Her heart fluttered uncomfortably in her chest, an echo of the panic she’d felt when news of his capture had come into the newsroom just a couple weeks before.
Here she’d thought his rescue would cure her of the unwanted reaction. Apparently not.
Hope fought against the mass of people, trying to get closer to the side of the ring. The breath she hadn’t realized she was holding leaked slowly from her parted lips when he finally started to stir. His hands spread wide on the floor and he pushed upward. His head hung between those straining shoulders, as if it were too heavy for him to hold up.
Her gaze searched him for signs of serious injury. She jostled the handful of men standing between her and the ring. She yelled, demanding they let her through, and slapped at the ones who didn’t listen.
Gage finally picked up his head. His gaze connected with hers through the flimsy barrier of ropes. The same punch she always felt hit her, as if she’d been the one taking shots to the solar plexus. But just like always, she ignored it.
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. His right eye was already swelling and bruising. Hope’s hands curled around the edge of the ring floor. The sharp pain of a splinter pierced her left palm.
His golden-brown eyes flared with recognition and something warmer before narrowing down to indecipherable slits. He frowned and asked gruffly, “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
In one lithe movement that belied the fact that he’d just been knocked silly, Gage bounded up from the floor and over the ropes. His feet slapped the dirty cement beside her. Several men around them smacked his back and shoulders, offering encouragement he obviously didn’t need.
The man deserved an Academy Award to go with his other decorations. “You threw the match,” Hope breathed out, the realization hitting at about the same time the shocked words fell from her lips. Why the heck would he do that?
His frown deepened. A few people around them stared and grumbled ominously. Gage grasped her arm and pushed her ahead of him through the crowd.
People parted to let them pass. She glanced back to look at Gage because they sure weren’t moving out of her way. They hadn’t done it any other time she’d slipped through the rowdy crowd. After seeing his expression she had to admit she didn’t blame them. If he’d raked her with that hard, cutting expression she’d have gotten the hell out of the way, too.
And if he hadn’t had a death grip on her upper arm she might have done it now.
Her heel caught on a crack in the floor. Before she could stumble Gage was there, keeping her from twisting an ankle by pulling her back against the wall of his chest.
His hard, sweaty chest. A shiver rocked through Hope. She just hoped he was too preoccupied to notice.
Dumping her out into the chilly February night, he finally let her go. This time she did stumble, letting the building catch her. The metal siding rattled. In the distance a peal of female laughter was cut short.
Gage stood in front of her, his legs planted wide, arms crossed over his chest. Unruly dark brown hair, longer than she’d expected, fluttered in a gust of wind. Hope shivered again, but this time it was because seeing him standing out in nothing but a pair of shorts made her cold. Spring was definitely on the way, but it was still close to forty this late at night. It didn’t seem to bother him. Which bothered her.
He pinned her in place with the glittering intensity of his stare. That was new. And she wasn’t sure she liked it. Where was the laughing, mischievous boy she remembered? The one whose favorite pastime was talking her into things that inevitably got them both in trouble?
Hope gathered herself, crossed her own arms to fight the sudden feeling of being exposed and stared right back.
Gage Harper might be able to intimidate a lot of people, but not her. She knew his darkest secrets—at least the ones from his childhood. She’d seen him cry when his dog was hit by a car. And she knew exactly how to get under his skin.
She didn’t think he’d changed that much in twelve years. So she waited, knowing that saying nothing would eventually drive him crazy. If there was one thing Gage hated, it was silence. He needed action, movement, motion.
It only took a couple minutes for him to ask, “Why?”
“Hello to you, too, Gage. It’s nice to see you home. Yeah, my daddy’s doing fine, thanks for askin’. The cancer scare was difficult, but he’s in remission now,” she answered in the sweetest, kill-you-with-kindness voice she could manage.
He ignored her point and breezed right over the niceties. “Why were you looking for me? And for God’s sake, why here? Do you know how dangerous this place is? Half the guys here are ex-cons and the other half just haven’t gotten caught yet.”
He was exaggerating. So none of the men inside would be up for Teddy Bear of the Year, but some of them had looked decent enough. She might have felt out of place, but not in danger.
“Please. I’m a journalist. I can handle myself.”
Gage laughed. The sound wasn’t what she remembered—his laugh had been loud and deep—but was brittle, with a sharp edge that could have sliced straight through skin. “You are not a journalist.”
Hope jerked at the punch of his words. They shouldn’t have mattered. Who cared what Gage thought? But they did. Probably because he, more than anyone, should have understood how much they would hurt. And maybe he did.
“Running Daddy’s paper hardly qualifies you as a journalist. I’ve been home for two days and haven’t seen your name on a byline yet.”
Hope tried to rein in the temper she could feel bubbling inside her.
“Does my degree from Clemson make me a journalist, then?” she growled.
The minute the words left her mouth she regretted them. She watched as the expression on his face shut down, his eyes going completely blank. He took a single step backward. He didn’t move far, but she realized there was more to the distance than merely putting inches between them.
