Page 23 of Midnight Rebel

In the shower, I let the hot water soothe my conflicted thoughts. On the one hand, I’m falling hard for Colt.

The way he makes me feel—safe, cherished, desired—is intoxicating. But on the other hand, I can’t forget why I’m here.

I have a job to do, a mystery to solve. And Colt is right at the center of it all.

Can I be objective when I’m sharing his bed? When his kisses make me weak in the knees, and his touch sets my skin on fire?

I close my eyes, letting the water cascade over me. I need to find a way to balance my heart and my head, or this whole situation could blow up in my face.

By the time I make it downstairs, dressed in jeans and a soft sweater, the smell of coffee and bacon fills the air. I follow my nose to the kitchen, where I find Colt at the stove, his back to me as he flips pancakes with expert precision.

“Smells amazing,” I say.

Colt turns, a smile lighting up his face. “Perfect timing. Have a seat. It’s almost ready.”

I settle at the kitchen island, watching him work. There’s something incredibly sexy about a man who knows his way around a kitchen.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” I say, sipping my coffee. It’s perfect—the right amount of cream and sugar, exactly how I like it.

He shrugs, plating up the food. “I picked up a few things over the years. It comes in handy when you’re living on your own.”

As he sets a plate in front of me—golden pancakes, crispy bacon, and scrambled eggs that look fluffy and delicious—a pang of guilt hits me. Here he is, taking care of me while I’m essentially investigating him and his family.

“This looks incredible,” I say, picking up my fork. “Thank you.”

Colt leans across the island, his blue eyes intense. “You’re welcome, Firefly. I like taking care of you.”

The simple statement makes my heart skip a beat. I take a bite of pancake to distract myself and can’t hold back a moan of appreciation. “Oh my God, these are amazing. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

A shadow passes over Colt’s face. “My dad. He used to make these every Sunday morning.”

I reach out, covering his hand with mine. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories.”

He shakes his head, turning his hand to lace our fingers together. “It’s okay. Not all the memories are bad.” His thumb strokes over my knuckles, sending little shivers up my arm.

“Tell me more about your dad,” I say softly, genuinely curious about Colt’s past.

Colt’s eyes grow distant. “He was a good man. Tough, but fair. He taught me everything I know about running this place.” He pauses, a wry smile touching his lips. “Including how to make a mean stack of pancakes.”

I squeeze his hand gently. “He sounds wonderful. I wish I could have met him.”

“Me too.” Colt clears his throat, shaking off the moment of vulnerability. “Eat up,” he says, his voice gruff.

I nod, turning my attention back to my plate. As we eat, my thoughts stray to the tunnels. What caused that cave-in? Was it age and poor maintenance or something more sinister?

“Colt,” I say, setting down my fork. “About the tunnels... do you think there’s more to it than structural decay?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I don’t know. It could be nothing, but...”

“But?” I prompt.

“Given everything else that’s been happening around here, I can’t rule out foul play.” His jaw clenches.

I lean forward, my reporter instincts kicking in. “Who would want to do that? And why?”

Colt shakes his head. “I wish I knew. Plenty of people in town would love to see this place fail.”

“What do you mean? Who?”

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