Come Fly With Me (12 page)

Mick scrambled, unable to get his footing on the slick surface. No sooner had he lifted himself off her than he fell right back down, his face landing on the heavy padding of the front of her coat. Another peal of laughter bubbled up before she could stop it and Grier’s arms went around him in a gesture so natural, she barely realized she did it. “You’re the graceful one.”

“You have no idea.”

He planted his hands on either side of her body and lifted himself above her. Although the weight lessened, she could still feel the solid length of him and the sensation shot heat straight to her core.

A wicked light glinted off his blue eyes and Grier knew she was in dangerous territory. She wanted this man.

Oh, how she wanted him.

Strands of desire bound them together as time seemed to slow. The feel of her in his arms—even covered in layers of down coat—was a heady aphrodisiac and Mick could feel her lithe form through the heavy material. Their breath puffed in quick exhalations between them as soft clouds of mist floated past their cheeks.

His body responded, hard and tight with need. One
long moment spun out after the next as they stared at each other under the light of the streetlamps, torturing each other with promises of all that could be between them.

It was that thought—of what could be—that finally pulled him back from the mindless oblivion. He’d been accused of a lot of things in his life, but horny bastard out for his own selfish ends had never been laid at his feet.

She’d said no and he’d respect that.

Even if it killed him.

Seeing as how he’d very nearly forgotten they were lying on a cold, ice-covered sidewalk in January, he knew he was dangerously close to that oblivion.

“Grier, I’m sorry. Let me help you up.”

She squirmed underneath him as if coming back to her senses and he had to hold on to her shoulders to still her. “Hold on or we’ll end up right back in the same spot.”

Once she stopped moving, Mick looked for a patch on the sidewalk without ice. As soon as he found it, he planted one heavily booted foot and shifted to stand. Extending a hand, he bent down. “Come on now, nice and easy.”

She trembled to her feet like a colt standing for the first time. As soon as she was steady, she dropped her hand from his.

“Come on. The hotel’s not too far.”

They continued on in the same direction, slower now in hopes of avoiding another slick patch. “You didn’t hurt anything, did you?”

“No.” Her breath whooshed out in a heavy puff as she added a sigh to punctuate the denial. “Nothing other than my pride.”

“You’d be surprised by how many people end up on their ass in January in this town.”

Another telltale puff of breath accompanied her soft-spoken words. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Oh?”

They came to a halt at the edge of the Indigo Blue’s parking lot. “I’m not a tease, Mick.”

“I never said you were.”

“It’s not hard to read the subtext.”

A surge of anger welled up. He hadn’t thought of her as a tease and he’d be damned if he’d let her think he did. “There is no subtext other than good old-fashioned male frustration. I want you, Grier. I’m not going to go away and pretend that’s not the case. I’m also not going to pretend I don’t see the reciprocal interest.”

“I know that. And, for the record, I’m blaming me, not you. You’re like a drug and I’m the addict waiting for my next fix.”

“I’m sorry?”

“My whole life has been built on the premise that good behavior begets good things. And you know what?” The words flew from her lips in a heated wave as fire burned in the depths of her gray eyes. “It’s all bullshit!”

Mick reached for her, not quite sure what had prompted the sudden flash of rage. “Grier. Calm down. It’s all right.”

“No, Mick. It’s not all right. It’s anything but fucking all right.”

She turned and began to pace and Mick was abstractly grateful Susan had seen to it the parking lot was clear of any snow and ice. Whatever bothered Grier had to come out. He suspected this was as good a time as any.

“You want to tell me what this is about?”

“I want you so bad I’m cross-eyed with it. I mean, for God’s sake, we were just lying there on a frozen sidewalk and I wanted to strip your clothes off. Who does that?”

“Us, apparently?”

Her eyebrows narrowed and he didn’t miss the telltale furrow that marred her forehead. “You’re missing my point.”

“Obviously.”

“All my life I’ve done the right thing and it’s gotten me here. To this place. Fucked up and out of answers. Totally and completely out of answers.”

“You think I can’t be one of those answers?”

“I don’t know. I swear to God, Mick, I just don’t know. But I do know I can’t live with myself if I hurt you.”

With that, she turned and walked into the Indigo Blue. It was at the very last moment—just before she walked through the door—that she turned back to look at him.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

It had to be.

*    *    *

Grier reached for the carafe of coffee on the center of the conference room table and poured her third cup of the morning. She hadn’t slept well and in the unique irony that only a sleepless night could provide, she’d now give her last nickel to crawl back into bed and sleep for a week.

“You’re looking bright eyed this morning,” Chooch declared as she marched into the conference room, a shoe box under her arm. “You sure you’re up to this?”

“Of course.”

“Word has it you spent the evening at Maguire’s,” Hooch added.

“I was back by ten,” Grier answered, sitting up straighter in her chair. “I was simply out with a few friends.”

“So that’s what you’re calling Mick, now?” Hooch smiled, but Chooch hushed him with a swift hit to the gut.

“Damn, woman. It’s not a secret those two are crazy about each other.”

Grier ignored the not-so-subtle attempt at garnering gossip and focused on the task at hand.

“Why don’t you both take a seat and we’ll get started. I usually wait until February to do taxes, but I presume you’re not waiting on W-2s from an employer. Is that correct?”

“Yep.”

“What about bank statements, investment statements, things like that?”

