by Regan Black
“Well, at least keep your face away from the cameras,” she said.
He laughed. His mom had a way with priorities for her children. “I promise.”
“We’ll be grilling out on the Fourth,” she reminded him. “Bring steaks or brats or whatever you’d like to share.”
“Oh, right.” The reason he’d called. “We won’t be there.”
“It’s the Fourth of July,” she said.
“And a Sunday,” he added, before she could. “I remember the family traditions, Mom. One of Kenzie’s friends is getting married and we’re going to the wedding.”
For a long beat of silence he could imagine his mother gaping at the phone in shock. “Is that the Jennings wedding?” she said at last.
“Yes.”
“Mitch and Julia are going, too. They promised to stop by beforehand. Maybe the four of you can all ride together from here. Your nieces and nephews will be crushed if you don’t stop in.”
He wanted to call her on the silly, miserable-child ploy, but her heart was in the right place. Myra Galway couldn’t suppress her urge to mother people. After this mess on the news, she would want to see Kenzie and reassure herself that everything was fine.
This was the real risk of taking a woman to Sunday dinner: his mom got too interested in the guest. In Kenzie’s case, Myra knew her better than Stephen did. Being an attentive, caring mother, she probably had delusions that somehow Kenzie could put an end to Stephen’s hermit tendencies.
“I’ll let you know how the timing shakes out,” he hedged. “I need to unload the wrecker now.”
She wished him luck, asked him to tell Kenzie they were thinking about her, and told him she loved him.
“Love you, too, Mom.”
He supposed love was the real Galway tradition. It was the cornerstone of the steady foundation Sam and Myra had given their children. Building on love, they’d instilled respect, responsibility and a solid work ethic. With all that in his genes, drummed into his sense of self, he shouldn’t be surprised that he felt a need to stand between Kenzie and anyone bent on hurting her.
* * *
Chaos swirled around Kenzie. The bomb squad was inside the club with canine units, searching for any sign of explosives. Patrons milled about, pressing the safety perimeter the staff and police had set up. No one wanted to miss a thing. The lights from various media teams flooded the area, washing out the flashing lights of first responder units. Under any other off-duty circumstances, she would go over and visit with the firefighters or offer to help. Tonight, Murtagh had effectively blocked that path. With the right camera angle, she knew it would look as if the PFD welcomed his presence.
Kenzie turned away from his creepy stare, doing what she could to blend in with the rest of the staff, avoiding the harsh lights and judgmental speculation. She’d never been one to shy away from noise or a crisis. Right now, she was anxious for the relative quiet and absolute privacy of Stephen’s garage.
Leaving the club wasn’t an option; Grant had made that clear, even if the Charger Stephen insisted she continue to use wasn’t blocked in. There wasn’t anything for her to do.
Jason walked over and rested his arm across her shoulder. “How are you holding up?”
The question made her eyes sting with tears she would not shed in front of Murtagh. She dug deep for cold anger instead. “He’s an embarrassment. Why can’t he crawl back under a rock?”
She, Jason and Grant had been the last out of the club, making sure the patrons were safely clear. The three of them came outside to find the bands and the rest of the staff had organized the customers back from the club, making way for the first responders.
The media, already documenting the evacuation, had caught everything when Murtagh ambushed her with his false apologies. His appearance at the club had instantly made him the prime suspect in the bomb threat, though she could never voice such an opinion.
“He’s slime,” Jason said. “Just hang in there.”
She was trying. “Do I have a choice?”
Jason gave her a little shoulder squeeze and glanced past her. “Things might be looking up,” he said cryptically.
Before she could ask, he turned her shoulders and she was facing that scowl she found far too appealing. “Stephen?” She glanced around. “I wasn’t expecting you. The reports on the accident were dire.”
“It was ugly.”
For a split second something flashed in his hazel eyes, a shell-shocked emotion she recognized from her mirror after a particularly grueling call. Then he spotted Murtagh and his gaze iced over with lethal intent. She loved him for it.
“We’re leaving,” he said. “Now.”
“I—I can’t.” At his sharp look, she decided not to argue. “Just let me tell Grant.”
“Already did.”
That irked her. He couldn’t continue to simply handle so many things on her behalf. Housing, car repairs, food and transportation, too. At some point she’d have her life back and she needed to take care of herself. “Presumptuous much?”
When he stepped closer she noticed the unmistakable scent of smoke and burned gas clinging to his shirt. He had soot and dirt on his skin and a smudge along his jaw that she wanted to reach up and wipe away.
“You want to stay?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Fine.”
If there hadn’t been so many cameras around, she would have hugged him. “False alarm or not, Grant will need help with this crowd.”
Stephen’s hard gaze took in the scene around them. “You don’t leave people hanging. I get it.” He aimed a far more intimidating version of his relentless scowl at Murtagh.
He did get it, she realized, grateful. He hadn’t fixed her car because she couldn’t; he’d done it because, like her, he needed to stay busy when things got tough. Sometimes visual, tangible progress was the best defense against all the other uncontrollable stuff in life.
