Trust with a Chaser (Rainbow Cove Book 1) Page 3

  “Evening, Chief. Curtis.” I nodded at his dining companion. A couple of years older than Flint, Curtis Hunt hadn’t changed much since I’d been gone. Same wild brown hair, same rippling sleeve tats, same bulging biceps on an otherwise slim frame. Even if Flint was into dudes, I couldn’t see him being into Curtis’s escaped-from-a-biker-gang vibe.

  “Mason Hanks. You got big.” Curtis gave me a smile, one with far more appreciation than I’d ever gotten from Flint. I owned a mirror. I knew that I looked nothing like the photos of my teen self that I’d begged my mom to burn. And I’d used that distinction to my advantage to sow some seriously overdue oats in Portland, but Curtis’s frank appreciation still made me a bit…squirmy.

  “Iced tea for you, Chief?” I directed my attention toward Flint instead.

  “I’m not on duty for the first time in a blue moon. I’ve got Holmes and Locklear holding down the fort. You got Bud on tap?”

  My face screwed up before I could stop it. “We’ve got a selection of local ales and lagers—”

  Flint’s ton-of-bricks sigh cut me off. “You’ve got meat in tonight, right?”

  I bristled at that. “Of course.”

  “We’ll both have the Lighthouse ale.” Curtis’s voice reminded me that it wasn’t just me and Flint that night. “Try something different, Nash. You might surprise yourself.” He winked and I wasn’t sure which of us it was for. “And is your vegan burger soy-free?”

  Flint made a snorting sound. “Don’t think you can call it a burger if it never mooed.”

  Was this seriously a date? They certainly bickered like a couple. “The black-bean burger is soy-free and vegan. I’ve got a sourdough roll for it to go on and almond cheese as well.” Almost a decade working food in Portland had taught me how to speak alternative diets fluently.

  “Nut cheese?” Flint shook his head. “My usual please. With the real stuff.”

  I’ve got all the real stuff you can handle right here. I didn’t know where that flirty retort had come from, and I bit it back. “Got it. I’ll have the beers right out.”

  The dinner crowd kept me busy. I got Flint and Curtis their beers but didn’t have time to linger—or listen in. In the kitchen, Logan was cursing up a blue streak and attacking ingredients with a vengeance. Adam was busy making drinks and running relief for the waitstaff, and it was all glorious. This was what I’d envisioned back when we first heard the old tavern was on the market. Adam had come to Portland for a weekend, and we’d done some brainstorming. My friend Brock had suggested we apply for a state grant targeting rural businesses to help purchase the place. It had been a late night with lots of drinking and dreaming, but I’d seen this and been powerless to deny the appeal.

  I whistled to myself as I brought out entrees and didn’t complain when Adam sent me to the storeroom for another case of the local ale that was selling well that night. The storeroom was down a long, narrow hallway at the back of the building, right beyond the two restrooms.

  Thump. The door to the men’s room opened right as I was passing, and Flint crashed into me. Luckily, I didn’t have the beer yet because I almost certainly would have dropped it under the shock of having Flint’s bigger body pressing against me before he righted himself.

  “Sorry.” He took a step back but didn’t rush away. His eyes had flared darker and his mouth quirked. Was he as rattled as I was? I hated that I couldn’t tell.

  “It’s okay.” My voice sounded deeper than usual. “Everything good tonight?”

  Flint shrugged. “Your guy can cook. Beer’s okay. Still think you should have Bud on tap for the local drinking crowd. Not everyone wants to spend six dollars a bottle on the fancy stuff.”

  “Noted.” God, he was close. I wasn’t going to be the one to move away first. “Flint…I mean Chief. What are you doing tonight?”

  “Tonight?” One of Flint’s eyebrows flew up. “I’m having dinner.”

  “With Curtis?” I prompted. I wasn’t ever going to get another chance like this, so I took a deep breath. “You on a date?”

  “You taking up gossip as a new hobby now that you’re back in town?” His voice was just as deadly as his sneer, but there was something else in his expression, a flicker of something I couldn’t name in his eyes.

