He groaned. “I can’t forget Riley. She had that look in her eye. Like she wanted to ruin my life in a fun way.”
“She probably does,” Saint said cheerfully.
“Gentlemen,” I said. “Focus. Riley is the Sheriff’s daughter.”
And for a whole ten minutes, they focused.
Then Riley walked in again.
Boots.
Leather jacket.
Perfect hair.
A smirk that said she was here for trouble and had already preheated the oven.
“Hiiii, boys.”
Trigger fell off the ladder.
Saint covered his face.
Havoc muttered a prayer.
I closed my eyes and counted to three. “Riley.”
“Wolf.” She hopped onto the bar like she had a permanent claim on it. “Relax. Sheriff Dad sent me to check permits.”
“No,” Havoc said.
“She’s not allowed,” Saint added.
Trigger scrambled upright. “She can check anything she wants.”
Riley pointed at him. “See? That’s the attitude. Aim higher, Trigger.”
Trigger froze like he’d been electrocuted.
Riley grinned at me. “Anyway, I’ll be around.”
“Please don’t,” I said.
She winked and sauntered out, leaving a trail of chaos, cologne, and shattered male dignity.
Trigger whimpered.
Saint patted him. “She’s your problem in book two, buddy. Suck it up.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Trigger whispered.
“You will,” Saint said darkly.
By mid-afternoon,the upstairs apartment was sweltering with sawdust and the smell of hard labor. I stripped off my T-shirt, wiped sweat from my neck, and went back to sanding the new banister railing.
Trigger’s ladder creaked. “Wolf…”
“No,” I said.
