Not a Hero

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Hey, old man.” Bull handed Gabe a beer and looked toward Caz. “He really hates when you won’t let him draw blood.”

  “Yeah, well, you’d think a health professional would be more careful about hazardous waste. It’s a park, after all.”

  “You’d think.” Laughing, Bull headed after Caz.

  Drinking his beer, Gabe looked around to assess the aftermath of the fight.

  Townsfolk were dragging the PZs to their feet and shoving them toward the parking lot.

  The rest of the people hadn’t moved. Were shaking their heads.

  Probably at the crappy behavior of their Chief of Police. Fine example you just set, MacNair. Gabe raised his voice. “Sorry for the brawl, people.”

  “Hell, Chief, it was a great fight,” someone called.

  After a second, Gabe realized the buzz of conversation was enthusiastic. Appreciative.

  “…fine teamwork. I liked the way Bull tossed the idiots to the chopper pilot for disposal. Nice.”

  A young man bounced on his toes. “Did you see the chief’s uppercut? Sweet.”

  “Told you MacNair was a sourdough to his toenails.” Grinning at an older woman, Tucker rocked back and forth on his boots.

  Off to one side, two teens were re-enacting their favorite parts of the fight.

  Crazy Alaskans.

  Rubbing his aching ribs, Gabe sat down on a newly constructed picnic table.

  “Do you need medical attention?” The deep smooth voice came from one side.

  He knew that voice. Gabe turned.

  It was Zachary Grayson, dressed in his usual all black. No wonder the guy in black had looked familiar.

  “What are you doing this far from Florida? Especially with a new baby. Congratulations, by the way.” Gabe held out his hand.

  “Thank you.” After shaking hands, Grayson joined him on the picnic table. “I’m here because I promised Mako I’d keep an eye on his boys.”

  His boys. The grief had eased to a dull ache, and the memory was sweet. Even after they’d reached adulthood, the sarge had always referred to them as his boys.

  Gabe motioned to the battlefield. “As you can see—we’re not doing so well.”

  “Actually, I’d disagree.” Grayson’s mouth twitched. “Aside from Caz, you all appeared to be having fun.”

  Gabe took a sip of his beer. He had no good response because the observation was dead accurate.

  “I see I’m not the only one pleased that you’re no longer isolating yourself in a cabin.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Grayson smiled slightly. “Your town was content to watch the fight until you got punched. Then every man in the area charged in to save their chief.”

  “They what?”

  Grayson’s level gray eyes met his. The man wasn’t bullshitting.

  “Well. I’ll be damned.” Looked like the town he guarded felt the same way about him.

  “You’ve done well, Gabriel.”

  Gabe smiled. Grayson’s approval was almost as tough to earn as the sarge’s had been. “Do my brothers know you’re here?”

  “Not yet. Ah, I see Cazador still hasn’t found the right woman.”

  Gabe followed Grayson’s gaze.

  Caz was flirting, and the pretty woman had just plopped down in his lap. No surprise. His brother had a lethal charm. “Caz is upfront that he has no intention of finding the right woman. His women know that a few hours or days is the extent of his desire.”

  Grayson shook his head. “Eventually, that practice will come back to haunt him.”

  “It’s served him well so far.” On the other hand, now that Gabe had Audrey, he knew how much…joy…his brothers’ lives lacked.

  “So far is not forever.” Grayson turned to watch three PZs climbing into a pickup. “Interesting. Religious militia?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Gabe watched the pickup drive away. “There’s nothing I can do about them…yet.”

  “Indeed.” Grayson’s eyes narrowed, and his smooth voice took on an edge. “Let me know if you need help when the time comes.”

  With the offer, Gabe remembered Zachary Grayson held a doctorate in psychology. “I will. Thanks, Doc.”

  Grayson squeezed Gabe’s shoulder before rising. He motioned toward Caz. “I think it’s time for a chat with your brother.”

  Gabe studied him. Over the years, Grayson had come to check on the boys at Mako’s old cabin at least once a year. He’d spent time talking with them, listening, counseling. Helping.

  “About those chats of yours.” Gabe held out his hand. “I don’t think I ever said it as a kid, but…thanks.”

