The Sheriff's Secret Wife. Christyne Butler
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that. We’re on our—wait one,” a crackle came from the walkie-talkie before Leeann came back on. “Deputy Bailey just pulled up. He’s got the second driver in custody.”
“Good. Contact the parents of the other driver.”
“Sheriff, the other driver is Giselle.”
Racy bit back a choke of laughter, but part of it escaped in a loud oomph. Gage and Gina’s twin siblings, both seniors at Destiny High School, caught drag racing. Each other.
Hell, she’d done the same thing many times as a teen in her father’s rattrap of a pickup that hid a killer engine. Usually against Bobby Winslow, who never seemed to get caught. But she had been, and her old man had left her overnight in jail while he and her brothers went on a bender in Cheyenne.
She doubted the Steele twins faced the same fate.
Gage’s eyes narrowed as he took in her attempt to hold back her amusement. “I’m on my way. And take their cell phones. They aren’t to talk to anyone until I get there.”
“Their cell phones?” Racy asked.
Gage ended the call and jammed the radio back on his hip. “Those two will call our mother with a sob story so fast, she’ll end up lecturing me instead of them.”
Racy didn’t doubt it. Sandy Steele was well known for her nurturing. Racy had experienced it firsthand years ago when the woman had provided a hot meal, a homemade quilt and a soft pillow to a scared teenage girl who’d spent the night in one of her husband’s jail cells.
The heat of Gage’s touch as he grabbed her hand and slapped an envelope into it yanked Racy back to the present.
“Read this,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”
Her fingers curled around the letter as he headed for the door in Max’s office that led directly to the front lobby. She read the envelope’s return address. Her stomach dropped to her feet. “Gage, this … this can’t be real.”
“Oh, it’s real.” He paused at the door to look at her. “Welcome to my nightmare.”
Racy stood frozen in place after he left. Then a knock came on the door. She shoved the envelope into her back pocket and turned. “Come in.”
Gina peeked inside. “Has the smoke cleared?”
“What smoke?”
“No one can smolder better than my brother. Gage was here about me.” The forlorn expression on Gina’s face spoke volumes. “And don’t ask me how I know. I’m the smart one, remember?”
Racy crossed the office and ushered the girl toward the stairs, quickly deciding it wasn’t her place to relay the antics of Gina’s younger siblings. She’d leave that for Gage or their mother. “Yes, he was here, and no, you aren’t fired.”
When Gina got to the bottom step she turned to face Racy. “The last thing you need is my big brother acting like … well, a big brother. Any more than he already does.”
A pang Racy attributed to the craziness of what Gage had just told her hit her square in the gut. The folded envelope in her back pocket seemed to burn through her jeans.
“How’s that?”
“You know, overprotective, watching my every move, staring down any guy that even looks at me.”
So that’s what big brothers did. Too bad nobody had filled in Billy Joe and Justin, who thought their sister was put on earth to keep their buddies occupied, steal bail money from and clean up after their lazy asses. Like father, like sons.
“Don’t worry,” Gina continued. “He’ll behave tonight.”
Racy focused on the young woman’s assurance. “What?”
“He’s here most nights.”
“Gage hasn’t been here in over two months.”
“I was teasing him earlier—oh, that’s right. He said he stays out of sight most of the time.”
Out of sight? That’s impossible.
Built on the same location as the original saloon, The Blue Creek had expanded over the years but remained on one level with an open floor plan. From her vantage point at the main bar, she could see everything, including the smaller bar on the far side near the pool tables and dartboards.
There were pockets of darkness, but there was no way Gage had stepped inside these walls and she hadn’t known about it. The kitchen was off-limits to customers, as well as the second floor. The only rooms up there were Max’s office and storage areas. Most of the doors off the balcony were fake, mimicking bedrooms where saloon girls would’ve taken—
The balcony.
Racy’s gaze shot to the three-foot-wide area, complete with support beams and railing that ran three-quarters’ way around the bar. Always in the shadows, but especially at night, someone could be there and she’d never know it.
How many nights had he done that? Before Vegas he used to come into the bar and deal with her face-to-face. Now he was hiding. And was that before or after he’d got the letter in her back pocket?
“Racy?” Gina’s voice cut through her haze. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Proud of the control in her voice, she pasted on a smile and showed Gina the easiest way to get a loaded tray off the bar without spilling its contents. “Why don’t you practice carting this back and forth? It can get heavy.”
Gina walked away and Racy again stared above her head.
Welcome to my nightmare.
Gage’s condescending words rang again in her ears. Okay. If he wanted to play games, she’d play. And if he wanted to watch, she’d give him a show to remember.
Chapter Three
Gage stepped from Max’s office into the deafening noise, leaned against the wall and became one with the shadows. The Blue Creek was rocking with a live band, typical for a Saturday night. Bodies filled the dance floor and tempting smells wafted from the kitchen, causing his stomach to rumble. He’d missed dinner, thanks to spending most of the evening dealing with the twins and his mother.
Since their father’s death ten years ago, his mother often took a soft road with his youngest sister and brother, resulting in him drawing a hard line when it came to their adolescent antics. Officially, they’d gotten off with a warning, but both were grounded for a month.
Damn, days like this he really missed his old man.
Gage had never got away with anything growing up. Then again, having your father as the town sheriff pretty much guaranteed you’d either be a rebel or a straight-up kid.
He’d been straight as an arrow. Not Garrett and Giselle. First graders when their father was gunned down during a drug bust gone bad, they’d gone from good kids to troublemakers in record time. He knew heartache was the driving force behind their behavior and their mother had been lost in her own grief-stricken haze. He’d returned from Washington, D.C., to make funeral arrangements, and moved back permanently a month later, leaving behind his dreams of working for the FBI, to take care of his family.
A family that at the moment was driving him crazy.
Not to mention that, at least legally, his family included Racy Dillon. As he’d often learned over the last ten years, sometimes life kicked you right in the ass.
His eyes followed Racy as she worked the main bar alongside two other bartenders, whose names didn’t register in his brain. Nothing registered except for the trim, toned skin on display.
She had on something that looked like the top half of a bikini. Two scraps of dark material covered her breasts while below swayed a row of fringe that reached