Stirring Up Trouble (29 page)

“You’re sorry,” he repeated, and
God,
his expression was a wall of stone.

But Sloane continued, not allowing it to throw her. “The next thing I owe you is that bottle of wine. I didn’t realize it at the time, but you taught me a really valuable lesson about slowing down. So I wanted to let you know how grateful I am by repaying the bottle you didn’t get to finish.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said again, and everything around her fluttered as she stood.

“You’re wrong, Gavin. I owe you everything.” Tears filled her eyes, but she didn’t fight them as they slipped silently down her face. “You trusted me, with Bree, with your feelings, with all of it, and you believed in me when I didn’t even believe in myself. I should’ve trusted you back, but I was scared, and by the time I wasn’t scared, it was too late. But late is better than never, and I couldn’t let another minute go by without telling you that I’m in love with you. I don’t want to be anywhere other than with you and Bree. I don’t want to live my life jumping from one place to the next. I want you. All I want is . . . you.”

Sloane’s throat closed around the last word, refusing to allow anything else past her lips, which was probably just as well. She ran a hand over her face, realizing that everyone within earshot was unabashedly staring at her. She forced herself to unfold her spine and lift her head.

Her days of running from the tough stuff were over.

“Anyway. I just wanted to say that.” She lowered her eyes, which only sent more tears down her face and more stares in her direction, but she was so far past caring. It was time to stick around and be accountable for her feelings rather than take off at the first sign of trouble or unease.

Even if it broke her heart in the process.

“You just ran up one hell of a bar tab.”

Gavin’s words washed over her slowly, and she blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry?”

He held up the bottle in his hand, but didn’t take his eyes off her as he said, “This is a really expensive bottle of wine. I’m just wondering if you can afford it, since last I heard, you were unemployed.”

Sloane’s brows slid together. “Oh. Well, actually—”

But Gavin took a step toward her, then two, and her words faded away.

“I might be able to solve your problem. See, I’m looking for a babysitter.” He sent a pointed glance over his shoulder, and holy crap, Bree was sitting right there at the table behind him, her brown eyes wide and tearstained.

“As long as that’s okay with you,” Gavin said to Bree, and she looked at Sloane and nodded.

“Yeah. That’s okay with me.”

Sloane blinked, her lips parting in shock. “You want me back?”

Gavin was beside her in an instant. “I believe you, Sloane, and I love you, too. I want to come home to you every night, and wake up next to you every morning. I don’t just want you back. I want you forever. What do you say?”

“Yes. God, yes!”

His arms felt perfect as they slid around her, and perfect got even better as Bree’s arms folded over them both. They stood there in the middle of the restaurant, tangled together and laughing like gleeful idiots until finally, Gavin pulled back with a mischievous grin.

“Okay, big spender. Let’s open this bottle up and celebrate your homecoming, shall we?”

Sloane’s laughter bubbled out of her, all the way from her toes. “We can celebrate more than that.”

“We can?” Bree asked. “Like what?”

“Let’s just say my latest proposal went over incredibly well with Belinda. She gave me the green light to write the book I’ve been working on. So it looks like I’m gainfully employed twice.”

“I don’t think I can compete with a major publishing house,” Gavin said with a shake of his head.

But Sloane just threw her head back and laughed. “They can’t hold a candle to you, boss. Now open up that bottle, would you? I’m ready to stir up a little trouble, one sip at a time.”

Breakfast is a big-time meal in our house, and we often have it for dinner as well as in the morning. It’s one of those meals where even the youngest chefs in the house can take part in preparations. So when I was searching for something that Gavin, the hero in book three of the Pine Mountain series, could make with his thirteen-year-old half sister Bree, my brain immediately went the breakfast route. Gavin may not always have the right words as he raises his sister, especially as Bree goes from pigtails to puberty, but they share a bond through food, and this omelet makes several appearances in
Stirring Up Trouble
. Of course, they share it—and all the emotion that goes with their family—with unlikely “antinanny” Sloane Russo, too.

 

In
Stirring Up Trouble
, Gavin and his half-sister Bree talk about making doughnuts. Doing this from scratch takes a lot of time and even more patience, but doughnut holes are a fantastic shortcut to a tasty treat. The only equipment you’ll need is a food-safe thermometer and heavy-bottomed stock pot, plus a wire-mesh scoop or slotted spoon for frying.

