His thumbs flew.
F: I’m not giving you a half-done bookcase. I’m a full-service shop.
S: I get that feeling about you. That you can do anything you put your mind to. You’re very competent, Flynn.
He’d been called a lot of things over the years. Everything from pansy-ass (by idiots who didn’t know him) to a ballbuster(by people who did), McGinty’s pawn (sadly true until last Halloween), and even crybaby (once, when tears of blood ran down his face after aleft hook connected too well in the ring. He’d wiped the blood out of his eyes with the crook of his elbow and then took downthe name-caller with a single roundhouse kick that brought all the fans to their feet).
But this just might be the worst thing Flynn had ever been called. Competent? Can’t even tell if I should be insulted or complimented. Is that like calling someone smart instead of pretty?
Her answer took long enough to come that he got a bite of sandwich down. But then grabbed for the phone with greasy fingersthe moment it vibrated.
S: I also get the feeling that you know exactly how ‘pretty’ you are.
Ha. She’d poked at him, which meant Sierra was finally letting down her guard. That’s when the real fun began. Flynn wipedhis hands on his jeans and noticed Rafe staring at him.
“Mind your own damn business.”
“Minding you has become my business. I don’t mind noticing you’re having fun sexting that waitress.”
Damn it, he wasn’t sexting. Mostly because Flynn was trying to do the right thing and not flirt with her.
Anymore.
But they were friends. So he could blur the line. A little.
Nobody else could, though. “Tell Kellan and you’re a dead man.”
Rafe waved the threat away with one hand. “Scarier men than you have tried. And yet I’m still here.”
“Yeah, but I know all your secrets. How you’d fall to pieces without your special lotion tissues when you’re sick.”
Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve got a mean streak.”
“Runs in the family, I hear.” Then he shot his brother a grin. Something that felt . . . awkward and lopsided. But it alsofelt damn good.
Flirting—yeah, he’d admit it—with Sierra also felt damn good.
F: Bite your tongue. Men aren’t pretty. I’ll take devilishly handsome, though.
S: Handsome, yes. But not devilish. You’re not a bad man.
Shit.
Flynn pushed the phone back. Ate in slow bites, putting off the inevitable. He even paid attention to the discussion aboutwhat percentage of Festival proceeds should go toward the sheriff’s office. Wasn’t that just a laugh and a half? The Maguirebrothers helping fund the police.
Finally, when the meeting wrapped and Flynn couldn’t come up with an excuse to wait any longer, he texted back.
Don’t go making assumptions. You don’t know me. At all, Sierra.
Chapter Four
Sierra scooted the tall stool right up to the curved edge of the bar. Hunching over the laptop, she turned the web browserto incognito status. The icon of a man in a trench coat, fedora, and dark glasses always made her smile . . . and then sigh.Because she barely pulled off being undercover.
Sure, she was at the Gorse, using Carlos’s computer to search for updates on her ex, Rick. Even her limited knowledge—allgarnered from movies—made Sierra aware that if somebody did reverse-track her web browser, far better they end up at a barthan the side of her bed.
But she didn’t know how to use the Dark Web. Or, really, what it even was. No clue how to piggyback from one router to anotherso that her search history would be untraceable.
For goodness sake, she was an art major. Computers were for ordering brushes online. For checking WebMD to see if splittingheadaches were just from stress or inhaling too much turpentine. Most importantly, for always checking the news feed for KensingtonPalace. Sierra was head over heels in love with little Prince George.
Wouldn’t it be fun to move to England just to teach him how to paint with watercolors?
Not in a stalker, get-thrown-in-the-Tower way. Just because she adored all children. More than anything, she wanted to teach.But Sierra couldn’t teach without a degree and she couldn’t finish her master’s without going back to the town where her crazyex almost murdered someone in cold blood.
So yes, Sierra occasionally daydreamed about running away to the land of tea and scones and Gainsborough’s blissfully daintyand detailed landscapes.
What was the harm? When she stopped daydreaming, she’d still be at the bar, in a large room that always faintly smelled ofbeer. She’d still be on the run. Constantly looking over her shoulder. Twitchy. Ridiculously scared of her own shadow.
“How are you doing?” Carlos hustled across the room, wearing his usual dark green bar apron over a black tee shirt and jeans.
A quick alt-tab with her thumb and forefinger switched screens. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the small motion. Because Carlosdid not need to see her Google search for criminal records—hers or her ex’s.
“I’m fine. Much better. Flynn took good care of me last night.”
Carlos squatted down to stare at her barely swollen ankle. “Did he? Good.”
“Thanks for having Jeb swing by and bring me in. It wasn’t necessary, though.” After a whole life where nobody ever looked out for her, the way Carlos fussed like a big brother was nice. Weird. Hard to get used to and completely impossibleto know how to respond to—but nice.
“I’ll make sure that Flynn or I take you home tonight, too.”
Letting Flynn—well, nobody let Flynn Maguire anything. He was a quiet but super strong force all by himself. Like gravity. Anyway, letting Flynn see herhouse last night was bad enough. Against her basic safety protocol of staying a loner.
Bandon itself, without the massive influx of tourists, was a small town of only three thousand people. So it was impossibleto kid herself that nobody knew where she lived. That her neighbors didn’t recognize her after living here for three months.But Sierra took comfort in thinking that her whereabouts were secret. Just because she hadn’t told anyone where she lived.
Sort of like an ostrich sticking its head in the sand to avoid seeing an oncoming attacker. Sierra recognized that hidingin
