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Saint jerked his head towards his bedroom. “Grab a sweater.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, giving him what was surely a terrible salute.

He gave her a flat look, but his lip twitched, and she responded with a winning smile.

“I have to go run this bike back, but Wheeler and Aaron’ll be here in a bit. You need anything before I go?”

Riley’s cheeks heated as a few things came to mind. One dark eyebrow lifted, and Saint’s eyes traced up and down her body. Tingles began in her belly, slowly coalescing into something needy and warm.

“I’ll be right back.” He thundered down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and closed the big doors, blocking out the weather and sealing the shop. The truck doors slammed shut, and everything quieted.

Riley shivered and backed up into the loft. She wandered into Saint’s room, a pile of her clothes folded neatly on the dresser. She didn’t want her own drawer. Not yet. She pulled one of the lower ones open.

She was considering a hoodie or a flannel shirt when her phone dinged.

A flicker of dread accompanied the sound, and she pulled the flannel around her, folding the sleeves over themselves.

Kristi: I’m at work and going to be late. Some asshole assistant filed my case wrong

Riley: … It’s Saturday

Riley closed the door behind her, tucking her chin to smell the shirt.

Kristi: Excellent deduction. You could do a better job than him with that level of critical thinking.

She padded across the loft and into the kitchen, and Cookie’s nails clicked on the hardwood. The counters were sparkling, and her cheeks warmed. The large gas range stood proudly against the back wall, polished and clean. The patio door led onto the roof of the shop, where two lawn chairs waited, facing the forest, and she made sure it was closed. The box of herbs was tucked under the awning and avoided the downpour.

Riley: Wow. Maybe he’d do better work if you were nicer

Kristi: Doubtful, got shit for brains.

Riley snorted a laugh.

Riley: Lovely. See you when you get here

Kristi: Kisses

Cookie began a low growl in his throat and leaned against Riley’s legs until she took a step back. She frowned at him, pushing back, but he refused to budge. He was heavier than he looked.

“Don’t shoot, kids, it’s just me!” A Texas drawl boomed, and Riley jerked her gaze to the stairway. How had he gotten in? She’d heard Saint lock the doors.

Cookie wagged his tail slowly, but the low growl didn’t stop, vibrating against her leg. A magnetic strip with knives hung beside the stove.

“Knock, knock!” Knuckles rapped on the wood frame and did nothing to change Cookie’s posture.

A blond, tanned quarterback type looked around the loft, and Riley let out the breath she’d been holding. It might have been the easy smile, or the way he stayed where he was when he saw her, but something about him was familiar. Probably because he sounded like every single one of her dad’s side of her family and dressed like her cousins did.

“Saint around? I didn’t see him downstairs,” he asked.

“He’s not here right now,” she replied, and pale blue eyes were gentle as they rested on her. She recognized him from the photo. Wheeler was like a little brother to Saint, although he’d told her not to mention that. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, maybe a bit younger than Saint, and his square jaw and bright eyes made him look far less serious.

“Ah, you must be Riley.” He gave her a broad smile. His hair curled along the top and back and was close-cropped at the sides, framing a kind face. He was softer than he’d been in the photo. Happier, maybe. A silver belt buckle flashed as he leaned against the door frame.

He didn’t look like he’d been in the military.

“Yeah,” she smiled, pressing into Cookie. “You can come in—I think?”

“Oh, I’m happy right here until the boss arrives.” He gave Cookie a wary look. “Your friend there is a certified weapon. No sense rolling the dice today—I like my skin where it is.”