail. Just like the last three times he’d tried. “Dammit, Chase.” He cranked the volume and let the Rolling Stones distract him as he drove across town.
Forty-five rainy minutes later, Braden’s GPS cut into “Paint It Black” to tell him he’d arrived at Eighty-seventh and Foster. He pulled up to the curb, flicked on his hazards and glanced around. The area was exactly what he expected: derelict and depressing. Of the dozen or so buildings lining the street, more than half were boarded up or condemned, several had broken windows and one had been gutted by fire some time ago. Under the afternoon’s gray mist, the entire street seemed to sag under the weight of age and circumstance. Braden could only imagine what kind of crime and human decay these buildings stood silent witness to on a day-to-day basis. He had no desire to stick around and find out.
Up the block on the left, the halogen lights from a tiny gas station and mini-mart glowed unnaturally bright against the dinge of the street. A few cars sat in the lot, but the gas station remained as still as the rest of the area. In fact, the only movement Braden detected was the flickering neon sign of a tattoo parlor a few hundred feet up the street. But no people and no Chase.
“Where the hell are you, Chase?” Cursing his brother for being so damn difficult, Braden reached into the backseat and grabbed his jacket. He was already frustrated and worried; add cold and wet and he’d be plain pissed off. Braden got out of the car, turned the collar of his jacket up and slammed the door shut. “I swear, Chase, if you aren’t dying, I’m going to kill you.”
Braden began picking his way up the block toward
the gas station. He’d work his way up, and if he had to, he could work his way back down on the other side. With any luck he wouldn’t have to figure out what to do if he got all the way back to the car without his brother.
He stepped closer to the row of buildings, pressing in under the narrow overhangs that provided a little protection from the wet weather. He maneuvered his way up the street, ducking his head into alleys and glancing into abandoned storefronts. He bypassed the tattoo parlor entirely—not a chance in hell Chase would set foot inside there. Maybe the gas station?
“Hey sugar, looking for some company?” A woman with bleach-blond hair and long, red nails stepped out of a narrow alley separating the tattoo parlor from the next building. She casually tossed a cigarette as she gave him an assessing once over.
“No thanks.” Braden ducked his head and tried to step around her. Keep moving, avoid eye contact.
“You sure, honey? You look a little cold, bet I could warm you up.”
Braden sidestepped to avoid the nails she tried to drag down the front of his jacket.
“I’m just looking for someone.” Ah, shit. Judging from the slow smile that curled her lips he’d said exactly the wrong thing. Every step he took to his left to try to ease around her she matched with a step to her right until they’d switched positions.
“Baby, we’re all looking for someone.” She advanced toward him, teetering on high heels that matched the hue of her nails. The cheap vinyl of her shiny black raincoat crinkling with each step.
Braden choked. Since they’d switched positions, the light from the gas station on the corner played across her face. Desperate to look at anything but the Adam’s apple and the five o’clock shadow, Braden caught movement down an alley to his left. Fifteen feet down his brother was leaning against a dumpster, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
Hunting Human Page 4
