As I move away to take him back to my cabin, I hear footsteps behind me. “Iz, wait.”
I turn to see Bradley on his feet holding a green and purple diaper bag. “Want me to carry this next door for you?”
It’s more than an offer of service. It’s a chance to steal a few moments alone with him, to leave my brothers here speculating about what’s happening between us.
But I feel Dante’s eyes on me, so I shake my head. “I’ve got it,” I tell Bradley. “Could you just tuck it over my shoulder like that? Perfect, thank you.”
His hand grazes my shoulder as he draws back, but his gaze doesn’t leave me. Not right away. He smiles down at me. “That looks good on you.”
“Oh.” I swallow hard and try not to flush. “Yes, well, the doctors aren’t entirely certain I could conceive, so—”
“The sweater.” His grin widens as he lowers his voice. “That sweater is sexy as hell.”
“Thank you.” I wish the floor would swallow me up. What an idiot to presume he’d be talking about me as a mother or anything in that ballpark.
I have no right to think that way, and I can hardly meet his eyes as I turn to go. “Right, well. Thank you for your help.”
I turn away before he can respond, but I feel eyes on me as I walk down the hall. Bradley’s? Dante’s?
I don’t know. I hold the baby tighter, wondering how much longer I can keep this up.
Chapter 10
Bradley
I’ve played poker with these guys for a few years, so I know their tells like I know the symptoms of hyperthyroidism.
In Jon Bracelyn’s case, they’re similar: A slight flush, a bit of twitchiness. It’s the opposite of his brother, Sean, who slumps in his chair looking deliberately bored when he has a kickass hand he doesn’t want anyone to know about.
“Call.” James Bracelyn tosses a handful of chips into the pot, a master at hiding his thoughts.
I watch Austin study him, using his cop mojo to get a read on the unflappable eldest Bracelyn. My guess is Chief Dugan sees the same thing I do—the faintest furrow in James’s brow, the way he rests his elbows on the table when he’d never normally be so casual.
“I’m in.” Mark is harder to read, with his bushy beard and perpetual scowl. His tell? “Anyone want this last cupcake, or can I have it?”
There it is. I resist the urge to smile, pleased with my ability to gauge the table. Everyone except—
“In.” Dan pushes a pile of chips across the table, his scowl never wavering. For the last hour, I’ve tried to get a read on the guy. Nada. Zip. Nothing.
The only thing I picked up on is the slight bulge at his ankle when he stood to use the restroom. I learned to wear an ankle holster during tactical training, so my money’s on that. From the slight flicker in Chief Dugan’s eyes, he caught the same thing. Does Austin have his service weapon somewhere close?
We go a few more rounds, with Dante winning two more hands and amassing a small fortune in poker chips. James normally dominates the table, but he’s distracted by his phone, scowling down at the screen periodically before typing out hurried responses.
“So, Dan.” Sean leans back in his seat and studies the other man across the table. “What is it you do for a living?”
Dante looks up, his expression unreadable. “I’m in the service industry.”
Austin cocks his head. “What sort of service?”
“Whatever needs doing.”
“Huh.” Sean lays his cards on the table and shakes his head. “I’m out. Anyone want another beer?”
A couple guys nod, but not me. I’m trying to figure out how to steer the conversation back to Dante’s job. Back to whatever the hell brought him here to the resort.
Dante’s watching me, too, and the result is a couple guys weirdly staring at each other instead of their cards.
He’s first to break the silence. “What branch of the military were you in?”
I push aside my discarded cards and work to keep my expression cool. “Army.” I clear my throat. “Izzy mentioned it?”
“Nope.”
He doesn’t say anything else. Just goes back to petting Long Long Peter, one scarred hand stroking the bunny’s soft back. I’m not sure if it’s comfort or terror keeping the creature glued to his lap, but I’m trusting Mark to jump in if his pet seems distressed.
“How about you, Dan?” Austin leans forward and gives Dante his congenial, good-cop stare. “You seem like someone who spent time in the armed forces.”
“Yep.”
This time, the one-word answer won’t cut it. All the brothers stare him down, along with their cousin, Brandon Brown. He’s married to Jade, the reindeer rancher next door, and he’s also a decorated Marine. Jon leans forward, too, and I remember he spent time in the Coast Guard. That’s three of us representing the American military, and all of us fixed on Dante.
“Which arm of the service?” Brandon folded earlier in this hand, so he’s got all the time in the world to grill Dante. “I learned a little bit about Dovlano’s military, though I can’t say I know all the branches.”
“Red Blade.” His voice is gravelly, but even. “Retired.”
Brandon whistles low under his breath. “Special Forces.”
I’m familiar with the Red Blades. A bit like America’s Navy SEALS on steroids or Green Berets bred with wolverines. “Those guys are pretty badass,” I remark mildly. “How long did you serve?”
Dan looks at me a long time, like he’s deciding something. I hold his gaze, not willing to blink first.
“I don’t like to talk about it,” he says stiffly.
“Fair enough.” Not like I’m a huge fan of rehashing my years of active duty, or the reasons I left.
I’m deciding whether to probe again when Sean stands up. “I’m putting in another round of bourbon-glazed wings,” he says. “Who wants more?”
A few hands are raised, Dan’s included. He’s careful not to jostle the bunny on his lap. I consider what Izzy made me promise about not telling her brothers Dante’s a hitman. I kept my word, but it’s clear they’ve done some sleuthing on their own. Probably a background check, courtesy of Austin, and maybe some voodoo lawyer shit from James. How much do they know?
Beside me, Mark shoves half a cupcake in his mouth and stares at Dan as he chews. “You paid through the end of the month.” It’s a statement, not a question, so Dan doesn’t respond. “You here working on something in particular?”
Dante takes his time answering, stroking a hand down the bunny’s back. “More of a recon mission.”
I’m trying to decide how to read that when James responds. “We’d certainly never dissuade a guest from an extended stay,” he says. “But this place isn’t exactly budget-friendly.”
“I’m aware.” Dan looks down at his lap. “What kind of rabbit is this?”
Mark frowns. “Bunny mutt.”
“That’s a breed?”
He shrugs. “Got him at the Humane Society. He has a litterbox and everything.”