The Right Kind of Trouble

 

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Dedicated to my family. I love you!

 

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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CHAPTER ONE

Gideon Marshall had his hands full of dirty plates and his mind full of dirty words.

He moved into the kitchen of the big, sprawling home known as McKay's Ferry, and Moira McKay, the woman he loved more than his own life, cut a wide circle around him so she wouldn't have to look at him.

“Why don't you go out there and celebrate with them?” he asked, keeping his voice devoid of emotion. “A double wedding, I'm sure they could use your organized self to talk details.”

Not even an hour ago, Neve McKay, the youngest of the family, had gotten engaged. Less than sixty seconds after she'd said yes, her brother Brannon had proposed to his girlfriend Hannah. He'd been planning his proposal—Neve's fiancé hadn't known when he had popped the question.

There was plenty to celebrate.

Moira just shrugged. “This is a happy time for them. I'm just as good in here as I am out there. Nobody wants to talk plans tonight.”

“You could—”

The plates in her hand smacked down sharply on the edge of the counter, hitting with enough force he was surprised none of them broke. Moira was still staring at the plates, her jaw tight. “I could go out there and be a fifth wheel. No thanks.”

Ella Sue, a genteel sort of tyrant, came bustling in and arched a brow at him before looking at Moira's stiff back. “I'm in the mood for champagne,” she announced, taking up an empty space at the counter.

While she tore the foil, Gideon turned back to the sink and rinsed a few dishes off. “I used to wonder who did all of this,” Gideon said. He was talking just to talk and he knew it. He didn't care for the sound of his own voice, but it was better than that terse silence. “You've got all the money in the world. You could hire people to do this stuff. Then you could hire people to hire people to do it
for
the people…”

Moira let out a soft, strained sigh.

He looked over at her.

Their gazes locked and held for a moment before she broke it, shifting her attention back to the pots she was putting up. “Mom and Dad wanted to make sure we understood the value of hard work. It's one of the things that has kept this family honest and successful all these years—or so they say,” she said.

“I heard them tell you that, more than once.” He blew out a breath, mind turning back to the man who used to watch Gideon every time he would escort Moira out the door for a date. “Sometimes I still expect to hear him, you know. Your dad, that voice of his. Big and powerful, echoed all through the place.”

“I know.” She glanced over at him, smiled sadly.

A few moments later they were all done.

Ella Sue pushed a glass of champagne at each of them and then disappeared—again.

“She seems more interested in flitting in and out than anything,” he said. He was under no illusions as to why, either.

“I heard you were out with Maris the other night.”

Moira's voice—bright and almost too cheerful—cut through his heart like a knife.

He took a slow, deliberate sip of the champagne, the bubbles oddly flat on his tongue. It had come from the McKay cellars and chances were that the stuff cost a good grand a bottle. But it was like water to him. He still took another easy sip before he looked over at her.

He wasn't surprised Moira had heard he'd been out with Maris Cordell, one of the deputies with the county sheriff's department. What he was surprised about was the fact that she seemed to give a damn.

She tossed her champagne back like it was moonshine and she was dying for the buzz.

“We had dinner.” He shrugged casually and thought to himself he wouldn't have made a bad actor.

Moira, however, never would have made it. She gave him a sharp-edged look and said, “Isn't that just
lovely
. I bet you two have a lot to talk about.”

Gideon ran his tongue over his teeth. Then he shrugged and tossed back the rest of the bubbly wine. He rinsed out the glass. “I'd better head out. I've got case files to last me into the next decade, so—”

“Maybe the deputy can give you hand.”

“For fuck's sake!” He spun around and glared at her.

She gave him an innocent smile as she polished off her champagne and put the flute down.

Striding back to her, he caught her arms. “What do you want, Moira? It's sure as hell not me. I spent almost twenty
years
begging for you to come back to me, but you…”

Tears gleamed in her eyes as she stared up at him.

An invisible fist grabbed him by the throat, by the heart. “You won't,” he said bleakly. As the tears broke free and rolled down her cheeks, he brushed them away. “You won't. You're the only woman I've ever loved. Probably the only woman I'm ever going to love. But I'm tired of standing on the sidelines, of reaching out for you only to have you push me away. I'm
tired,
Moira. I'm tired of being alone and being lonely. You don't want me. I get it. But somebody else does.”