  Grayson took his hand. “You’re very welcome.” Without another word, he strolled away.

  Look out, Caz. Gabe grinned and drank more of his beer.

  Over at the stage, Hawk picked up his fiddle, looked around, and headed toward Gabe. The sun highlighted the sleeves of tattoos running up his arms. Seemed like he’d added some new ones.

  When a bevy of young women skittered out of Hawk’s path like startled grouse, Gabe frowned. Admittedly, his scarred-up brother had a daunting appearance, but he was a good man. Why didn’t women ever see that?

  It’d been good to have him home. To hear the fiddle again. To fight together. Filled a hole, dammit.

  “Which beer are you drinking?” Hawk settled on top of the picnic table, his feet on the bench.

  “Beartooth.” Gabe held the bottle up for him to sample.

  Hawk took a swallow. “Eh. Nope.”

  They’d never liked the same beers—Gabe enjoyed malt, Hawk was more into hops. Hell, they didn’t agree on much, really.

  Gabe nodded at the fiddle. “You’re not going to play more tonight?”

  “Heading out.” Hawk stared at the water where two kayakers silently skimmed along beside the shore.

  Gabe turned to face him. “Back to the merc outfit?”

  “No. Quit.” That was Hawk. Never use three words where two would serve.

  “Then…”

  “Not sure.”

  “You have a house here. Things to do. Mako left the trust to all of us, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Be nice if you stayed.”

  Hawk’s lips edged up slightly. “Good to hear. I wasn’t sure…”

  “Are you ever going to tell me why you quit the squad?” Gabe asked.

  “Maybe. Someday.”

  “All right.” Typical.

  The last of Gabe’s anger at his brother’s leaving the squad without explanation had disappeared when Hawk showed up to help find Audrey. “Thanks for the help. On the mountain.”

  “Sure.” After a pause, Hawk added, “I like her for you.”

  From his brother, that was a glowing accolade, especially since Hawk had watched her with open suspicion at first. “She likes you, too.

  Hawk shrugged.

  Yeah, act as if you don’t care. You do. Gabe shook his head. “You know, even though you’re a bull-headed dumbass, you’re still my brother. And I love you.”

  When tears appeared in Hawk’s eyes, Gabe hastily looked away. Clearing his throat, he pointed at a young boy playing tug-of-war with a fluffy pup. “That’s the kid I told you about. Niko. The one who escaped a pissed-off sow.”

  Hawk’s jaw was tight, his gaze on the child and dog.

  “You all right, bro?” Gabe asked softly.

  “Good enough, yeah.” Hawk watched as the kid lost his hold, landed on his ass, and burst into infectious giggles.

  “Fuck, I’d forgotten that sound.” As if that’d used up his quota of words, Hawk jumped off the table and punched Gabe’s arm. “See you later, old man.”

  “Soar high, bro.”

  * * *

  Audrey watched Gabe’s blond brother move toward the parking lot. Walk wasn’t the right word for the menacing way he moved. Stalk was closer.

  Caz moved so silently that he’d scared her more than once. Bull didn’t have the same grace, but no one eve
r got in his way.

  Now, her Gabe had a prowling gait that was as sexy as anything.

  She looked around for him and realized he was watching his brother leave with a tight expression of unhappiness.

  Her heart ached for him. He’d often talked about Hawk and how his taciturn brother had disappeared without a word.

  Turning, Gabe noticed Audrey’s gaze. His face softened, and he gave her that look, the one she’d only seen him wear for her. Because he loved her.

  She swallowed hard. He loved her.

  Gabe was up and moving across the grass to her.

  “You okay, Goldilocks?” He tipped up her chin as his baritone deepened. “Did the fighting scare you?”

  Beside her, Cecil gave a loud snort. “Scare her? She saw that putz heading for you, grabbed my cane, and gave the asshole—’scuse me, miss—the cretin a smack up alongside the head that laid him out, sweet as ya please.”

  Her face heated with a flush as pride—I’m a badass!—and embarrassment—I hit a man!—danced through her. “Um…”

  “I saw.” Gabe grinned down at her. His warm hand cupped her face. “Good to know you have my back.”

