Page 56 of Steers and Stowaways
Mallory looked aghast at having jumped to the wrong conclusion. “I’m so sorry,” she gasped. “I’m?—”
“Gotcha!” Ashley pointed two fingers at her, dissolving into laughter. “I’m pregnant with baby number two—so pregnant that I’m about to pop. You should’ve seen your face, though.”
“Oh, wow!” Mallory looked a little dazed. “You’re awful!”
“I know.” Ashley snickered. “It’s Johnny’s fault. We’ve been married long enough that his meanness is starting to rub off on me.”
“Speaking of meanness.” Johnny wagged a finger at Tucker. “Rumor has it you’re about to resign from Johnny’s Dairy.” He looked down his nose at him. “Not that you’ve shown up much lately.”
Tucker didn’t try to sidestep the truth. “It’s true. I’ve been putting it off as long as I could.” All jokes and beefs aside, he hated leaving the guy shorthanded.
“Then let me make it easy for you.” Johnny stepped closer to clap a hand on his shoulder. “You’re fired. Congratulations!” His knowing smirk took the sting out of his words.
“Johnny,” his wife moaned.
“Eh, I had it coming.” Tucker wasn’t the least bit offended by the Cubas’ tag-teaming brand of humor. On the contrary, he appreciated the way their antics seemed to be easing Mallory’s bridal nerves. Knowing Johnny, he’d probably done it on purpose. Not only did he have a good heart, but he understood the undercurrents of danger rumbling through the room. Well, mostly.
Tucker felt a stab of guilt over not revealing his status as a federal agent to his fellow P.I.s at Lonestar Security. He needed to. Soon. Especially since he was hoping to make his employment there more permanent. Though he’d promised Mallory he’d become a full-time rancher, he was still debating the idea of hiring a new ranch foreman—a non-criminal this time around—to handle the day-to-day stuff. He enjoyed detective work too much to give it up entirely.
Catching sight of Gil Remington’s auburn hair, he left Mallory in Ashley’s capable hands and moved his way. It might not hurt to review their security protocols one last time before the wedding ceremony began.
The tall, retired sheriff shook his head at Tucker as he approached him. “Whatever you’re about to ask me, theanswer is no. You’re off-duty, Private Investigator Pratt. It’s your wedding day.” He leaned his head closer to add in undertones, “Or should I call you Agent Pratt?”
Tucker gripped the Stetson at his side tighter. For once, he was at a loss for words.
“How did I know?” Gil smirked as he asked what was burning like lava inside of Tucker. For an answer, he angled his head at someone else.
Tucker followed his line of sight and discovered none other than Pete Flournoy had shown up for the wedding. “You’vegotto be kidding me!”
“Nope.” Gil sounded amused. “Apparently, he received the resignation you emailed to him last night and hopped on the next flight. Took a red-eye to the closest big airport and boarded a prop jet for the remaining leg.”
Tucker rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I can explain.”
“After the wedding,” Gil returned smoothly. “My partners are in the middle of drafting a new job offer,” he cleared his throat, “now that we have a more complete picture of your skill set.”
Gratitude flooded Tucker. “Thank you, sir.” He almost didn’t care what they offered him. He was going to accept it.
“You’re welcome.” Gil gave him a stern, fatherly look. “Go make that girl happy. I knew her parents. She’s a good one.”
Tucker nodded, feeling emotional. “She’s my entire world, sir.”
“Believe me, I know the feeling.” Gil shooed him toward the altar. “One last thing. No matter what happens down there, Lonestar Security has your back. Yours and Mallory’s both.”
“Thank you, sir.” Tucker could only hope it wasn’t hisway of saying the sting operation would commence in the middle of their wedding. However, there was no time for questions.
He strode to the altar, tossing his Stetson onto the half-empty front pew. It skidded across the ancient wooden seat and landed against the dark navy trousers of the man seated there.
Tucker opened his mouth to issue an apology, but the words got stuck on his tongue. He found himself staring at the one man in the world he’d never expected to see again—Gray Duncan, a dirty police detective with blood on his hands. There was no mistaking his military high-and-tight haircut or the sneer splattered across his scarred face.
His ex-partner from the El Paso Police Department gave him a slow, ominous wink. “Hello, Tucker. I understand congratulations are in order.”
Tucker’s hand inched toward the holster beneath his suit jacket, but Gray shook his head in warning. “Don’t.” He moved a hand inside his own suit pocket to reveal the outline of a pistol beneath the fabric.
Tucker lowered his hand to his side, frantically considering his meager options. A few seconds ago, he’d been hoping the federal sting operation would be postponed. Now, it couldn’t begin soon enough.
Gray surveyed him mockingly. “Don’t bother trying anything. It’s over, partner. We’ve got you surrounded.”
“We?” Tucker flicked his gaze around the cozy church sanctuary, wondering who Gray was including in his statement. The two tall Christmas trees flanking the platform twinkled back at him, lending a warm and festive touch to the ominous scene unfolding.