  “No. Just curious, that’s all. You’re both more than welcome—”

  “It’s not a date,” Flint gritted out.

  “You sure? Does he know that?” I prodded, driven by reckless impulse.

  “I’m sure.” Flint took a step forward, crowding me against the wall. His voice was low and hot as sin. “Trust me, if I was on a date, he’d know.”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t even know what I was agreeing to, only that I didn’t want Flint to move.

  “Curtis is an old friend. Troy and I went to school together, and after he died last year, I’ve been worried about Curtis keeping too much to himself. I asked him to get some food, and he chose here. No big drama.” He still didn’t step away.

  It was hard to breathe, hard to think. “So he’s not your type, you’re saying?” I was lucky that the words didn’t squeak out.

  “He’s not my type,” Flint growled and leaned in and—

  “Oops!” A female tourist wearing a shirt advertising a town in California bumped into Flint’s back. I’d served her a second daiquiri not long before, and she had a tipsy laugh. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” Flint stepped back, and I felt the loss of his warmth immediately. “I better get back out there.”

  Flint didn’t look back as he strode down the hallway, leaving me reeling. Fuck. What had almost happened there? Had Nash Flint seriously been about to kiss me?

  Nash

  It wasn’t often that I was an idiot. I’d been raised to use my common sense, restrain any wild urges, and rely on logic and planning for my actions. I was a lawman, and I took that role very seriously. I didn’t lose my cool. Ever.

  Except, apparently, around Mason Hanks, where not only had I lost my cool, but I’d gone full-on insane to boot. I made my way back to the table where Curtis was waiting, calling myself every name in the book. Had I seriously been about to kiss that smirk off Mason’s face? I didn’t know, and the not knowing chased away my previously good mood.

  “I like what they’ve done with the place.” Curtis gestured, indicating the colorful room. For the first time since I’d been at the Rainbow Tavern, there were people on the dancefloor and a pleasant din of happy chatter and clinking glasses in the main dining area.

  “It’s all right. They need Bud or PBR or something cheap on tap,” I groused.

  “Tightwad.” Curtis should know, seeing as how I’d only gotten him to come out with the promise that the meal would be my treat. Otherwise, Curtis would be eating whatever rations of sprouts and potatoes he culled from the garden out behind his place. Curtis didn’t spend any money he wasn’t forced to.

  “You should get out more, then. Come give them some weeknight business.” Why I’d suddenly become free advertising for Mason, I couldn’t say. First Marta, now Curtis. Mason should be paying me for the word of mouth. Of course, thinking about Mason and mouth in the same sentence was not a good idea.

  “I just might.” It wasn’t hard to follow Curtis’s eyes as he watched Mason’s trek across the room with a loaded tray. “That Hanks boy…sure grew up fine, didn’t he?”

  “Didn’t think you’d be wanting to fish in those waters,” I said, barely restraining a growl.

  “I’m grieving, not dead. And we both know even Troy would have noticed that ass.” Curtis gave me a sly smile. “And you did, too. Don’t deny it.”

  Curtis and Troy had been among the very few in town to know the truth about me, part of it at least. “Too young.” Maybe if I repeated it enough, I’d start to actually believe it. “And a troublemaker.”

  “You need more trouble in your life.” Curtis laughed as the Ringer kid, not Mason, slid steaming plates in front of us. I refused to feel a pang of…anything about that,
except maybe guilt if I’d chased Mason off, acting like a trapped bear in the hallway.

  “You guys need ketchup?” Ringer spoke to Curtis, not me. “Second round of drinks?”

  “We’re good, thanks.” Curtis gave him what would be a winning smile on other people, but it made Curtis look that much more feral.

  A thought occurred to me as Ringer hurried away. “Please tell me you and Troy never fished there.”

  “Adam?” Curtis made a clucking noise. “Never. Too toppy for Troy, too emotional for me. It’d be like taking a teddy bear to bed. Too damn cuddly.”

  Thank God for small mercies. I nodded even though I was going to need brain bleach to get the image out of a cuddly Adam Ringer out of my head.

  “Mason, though…he’d be fire in the sack.”

