“All I said was, it’s a damn fool who cuts off his nose to spite his face.”
With a graceful agility belied by her size and bulk, she slid the three plates she held balanced on one arm onto the table in front of the three men. Somehow she even managed to accomplish this feat without dripping any cigarette ashes in the dishes.
Grilled jumbo shrimp sizzled on the gargantuan platters, filling the evening air with a tantalizing aroma, but Gabe was in no mood to be placated by Beulah’s culinary skills, not when she’d obviously been indulging in her favorite hobby—troublemaking.
“You got a long nose, Beulah. That was a private conversation.”
She gave a laugh that sounded like a caw. “Cat fight was more like it. Heard you all the way to Tampa, I’ll bet. That gal sure left out of here steamed up.”
“Oh, hell, Gabe!” Mike groaned. “What’d you do to her?”
“You don’t want to know,” Beulah said, smirking. “It wasn’t pretty.”
“Don’t you have something better to do?” Gabe demanded.
“Don’t take that tone with me, mister.” Growling under her breath, she stomped toward the kitchen.
“Jeez, did you have to tick her off again?” Rafe asked in disgust. “We’ll be eating kibbles for a week.”
“I don’t know why we put up with that Medusa.” Gabe swung a leg over his chair.
“Yes, you do.” Mike bit into a shrimp and gave a long, appreciative sigh. “And this is it.”
Rafe eyed his former commanding officer belligerently. “What I want to know is, if old man Dempsey was so willing to deal on that property that he sent his own granddaughter over to talk to you, why didn’t you latch it down, pronto?”
Gabe shifted in his seat. “The, uh, price was too high.”
Miracle of miracles, apparently Beulah hadn’t overheard Sarah Ann’s outlandish proposal and passed that on, too. At least the poor girl would be spared that kind of ridicule and embarrassment. That he would take an unmerciful ribbing from his partners didn’t even enter into it, of course.
“Heck, Gabe, we need that frontage at any price,” Mike said. “I didn’t invest in this joint just to go bankrupt.”
“We’re far from that,” he protested, picking up his fork. “Besides, what are you complaining about? You’re hardly around a week per month these days.”
Mike grimaced. “Yeah, finding missing persons turns out to be a booming business.”
“Well, that last search-and-rescue nearly killed me. I’m getting too old for the Special Ops game,” Rafe groused.
“You got a better idea?”
“Sure. Improve access to Angel’s Landing, advertise and put up that RV park like we talked about, so we can make this place pay for itself and all retire.”
Mike pushed his empty plate aside and grinned. “I thought we’d done that already.”
“Mothballing the uniforms was only part of it,” Gabe pointed out.
The Fallen Angels team had served well together through dangerous times, in situations no government would even admit to knowing about. But a man’s psyche could only take so much. One by one, they’d reached a saturation point when they’d each seen and done too much to stay any longer.
When Rafe found this place and offered a third interest to his closest buddies, Gabe immediately came aboard. He’d been drifting aimlessly—South America, the Far East, it didn’t matter—too soul weary to go home to Texas, too battle-scarred to fit in anywhere else. The partnership was a godsend, a chance to reconnect to life. And it was working. There was healing in the hard physical work, the goals, the friendship. The three of them were bound by bonds of blood, camaraderie and loyalty. They didn’t let each other down.
Gabe grimaced. Only he had, by letting his temper get the best of him and scaring off Miss Sarah Ann Dempsey and their best chance at that property.
“Can’t say that I miss those fatigues, you know. I still break out in hives whenever I see khaki.” Joking, Mike’s grin grew even wider. “And at least we don’t have to salute Gabe anymore.”
“No, we can give him orders now,” Rafe said.
Gabe’s mouth twitched. “Mutiny, is it?”
“Since you obviously screwed up earlier, you get to repeat the assignment.” Rafe jabbed a finger at him. “Get in touch with Miss Dempsey and open negotiations again. Sir.”
Gabe’s belly clenched, and he frowned. “Waste of time.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Hey, Mike’s the ladies’ man in the outfit, remember?”
The Irishman laughed. “You’re saying you didn’t handle things with your usual finesse and flair?”
“Something like that.”
Rafe shrugged. “Tough. Get back in that ring and start swinging. A Ranger never admits defeat.”
“I really blew it,” Gabe admitted. “One look at me, and she’ll spit in my eye.”
Mike and Rafe glanced at each other. Grinned.
“So, duck, sir.”
Little girl…
Sarah Ann folded Gramps’s pajama top with a savage snap of her wrists.
Out of your league…
Her face burned. The arrogance. The utter gall!
Try this…
Teeth gritted, she slapped the pj’s onto the bureau, then cast an anxious look at the wizened man asleep in the hospital bed. The window blinds were closed against the glare of a lingering sunset and the room was dim, illuminated only by the pale light of the fluorescent fixture above the narrow bed. Silver stubble sprouted on Harlan Dempsey’s weathered cheeks, and the IV tube dripped quietly into a thin arm, but he didn’t stir.
Sarah Ann drew a deep breath, wrinkling her nose at the familiar scents of disinfectant and alcohol, but nothing calmed her rankled feelings. Her stomach hadn’t stopped churning since the previous afternoon’s debacle. Damn Gabriel Thornton! Just who did he think he was?
Well, she wasn’t some simpleminded schoolgirl, easily intimidated by a mere kiss! Her thoughts balked at the word mere, then skittered away from the toe-curling memory of masterful lips and raw male power. Granted, he’d taken her completely off guard, but that’s because