He’d wounded her on purpose, but she’d done it accidentally. She should have known better. Not getting into Clemson was a sore spot for him. With that single statement she’d brought them straight back around to a history neither of them wanted to rehash.
“What do you want, Hope?”
Even his voice was distant.
“To interview you,” she said, unsure how to reverse what she’d carelessly done. She could feel the opportunity to tell his story slipping through her fingers. It frustrated her.
His gaze swept across her. The contempt that grazed her made her want to walk away, but she wouldn’t. She couldn’t.
“I’m not giving interviews.”
Even before Gage had shown up in Sweetheart, the reporters had begun crawling out of the woodwork. Several national news teams had taken up residence at the local B and B and their satellite-equipped trucks were permanently parked on every corner of the town square.
The propaganda videos released by the insurgents had made Gage Harper an overnight media sensation. The camera loved every dirty, bloody, defiant inch of his beautifully distant face. The same cuttingly intense expression filling his golden eyes had captured a nation.
And then he and his men had been rescued. Not since Jessica Lynch had there been such a media storm surrounding the capture and rescue of a U.S. soldier.
Just about every citizen of Sweetheart had been stopped and questioned about Gage—his childhood, his parents, his sister. They’d even interviewed elementary school kids who hadn’t been born when Gage left and never met the guy. But in the absence of a real story, they were trying to fill in with whatever they could get their grubby hands on.
Didn’t he realize that saying nothing could be worse? People filled in the blanks, anyway, with whatever they were given—whether it was fact or fiction.
The influx of reporters had become a nuisance and the town council had even called an emergency session to discuss how to deal with them. They’d hoped when Gage came home and spoke that would be the end
of it. But Gage refused to talk to anyone.
Hope had thought she—and the Sweetheart Sentinel—would be the exception to Gage’s no-comment policy. Apparently not.
“But this is for us, Gage. Everyone wants to hear the story from you.”
“Well, then I guess everyone’s going to be disappointed. Something the citizens of Sweetheart should be used to where I’m concerned. I’ve been disappointing them for years.”
“That’s not true.”
Gage raised a single eyebrow. It was all he needed to call her a liar, although she would have argued that terrorized would have been a better word than disappointed. Pranks like rolling the wedding gazebo, putting potato flakes in the flower beds lining Main Street so they puffed up with the morning dew and numbering three goats 1, 2 and 4 before releasing them into the high school had earned Gage a reputation.
But that was before he became a war hero.
“I’m not talking to you or anyone else, Hope.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could say anything he just shook his head. And began walking backward, away from her.
Hope could tell that he was determined. A lot had changed, but she’d seen that expression on his face enough times to recognize it. Every time she’d tried to talk him out of some hare-brained scheme.
However, she could be just as stubborn as he was. She wasn’t going to let anything stand between her and her escape hatch out of this town.
Not even Gage Harper. Maybe especially not Gage Harper.
2
THE TOWN WAS CRAZY. That was all there was to it. All around him chaos reigned. Although, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise since he’d grown up in Sweetheart, where Valentine’s Day was sacred, and folks started celebrating a week in advance. Twelve years away had managed to blunt Gage’s memories.
He now recalled why he never visited at this time of year.
A group of men, most of them town-council members, were yelling at each other from the top of several ladders. “No, yours needs to go down on the right, Hank.”
“I said up, Billy! You got cotton stuck in your ears again?”
Gage had mixed emotions when it came to the red banners with the white-and-pink cupids being hung on all the lampposts down Main. As a child, he’d thought the cupids looked like big blobs of cotton candy. His daddy, the mayor, had not been amused when at six he announced his opinion at the dinner table with the entire council present...and started a heated discussion about the need to update town decorations.
On the other hand, he’d used the excitement surrounding this week to snag more than one kiss beneath those banners. And why did that thought bring up an image of Hope Rawlings? She’d definitely never been one of those girls. Not that he hadn’t wanted her to be....
“Gage, great to have you home,” Billy Carstairs yelled as he passed between two of the men. “Boy, what happened to your face? That’s not from...what happened, is it?”
As Billy looked down at him from ten feet in the air, his grip on the lamppost slipped. The banner he was holding swung precariously and Billy wobbled. The sight of him grasping the post, his cheek pressed so tightly against the metal that he vaguely resembled a smushed bulldog, might have been amusing if Gage hadn’t been worried he was about to have to catch the man—all two hundred and fifty pounds of him.
“No, sir,” he answered, sighing in relief when Billy regained his balance.
All around him people turned, not to watch the averted disaster, but to look at him. It was a sensation Gage just couldn’t get used to. His neck permanently crawled from being watched. He was only a few weeks removed from an environment where that feeling usually heralded a burst of flying bullets. He’d learned to listen to those internal warnings that told him danger was coming so that he could prepare.
In Sweetheart danger tended to involve overprotective daddies with shotguns, women with wedding bells and babies on the brain and a potential shortage of beer on Saturdays during college football season. Now that could start a nasty riot.
Just one more thing he’d had to adjust to upon returning stateside.
Everyone he passed smiled and greeted him by name. Half the people he didn’t even think he knew. Pride shone out of every pair of eyes. A far cry from the frowns that had followed in his wake during his teenage years.