  “I’ll always have your back.” She rubbed her cheek against his palm. “You’re my hero, you know. I should buy you a red cape.”

  Gabe stared at her, then closed his arms around her so tightly she had trouble drawing a breath.

  “Yeah, the chief is livin’ up to the finest tradition of Rescue residents.” Cecil stroked his short white beard.

  Gabe looked at him curiously. “How’s that?”

  “You never heard the origins of our town?” With a contented smile, Cecil leaned against the picnic tabletop, settling in for a good story. “See, this section of the trail was just known as Pearl’s Roadhouse, way back in the ugly winter of 1896. The thaw came late. With everything still under snow, the bears out of hibernation had nothin’ to eat.”

  As he went on to describe the horrendous conditions, Audrey smothered a smile because he sounded as if he’d been there.

  “An’ Pearl—she owned the roadhouse then. The building burned down after World War II, but it’s where Bull’s place is now. Anyways, she was takin’ the garbage out, and a hungry griz decided it wanted the leftovers—and Pearl, too.”

  Audrey stiffened. She had enough nightmares without adding a bear horror story. “Was she all right?”

  “Well, she screamed bloody murder, and wouldn’t you know, there was Rusty, pretty near passed out inside. The old musher’d busted his leg the hell up—sorry, miss—and was stuck at the roadhouse, trying to earn enough money for boat fare back to Seattle. Only he kept drinkin’ it all. So, the ol’ drunk grabs his cane and charges out. He wallops that bear, fast and furious, and although he catches a swipe that rips up his arm, the bear runs off. Bleeding like a stuck hog, Rusty drags Pearl into the roadhouse. And she plants a big ol’ kiss on him. Called him her hero.”

  Gabe chuckled. “So, that’s how the name changed from Pearl’s Roadhouse to Rescue?”

  The old man moved his shoulders with a funny smile. “In a way. See, Rusty saved Pearl, yeah, but the real rescue was him giving up the bottle…and marrying Pearl. Said she rescued him. Turned his life around. Love will do that, you know.”

  Gabe’s arm around Audrey tightened, and her heart melted at the look in his eyes.

  He ran his finger down her cheek, and his voice was soft and deep. “Yeah, I know.”

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  Have you tried the

  Mountain Masters & Dark Haven series?

  Master of the Mountain

  “Master of the Mountain is, quite simply, a beautiful book. Cherise Sinclair swept me away with her perfect blending of tenderness, healing, erotic discovery, and romance.” ~Joyfully Reviewed

  When Rebecca’s lover talks her into a mountain lodge vacation with his swing club, she soon learns she’s not cut out for playing musical beds. But with her boyfriend “entertaining” in their cabin, she has nowhere to sleep. Logan, the lodge owner, finds her freezing on the porch. After hauling her inside, he warms her in his own bed, and there the experienced Dominant discovers that Rebecca might not be a swinger…but she is definitely a submissive.

  Rebecca believes that no one can love her plump, scarred body. Logan disagrees. He loves her curves, and under his skilled hands, Rebecca loses not only her inhibitions, but also her heart.

  Logan knows they have no future. Damaged from the war, he considers himself too dangerous to be in any relationship. Once the weekend is over, he’ll have to send the city-girl subbie back to her own world. But will driving her away protect Rebecca or scar them both?

  Excerpt from Master of the Mountain

  The sun was high overhead and unseasonably hot by the time the trail descended, leaving the pines behind. He led the group across a grass- and wildflower-filled meadow to the tiny mountain lake, clear and blue and damned cold. Granite slabs poked up through the wildflowers, glimmering in the sun. With yells of delight, people dropped their backpacks and stripped.

  Logan enjoyed the show of bare asses and breasts as the swingers splashed into the water like a herd of lemmings, screaming at the cold. As he leaned on a boulder, he noticed one person still completely dressed with wide eyes and open mouth. The city girl. Considering she and Matt bunked together, Rebecca couldn’t be a virgin, but from her reaction, she was pretty innocent when it came to kink.

