Master of the Abyss

it and shut down the part of her that felt hurt. Yeah, when she ran into bastard Hunt, she would act just as “ice cube up the butt” as he had.

“Will do.” Wyatt picked up the phone. “By the way, I invited the Hunts to our party on the Fourth. Logan said they’d come.”

“Oh.” She swallowed her frustrated scream. “How nice.” She made it back into the kitchen before losing it, and then she slammed the counter with a fist, growling like Mufasa if someone tried to steal a newly killed mouse.

Growling. Hitting. Very antisocial. She’d better visit her sanctuary and de-stress or she’d rip Wyatt’s head right off his shoulders. Not that it would affect anything-his brain must be located elsewhere.

* * *

Jake and Logan walked into the ClaimJumper. The country-western music hit Jake first-“Good Hearted Woman” with Waylon and Willie. Not bad. At least the owner, Gustaf, hadn’t put on his beloved Johnny Cash. Yet.

The scent of beer, burgers, and french fries overwhelmed the traces of maybe- I’ll-get-laid aftershave and perfumes. At first glimpse, he thought the entire thousand-plus population of Bear Flat had jammed into the tiny tavern, but no-just another Saturday night. Tourists from the handful of bed-and- breakfasts and the local motel mingled with loggers and locals and a few fishermen from the river lodge. And delivery men. Sitting at a table near the door, the redheaded, muscular guy who delivered sodas to the lodge nodded. “Fellas.”

“Evening, Secrist,” Jake said. He noticed most of the preponderantly male population watched the eye candy in the far corner where Serena and Gina sat with Logan’s fiancee.

On the way out the door, Rebecca had announced she planned to indulge herself during the girls’ night out-which was why Logan had talked Jake into driving him into town. He would take no chances of his pretty sub splattering herself all over the zigzagging highway.

Avoiding the antlers festooned with baseball and cowboy hats, Jake leaned a shoulder against the rough log wall and studied Becca. The curvy redhead looked happy-she usually did-but right now, she appeared both tipsy and giggly. He glanced at Logan. “She looks like a girl hanging out with girls.”

Logan set a foot on a chair, his hands braced on his leg as he studied his submissive. “She’s been missing this, hasn’t she?”

“Seems so. Sociable as she is, she probably had a bunch of girlfriends in San Francisco.”

“And none here. Fuck me for being so blind. I’ll make sure she takes more time off and gets into town, even if I have to drag her.”

Jake winced. “No dragging, please. My stomach isn’t up to another of your wars.” The last time business called them to San Francisco, Rebecca had insisted she’d stay at the lodge. Unwilling to risk his city girl alone in the woods, Logan had swatted her on the ass and stuffed her into the car. Bad mistake. The redhead was a magnificent cook, but the following week, nothing he or Logan ate had been edible. Damned if he knew how she’d ruined their food and still fed the guests well. And he was still pissed off that she’d included him in the battle.

Logan grinned. “Wimp. But I’ll let her decide. Bless Kallie for inviting her tonight.”

“Kallie invited her? Kallie will be here?” Jake’s gut twisted like a worm impaled on a hook. Hell, he wouldn’t have come if he’d known.

“Yeah.” Logan watched Rebecca for a minute, smiling each time she laughed. “God, she’s beautiful.”

“She is that.” And she’d turned his brother’s world around. Thank you, Becca.

“Looks like we might as well get a beer.” Logan jerked his chin toward a burly man across the room. “Bart’s here, so I’m going to check on our hardware order. Grab me a beer.”

“You bet.” As Logan headed for the lumberyard owner, Jake scoped out the rest of the room, nodding to the people he knew. Was the sprite here?

She was-at the bar beside David Whipple, and as Jake watched, the grocer wrapped his arm around her. Possessively.

A growl escaped, startling Jake as much as a flabby tourist nearby, who edged farther away. Hell, put a lock on it, Hunt. She’s not yours.

Is too.

In her own unique scruffy pixie way, Kallie was even more beautiful than Rebecca. Her short hair was tousled, like she’d just got out of bed. It had looked like that after I spanked her. She’d taken her flannel shirt off and tied it around her waist, and her tank top showed off her tanned arms. Her skin had been so smooth…

I should leave her be.

Her head tilted back, and he could tell she was laughing. Damn, he liked her laugh. Her dark eyes would be dancing and…

Don’t do this, Hunt. Even as he reached the end of the bar, she slipped away from Whipple and headed to her table, carrying two of the four drinks lined up on the bar. Well then, he’d just wait right here until she returned. His displeasure at seeing Whipple touch her had wrecked his judgment-and he didn’t give a damn.

Whipple glanced over, then scowled and averted his eyes. The animosity was mutual. Mimi had broken up with the grocer just before meeting Jake, and after seeing her black eye and swollen lip, Jake had paid the bastard a visit. So no hugs and kisses from Whipple, and wasn’t that just a crying shame?

“Hunt.” The old Swede serving drinks looked as battered as his tavern. “Gutt evening, youngling. What can I get you?”

Jake grinned. The old man was the only person who’d called him young in two decades. “A couple of drafts.”

Gustaf filled two glasses and set them on the bar top after swiping up a few miscreant drops with a grimy towel.

After paying, Jake picked up his beer. Unfortunately the icy cold liquid didn’t divert his mind-or body-from Kallie. He was already half-erect from one look. Had he actually worried about his dick’s lack of interest?

He leaned an elbow on the bar and watched as Kallie handed off the beers to the table of women. She said something to Rebecca, laughed at the retort, and headed back to get the two drinks she’d left on the bar.

Jake moved a few steps out to intercept her.

Why’d they decide to sit so far from the bar? Kallie wondered as she headed back to fetch the rest of the drinks. She dodged a staggering tourist, veered too close to Ben’s table, and had to slap the damned lecher’s hand away from her butt. A few steps later, she pulled old Verne to his feet and two-stepped down the middle of the room with him. She’d never seen him sober, but he was a happy drunk. Ten years ago, he’d given her country dance lessons in the parking lot after some jerk whose name she couldn’t remember had made fun of her. By the time Verne had been satisfied with her progress, she could outdance most of the town.

He cackled and patted her shoulder. “Still got the moves, girl.”

“So do you, Verne.” Her kiss on his leathery cheek made him grin so wide that his silver fillings gleamed at her. Laughing, she turned away and ran into a wall. A wall of very hard man.

She heard a low chuckle, and firm hands gripped her arms to steady her. “Careful there, sprite.”

Like snow in the hot sun, every cell in her body turned to slush. Knowing he’d