Her heart sank when she glanced over and saw that the usual table reserved for the battalion was already buzzing with more than a half dozen of the guys.
Phil—a fellow lookout—was there, his body sculpted by hours in the lookout tower working out while watching for smoke. During the winter he was an aerobics teacher at a Redding gym. She also saw Pete, a rowdy twenty-something firefighter with long hair the color of a forest in stage three flame. Although he hadn't been able to afford more than two years of college, Pete could tell you more about the trees that grew around the Trinity than any botany professor at the university.
Next to Pete sat Justin, who had a chip on his shoulder against the Forest Service a mile wide, but he'd always been nice to her. This would be Justin's last year in his tower, since its use had been switched from fire lookout to a Forest Service vacation rental cabin for tourists.
Next on the bench was Gus of The Beard—firefighters’ battalion chief and the group's philosopher. He knew nothing about Maggie’s federal protection status, but always seemed to keep a special eye on her, as if he suspected something was amiss. That probably should have made her nervous, but he was so kind, she just attributed his concern to his unusually acute sensitivity.
It suddenly occurred to her that poaching might be a good way for any one of these men to make a nice pile of money on the side.
But, no. That was impossible. Even having known these men for only two months, she would trust every one of them with her life. It couldn't be one of them doing these horrible things to the bears.
The twelve-foot-long, dented wooden table where the guys were sitting was situated on one side of the large establishment, close to the pool table and convenient to the bar. A juke box spit out an old Hank Senior tune. Occasionally the two-way radio on the foresters' table gave a squawk and the dispatcher would spit out something largely incomprehensible to Maggie.
Taking a fortifying breath, she headed for the group. She hadn't gotten more than three steps when she heard Lori's voice sail sweetly over the pleasant din of country music and the clink of glasses. “Hi Maggie!”
The waitress from the Caf was positively beaming. So unfair.
Maggie lifted a foot onto the rail at the bar and gave her a dry smile. “Whatever you're drinking, I'll have a double.”
Lori tittered. “It's not the liquor. It's my husband.”
“Oh?” Maggie glanced around. “I don't see Dylan.”
The waitress leaned an elbow on the bar, grinning ear to ear. “Neither do I. And that's why he's the perfect husband. He's on one of his famous hunting trips. Could be gone for days and days.” Lori sighed contentedly.
Maggie had heard that Lori wanted to get out of Marigold to the big city, and was looking for a ticket there. A male, good-looking, and rich ticket. Though, the last was apparently flexible, given the selection of local candidates. Maggie couldn't really believe Lori would toss aside her husband just like that— regardless of how often he went hunting—and had taken these rumors with the healthy dose of salt their sources begged.
Lori squealed as a tall, lanky cowboy came up behind her and put his hand up the back of her skirt.
Okay. It was just possible she had used a bit too much salt.
“Doug, you are naughty,” Lori scolded in a voice that conveyed anything but displeasure. “Maggie, this is Doug. He works up at the Wilkins ranch.”
Maggie was impressed. Conrad Wilkins owned the biggest cattle spread in the county. Landing a job with him was a much sought-after prize.
“Just temporarily, darlin'. As soon as I get enough money to buy me that rodeo pony, I'll be off to the bright lights. Howdy, Maggie.” He tipped his hat, then turned back to Lori and slipped his arms around her. “Come on, honey, let's dance.”
Maggie watched them fondle their way to the dance floor with a mixture of vague disapproval and overwhelming envy. She pushed out a sigh. It would be so nice to have someone. Someone of her very own. To love and cherish. Have a house with—a house with a real picket fence and all the trimmings. Dog. Kids...
But that was one fate she didn't seem destined for. Not with her lousy record. Every time she fell in love, the guy ran for the hills. She was starting to get a complex.
She glanced at the table full of firefighters. Most women would think she'd died and gone to heaven in such masculine company. But not one of them aroused anything more than sisterly feelings in her heart. Certainly nothing like what that infernal poacher stirred in her blood with just one look from those irritatingly sexy, exotic eyes.