  A low growling sound escaped my throat before I could call it back. Curtis grinned at me. “Yup, you’ve noticed, too.”

  “He’s a Hanks. And too young. And I’m not interested in anything local. You know that.”

  Curtis sighed. This was an old argument between us. “No one would care if you were…more open. Really.”

  “I care.” I dug into my burger with an emphatic bite.

  “Your father’s dead, Nash.” Curtis shook his head as he took a bite of his food. “Time to move on.”

  That wasn’t ever happening, but I didn’t want to fight, so I focused on my food for the next while. And tried hard not to track Mason as he made his way around the room, serving the various tables. It didn’t matter what had almost happened in the hall—he’d be a flame to the carefully guarded kindling that was my life. Didn’t matter how much Curtis prodded, I wasn’t going there.

  Mason was the one to bring us the check. “Any dessert? I’m trying out a key-lime cheesecake on the specials board, if you’re interested.”

  “Oh, we’re interested.” Curtis was going to sprain something, what with those winks and grins of his. “Nash?”

  “None for me.” I slid Mason my credit card. Our eyes met and he looked away fast. Definitely none for me. I’d probably scared him in the hall, going all caveman like that. I should apologize, but fuck if I knew the right words for that, and certainly not in front of Curtis.

  Later, after I’d dropped Curtis at the converted gas station he both lived and worked out of, I headed home. My house was not that far from the square, one of the small streets that dead-ended at the bluffs that led to the ocean below town. We didn’t have an ocean view—Dad was one to value square footage, proximity to the station, and garden space over fanciful things, and our neighbors were lifers, unlike the folks who owned vacation cottages closer to the state park and beaches.

  It wasn’t often that I had a Friday night to myself like this, and I searched for some purpose to keep the aimless feeling at bay. House was quiet as I let myself in. Too quiet. I’d never lived anywhere else—I’d been born here, right in the back bedroom, grew up here when it was noisy and full of Trisha and Easton and me. Stayed on to help Mom when Dad first got sick. It had been noisy then, too, with the hours and hours of TV news he insisted on watching. I’d remained when Mom moved to Portland to be close to my sister Trisha and my aunts after Dad died.

  Now it was just me and an empty house, too big for me, really, but I’d been unable to even think of getting something new. Still restless, I headed straight for my vice—the thing I knew could chase Mason Hanks from my head. Got the metal box out of the garage, picked my favorite chair in the living room to get comfortable in, and set to freeing my mind.

  I sorted the lures first, going over my collection, deciding what I’d make that night and wondering if I could sneak in some early morning fishing before I had to be back on duty. Duty. That was what I had to focus on. Duty to the town, first and foremost. I couldn’t let Mason Hanks distract from that.

  Four

  Mason

  Red lights flashed in my rearview mirror—never a good thing.

  Not in any hurry, I’d driven the long way around town—taking Montana Street from the tavern up to Lakeview, grabbing a moment to admire Moosehead Lake on this clear Monday afternoon. The bulk of the town was squashed between the lake to the north and the bay to the south, with the best houses having a view of one or the other. It went without saying that the Hanks family wasn’t among those vying for prime real estate. We lived to the east of town, out in the dusty sticks down Butte Road.

  Just as I exited the Butte and Lakeview intersection, I noticed the red flashing lights. I pulled in to Ralph’s Bait Shack’s parking lot, not wanting Flint to get sideswiped on Lakeview.

  And it was Flint—I’d recognized his Jeep.

  In the mirror, I watched his large frame stride toward my car. When he stopped, his voice—deep and cop-cool—invaded my open window. “Do you know—” He blinked, lowering his mirrored sunglasses. “Hanks?” And damn. I’d never been one for the whole hot-for-cop thing, but the shades and the glower and the authoritative stance were a sight to see.

  “Mason,” I corrected him yet again.

  “You know why I pulled you over, Mason?” Flint’s deliberate emphasis on my name made my stomach do a weird flip.

  “Honestly, no.” I hadn’t been speeding, that much I knew. I was never in a hurry to get to my dad’s place.

  “Your right brake light’s out.”

