Army Ranger Redemption

by Carol Ericson

  “Sounds like insomnia to me.”

  “The least of my current troubles.”

  She sucked in a breath and reached forward so quickly he couldn’t avoid her touch, didn’t want to avoid her touch.

  Tracing a fingertip over the scar on his chest, she asked, “Is this a souvenir from your captors?”

  “One of many.”

  She flattened her hand against his skin. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”

  He swallowed hard, unable to shift his gaze from her plump lips. With a voice rough around the edges, he said, “You don’t have to keep being sorry, Scarlett.”

  “I know.” Her long lashes fluttered. “I’ll just... Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  She spun around and almost ran to the bedroom. When the door clicked shut, Jim let out a long breath.

  How the hell was he supposed to let that woman go anywhere?

  * * *

  SCARLETT PRACTICALLY DOVE into the bed. She dragged the pillow against her chest, burying her face in it.

  Bad move. The pillowcase had Jim’s scent on it—clean, masculine, totally irresistible. She tossed it aside.

  When she’d touched the scar on his chest, she hadn’t wanted to stop there. She could’ve run her hands all over his hard body and died a happy woman.

  She’d put her momentary lapse in sanity down to smoke inhalation. She didn’t need a complicated man like Jim in her life, didn’t need to fix him, didn’t need to help him solve his problems.

  She could allow herself one little taste, a little autumn fling. He’d made it pretty clear he wouldn’t kick her out of bed or off his couch if she made that move. But who was she kidding?

  Flings and shallow affairs were reserved for shallow men—not guys like Jim. If she succumbed to her physical desire for him, she’d be jumping into the deep end without a life jacket.

  She rolled to her side, bringing her knees up to her chest, trying not to think about how much warmer she’d be curled up next to Jim. Closing her eyes, she relaxed her muscles and began to drift off.

  Minutes or maybe hours later, a crash from the other room had her bolting upright in bed. Had Jim just had another seizure?

  Bumps and thumps resounded from the living room, and Scarlett scrambled from the bed. Her gaze darted around the dark room and settled on the shotgun mounted on the wall. She stood on her tiptoes and lifted the gun from its brackets as the cacophony from the other room continued.

  Raising the gun to her shoulder, she crept from the bedroom into the living room. Two dark shapes scuffled and scrabbled on the floor, rocking this way and that. Her heart skipped a beat. Someone had broken in and attacked Jim.

  She primed the shotgun, pointed the barrel at the ceiling and pulled the trigger. The blast rang in her ears and plaster showered down around her.

  The fighting stopped and one of the men staggered to his feet and turned on the light.

  Jim, still wearing just his boxers, sporting a trickle of blood beneath his nose, stared at her, and then jerked his head toward the man moaning and sputtering on the floor.

  Jim let out a string of curses.

  Scarlett turned the gun on the intruder, whose curses had turned into a laugh.

  Was he crazy? She leveled the gun at the man’s head. “Jim, are you okay? My God, did this man break in?”

  “He didn’t have to break in. I imagine he still has a key.”

  “What? You know him?”

  “He’s my brother.”

  Chapter Nine

  Still cackling, the man sat up and rested his back against the couch. “You still got it, little brother. Always were tougher than me.”

  Scarlett’s mouth dropped open, but she kept the gun trained on Jim’s brother.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Dax?”

  Dax Kennedy wiped a hand across his mouth as his gaze traveled to Scarlett. “You didn’t tell me you had a little honey with you, bro.”

  Jim stepped between her and Dax’s gaze. “You can put the gun down, Scarlett.”

  “Sorry about that.” She lowered the shotgun and brushed some plaster from her arm. “But what were you guys rolling around the floor for? I thought someone was going to get killed. I thought Dax was a stranger.”

  “That’s Dax’s idea of a joke. He let himself in with his key and jumped me. I didn’t know who the hell he was and he didn’t bother telling me.”