“Thanks.”
He glanced down at her, his expression softening. “Had to try.”
“I know.” She wanted to hug him, and hooked her thumbs in her back pockets to keep her hands to herself. “Look at that.” She nodded toward band members clearing a space in the center of the crowd. “Only here,” she said with pride. Grant had built something special, and though her part in his business was small, she felt like she mattered.
“Are they setting up to play?” Stephen sounded as impressed as she felt.
She nodded, reluctant to move closer to the music because that would put her—and Stephen—closer to Murtagh.
They didn’t have power or full instrumentation, but the headliner band had pulled acoustic guitars from the equipment van and were basically leading a sing-along to keep people distracted. The drummer made do with his sticks and a tambourine.
“Ridiculous,” Stephen said.
“Yes it is,” she agreed, laughing. “But it’s working.”
“It’s a grown-up version of summer camp,” he muttered.
“All we need are s’mores.” She glanced in the direction of the car, which was still blocked in. “How much time do you think we have before they let us back inside?”
“You aren’t seriously thinking of going to the store for graham crackers, chocolate and marshmallows for this crowd.”
“We could take your car.” She batted her eyelashes in an overdone and obvious ploy.
His eyebrows flexed into another frown. “I doubt the PFD would let you have an open flame anywhere around here.”
His logic popped her fantasy balloon. “True. Still fun to think about.”
“If you say so.”
Everyone around them was otherwise engaged with the issues inside the club or the impromptu entertainment outside. Though Kenzie and Stephen were surrounded, they might as well have been alone.
“You didn’t like summer camp?”
“Not the kind you’re talking about,” he admitted.
“Why not?”
He shrugged and tucked his hands into his pockets. “It just wasn’t my thing.”
She wondered if he’d been homesick or if he just wasn’t into all the outdoor classic recreational stuff. “No go-cart camp?”
He shrugged. “Fishing with Dad was one thing. Going camping with the family was fine when we did that.”
So it was about being on his own. Interesting that he was so comfortable with solitude now. Although his family was rarely more than a few blocks away at any given moment. She caught a gleam in his eye. “You put stuff in your sisters’ sleeping bags, didn’t you?”
He smirked and she fought the urge to kiss that sly expression right off his face. “Nothing was ever proven.”
She smacked his arm lightly. “You were guilty.”
“How can you be sure?”
“First of all, the smirk is a dead giveaway. Second, I’m also an oldest child. Did you use the plastic worms or live bait? Frogs, maybe?”
“My sisters squealed over everything. I can’t recall exactly what Mitch tucked between their sheets.”
“Mitch, right. And if I ask him, he’ll blame you. Or Andrew.” She folded her arms, reluctantly impressed and a little envious. “You were so lucky to have a worthy accomplice. I had to create watertight alibis for my pranks.”
His smirk smoothed into a smile, but just when she thought he’d laugh, his eyebrows snapped together and his lips went hard.
She twisted around, following his gaze, and caught a glimpse of Murtagh walking toward them. Stephen stepped in front of her and his fingers curled into loose fists. “You don’t need to come any closer.”
“I just want to talk to Miss Hughes.”
“That opportunity passed,” Stephen said. “If you have something to say, write a letter and send it to her attorney.”
Murtagh’s face bunched into a sneer and she braced for another insult. He must have remembered they had an audience, because his demeanor changed abruptly. Too bad for him his hangdog look wasn’t very convincing.
“Her indecisive actions hurt me, if you recall,” he stated in a voice that carried.
Kenzie could feel the nearest cameras aiming toward them. Only a few days of living under this media microscope and she was exhausted.
“She’s playing you, Galway,” Murtagh continued. “Yeah, I know who you are. She’s got you wrapped around her pinkie, fighting her battles. Because she can’t win on her own.”
“Battles you started,” Stephen said, with far more calm than Kenzie could muster.
She didn’t say a word, didn’t rise to the bait as he tried once more to convince her he was innocent of the online trouble. It wasn’t in her nature to hide behind anyone or anything, but right now Stephen was shield and shelter. Murtagh had put her through enough; why wouldn’t he leave her alone?
Standing behind Stephen, she could feel the strength radiating through the solid muscles of his back. He’d fight for her if he had to. While part of her thrilled to that idea, she knew it would be worse for everyone if he thrashed a retired firefighter.
“Still can’t handle any trouble without a man for backup. You aren’t good enough for the PFD.”
She slipped her hand into Stephen’s and dropped her forehead to his shoulder. Let the media interpret that however they pleased; she didn’t care anymore.
“The PFD is a team,” Stephen said to Murtagh. “Have you forgotten that’s where the real strength lies?”
“A team weakened by females,” Murtagh shouted. “If she did everything right, why is she hiding behind you?”
With his encouragement, Kenzie came around to stand at Stephen’s side. “Because she can trust me,” he said. “The real question should be why there’s no one standing with you while you continue to attack her.”
She saw that strike a nerve as Murtagh started to bluster. Even in the less than ideal lighting, she could see his cheeks turning red. The media was catching all of this.