  “Oh, f—thanks.” I tried to remember if that was something they wrote tickets for. Jimmy and Freddy had had just about every ticky-tacky traffic violation there ever was, but I hadn’t had so much as a speeding ticket since leaving Rainbow Cove behind. “Am I getting a fine?”

  “Not this time.” A muscle worked in Flint’s jaw. A very sexy muscle that reminded me of a highly inappropriate dream I’d had the other night starring Flint’s mouth. And I could not be thinking about that dream with Flint still leaning on my door frame. “You got a registration for this rust bucket or this one of your brother’s specials?”

  “In the glove box. I sold my Maxima to get more money for the restaurant, but I don’t trust Jimmy’s cars. This one’s all mine.”

  “Smart boy. Those heaps your brother passes off as working automobiles are a menace.”

  “Not a boy,” I muttered. It was stupid, arguing with Flint when he’d said he was letting me off, but I was still wincing from Friday night and that encounter in the hallway. I wasn’t going to let Flint get away with acting like I was fifteen again. I was all man, and we both knew it.

  “No, no, you’re not.” Flint regarded me coolly over the rim of his sunglasses, making me feel just as crowded as if he were pressing me against that wall. “Which is why you’ll be smart.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Smart would be staying far away from Flint, that was for sure. “I’ll have Jimmy fix the light before I come back down tonight. And double check the work myself.”

  “Back down?” He frowned. “You’re not staying with your family?”

  “F—no.” I’d tried that when I’d first come back and almost lost my mind dealing with Dad and Jimmy’s drama. Not that I was going to share any of those ongoing conflicts with Flint.

  “You can curse around me, Mason.” Another rare Flint smile. “Promise I’m not gonna tattle.”

  “I think I’d kill my dad or Jimmy if I stayed there.” The confession slipped out, but then I remembered who I was talking to and quickly backtracked. “Not kill. Or fight. Just…”

  “I get it.” A different muscle worked in Flint’s jaw, this one making it seem like he was having a hard time not laughing. That was okay. I wanted to laugh at me, too.

  “Anyway, I’m renting the old Ransom place. Block from your parents’ place.” Why I was making small talk with Nash Flint, I had no clue. It was this way when he came to the tavern as well—as if I’d do anything to prolong the contact.

  “I didn’t see a moving truck.” Nash frowned like it was a personal affront that something had happened in town that he hadn’t noticed.

  “Didn’t need one. I travel l
ight.” That was an understatement. I’d been so fired up to get out from under Dad and Jimmy’s thumb that I’d packed everything I needed in a single car trip. “Your mom still there?”

  “She went on up to Portland after Dad died. I’m still there, though, so don’t go egging the house.” Flint’s frown slid into a rather disarming wink. “You gonna get Flora Ransom to sell you that pile of boards?”

  “She was a friend of Mom’s.” Mom and Flora had both been waitresses at the old tavern way back when, and Flora’d always had a soft spot for me. “Not Flora’s fault the place fell into disrepair.”

  Flint’s face softened. “Your mother was a good woman. I should have offered my condolences sooner.”

  Good was stretching it a bit, but she’d tried hard, loved fiercely, and was missed every damn day by me. I nodded.

  Flint’s radio crackled. “I better let you get on, then,” he said to me, moving away from the window. “Drive safe.”

  “Always do.”

  He chuckled at that as he walked away, but it was true—I’d left my reckless years behind long ago, even though Flint and my feverish dreams about him certainly threatened to bring that streak back to life.

  I tried not to think about Flint or my dreams as I made my way back up Butte to my family’s place. On the outskirts of incorporated Rainbow Cove, the family seat was a messy sprawl of acres of junk with a few trailers tossed in. My uncle Gunnar had my grandparents’ old house by the road, then a long dirt drive led to my dad’s house, and beyond that was Jimmy’s trailer.

  A dilapidated sign near the turn-off read “Hanks Scrap Metal.” Nominally, there was a rusty gate, but most of the time they were too lazy to bother with it. I pulled in front of Dad’s place and grabbed the two bulging sacks I’d filled with leftovers from the weekend that wouldn’t keep. Back in Portland, we’d donated our excess to charities. Here we had the Hanks.