“Then go to her,” Moira said woodenly. She twisted out of his arms and pulled back. “I kept telling you it wasn't going to happen, that you needed to move on, Gideon.”

She continued to stare at him with bruised eyes.

“Then why are you looking at me like I've broken your heart?” he asked raggedly.

“You haven't, Gideon.” She managed to smile. “I'm happy for you. You're moving on. I did that ages ago.”

He wanted to call her on it, wanted to say bullshit.

But she came to him and kissed him on the cheek. “I'm glad for you, baby. Now go on. Get out of here … you've got work to do, right?”

“Right.” Dully, he nodded. Turning away, he took a couple of steps, his legs numb, his chest feeling strangely empty.

“Gideon?”

He turned, heart leaping.

But she was staring out the window into the backyard. Without even looking at him, she said quietly, “I hope this makes you happy. You really deserve to be happy.”

*   *   *

Moira waited until he was gone before she left the kitchen.

She waited until she was up the stairs before she breathed out a low, shaking sigh.

She waited until she was in her room before letting out the next shuddering breath, because it was almost a sob.

She waited until the door was locked before she sank down on the floor and began to cry.

They were low, soundless sobs, the cries of the brokenhearted.

Then why are you looking at me like I've broken your heart?

He hadn't.

Not really.

She'd done that to herself, over and over, as she'd pushed him away.

And this time, she'd done it permanently.

It was really over.

 

CHAPTER TWO

“If looks could kill, you'd be dead. I'd be dead. And Moira McKay would be arrested for the double homicide of two law enforcement officers.”

Gideon didn't let himself look in the mirror hanging over the bar and he didn't let himself turn his head. He'd known Moira had entered the bar because the man working behind the counter would soon be her brother-in-law and Ian Campbell had never known a stranger—he'd greeted her with a loud shout and a threat to feed her himself if she didn't sit herself down and eat.

The words had been delivered in a laughing tone, still thick with the music of Scotland. Whether or not Moira had eaten much, Gideon had no idea.

Because he wouldn't let himself look at her.

It had been six weeks.

They didn't speak outside the ongoing investigation. Somebody had set out to kill her brother Brannon. The same somebody had been stalking Hannah, the woman Brannon would soon marry.

Their most likely culprit hadn't been all that likely in the end and it wasn't like as though they could question him because the man was dead. Gideon had to give Senator Henry Roberts credit. He'd found one of the more unusual methods of suicide that Gideon had ever experienced or even heard of.

Death by anaphylactic shock—he'd been allergic to seafood and he'd requested a fish sandwich while waiting inside Gideon's jail. The officers hadn't known.

Still, it knocked the senator off the list because the problems hadn't ended with Roberts' death—they'd only gotten worse.

The one moderately bright spot in this was that he really didn't have much reason to talk to Moira. They were taking great pains to avoid each other and that had made it almost easy to pretend she wasn't the biggest part of his world.

Except for the fact that she was. At night, he felt the ghost of her presence and the memory of her hovered everywhere.

Even between him and the woman at his side, the ever-efficient and extremely beautiful Maris Cordell. Sensing that Maris was waiting for a response, he looked over at her and shrugged. “Good thing for us both that looks can't kill then, huh?”

Maris studied him for a minute and then leaned in closer, so close, he could breathe in the scent of orange blossom on her hair.

He found himself wishing it was lavender and vanilla, and he hated himself a moment later.

There were times when he could go without thinking about Moira every spare moment he had. Sometimes even most of a day would pass—most, but never all. Not yet. But even the other day, when he had lunch free, his instinct wasn't to try to hunt Moira down just to talk for a while. It had been to call Maris and see if she wanted to grab a bite.

He liked to think it was progress.

Then he had a night like last night, when he woke up at two in the morning, twisted in his sheets, the taste of Moira heavy on his tongue and the sound of her moans echoing in his ear.

“I was thinking…” Maris leaned closer, her breasts pressing into his arm.

“Yeah?” He smiled at her. “Why do you want to do that? I thought we were here to shut down our brains and
not
think.”