“Dreaming?”
Those exotic eyes were even sexier than she remembered when she turned and found him standing close enough to kiss.
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Twenty-Four
“Coop! Maggie, ol' buddy!” Phil beckoned to them, yanking her out of those dreamy eyes. “Come on over and park it.”
Everyone at the table swiveled toward them with interest.
Maggie followed Cooper over, and he pulled out a chair for her. She sank into it amidst a low murmur of speculation, and gratefully accepted a mug Pete filled from the communal pitcher, then handed him a fiver.
“Pour one for Mr. Cooper on me,” she mumbled.
Eyebrows shot skyward up and down the table.
Meanwhile, Cooper had strolled all the way around to the opposite side of the table and took the seat across from her. “Evening, boys.”
“Well.” Pete surveyed each of them in turn, then handed Cooper a beer. “Well, I'll be damned.”
Maggie sank lower in her chair. “Don't be. It's just a lousy beer. Didn't know you guys were acquainted.”
Phil took in her grumpy expression. “You're looking chipper.”
“Been a long day.”
Phil chortled. “Something happen on your ride into Redding?”
“Nope. Not a thing.” She looked nervously at Cooper, who sat sipping his beer. She was in no mood to have her antics of the morning brought up in front of the whole battalion.
“How about you, Coop?” Gus asked casually. “Do any riding today?”
Fabulous. This was where he wouldn't be able to resist puffing up his damned male ego. She'd never live it down.
Gus pulled on his beard as he eyed Cooper. “Or maybe you just did a little fishing...?”
Cooper looked straight-faced at the chief. “Yeah, I tossed out a few lines.”
Gus nodded somberly. “Any luck?”
Cooper shrugged. “Nope.” He looked up with the barest hint of a smile.
“How did you meet Maggie, anyway?” Justin asked with a slightly belligerent slur.
Before Cooper could answer, she jumped in. “His campsite is by the lake below my tower.” Her eyes pleaded with him across the table.
“Yeah,” he said slowly. His steady gaze drilled her, and she knew without a doubt she would pay for his silence. “She came down when she saw my fire. Then she threw me off my campsite.”
She returned his taunting look. “No fire permit, as I recall.”
He settled back in his chair. “As I recall, it was something about me cluttering up your view.”
Pete chuckled. “Yikes. What did you do to tick her off that bad? I hope you didn't try and kiss her.”
Cooper's gaze slid down to her lips, then back up to her eyes. “The thought never occurred to me.”
Pete was scratching his head. “So, wait. Let me get this straight.” He exaggerated a frown. “She comes down when she sees your fire, you piss her off, and she throws you off your campsite.”
Gus nodded, his expression still serious. “So, naturally, you asked her out for a drink.”
Maggie narrowed her eyes in warning. Don't you dare.
“Well, now.” Cooper stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I do believe it was the other way around. She asked me.”
The wind created by the gasps around the table was nearly gale-force.
She plastered on a smile. “It was the least I could do. Making you move camp at first ligh
t, and all.”
The scoundrel smiled back. A sweet, languorous, knowing smile. “The very least.” He raised his glass to her under the weight of a dozen eyes. “Your health, little pup.” He drank.
Silence hovered over the table like an obsequious waiter. She tried desperately to snuff the unwanted ember of arousal he was fanning to life with his sexy impudence.
She scowled at him. “I wish you wouldn't call me that.”
“Why not?” He leaned forward, his black hair cascading over one broad shoulder. “Don't you like bears?”
“Bears?” Justin blurted out. “I thought you were calling her a dog.”
The muscle in Cooper's jaw jumped as he shook his head. “Bear cub.”
Crossing his arms, Justin grumbled, “Still sounds like a dog to me.” He looked tenderly over at Maggie. “You want I should flatten him for you?”
For a second, she seriously considered saying yes.
“Nah,” she told Justin. “But I appreciate the thought.”
Gus added, “And besides, he might be into revenge. You could wake up tomorrow scalped, or something.”
