Page 21 of Guarded Secrets
CHAPTER SEVEN
Owen glanced at his watch. It wasn’t like he was worried about her. Keeley could take care of herself. She was competent, smart, and as much as he gave her a hard time, she didn’t take unnecessary risks.
But his time in the military, and then as a cop, had taught him to respect his gut. It’d saved his life more than once, and he’d learned not to dismiss the instinct. And right now it was telling him something was going on with Keeley.
He and Bruce had walked the property. There were footprints here and there, but it was impossible to say they weren’t from the family or people who’d visited in the recent past.
Same with the fresh tread marks in front of Abby and Bruce’s home. The couple’s cars were parked in the garage, and Keeley’s was in the spot to the right of her cottage.
Maybe the tire tracks were from a delivery van or the postal carrier, or the paint guy Abby’d called to get a quote for painting the exterior. Or maybe they’d been made in the middle of the night by someone scoping out where Keeley Montaigne lived.
Another glance at his watch. Five minutes until she was due to start her shift so it wasn’t like she was late. He picked up the remote and turned the channel on the TV over the bar to distract himself with the Kings basketball game. The effort at distraction didn’t work because spending the day together meant his head was filled with images of her.
Her cottage had a small one-car garage with no room for a car because Keeley was storing furniture and boxes from the apartmentin Sacramento she’d moved out of months ago. They’d worked together to make room and then unloaded the contents of the CRV.
He’d known helping her was a bad idea. Like hiring her to work at Easy Money was a bad idea. Sure, he needed staff, but being in her orbit messed with him.
Case in point, she sang under her breath while she’d worked unloading shit from her car. He didn’t think she was even aware of it. It was fucking adorable.
Then she’d found this huge envelope made from pink construction paper and sealed with a smiling heart sticker. Her students had made going away cards liberally decorated with glitter and crap, and her guy friend Yousef had stashed them in her car for her to find.
She’d sat right down on the garage floor and read every one of those cards. And cried. Sure, he realized now she happy cried, but it still gutted him to see her with tears on her face.
It made him think he had to do something, fix something, make it all better. Anything to stop the tears.
Did he need to know she sang while she worked or had a soft heart? Hell no, because it was one more thing that made her too damn appealing.
The other thing that made her too damn appealing? Finding her asleep in her bed that morning, soft, warm, and desirable as hell.
But finding out she’d had a sex dream? Featuring him? Holy fucking shit. He’d never in his life wanted something as badly as he’d wanted her. He’d managed only a shaky hold on his sense of self-preservation, which had kept him from climbing into that bed and giving them both what they wanted.
And now he was getting worked up all over again. He needed to get his shit together.
He pulled the tap to fill tall glasses with Cider Mill Hard and set them on a tray for Dion to deliver to the trio of college-age bros at a high-top table in the corner. They were barely old enough to drink. He knew that because he’d checked their IDs.
He resisted looking at his watch again and restocked the well, then checked the contents of the underbar refrigerator: pickled onions, maraschino cherries, juices, and syrups. All good.
Another minute and she’d be late. A movement in the hall had him jerking up his head, and he saw it was Josie. She gave him a cool look before heading through the swinging door to the hall with the employee lockers.
She could be pissed at him all she wanted because he was damn pissed at her. She’d asked for a ride home. He’d given her a ride home. No big deal. But he sure as hell hadn’t expected her to reach across the center console to grab his crotch before they were even out of the parking lot. He’d removed her hand, and she’d followed up with an offer of a blow job. He’d made it clear if she tried something like that again he’d fire her ass. She could deal with the rejection if she wanted to remain employed.
The memory put him in a sour mood all over again. He’d give Keeley one more minute and then he was calling her. She’d think he was overstepping, but that was too bad. His watch showed exactly four o’clock. He was reaching for his phone when she walked in. He immediately felt that something coiled tight in his gut relax.
She was with him and she was safe.
He sighed in resignation. He was truly fucked.
Business was good for a Sunday night, mostly couples having an early dinner with a few solo drinkers sprinkled in. Once he realized Keeley didn’t need to work up to waiting tables, he’d scheduled her as waitstaff. He listened to her patter. She knew drinks and wasn’t shy about pushing the Cider Mill Farm line.
As he’d expected, she charmed customers with her sunny smile and talent for chatting with sincere interest even when keeping an eye on her other tables.
It was because he was paying attention that he noticed her freezing mid-stride. Owen followed her line of sight to the man who’d come in through the front door.
“Keeley, baby.” A guy with a waxed handlebar mustache and a stupid man-bun rushed across the floor. Were man-buns still a thing? Were handlebar mustaches ever a thing?
Keeley had a tray tucked under her arm and was backing up when he grabbed her shoulders and brought her in for a hug. “Long time, no see, sweet thing. I can’t believe you’re working at a bar. It’s cool, but not what I’d have chosen for you.”
Keeley pushed back from the embrace, turning her face away so the kiss the asshole aimed for her lips ended up on her cheek instead.
