Page 60 of Lone Star

She’d liked her on the spot.

Seeing her here, now, had been a shock – and not a pleasant one.

Eden knew she was pregnant, but she didn’t think the dark smudges beneath her eyes, and the drawn, careful wariness of her expression could all be chalked up to morning sickness and hormone fluctuations. Something was wrong – something, she’d be willing to bet, besides the murders currently rattling the club’s windows. This was personal.

Axelle set down a heaping plate and then settled in across from her. “Jesus, the amount of food they think I eat,” she muttered, staring down at the pile of sausage, hash, eggs, and what Eden had learned a few weeks ago were grits. “Darla fixed my plate for me,” she confided, shaking her head, “and I kept saying ‘that’s enough,’ and she just kept saying I was too skinny and piling it on.” She picked up her fork and nudged the tower of deep-fried potatoes. “Damn.”

When she lifted her head, and caught Eden’s gaze, her expression shifted. “What?”

“Just thinking.” Eden picked up her coffee and blew the steam off the top; the porcelain was nearly too hot to touch. “Sleep well?”

Axelle blushed and forked up a bite of eggs. Eden had never seen her like this. “Yeah. Bed’s not as shitty as I expected.”

Eden hid a smile in the rim of her mug. “Hm. Funny how that works out.”

Cheeks still bright pink, Axelle shot her a glare. “You don’t have to look like that.”

“Like what?”

“LikeI told you so.”

“I never told you a thing,” she said, primly. “If I had, I probably would have advised against it. You’ve waltzed into your own romance all by yourself.”

Axelle grimaced and took a huge bite of hash.

Eden did her best not to laugh.

Footfalls scuffed over the hardwood, heralding Albie’s arrival before he joined them, sitting down next to Axelle. Eden didn’t miss the way Axelle swayed toward him, fractionally, as if drawn by a magnet; nor did she miss the way, head bent, Albie turned his gaze toward her, surreptitious, careful, perhaps nervous. They were still dancing around one another, but oh, there was tension there. Heat. A palpable frisson in the scant inches between them.

It eased some of Eden’s worries about Albie’s intentions.

“Hey,” Axelle said, looking at Albie’s plate: one slice of ham, and two eggs sunny-side up. “Why don’t you have a freaking ton of food?”

He shrugged as he unrolled his silverware. “I fixed my own plate.”

Axelle made a face, and glanced toward the kitchen. “You’re too skinny,” she mocked, in a good imitation of Darla’s Texas drawl. “Myass.”

“What about your ass?” Albie asked, turning to her, all innocence – save the faintest flicker of a smile teasing at one corner of his mouth. It was like Fox’s almost-smile, but softer, sweeter. Less calculated.

Axelle went crimson. She elbowed him, and lowered her face over her plate; Albie grinned.

They were a little bit adorable.

“What are you up to today, Albie?” Eden asked, because she could only take so much adorable at once.

His smile dimmed, and he tucked into his breakfast. “Heading out with Fox,” he said, when he’d swallowed a bite of ham. “He knows the terrain and I decidedly don’t. So I guess I’m backup.” He shrugged, and cut into the yolk with the edge of his fork.

Eden watched it run, yellow and viscous, out across the plate, pooling against the seared edge of the ham, and was glad she’d skipped breakfast.

She’d always worked best on an empty stomach.

Twenty-Two

“Are you taking Fox out to the crime scenes today?” Michelle asked as she tugged on her boots.

Candy stood at the door, halfway through pulling on his jacket. He stood with one arm in a sleeve, the other caught mid-slide, and turned to look at her, expression polite – but guarded. It was a perfectly fine expression, only it wasn’t the way he usually looked at her.

She wanted to be upset about that, but found she couldn’t be.

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