The men probably hoped he’d stop to chat. Maybe offer a hand so they could casually ask him the question everyone wanted to know. What happened? Every single one of them wanted details. Or thought they did. What they really wanted was some romanticized view of what he’d been through. The drama. The rescue. The Hollywood version where everyone survived and no one had permanent scars. They didn’t want the truth.
Which was fine with him since he wasn’t willing to give anyone that. Although he had to admit this pedestal they’d set him up on chafed. It was lonely up here with nothing but his guilt for company.
He had no idea where he was going, but he’d needed out of the house before his mama made that disappointed, exasperated sound in the back of her throat one more time. She’d taken one look at his face and shaken her head, working out her frustration on the waffle batter she’d whipped up just for him.
Gage almost wished she’d yelled at him the way she would have when he was younger. At least then he could have gotten it over with and moved on. Instead, she went straight from the waffles to scrambled eggs and then French toast, all the while making that damned noise. He hadn’t eaten this much breakfast since basic training when he’d been burning calories faster than he could shovel them in.
The sign for his sister’s sweet shop, Sugar & Spice, loomed ahead. Maybe he’d stop in and see her. Although, Lexi was just as likely to chastise him and try to feed him as their mother was. But at least it gave him a purpose. He wasn’t used to twiddling his thumbs while everyone else around him worked.
A bell tinkled when he opened the door. The scent of chocolate assailed him as his sister called, “Be right out.”
“Take your time, Lex,” he hollered back, letting her know it was only him and not a customer.
He was perusing the baked goods, truffles, fudge and caramel apples lined up neatly behind the long glass counter when the bell chimed again. Gage glanced up at the young guy who entered. He didn’t look familiar, but then judging by his age, if he was local he probably would’ve been thirteen or fourteen when Gage left so that shouldn’t surprise him.
Everyone had changed. Including his sister who was coming out of the back, wiping her hands on a red-and-white-checkered towel tucked into the waistband of her matching apron. He’d seen her over the years so her gradual growth into the beautiful woman before him hadn’t completely blindsided him. But it had been at least a year since he’d last seen her. Her hair was longer. Maybe a little lighter. She’d lost another few pounds, something he didn’t think she’d needed to do, but convincing Lexi of that was like talking to one of the lampposts outside.
“Gage,” she said, smiling and rushing around the counter to give him a huge hug. She was always like that, exuberant and affectionate with the people who mattered to her. Sometimes he worried about that. She left herself so wide-open.... But she was a big girl and had managed fine without his meddling for a while now.
Pulling back, she held him at arm’s length. A frown pulled at the edges of her wide mouth. Growing up she’d been all big eyes and mouth, both features overwhelming even her slightly pudgy face. Now she’d grown into the features, giving her an edge of uniqueness. She’d never be classified as typically beautiful, but in his mind she was better—even if he was slightly biased.
“You’re here two days and you’ve already found trouble. I shouldn’t be surprised, but I would have thought you’d had enough of that for a little while.”
Gage grasped one of her bouncy curls and tugged. Her hand shot to her scalp as her head tilted into the torture. But she was laughing as she said, “Ow, don’t make me tell Mom.”
“Oh, she knows. I g
ot waffles, scrambled eggs, pumpkin muffins and French toast as punishment.”
Lexi scowled. “How the heck is that punishment? Sounds like she did everything but kill the fatted calf.”
“Don’t worry, that’s for dinner tonight. Please say you’re coming because if I have to endure any more of the fawning I think I’m going to scream.”
Lexi had moved out of their parents’ house years ago into a cute little cottage on the lake. Because this was one of her busiest seasons, he’d only seen her briefly his first night home. Gage definitely could have used her as a buffer against their mother’s ebullient praise and their father’s silent, watchful gaze. He almost wished his dad would say something already—like how he’d screwed up once again.
“It’ll cost you,” she said, grinning evilly, spinning away from him to the customer waiting patiently at the other end of the counter. “Head into the back. I’ll be there in a few. What can I get for you today? Are you shopping for someone special?”
“What are these?” The guy pointed to some fancy chocolates set apart from the rest of the displays. Gage bit back a smile, listening with half an ear as his sister launched into a lecture about the herb-laced aphrodisiac chocolates she specialized in.
Shaking his head, Gage slipped behind the red curtain that separated the industrial kitchen and office space from the main display area. Up front the store was all quaint ambience. Iron scrollwork chairs and polished tea tables. Hand-carved wood-and-glass display cases. She’d even gone so far as to distress the pieces to make them look antique and give the place an artificial air of history. Behind the curtain was the land of efficient stainless steel.
She’d been open for about six years, and according to his parents was doing very well. A few years ago she started selling some of the more exotic concoctions on the internet. He was glad.
The low rumble of a male voice and the lilting sound of his sister’s laughter drifted back to him. One minute stretched into five. And then ten. Gage wandered the kitchen, tempted to open the doors to the double oven to determine what smelled so damn good. But he didn’t. He’d been chased away with a wooden spoon often enough to know better.
The Risk-Taker Page 2