 

Don’t miss Kimberly Kincaid’s next
Pine Mountain novel,

 

Fire Me Up
,

 

coming next February.

 

 

 

“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen, but I heard this was where the party is.” Without a second thought, Teagan slipped into the hairsbreadth of space between the cop and her irritated patient, assessing the latter with a critical eye. Her subconscious gave up a whisper of recognition as she looked at his ruggedly stubbled face, but the tickle of familiarity took a backseat to the visual assessment she needed to do in order to gauge his injuries.

The guy had nearly a foot on her, which was pretty freaking impressive considering she clocked in at five-foot-seven. The physique that went with his height left impressive in the dust, though, especially since his chest was as thick as a double-wide trailer and every ounce of it looked to be muscle.

Make that leather-clad muscle, which had probably saved his ass, quite literally. As best she could tell, thanks to his now-banged-up jacket, the guy’s road rash appeared shockingly minimal, although she’d have to get the garment off to be sure.

Too bad the rest of his injuries didn’t look to match, namely that arm he was cradling like a helpless newborn. She didn’t even want to get started on the laundry list of other injuries that could be lurking beneath the dirt-streaked denim and leather.

She passed the first-in bag to Jeff, who caught it without looking while the police officer stepped to the background to give them a wide berth.

“My name is Teagan O’Malley, and I’m a paramedic with Pine Mountain Fire and Rescue,” she said, her hands a flurry of movement as she geared up to do a rapid trauma assessment. “Can you tell me your name?”

The guy lifted a pierced eyebrow toward his spiky platinum hairline and speared her with a stare caught somewhere between hazel and cold gray. God, how did she
know
him?

“I’m fine,” he ground out, his voice pure gravel and aggravation. “Which I already told that fucking jarhead, but he wouldn’t let me leave.”

Yeah. It was going to take a little more than a bad attitude and some uncut testosterone to get her to back down. “That fucking jarhead, as you so eloquently put it, might’ve saved your life by keeping you here until you can be medically cleared. While I doubt there’s a gift registry for that kind of thing, a simple thank-you might be nice. Just to be on the safe side.”

Her would-be patient took a step back, his stare going from cutting to calculating in the span of a breath. “I don’t need to be medically cleared,” he said, although it didn’t escape her notice that he caught the cop’s attention to toss him a deferent nod.

Teagan bit back the temptation to point out that, from the looks of things, he was a walking, talking version of the board game Operation with that arm bent up like it was. “Okay. Why don’t you let me give you a quick once-over to be sure?”

“No.” The word fell between them without subtlety, and she drew back with a frown. The tough-guy routine was cute, really, but nobody was indestructible.

“Look, I know this isn’t fun, but it’s necessary, so—”

“If you think I’m getting in that ambulance, then you don’t know shit.”

Jeff locked eyes on her in a nonverbal translation of
say the word,
but Teagan gave a tight, singular shake of her head. She’d handled enough tough guys to fill a stadium, and this one was no different.

She craned her neck and stepped close enough to see the numerous abrasions peppered in with the guy’s dark stubble, meeting his stare head-on even though it sent an involuntary shiver down the plumb line of her spine.

“Let me tell you what I
do
know.” She dropped her voice to just a notch above a whisper and threw on a smile as thick and sweet as store-bought frosting. “I know your arm is broken, and I think you know it, too. I know you don’t want me to look at it even though it hurts like a bitch. And I also know that’s not an option, because it’s possible that broken arm is the least of your worries. So here it is. You can either cooperate with me and we’ll do this the easy way, or I can sedate you and work you over so thoroughly, I’ll be on a first-name basis with every last part of you. Are we clear?”

A muscle tightened in the hard line of his jaw, drawing out the silence for a beat, then two before he turned toward her ever so slightly, as if waiting for her to get on with it.

Good enough, she thought as she lifted her hands to start checking him out.

But before Teagan could even start on his pulse, the guy’s free hand had turned to form an ironclad circle around her wrist.

ZEBRA BOOKS are published by

 

Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018

 

Copyright © 2014 by Kimberly Kincaid

 

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If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

 

 

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ISBN: 978-1-4201-3287-8

 

First Electronic Edition: October 2014
eISBN-13: 978-1-4201-3288-5
eISBN-10: 1-4201-3288-1