  “C’mon, babe,” her boyfriend yelled, already buck naked in the lake. “The water’s great.” Not waiting for her response, he waded out deeper, heading for a blonde who looked as if she had substituted bouncy breasts for cheerleading pom-poms.

  Rebecca glanced from the water to the trail, back to the water, where Matt wrestled with Ashley, and back to the trail again.

  Logan could see the exact moment she decided to leave. He walked over to block her way.

  “Excuse me,” she said politely.

  “No.”

  Red surged into her cheeks, and her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. Red-gold hair. Freckles. Big bones. Looked like she had Irish ancestry and the temper to go with it. Stepping sideways to block her again, Logan tucked his thumbs into his front pockets and waited for the explosion.

  “Listen, Mr. Hunt --”

  “It’s Logan,” he interrupted and tried not to grin as her mouth compressed.

  “Whatever. I’m going back to my cabin. Please move your… Please move.”

  “Sorry, sugar, but no one hikes alone. That’s one safety rule I take seriously.” He glanced at the swingers. “I can’t leave them, and you can’t walk alone, so you’re stuck here.”

  Her eyes closed, and he saw the iron control she exerted over her emotions.

  The Dom in him wondered how quickly he could break through that control to the woman underneath. Tie her up, tease her a bit, and watch her struggle not to give in to her need and… Hell, talk about inappropriate thoughts.

  He pulled in a breath to cool off. No use. It was blistering hot, and not just from his visions of steamy sex. Nothing like global warming in the mountains. He frowned when he noted her damp face and the sweat soaking her long-sleeved, heavy shirt. Not good. The woman needed to get her temperature down.

  At the far end of the meadow, the forest would provide shade. He could send her there to sit and cool off, but she’d be out of sight, and from the obstinate set of that pretty, pink mouth, she’d head right back down the trail in spite of his orders.

  Shoulders straight, chin up, feet planted. Definitely a rebellious one, the type that brought his dominant nature to the fore. He’d love to give her an order and have her disobey, so he could enjoy the hell out of paddling that soft ass. But she wasn’t his to discipline, more’s the pity, since a woman like this was wasted on that pretty boy.

  And he’d gotten sidetracked.

  With a sigh, he returned to the
problem at hand. She needed to stay here where he could keep an eye on her, and she needed to cool off.

  “Even if you don’t strip down completely, at least take some clothes off and wade in the water,” he said. “You’re getting overheated.”

  “Thank you, but I’m fine,” she said stiffly.

  “No, you’re not.” When he stepped closer, he felt the warmth radiating off her body. Being from San Francisco, she wouldn’t be accustomed to the dryness or the heat. “Either strip down, little rebel, or I’ll toss you in with your clothes on.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  * * *

  He wouldn’t, would he? Rebecca stared up at the implacable, cold eyes, seeing the man’s utter self-confidence. Definitely not bluffing.

  Well, he could be as stern as he wanted. Damned if she’d take her clothing off and display her chunky, scarred legs. She shook her head, backing away. If she needed to, she’d run.

  Faster than she could blink, he grabbed her arm.

  She tugged and got nowhere. “Listen, you can’t --”

  With one hand, he unbuttoned her heavy shirt, not at all hindered by her efforts to shove his hand away. After a minute, her shirt flapped open, revealing her bra and her pudgy stomach. “Damn you!”

  She glanced at the lake, hoping for Matt to rescue her, and froze. He was kissing the oh-so-perky Ashley, and not just a peck on the lips but a full clinch and deep-throating tongues. Rebecca stared as shock swept through her, followed by a wave of humiliation. He… As her breath hitched, she tore her gaze away, blinking against the welling tears. Why had she ever come here?

  “Oh, sugar, don’t do that now.” Logan pulled her up against his chest, ignoring her weak protest. His arms held her against chest muscles hard as the granite outcroppings, and he turned so she couldn’t see the lake. Silently, he stroked a hand down her back while she tried to pull herself together.

  Matthew and Ashley would have sex. Soon. Somehow she hadn’t quite understood the whole concept of swinging and what her gut-level reaction would be. But she could take it now that she realized…what would happen. After drawing in a shaky breath, she firmed her lips. Fine.