Page 22 of Gunn's Mission

“We’ve got company,” he said. Then he gave her a wink.

A pretty pink blush filled her cheeks, and she jumped up to return to the stove, giving him and the door her back.

In a few minutes, the room filled with voices as the team headed to the coffee pot and then settled at the table.

“So, what did you think of our site?” Perry asked, his bushy eyebrows rising.

“It’s interesting,” he said noncommittally.

“Interesting?” Perry snorted. “You’ll have to see the film we’re going to review.”

“Yeah,” Em said. “It’s like a wonderland below the surface.”

Nate sat and gave Gunn a steady look. “You stay busy?”

“I did. Lots to see.”

“Nothing to do?” he asked, giving a surreptitious waggle of his eyebrows.

Nate likely knew precisely what Gunn had been up to, which made Gunn wonder whether the ex-Ranger was aware of the other devices hidden around the building.

“I finished up just in time,” Gunn murmured.

“So, how are you going to fill your time while you’re with us?” Eric asked.

Gunn had been wondering the same thing. Daily rounds of the platforms to help out and keep an eye on the inhabitants of the site only filled the waning daylight hours.

“There’s an old set of hand weights in the garage,” Hanna said.

“Good to know,” Gunn said. He could work out anywhere, but again, that would only fill so many hours. His gaze found its way to Maddie, who had just turned to get large pasta bowls from the cupboard.

Eric coughed, drawing his attention. “Maddie likes to crochet. Maybe she could teach you how to make a scarf or something.” Then he grinned, which told Gunn he’d noticed how he’d checked out Maddie.

Maddie gave Eric a narrow-eyed glance, but her look was much more open when she met Gunn’s gaze. “It’s not hard. I could show you some things.”

There was just a hint—a tiny hint—of flirtation in her tone.

But it was enough for Eric and Nate to hoot laughingly.

Maddie and Gunn shared grins. They’d established their “cover.”

After dinner,Maddie brought out crochet hooks and two balls of yarn. As she approached him, she arched an eyebrow.

He groaned but made room for her to sit beside him.

She tried not to notice how good he smelled. He’d showered after dinner and donned fresh clothing—thermal leggings and a shirt that lovingly clung to his well-muscled form.

They shared the sofa while she showed him how to form the first loop on his hook, then demonstrated on her own hook how to build the rows he’d need to make his first scarf.

“My rows are leaning,” he complained, leaning into her shoulder.

“This is your first piece. It’s going to look wonky. Just go with it. And remember to count how many loops you crochet into. If you miss one, your scarf will get skinnier and skinnier.”

“How long’s this gonna take?” he grumbled, trying to insert his hook into a tight loop.

She chuckled. “I can finish a scarf in an evening if I want, but when I started, it was more like a week because I kept shortening my rows and pulling them out to start all over again.”

“I think my hands are too big for this skinny hook.”

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