  “What would be the fun in that?” Dax pushed up from the floor and adjusted his leather jacket, which sported a patch with the letters LOC and a skull with handlebars through it.

  “Wanted you to give me your best, J.T.” He lifted his chin to look at his taller younger brother. “And your best is pretty damned good.”

  “What are you doing back here, Dax?” Jim folded his arms and nodded to Scarlett. “Scarlett, you can go back to bed.”

  “And miss all the drama? No, thanks.”

  Jim crossed the room in two steps and dragged the blanket from the couch. “You might as well keep warm.”

  Standing in front of her, he draped the blanket around her shoulders and bunched it together under her chin.

  She shuffled to a chair and sat down, curling her legs beneath her, looking from Jim to his brother. Those dark good looks ran in the family, but Dax was a paler, smaller version of Jim—like a poor copy.

  “Why are you here and when did you get out of the joint?”

  “I’ve been out for over a year, keeping out of trouble.”

  Jim tapped the left side of his chest. “You’re still riding with the club.”

  “It’s in my blood, bro. I’m an OG now.”

  “Are you sure you’re staying out of trouble?” Jim bent over to snag his jeans, flashing his back and the tattoo of the motorcycle club he’d escaped. He pulled on his pants.

  “The club ain’t what it used to be, J.T.”

  Scarlett asked, “J.T.?”

  “My initials, James Thomas, my nickname from the old days.” Jim pointed at his brother. “How long have you been here? Did you hear Rusty’s dead?”

  Dax’s head snapped up. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Someone offed him two days ago. Stabbed him and left him for dead. Tried to pin it on me.”

  Dax’s dark eyes narrowed and he stroked his goatee. “You’re serious.”

  “I’m serious. The killer used one of Slick’s hunting knives—stole it from the garage.”

  “The SOB didn’t touch the bikes, did he?”

  “Didn’t touch the bikes.” Jim hooked his thumbs in his front pockets, and his unbuttoned jeans dipped lower. “And I saw Chewy in town. What is this, some kinda Lords reunion?”

  “Chewy, huh?” Dax pushed his long hair out of his face. “Are you going to introduce me to your friend, or just stand here and give me the third degree?”

  “This is Scarlett Easton. Scarlett, my brother, Dax Kennedy.”

  Scarlett poked her hand from the blanket and waved.

  “Scarlett? You’re that pretty little Indian girl from J.T.’s class.”

  Jim rolled his eyes.

  Scarlett stuck two fingers behind her head and wiggled them. “That’s me...the little Indian girl.”

  Dax threw back his head and barked out a laugh. “I like you. I like her, J.T. She your woman?”

  She wished.

  “I live up the road, and someone set fire to the trees around my property tonight. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

  “Me? What the hell has this guy been telling you about his older brother? Why would I want to set fire to your place? And what the hell is going on around here? Murders, fires, setups.”

  Jim folded his arms and widened his stance. “You never answ
ered my question. What brings you back to Timberline?”

  “You. Heard you were back.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Does it matter? Thought we could settle some of the old man’s stuff.” He held up his hands. “You can have the cabin, but I might want a couple of those bikes.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that. You plan to stay here? In this cabin?”

  “Bro, I’ve been riding all night. I need a place to crash.”

  Scarlett hopped up from the chair. “Dax, you take the couch. Jim, you can have your bed back. I mean, uh, share it with me.”

  Winking, Dax slapped Jim on the back. “Sounds like a good deal for you, J.T.”

  Jim shot her a glance. “I don’t want... If you...”

  “I’m fine with it.” She shrugged out of the blanket and dropped it back on the couch. “Now I really need to get a few hours of sleep.”

  She left the two brothers talking in low voices and crawled beneath the covers, keeping to one side of the king-size bed. When life gave you lemons, make the whole dang lemon meringue pie and stuff your face.

  Jim tapped on the door. “Scarlett?”

