Fan the Flames (7 page)

“Ian,” a deep male voice said, making her raise her head. Sheriff Rob Coughlin and his teenage son, Tyler, stood next to their booth, and Rory mentally chastised herself for getting so distracted that she hadn't paid attention to her surroundings. Her parents would've been so disappointed. It was especially surprising that she'd missed Rob's approach—with his formidable build and rugged, striking features, he was not a man who was easily ignored by any woman with a pulse.

“Sheriff.” Ian, his face expressionless, gave the other man a stiff nod. He warmed visibly as he turned to the teen. “Hey, Tyler.”

“Hey,” the boy responded, keeping his head down.

After returning Ian's nod, Rob focused his gaze on Rory. She wanted to squirm, but forced herself to remain still under his careful scrutiny. “It's Rory, right? Rory Sorenson?”

Although it had been phrased as a question, Rory was sure he knew perfectly well what her name was. He'd even visited her shop a couple of times, needing a part his usual source in Denver hadn't been able to supply immediately. Both had been innocuous visits, during which Rory had struggled to keep her gaze from darting to the back-room door, where her less-than-legal inventory was hidden. It hadn't helped that talking to a good-looking guy, especially one who could arrest her, made her tongue-tied on the best of days. The sheriff hadn't ever expressed more than a polite but cursory interest in Rory or her shop, and she was really hoping to keep it that way.

“Yes,” she belatedly replied, flushing. “How are you?”

“Busy,” he said easily.

“I'm sure.” Rory still felt awkward. Once again, she resisted the urge to wriggle in her seat. “With the fires and that dead body in the reservoir and…uh, Lou's stuff and everything.” Her flush heated even more. Stupid nonexistent social skills. Ian's laugh didn't help, even if he did try to turn it into a cough halfway through. Under the cover of the table, she pinched his leg. Hard.

He jumped, covering her hand with his so her fingers were flattened against his thigh and unable to repeat the pinch.

“You're the lady with all the guns?” Tyler asked suddenly, jerking Rory's attention away from the rock-hard thigh muscle under her palm.

Why did the kid have to bring up my semi-illegal business in front of his sheriff dad?
Resisting the urge to send Rob a nervous glance, she kept her gaze on Tyler instead. “Yeah. I mean, I have a gun store.”

“Awesome. Do you have, like, Uzi machine guns and shit?”

“Tyler!” Rob barked. “Language.”

“No.” Again, she stopped herself from sending the sheriff a nervous look. “I wouldn't sell any fully automatic weapons unless they were registered in the U.S. before the 1968 Gun Control Act was passed.” As Tyler stared at her blankly, she risked a peek at Rob. He rubbed his hand over his mouth as if hiding a smile, and Rory relaxed slightly…at least until Tyler asked his next question.

“So, are you two, like, dating?”

“Yes.”

“No!” She glared at Ian before turning back to Rob and his too-nosy son. “This isn't a date. It's just us satisfying a biological need.”

Rory wasn't sure if Ian was choking or laughing. Just to be on the safe side, she patted his hunched back. When she looked up at Rob's face, his startled expression had her reviewing her last comment in her head.

“Oh!” Her blush before was nothing compared to what was burning her face now. “No! Not that kind of biological… I mean, eating! We were both hungry. That's it.”

Tyler made a muffled sound, his hand hiding his grin in an unconscious imitation of his father. Squeezing her eyes closed, Rory wondered how she'd stumbled into blurting unintentional sexual innuendo in front of a teenage boy. Her gaffe shouldn't have surprised her, though. She was clueless when it came to kids. They baffled her. Even when she'd been young herself, they'd seemed like an alien species, complete with their own language. She avoided them when she could. Owning a gun shop helped with that, since her customers were all over eighteen and rarely brought their offspring along.

Rob cleared his throat, and she realized she must have missed a chunk of conversation.

“Sorry. What'd you say?” she asked, tucking a section of hair behind her ear. In a fit of vanity, she'd pulled it out of her usual ponytail and brushed it out before their date—or non-date, or whatever it was. Now it kept tumbling into her face, annoying her. Rory wished she'd brought the ponytail holder along.