Stephen turned his back on Murtagh and guided her ahead of him. “I’m sure Grant can handle this without you,” he murmured, when they were several paces away. “The jackass won’t leave while you’re here. He doesn’t want you stealing his spotlight.”
“So the answer is for me to step aside and let him have it?”
“Hell. I don’t know.” Stephen rubbed a hand over his face. “Tonight? Yes. Let me take you home. Please. My gut says that’s the right move under the circumstances. No one here will let him malign you.”
“I’m not a coward,” she insisted.
“Isn’t discretion the better part of valor?”
“You may have a point,” she replied. There wasn’t any workable solution here. Logic wasn’t effective against the bitter messages Murtagh was trying to sell. Maybe leaving would give the man enough rope to hang himself, as he’d done in the civil suit.
“Let me find Grant.”
“Call or send a text from the car.” Stephen aimed her toward the parking lot across the street. “He’ll understand. Especially after he sees the late news.”
“We don’t have to watch it, do we?”
“No. We have something better to do.”
She shot him a look, wondering if that was some sort of innuendo that they’d be sleeping together, but he didn’t elaborate.
He waited in the parking lot only until they got a reply from Grant. Then he left the club behind and took a convoluted route back toward his neighborhood. He stopped at a small grocery store and held her hand as he darted through the aisles, picking up ingredients for s’mores.
“You’re kidding,” she said, as he paid the cashier.
He grinned down at her and the butterflies in her belly soared. Maybe he didn’t grin often because he knew how deliciously devastating it could be. Better to use that kind of power sparingly.
When they reached the garage, he set up two long folding lawn chairs and started a fire in the grill. She unwrapped the chocolate bars and graham crackers and soon they were roasting marshmallows on the tines of the grilling fork.
Though it wasn’t quite the same as camping, the s’mores picnic was quickly becoming the highlight of her day, a close second to his agreeing to take her to the wedding.
They stuffed themselves on the sweet treats, laughing about the pranks they’d pulled on their younger siblings back when they could get away with it.
“You miss them?” he asked, as she licked sticky marshmallow goo from her fingers while assembling another s’more.
The chocolate was melting and she caught that drip, too, before it splattered on her work apron. “Every day,” she answered. “Mom needed a change of scenery, though.”
“You should give her a call,” he said, squishing another s’more together.
“I check in regularly.”
“I meant because of earlier.”
She’d intended to, but had let herself get distracted with this whimsical side of Stephen. As she polished off the s’more and went to wash her hands, some of that Murtagh-induced tension crept into her shoulders, but it lacked the sharp bite and infuriating intensity she’d felt earlier.
She called her mom and gave her a heads-up that she, the club or both might feature on the news.
“I saw a breaking news headline of some trouble at the club,” her mom replied. “I knew you’d be okay. You always are.”
“Thanks. Grant handled the evacuation well.”
“It was a false alarm?”
Kenzie realized she didn’t know. “Pretty sure. I left early because Murtagh got belligerent.”
“If you didn’t sound so calm about it, I’d encourage you to file a restraining order.”
Did she sound calm? She felt calm, thanks to Stephen. “Grant’s encouraging that, to
o,” she said, trading her waitressing tennies for flip-flops.
“He was a good friend of your father’s. I’m glad he’s in your corner.”
Kenzie agreed, but she was peeking through the camper door, admiring another man who was in her corner. “Just don’t believe everything you see or hear on the news, Mom.”
Her mother laughed, that rich sound that had always made Kenzie smile through even the worst circumstances.
Feeling better after the conversation, Kenzie took off her apron and dropped it on the bench seat of the camper. Grabbing two beers from the refrigerator, she went back out to the makeshift campfire.
* * *
Stephen was pulled from his thoughts when Kenzie waved a beer in front of him.
“Something to cut the sugar,” she said.
The soft smile on her face made him want to pull her close and keep her safe from Murtagh and every other threat lurking out there in the world. “Good talk?” he asked instead.
“It was. Thanks for reminding me to do it.”
“No problem.” He took a long pull on the beer. She seemed restless, standing there watching the fire rather than sitting back and enjoying it.
“Need to talk about it?”
She shook her head, that long pale braid rippling softly down her back. He couldn’t quite get his mind off how silky that hair had been spilling over the pillows.
“Mom wants us to come by the house on our way to the wedding on Sunday,” he said.
Kenzie turned to face him, finally sitting down sideways on her chair.
Her lean legs were bare from the hem of her khaki shorts on down, and she’d ditched her tennis shoes for flip-flops. He wondered what she’d do if he stroked the bend of her knee the way he wanted to.
“At some point I have to go home,” she murmured. “To my apartment.”
He wasn’t ready for that, even if it was safe. “File a restraining order against Murtagh and I might let you.”
“Let me?” She laughed. “You realize I’m a grown woman?”
He twirled the beer bottle back and forth. “A detail I haven’t missed.”
She blushed. At least he wanted to believe he’d made her blush. Hard to tell in the weak lighting, so why not assume the positive?