  “C’mon in.”

  He slipped into the room and clicked the door behind him. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

  “Your brother’s a pretty rough character. Honestly, I figured I’d feel safer with you in here, anyway.”

  “Dax? Yeah, he has his issues, but harassing women isn’t one of them.” Jim sat on the edge of the bed and fell back onto his side, his feet still planted on the floor.

  “Whoa, mister.” She placed her hands on his back and gave him a shove.

  “Change your mind already?”

  “You’re not climbing into this bed wearing those jeans. They still smell like smoke.”

  He got off the bed and, with his back turned to her, he yanked off his pants. He turned back the covers and slipped in beside her. “Good night, Scarlett.”

  Poking his shoulder, she asked, “Are you going to find out what Dax is doing here? He didn’t exactly give you a straight answer.”

  “Dax isn’t too good at straight answers, but I’ll get it out of him—one way or another. Good night.”

  She turned her back to him and closed her eyes with a smile on her face. His body heat was warming up the bed already. The two of them could warm it up a lot faster, but his brother in the next room was saving her from making a big mistake.

  Or keeping her from the time of her life.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Scarlett peeled open one eye and followed a shaft of light beaming through a hitch in the blinds. She rolled toward Jim’s now-empty side of the bed and inhaled the scent he’d left behind—slightly smoky and woodsy.

  Another smell floated through the air, replacing it. This one made her mouth water almost as much as the other—and she didn’t even eat bacon.

  She scooted out of the bed and landed in front of Jim’s closet, where a row of T-shirts swayed on their hangers. She pulled another black T from the bunch and swapped it with the huge one Jim had picked out for her last night. Had he given her that one just so that it would fall off her?

  A girl could hope.

  “Hello?” She poked her head into the hallway. “Everyone decent?”

  Dax yelled back. “I’m never decent, sweetheart.”

  She tiptoed into the living room and raised her brows at Dax in the kitchen, spatula in one hand and oven mitt on the other. “You cook?”

  “Nothing fancy. Went to the store and picked up some eggs and bacon, potatoes, bread.” He waved the spatula at the counter. “Dig in.”

  “Where’s Jim?” She hunched over the counter and picked up a piece of toast.

  “In the shower, I think.”

  Scarlett bit into the toast and dropped it on a plate. She scooped some scrambled eggs onto her dish and added some potatoes. After several bites, she said, “Not bad. Where’d you learn how to cook?”

  “From my mom. She taught me a few things before she ran off, and then I cooked for my dad and brother when she did. J.T. was just a little guy when Wendy, our mom abandoned us—maybe four, and I was thirteen.”

  She wrinkled her nose as she did the calculations in her head. Jim’s mom must’ve left right before the kidnappings. When Jim had told his story of almost being snatched from his bed, he hadn’t mentioned his mother. She must’ve been gone by then.

  “You really stepped up.” She crunched into her toast, her assessment of Dax Kennedy shifting by the minute.

  “I thought you were a vegetarian.” Jim came up behind her, toweling off his dark hair, the muscles across his chest and shoulders bunching and flexing.

  “I eat eggs.” She held up a forkful of scrambled egg.

  “Yeah, but these potatoes?” He snatched one from her plate. “Cooked in bacon grease.”

  “Oh.” She shoved the potatoes to the side of her plate. “Thanks for warning me.”

  “You didn’t have to cook breakfast, Dax.” Jim took a plate from the stack and loaded it with everything.

  “I figured I wouldn’t get anything to eat if I left it up to you, unless you learned how to cook in the army.” He jerked his thumb at Jim. “This guy never stepped one foot in the kitchen.”

  “Are you going to tell me what you’re doing in Timberline?”

  Dax paused, a piece of bacon dangling from a pair of tongs over the sizzling frying pan. He dropped the bacon onto a plate covered with a paper towel. “Thought I told you, bro. Wanted to check out the old man’s place.”