“Just that we'll see you later.”

“Okay. Yes. Good-bye.” This was why she stayed home. Unless guns were the topic, Rory felt like she was wandering around a conversational swamp, complete with quicksand and alligators.

Ian turned to Rob, the humor in his expression slipping away as he lifted his chin in farewell. “'Night, Sheriff. Tyler.”

They were quiet until Rob and Tyler had reached their booth.

“You can let me go now,” she muttered, tugging fruitlessly at her captive hand.

His hold didn't ease. “Are you going to assault me again?”

“It was just a pinch. You're acting like I caught you in a leghold trap or something.”

“Maybe you have.” The corners of his mouth curled up as his eyes heated. “I don't see myself escaping your clutches anytime soon…or ever.”

Although she hated to admit it, smoldering-gaze Ian Walsh was even more appealing than smiley Ian Walsh. In the fluorescent glare of the restaurant, Ian didn't look washed-out and pale like everyone else. His olive skin gave him a year-round tan, and his short but still unruly black hair caught the light in the most photogenic way. It was like he had a spotlight on him all the time, his startlingly good looks and magnetism pulling people's attention. Instead of feeling even plainer in comparison, though, she almost felt like some of his beauty reflected back on her. The way he watched her with those heavy-lidded dark eyes made her feel like the female lead in a romantic movie. For once in her life, she could be the one people looked at with envy, rather than pity and curiosity.

Rory dragged her attention away from his too-tempting beauty. “It was just a pinch. You're sort of being a big baby about it.”

He laughed, squeezing her hand and then finally releasing her. “I wasn't talking about that.”

“Then what?”

“Never mind.”

Rory opened her mouth to demand an explanation. She hated when things went over her head. It made her feel stupid. Since the waitress chose that moment to arrive at their booth to take their order, Rory wasn't able to get any clarification.

“Good to see you out of that shop of yours,” the server commented after she took their orders and then their menus. “You're too young to be a hermit.”

“Thanks?” Rory said to her retreating back.

They had only a few seconds of peace before a scowling Belly Leopold was sliding into the empty seat across from them.

“Hi, Belly.” When the other woman just grunted in response, Rory asked, “Is everything okay?”

“How am I supposed to have any kind of success when the two of you are getting all cuddly at Levi's?” the coroner barked.

“We're not cuddling!” Flushing, Rory tried to create a cushion of space between her side and Ian's, but there was nowhere to go, unless she climbed over the side of the booth. She seriously considered it, since she was reaching the limit of how much awkwardness she could take.

As if he could read her thoughts, Ian laid his hand on her leg right above her knee, letting its weight hold her in place. The warmth spread through her as her breaths came faster. Ian's touch seemed to be directly wired into her nervous system.

Completely ignoring Rory's protestations, Belly frowned at both of them. “Our bargain was just for the old rumors. You two are responsible for any new gossip you manage to stir up by getting handsy where anyone can see.”

“What?” Despite the weight of Ian's hand on her leg, Rory practically levitated. “We're not getting handsy!” It wasn't until several people in surrounding booths turned their heads that she realized how loud she'd gotten. Even Tyler was grinning at them. Her face flaming, Rory sank back down in her seat, wishing for invisibility.

Glancing around at the interested faces, Belly threw up her hands. “I give up. There's no controlling the rumors now.” She pointed a finger at Rory's humiliated face. “And you're still paying for half of that silver receiver, too.” With that, Belly slid out of the seat and stalked back to her own table.

“So…” Ian stretched out the word, turning what should've been a single syllable into four, all filled with innuendo. “You paid Belly to stop the rumors about us.”

Her shoulders twitched in an uncomfortable shrug. “Maybe. Not that it did any good.”

“Rory! And Ian! Awesome.” It was Lou's turn to sit across the table from them, tugging Callum in after her. “I'm so glad you guys are here. Callum thinks I got the gun name wrong.”

The tightness in Rory's stomach eased a little. Gun talk she could do. “It's a Glock.”

