she homeschooled me. And she taught me shit. And she loved me. And that’s what I remember the most. She loved me.”
“I’m glad you have those memories.”
“Me too.”
“What I’m not understanding is your loyalty to Landon.”
“I didn’t say I understood it.”
“You believe that he didn’t kill Josie?”
“Why wouldn’t he admit it? He’s got me by the balls. Wouldn’t telling me he’s taken away someone I loved and trying to kill me keep me in line?”
“You’d think.” She stared at him. “Gunner, if he didn’t kill Josie, then who did? And if he didn’t try to kill me or Billie . . .”
And with that, suddenly they had two problems on their hands. And both were poised to bite them on the ass hard if they didn’t run, either straight into danger, guns blazing, or far, far away.
Several hours later, Avery pulled the car up a long, hidden drive toward a pretty, sprawling house in Tennessee set on acres of land.
He obviously hired someone to look after it, because the landscaping and the inside of the house were spotless.
It was also hard-wired with security to rival Gunner’s place in New Orleans.
“I’m cautious,” was all he said when he caught her looking. Her heart tugged a little when he said that, and she put a hand on his shoulder as he punched in some codes and alarmed the place around them.
They were in their own little bubble now, a fortress where they could presumably relax and try to regain some of the ground they might’ve lost.
“Jem’s flight took off. No issues, according to him,” she said after checking her phone.
He snorted. “Bullshit. With Jem, there are always complications. He’s a walking issue.”
“He seems to like it that way.”
“It works for him, I guess. Come on, let’s see what I can make us for dinner.”
She followed him into the massive, state-of-the-art kitchen, her stomach suddenly growling for attention.
“I’ve got stuff to make us dinner here. Tomorrow, I’ll bring in fresh supplies.” He rifled through the freezer. “Got steaks. We’ll do rice. Fuck the vegetables.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Jem would arrive tomorrow. If anyone was following him, they’d be off his trail. She was worried about him and her life would always be one big worry from now on. She’d resigned herself to that fact the second she’d decided to go after Gunner and bring him home.
They were halfway there. “Let me help.”
He snorted. “You don’t cook, remember?”
“I can do . . . things.”
“Yeah, baby, I know all about those things.” His drawl deepened and he patted her on the ass. “You’d better go rest and let me get you fed.”
Her stomach growled in answer.
“Go,” he insisted. Tossed her an apple, which she crunched into as she walked through his house. She didn’t have time for a complete tour, but she walked in and out of each room. She could see why Gunner came here to recover. It was the opposite of the shop in New Orleans. This was pure, masculine comfort. Down-home country, couches and beds that could lull you into the most peaceful easy feeling, and she found herself flipping through an old sketch pad that was next to the big bed.
There were some self-portraits. With the first ones, he hadn’t drawn any tattoos on his neck. But as she got deeper into the sketchbook, they began to emerge. She could see the pattern of his re-creation happening before her eyes.
The final self-portrait in the book showed him from the waist up. He’d had a full sleeve by then. She recognized the specific pattern of twists and turns down his left arm, had spent nights memorizing them, mostly when he wasn’t looking. But it was the one before that, of the woman with the secret smile that had a mouth that looked just like Gunner’s, that held her interest.
She finally put the book down when she smelled the steaks cooking, the scent drifting through the open window. She stripped, went into the big master bath and showered, letting the tension of the past days and the road trip wash away with the hot water. Then she pulled on some comfortable clothes and padded into the kitchen in time to help him set the table.
The scent from the steaks on the grill drifted through the open sliding glass door, and she breathed in deeply. It had been months since she’d had a home-cooked meal. And being cooked for by Gunner was something she feared might never happen again.
But here they were, playing house. Pushing aside everything and everyone else for just a tiny bit of normalcy that they both ultimately deserved. And when they finally sat down at the table, it was hot seasoned steaks and rice and cold beers. Perfection.
“Did your mom cook?” he asked.
“You mean, did she teach me how?” she teased, and he laughed. “She tried, but I had no interest in learning.”
“Why am I not surprised?” he muttered.
“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“So she ran a business, cooked and cleaned and all that good stuff? Like a real mom?”
That made her laugh again. “Yeah, like a real mom. God, I miss her.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to stir that up.”
She reached out, touched his cheek for a second. “Don’t be. It’s a nice memory. I grew up watching Mom kick some serious butt, verbally and physically.”
“And you learned that shit well.”
“Knew it would come in handy one day.” She paused. “She would’ve really liked you.”
“Maybe. I have a feeling she would’ve kicked my ass from here to the bayou, though.” He ate some of his rice and then asked, “How’d she get into bounty-hunting to begin with?”
“She inherited the business from her parents, who inherited it from their parents. All on my mom’s side.”
“Makes sense why she’d be drawn to Darius.”
“See, and I always thought the opposite. She should’ve known enough to stay away from the bad boy.”
He gave a short laugh. “You haven’t figured out by now that she liked bounty-hunting because it involved bad boys? Come on, now, Avery. Why do you think you took to all of this so easily?”
She wanted to say
Chapter Thirteen
Gunner took a drink from a longneck, letting the taste of the bitter beer mix with the home cooking. Two perfect flavors that went together. He watched her enjoying her food, tried to picture her working bounties, counseling criminals.
“Do you think you’d still be doing it, if none of this had happened?”
She stabbed a bite of steak, put it in her mouth and hummed around it. Held up a finger like he was interrupting a religious experience.
Yeah, he so totally fucking loved her. Had from day one. There was no backing out. He knew better. He could no more have walked away from Josie. It wasn’t something to think about. It just was.
And he’d never thought it could happen again. But it had. And if he’d learned anything from Josie, and he
