“That seems sensible.”
She shook her head fiercely. “No, he’s wrong, but he’s ill, and I can’t convince him differently. I don’t want to lose either Gramps or my home, Mr. Thornton. The Dempseys have been farming our land for three generations. I don’t intend to let that legacy die.”
Gabe rubbed the back of his neck, fingers automatically brushing the scar hidden beneath his hair that ran from neckline to ear. It was a tangible reminder of a nightmare of green hell and fire from his other life and more than enough reason not to complicate his quest for inner peace with some farfetched, off-the-wall scheme concocted by a lunatic!
“Ma’am—Sarah, this plan of yours is pretty drastic. And why me? Don’t you have a boyfriend who could pull this off for you?”
A tide of hot color rolled up her cheeks, and her voice grew stiff. “No. At any rate, I’d rather keep this arrangement strictly business. You deal in unusual job assignments, don’t you? No one need know anything about it except Gramps, you and me.”
“You’ve got it all worked out,” he muttered.
“There’s really not much involved except your absolute discretion. Just meet Gramps a time or two, that’s all. And I’ll pay your usual fee.”
She was so sure of herself he felt sorry for her. “Honey, you can’t afford me.”
Dismay widened her eyes. “Oh, but—”
“Believe me, you’re out of your league.”
“Then a trade,” she offered, her expression harried. “That frontage land you wanted. I never meant to part with it, but if it’s the only way…”
For a moment he was tempted. The land would offer better access to Angel’s Landing, which was critical to keeping the enterprise afloat. But the whole setup was fraught with complications and headaches. No, better to follow his instincts. He shook his head.
“Forget it, I’m not interested. Not to mention that I have a real problem hoodwinking sick old men.”
“It’s shameful, I know that.” Remorse quivered in her voice. “But it’s for his peace of mind. You can’t know how worried he is. If I can relieve that…well, I know God will forgive me this white lie. Please, Mr. Thornton. I’ll give you the land.”
“Not this time, honey.” Shaking his head, he opened the driver’s door and pushed her gently into the seat. “’Husband’ isn’t my usual line of work. Tried it once. Didn’t like it.”
“It’s not much to ask,” she pleaded, as he slammed the truck door.
“Go home, Sarah Ann.”
She leaned out the window, her eyes the turbulent blue of a thunderhead. “Why won’t you help me?”
“I can think of about two dozen very good reasons.”
“Name one,” she challenged.
Goaded, he caught her chin between his fingers. “Try this.”
Covering her mouth with his, he kissed her hard. Despite her smothered squeal of protest, she was surprisingly sweet. He held her fast, taking his time, savoring the spice and fury of her mouth. When he released her, she sputtered in incoherent outrage. His lips curled in a smile both wicked and satisfied.
“Let that be a warning, Sarah Ann. Little girls shouldn’t play with fire. Every assignment gets my full attention. And real or not, you wouldn’t like what I’d expect of a wife.”
* * *
“What do you mean you turned it down?” Mike Hennesey wrinkled his sunburned nose and scrubbed at his russet curls in pure exasperation.
Rafe Okee sat across the dining table. Darkly bronzed and wiry, in jogging shorts, he pulled the bandana securing his long hair off his brow and snorted his agreement. “Hell, Cap’n! If this place is ever going to pay off, we need that frontage—bad.”
Freshly showered and looking forward to a quiet meal, Gabe scowled at his partners’ attack, then turned a fierce glare at the true author of this situation. “Been spilling the beans again, Beulah?”
“All I said was, it’s a damn fool who cuts off his nose to spite his face.”
With a graceful agility belied by her size and bulk, she slid the three plates she held balanced on one arm onto the table in front of the three men. Somehow she even managed to accomplish this feat without dripping any cigarette ashes in the dishes.
Grilled jumbo shrimp sizzled on the gargantuan platters, filling the evening air with a tantalizing aroma, but Gabe was in no mood to be placated by Beulah’s culinary skills, not when she’d obviously been indulging in her favorite hobby—troublemaking.
“You got a long nose, Beulah. That was a private conversation.”
She gave a laugh that sounded like a caw. “Cat fight was more like it. Heard you all the way to Tampa, I’ll bet. That gal sure left out of here steamed up.”
“Oh, hell, Gabe!” Mike groaned. “What’d you do to her?”
“You don’t want to know,” Beulah said, smirking. “It wasn’t pretty.”
“Don’t you have something better to do?” Gabe demanded.
“Don’t take that tone with me, mister.” Growling under her breath, she stomped toward the kitchen.
“Jeez, did you have to tick her off again?” Rafe asked in disgust. “We’ll be eating kibbles for a week.”
“I don’t know why we put up with that Medusa.” Gabe swung a leg over his chair.
“Yes, you do.” Mike bit into a shrimp and gave a long, appreciative sigh. “And this is it.”
Rafe eyed his former commanding officer belligerently. “What I want to know is, if old man Dempsey was so willing to deal on that property that he sent his own granddaughter over to talk to you, why didn’t you latch it down, pronto?”
Gabe shifted in his seat. “The, uh, price was too high.”
Miracle of miracles, apparently Beulah hadn’t overheard Sarah Ann’s outlandish proposal and passed that on, too. At least the poor girl would be spared that kind of ridicule and embarrassment. That he would take an unmerciful ribbing from his partners didn’t even enter into it, of course.
“Heck, Gabe, we need that frontage at any price,” Mike said. “I didn’t invest in this joint just to go bankrupt.”
“We’re far from that,” he protested, picking up his fork. “Besides, what are you complaining about? You’re hardly around a week per month these days.”
Mike grimaced. “Yeah, finding missing persons turns out to be a booming business.”
“Well, that last search-and-rescue nearly killed me. I’m getting too old for the Special Ops game,” Rafe groused.
“You got a better idea?”
“Sure. Improve access to Angel’s Landing, advertise and put up that RV park like we talked about, so we can make this place pay for itself and all retire.”
Mike pushed his empty plate aside and grinned. “I thought we’d done that already.”
“Mothballing the uniforms was only part of it,” Gabe pointed out.
The Fallen Angels team had served well together through dangerous times, in situations no government would even admit to knowing about. But a man’s psyche could only take so much. One by one, they’d reached a saturation point when they’d