“The 21, right?”

“Yes. The Gen 4 fit your hand the best.”

Frowning, Callum said, “That's a big gun.”

With his stiff posture and perma-scowl, Callum intimidated Rory a little—actually, more than a little. She tried to shift in her seat, but Ian's hand still held her in place.

“Yes.” Lou's grin was filled with glee. “It gives a big, satisfying boom.” Rory had to admire her resilience. In the past month, Lou had discovered a headless corpse, been stalked, had her home burned to the ground, and had almost been killed—twice. Rory imagined it took a lot to bounce back from all of that.

Callum didn't look convinced of Lou's choice of firearm. “Sure you don't want the G36?”

When Lou sent Rory a questioning look, Rory said. “She didn't like the sub-compact she tried.”

“Is that the one with the short barrel?” At Rory's nod, Lou made a face. “Nope. It was too flippy.”

“Too what?” Callum glanced at Rory, apparently looking for a translation.

Rory obliged. “She found it hard to keep steady after she fired.”

“Yep. Too flippy.” Demonstrating, Lou pointed her index finger forward, mimed a trigger pull, and then popped her finger up toward the ceiling.

“I could take you back to Rory's shop if you want to try a few other models,” Callum suggested.

For some reason, Lou looked positively infuriated at his suggestion. “Didn't we have this discussion?” she asked sweetly, her tone not matching her deadly glare. “Something about me continuing to make my own decisions about trucks and, oh, I don't know, what kind of gun I like?” By the end, the sweetness had faded, and her voice had deteriorated into something close to a growl.

“Fine,” Callum snapped, glowering right back at his girlfriend. “I'll get you the 21.”

“Fine.”

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment. Then, as if they'd both heard a silent signal, they slid out of the booth.

“Bye!” Lou called over her shoulder, giggling as Callum grabbed her hand and towed her to the exit.

Rory stared after them, looking away only after they disappeared out the front door. “That was weird.”

Ian's smirk was back in place. “Not really.”

She was seriously sick of his cryptic statements. “Explain.”

“Sure you want me to?” His expression was odd and hard for her to read.

“Of course,” she gritted. “That's why I asked.”

“It was more of a demand than a request, actually.”

She wanted to kill him. Since she was unfortunately not armed at the moment, she settled for trying to murder him with her glare.

“They're going to find some privacy.”

“To finish their argument?”

He gave her a look. “The fighting was over. They've moved on to making up.”

When comprehension finally dawned, a flush crept up her neck and over her face. She wasn't sure if she was more embarrassed about the topic, or because it took her so long to get it. “Oh.”

His eyes were lit with humor and something else, something hot.

Even though she desperately wanted to drop it, Rory couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth. “Why do they have to make up from that? It wasn't much of a fight.”

He chuckled, but his expression still held that banked fire. “They're new. Anything's an excuse to make up.”

“Oh.”

The server arrived with their food, and Rory was so relieved by the interruption that she could've leapt over the table and kissed her on the mouth. Instead, she settled for thanking her with a little too much fervor.

“You're welcome,” she said, although she gave Rory a wary glance.

Rory shoveled brisket in her mouth so she wouldn't continue revealing how ignorant she was about relationships. After a few bites, she realized that Ian hadn't started eating. Instead, he was still watching her thoughtfully.

“What?” she asked through a mouthful. Obviously, filling her mouth with food was not going to stop her from embarrassing herself.

“You were homeschooled, right?” he asked, finally taking a bite. His gaze stayed on her, though.

“Yes.” She focused on sliding her fork into her greens. The question felt like a criticism, but she knew she was sensitive about her lack of social skills, so she tried to keep the defensive scowl off her face. Ian was probably just asking to get to know her better. Wasn't that why people went on dates? Or non-date dates?

“Did you go to college?” Even though they'd met over a decade ago, they'd been able to be friends only after her parents had died. She supposed there were still lots of things they didn't know about each other.

“I didn't go away to school, but I've taken some online classes. Mostly business ones—marketing, accounting, that type of thing. Stuff that can help me with the shop.”