Justin ran a nervous hand over his curly pride and joy. “What?”
Cooper’s lips twitched. “Gus has a point.” He pulled a bone-handled knife from the sheath at his hip and fingered it. “And I just happen to have my scalpin' knife with me tonight.”
Justin scowled. “You’re full of it.” Scraping his chair back roughly, he rose and stalked off to the bar.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Scalping knife?”
Cooper replaced his knife in its sheath. “Yeah, well. There are a lot of things I might be tempted to call you, but bitch isn't one of them.”
Phil snickered. “Don't know her very well, do you?”
“Ha, ha, ha.” She stuck her tongue out at him.
Suddenly, Justin's voice boomed out, “The lady's not interested.”
It took a moment for Maggie to realize Justin wasn't referring to her, but to a striking young woman who stood gripping the edge of the bar in anger.
A man swayed drunkenly beside her. “She's alone, ain't she? That means she's interested.” He pushed Justin.
The woman's horrified gaze shot between the men.
Across the table from Maggie, Cooper set his jaw.
Justin shoved the drunk. “The lady said get lost. Take the advice, shorty.”
“Take it yourself, asshole.” Shorty made a sloppy lunge at Justin, who stepped to one side. The man crashed to the floor. Grabbing a full bottle of beer, Justin smashed it against the edge of the bar.
The woman gasped as beer sprayed down the front of her thin, white cotton blouse. “Justin! You idiot!” she cried, rigid with fury. “Now look.”
Everybody did.
“Shit,” Cooper muttered. “That's not going to help.” Within seconds, he was standing next to Justin.
Maggie hurried after him, peeling off her flannel shirt. She wrapped it around the woman and pulled her away as Shorty got to his knees.
Justin dove at him with the jagged bottle, but Cooper grabbed his wrist, twisted it deftly, and pinned his arm around his back. “Do us all a favor and drop it, Justin,” he said mildly.
“Hell, no! The guy is begging for a beating.”
Cooper gently bent Justin's wrist back until he yelped and dropped the bottle. “I knew you'd see it my way.” He passed Justin over to Pete, and helped Shorty to his feet. Then he slung his arm over the drunk's shoulder and spoke a few words in his ear.
The man wobbled, casting sidelong glances at the woman, then quickly shuffled toward the exit.
The woman watched with distaste as Shorty slunk out the door. She looked back at Cooper, then said to Maggie, “Impressive. Friend of yours?”
“Yeah.” She caught herself. “I mean, no.”
“I see.” The woman’s mouth curved. “Anyway. He handled himself well. Is he some kind of a cop?”
Maggie almost choked. “No.” She looked wistfully at him. “Sports writer.”
“Really?” The woman looked incredulous. “Well, in any case,” she said, and extended her hand. “I'm Sally Huff.”
“Hi. Maggie Johansen.”
“Thanks for the shirt.” A frown pleated her brow. “I can usually take care of myself, but it's been a tough week. I guess I'm a bit preoccupied. The little creep took me by surprise, and I'm afraid I lost my temper.”
“The guy's a sleaze.”
Sally pushed out a breath. “Still.” She smiled at Cooper as he and the guys herded Justin past them and back to the table. “I'm very grateful to you and your...non-friend.”
“What's going on here?” said a British voice behind them.
“Rollo! You missed all the excitement.” Sally turned to greet him. “Rollo, this is Maggie.”
“Hi again.” His face lit up. “We met earlier today. Sally, how on earth did you get so wet?” He wrinkled his nose and sniffed. “Oh, dear. Don't tell me.”
“Yes, Roland, love, once again you've managed to arrive just after the nick of time.”
Shrugging, he grinned. “I do try. Well, at least I'm in time to drive you back to camp.”
Maggie's interest perked. “You work with Rollo studying bears?”
“Going on six seasons, now.”
“It must be very interesting.”
She shrugged, an inscrutable expression on her face. “It's a living.”