  Jim grunted and then dug into his food.

  Scarlett planted her elbows on the counter. “Do you mind if I ask you a question, Dax?”

  “Shoot.”

  “What were you in prison for?”

  “A few things. I don’t even remember anymore.”

  Jim raised his fork in the air. “Try armed robbery, possession of narcotics with the intent to sell.”

  “Oh, yeah. Never intended to use that gun.”

  “Because you led such a peaceful existence otherwise.”

  Dax ducked his head in the fridge. “Motorcycle club business.”

  “Doesn’t excuse it.”

  “Okay, sorry I asked. I didn’t mean to stir up trouble.” Scarlett aimed her fork at Jim. “Have the investigators from the fire department been around yet?”

  “No.” Jim glanced at his brother. “Have they?”

  “I wasn’t up much earlier than you, but I didn’t hear anything.”

  Scarlett plucked at the T-shirt. “I’d really like to get back into my place and at least pick up some clothes if they won’t let me stay there.”

  “I think they’ll let you back in.” Jim broke a piece of bacon in two and popped one half in his mouth. “The fire didn’t reach the cabin. The fire department may have soaked your roof and if you had any leaks, you might be in trouble, but I didn’t see any damage to your cabin.”

  “It’s been raining on and off since I’ve been back. I know I don’t have any leaks.” She spread her arms. “Not like the Kennedy brothers haven’t offered me first-class hospitality.”

  Dax chuckled and then whistled an unidentifiable tune as he piled his plate with food. He brought it to the small kitchen table, stationed near a sliding door that led to a small patio decorated with a rusted barbecue and a dead plant.

  “If Scarlett’s going back to her place, can I bunk here, J.T.?”

  “Are you into anything illegal? Weapons? Drugs? Pimping?”

  Scarlett swallowed her orange juice the wrong way and coughed. Her rising opinion of Dax had just taken a nosedive.

  “Hey, hey.” Dax leveled his fork at Jim. “I never ran the girls.”

  “Whatev
er. If you’re running anything, hit the road. You can’t stay here.”

  “Scout’s honor.” Dax held up two fingers. “I’m clean. Even gave up the drugs and booze.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I gave up the drugs and the hard drinking. I can handle a beer or two. I got a woman in Seattle now. Belinda won’t put up with that stuff.”

  A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and Jim strode to the door. He peered through the peephole. “Looks like the arson investigators.”

  He opened the door to two men in suits, and Scarlett tugged her T-shirt below her knees.

  How much more uncomfortable could this get?

  Jim shook hands with them and invited them inside. “This is Scarlett Easton. The fire was at her place. Scarlett, this is Investigator Young and Investigator Elgin.”

  “Excuse me for not getting up, but I ran outside in my pajamas last night and all my clothes are at my house.”

  “We just have a few questions, Ms. Easton.”

  Jim gestured toward Dax, still stuffing his face. “This is my brother and he was just leaving.”

  Jim grabbed a key chain from a hook in the kitchen and tossed it to Dax. “Have a look at those bikes in the garage. Let me know what you want to keep and what we can sell, and be on the lookout for the cops. They’re coming to dust for prints around the garage—had a break-in earlier.”

  “Great, cops.” Dax stacked up all their dishes and dumped them into the sink. “I’m outta here.”

  Scarlett stayed where she was at the counter, while Jim sat at the kitchen table with the two investigators.

  They asked questions about any noises she may have heard—none—and any other unusual activity around her place.

  “You mean like a dead body in the woods?”

  Neither Young nor Elgin batted an eyelash. They must’ve already been briefed about Rusty Kelly.

  Jim asked, “Did you confirm it was arson?”

  “Preliminary findings point to arson. We discovered some accelerant at the base of several trees in different areas.”

  Scarlett rubbed the goose bumps from her arms, even though the findings didn’t surprise her. Did someone want to kill her or just drive her away? And why?