Gray stood, slipped his hands in his pockets. Once he saw me, Jackson’s uncle got to his feet as well. Jackson, too, only after a gentle nudge on the head.
“Hi, Miss Emory!” Jackson’s youthful exuberance had him knocking the men out of the way and jumping down three steps to give me a hug. The other men held back, clearly having learned about boundaries unlike the boy although I wouldn’t have minded if Gray grabbed me so eagerly. Over Jackson’s head, I glanced at him. His eyes gave away nothing about his feelings, but I hoped to discover them once we were alone.
I looked down at Jackson’s upturned face. “Hello. Have you been busy?” It was impossible not to smile at him.
His hair was mussed, and his cheeks were flushed. He wore shorts, T-shirt and sneakers once again. After spending the day in a well air-conditioned hospital, the air was hot. Already after seven, the temperature hadn’t dropped out of the eighties.
“I’m Frankie, Jackson’s uncle.”
The man came down the two steps at a much more sedate pace than his nephew and held out his hand, smiling. About six foot, he had the same black, curly hair as Jackson, yet his eyes were a pale blue. The contrast was quite striking with his olive complexion. Standing next to Gray, he was lanky, long legged, yet fit. He had the perfect build for a runner. I put him in his late twenties, and with his wicked smile, I could only imagine he had to fight off the ladies. Especially since he screamed biker like his father. Well-worn jeans, black leather boots, white T-shirt. Lots of tattoos. Wild about the edges. Rough. A total bad boy.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I replied. His grip was firm, his eyes were kind. “Do you have a biker nickname like your father?”
He grinned, and I had no doubt it made panties fall to the floor. “Road name? Sure, but you can just call me Frankie.”
I wasn’t sure if those things were a secret, and I didn’t ask. I nodded instead.
“We replaced your lights and dinner’s in the bag.” He pointed to a large brown grocery sack sitting by the front door. “While my father couldn’t be here, he asked me to give you his number. If you need anything, call.”
I glanced down at the book of matches he handed me. It was for the diner. I flipped it over, and there was a phone number handwritten on the back in dark ink.
“Thank you. You and your father have been very kind.” I turned to Gray, and my heart melted a little. “Hi,” I murmured.
Gray gestured hello with a quick tilt of his chin, the corner of his mouth tipping up. He wore worn jeans and a plaid snap shirt that hugged his torso snugly, showing off his lean muscles. A bodybuilder he was not, but there was no doubt to his strength. The fact that his biceps bulged was completely inconsequential. And those snaps… my fingers itched.
“I see you’ve met,” I told Gray, nodding to Frankie. God, the cowboy and the biker. Together. They were like two months out of a hot guy calendar. Right on my doorstep.
“Yes,” he replied. “Frankie and Jackson were just putting the new bulbs in when I got here.” His eyes narrowed when he finished, almost as if he were angry.
I didn’t know him well enough to understand the expression, so I looked to Frankie and redirected the conversation. “Would you like to stay for dinner?”
It was only courtesy that had me offering. I really wanted to get Gray to myself. I’d been anticipating it ever since his text earlier. To say it made a crazy afternoon in the ER a little better was an understatement. The way my heart had skipped a beat every time I thought about him in my house had me questioning whether I should be hooked up to the heart monitors. Was I crazy to ask him into my house? Was he expecting to spend the night? God, I'd been wondering these things all day, and I still had no idea.
Frankie looked between Gray and me. Grinned and ran his hand through his dark hair. He playfully grabbed Jackson by the neck and pulled him into his side. The affection was easy between them. “The meal’s for you. With my father’s thanks. With my thanks,” he said, his intent clear. “Gray, it was a pleasure meeting you.” By the look on Frank’s face, he knew who Gray was. “Say goodbye, Jackson.”
“Bye, Mr. Outlaw, Miss Emory,” Jackson said with a little wave. They walked away, Jackson’s little legs pumping to keep up with his uncle’s long gait. A car passed on the street, and a siren wailed in the distance. The sun had dropped behind the houses across the street, and the air was heavy. Hot. And I was alone with Gray.
Once the duo rounded the corner, I turned to face Gray, who’d been watching me. “I really am the only person who doesn’t know who you are, aren’t I?”
He shrugged. “One of the few.” When I frowned, Gray ducked his head, so he could look me in the eye. “They don’t really know me, Emory.”
GRAY
I watched as Emory dropped her work shoes in an old milk box that sat on the porch then unlocked her door. I followed her inside, holding the food bag. By the weight of it and what Frank had said, there was plenty.
The house was small. The living room had comfortable furniture, well-worn and lived in, plants scattered about, framed artwork on the walls, family pictures on side tables. It was… lived in, unlike my place, which seemed cold in comparison. I remembered her mentioning this was where she grew up, so the place had been in her family a long time. It suited her well, for it felt… comfortable. This was a home where parents loved their kids, helped with homework, watched their soccer games. It only reminded me of the differences between us.
She glanced at me with those expressive eyes, and now they held a hint of nervousness. “I always take a shower right after work and get out of my scrubs.” She tugged at the bottom of her top as she scrunched up her nose. “You don’t want to know what kinds of things I saw today.”
“Yes, I do,” I countered in a quiet voice. I really did. I wanted to know what she saw, who she interacted with, the kinds of cases she had, the problems she dealt with. I wanted to know it all.
She looked surprised. “Oh, um, okay. I’ll be down in a few minutes. The kitchen’s straight back.” She pointed, then went up the steps. “Ignore my breakfast dishes in the sink,” she called as she went upstairs.
I took a few seconds to admire her ass beneath her blue scrub pants before I headed toward the back of the house. It was getting harder and harder to keep my hands off her.
The kitchen hadn’t been updated in twenty years, the fridge covered in photographs and clipped coupons were tucked beneath a magnet. A phone with a long cord, like one from when I was a kid, hung on the wall by the back door. The air conditioning was on and besides the sound of the water running upstairs, I could hear the air blowing from the vents in the floor. Placing the bag on the counter, I removed the food containers and found dishes and silverware from various drawers and cabinets.
My cell beeped indicating a text. I pulled it from my pocket. My dad. “Shit,” I muttered.
She must be one hot piece of tail.
His text had me seeing red. I shoved the phone back in my pocket and paced the small space, rubbed the hand over the back of my neck. Fuck. He was watching me. Turning, I tugged off my hat and replaced it, my fists bumped the counter, and I considered that he knew about Emory, knew where she lived. That meant he was having me watched. He was two hundred miles away on the fucking ranch. So why?