“Such enthusiasm.” With a long-suffering look, Rollo looped his arm through Maggie's. “You see what I have to put up with? It is interesting. Please, say you'll come visit.” He shot Sally a look. “Soon.”
Maggie expected Sally to be uncomfortable because of his obvious flirting, but she just nodded in agreement. “Please do. I'll have your shirt cleaned and you can pick it up.” She slanted her a sidelong glance. “Bring your non-friend, if you like.”
“Who?” Rollo didn't resist as Sally peeled him off Maggie and led him toward the exit.
Maggie grinned, and stood for a moment watching them go. What a strange pair.
Before she could move, Lori came up and whispered conspiratorially. “Oh, man, he is so sexy. Did you see how he disarmed Justin? And how that drunk literally ran for it?”
Maggie was actually afraid Lori might swoon. “Who? Rollo?”
Lori gave her an incredulous look. “Are you kidding? Coop! He has such power and authority. What are you waiting for, girl?”
Hell to freeze over? “Lori, please. I hardly know the man.”
“So what? If you don't want him, I'll be glad to take him off your hands.” Breathless, Lori stole a glance at Cooper, who was standing at the other end of the bar handing Gina an empty pitcher. “Where's he from, anyway?”
“No idea.” Maggie fought an unwelcome spurt of jealousy. “Go for it. I have no interest in him.” None that she could act on, anyway.
“Yeah, right.” Lori brushed at her skirt. “I'll tell you what. I'll give you till the barbecue at the Wilkins ranch day after tomorrow to make up your mind, but then I'm moving in on him.”
Maggie started toward the ladies' room. “Whatever you say, Lori.”
Cooper walked past carrying the refilled pitcher. Lori preened, then glanced back at Maggie. “Remember, after the barbecue,” she said, and strolled off.
She could remember all she wanted. But it wouldn’t do her a bit of good.
For so many reasons, she and Cooper would never happen.
No matter how much she might wish things were different.
Barely Dangerous: Chapter Twenty-Five
Taking a seat at the table, Coop watched Maggie disappear into the ladies.
Damn.
After the barbecue. What the hell did that mean?
He was catapulted back to the case with a jolt.
He wanted to kick himself. Once again, Maggie had done it to him. Two minutes sitting across from that sensual mouth and those enticing curves and he'd forgotten all about his job and the reason he was in Marigo
ld. And in this bar. Which had nothing to do with that mouth or those curves.
What was she planning to do with Lori after the barbecue?
The Wilkins' annual feast was famous around these parts. Everyone was invited, including the local CDFW patrol wardens, who’d made sure Coop was on the list. It was the event of the year, he was told, lasting far into the night. What could the women possibly be planning to do in the wee hours of the morning after the barbecue?
Please God, don't let the poachers be two women.
On the other hand, didn't that new boyfriend of Lori's work for Wilkins? Maybe they were just planning a threesome.
Yeah, right.
“It’s true,” Phil was saying, “Maggie would give you the shirt off her back.” He snickered at his own joke.
Coop looked around the table at the grinning faces of the Smokeys, and felt their affection for her. He sipped his beer, focusing on the restroom door. Everything he had seen told him Maggie was worthy of respect. How had a woman like her gotten tangled up in a poaching ring?
Or had she...?
His somber gaze met that of Gus. The battalion chief raised his glass. “We like you, Coop. But we're watching out for Maggie. Hurt her, and you’re a dead man, you know that, right?”
“I do.” Coop raised his glass and clicked it to Gus's. “The question is, who'll watch out for me?”
Maggie returned, and slid back onto her chair. She gave him an admiring look. “Wow. What'd you say to that drunk? You must have put the fear of God in him to take off like that.”
Coop regarded her with amusement, his concerns forgotten under the lights sparkling in her eyes. “Old Indian trick.”
She snickered. “What? You threaten to scalp him, too?”
“Far worse.” He grinned. “Threatened to call his wife.”
She laughed. “You didn't! How did you know he was married?”
“That little white stripe on the ring finger gives them away every time.”
“Observant for a writer.” Then her gaze dipped to his left hand.
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