“Oh yeah, we’re still waiting on those”—Hooch waved his hand—“but we figured it’d be best to get
started sorting through everything. That’s always what takes me the longest.”

“Sorting through everything?” Grier eyed them over the rim of her mug as they each took a seat on the opposite side of the table.

“Yep.” Chooch laid her shoe box on the table and Hooch set a matched one beside it. “All our receipts are in there.”

“That’s how you’ve kept track of your expenses?”

“Yep.” Both nodded.

“That’s the only way? For the entire year?”

Both nodded again.

Grier thought briefly about politely declining the work and sending them on their way and then remembered the sheer boredom of the last week. At least this would be boredom with a purpose. “All right, then. Let’s get you set up and then you can leave this with me and I’ll work through it.”

“You sure about that?” Hooch looked skeptical. “I mean about us leaving things.”

“Well.” Grier hesitated, not sure if she should be annoyed at the lack of faith or fearful she’d have to sit with one or both of them opposite her for however long it took to sort through two shoe boxes of receipts. “I will leave everything as I found it, only sorted.”

“Oh. Okay.” Hooch nodded. “That should work.”

“And you can come pick it all up at the end of each session if you’d like.”

“Even better. I knew I liked you,” Hooch added as an afterthought. “It’s nice to look at you.”

Grier looked up from her laptop and the tax
program software she’d downloaded the day before. “I’m sorry?”

“It’s like looking at your dad again. Well, a prettier version of him, but it’s familiar, you know? Friendly. Boy, do I miss him,” Hooch added with a last small sigh.

“You knew my father? I mean, I know you’d know him as a neighbor in town, but you sound like you really knew him. As a friend.”

“We both worked the pipeline, at different times. I was one of the geologists who surveyed the area about a decade before he was up there. Chooch and I did some traveling after that, but we all ended up settling around here. Your father was a good man, Grier. A real good man.”

She nodded, the words a lovely comfort as she watched the small smile dance across Hooch’s mouth as he remembered her father. “Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome. And, for the record”—Hooch leaned forward—“we’re all pulling for you on the whole will thing. Kate’s gotta get that damn stick outta her ass, if you ask me.”

“No one’s asking you, Hooch,” Chooch said, shushing him once again.

“I’m entitled to my opinion.”

It didn’t take a crystal ball to see the battle brewing, so Grier pointed toward the computer. “Why don’t we go ahead and get started.” She tapped a few keys. “I need your full names and Social Security numbers first.”

“Herbert Michael McGilvray,” Hooch announced,
before wagging a finger at her. “But don’t go telling anyone what my first name is.”

“Oh, okay.” Grier questioned the need for secrecy over his first name as opposed to the actual contents of his return, which he apparently broadcast with glee, but held her tongue. It was her job to take down the information, nothing more. She then tapped in the Social Security number he rattled off and tabbed over to the next field.

“I assume you’re filing jointly?”

“We’re married, aren’t we?” Chooch demanded.

“Of course. I just needed to confirm.”

Chooch nodded. “I suppose you need to follow the prompts. Which is probably why Hooch fucked it up last year,” she added with a philosophical wink.

“Exactly.”

“Okay, Chooch. I need the same information from you.”

“Jennifer Mason McGilvray.” Grier typed as the woman counted off her Social, but looked up at the heavy sigh that accompanied the last digit.

“Everything okay?”

“I need you to keep my name a secret, too.”

Grier looked up, determined to nip whatever preconceived notions they’d walked in with firmly in the bud. “Everything we do here is a secret, just so you know. This is a confidential exchange of information that I wouldn’t share for two reasons. First, because it’s wrong. Second, because I could lose my license if I went around talking about my clients’ returns. All that said, I’m not quite following all the secrecy around names.”

“I sound like a cocktail waitress,” Chooch said, then added, “And Hooch is named after the shitty president who got us into the Great Depression.”

“You’d look awfully cute in a bunny outfit,” Hooch guffawed, and leaned over to give his wife a big smacking kiss on the cheek.

Grier wasn’t sure what the protocol here was as corporate tax clients rarely brought anyone along to the audit and, if they did, it certainly wasn’t to make googly eyes at them. With stoic reserve, she did her best to ignore the comments across the table and just kept typing. “Okay. Next step is your address.”

They made it through the next five minutes with relatively few comments and a minimum of fuss, although Grier figured she would have to live for a long time with the image of them discussing the joys of naked hot tubbing at their mountain cabin in Tahoe.

Grier looked up from the keyboard with a smile. “Okay. That wasn’t too bad. Why don’t you hand me those receipts and we’ll get started.”

Before the words were even out of her mouth, Chooch and Hooch had their shoe boxes open and upside down. As a mountain of receipts spilled onto the table, Grier held back the small scream that crawled up her throat.

“We left the other boxes in the car.”

“Other?”

“Well, yeah.” Hooch nodded, his gaze solemn and strangely knowing. “We didn’t want to scare you off before we got started.”

*    *    *

“How’s it going?” Avery asked.

Grier held up a hand as she walked through the swinging doors of the Indigo Blue’s kitchen. “You do not get to ask me that, especially since I know you’ve been spying on me with the conference room camera.”

“It didn’t look that bad, until Hooch dumped that fourth box on the table.”

Grier snagged a Coke out of the Subzero. “Do not make me breach my professional ethics by groaning and/or agreeing with you.”

“Seeing as how Hooch cackled his way through the lobby about all five shoe boxes and how he wouldn’t have to be going through any of them this year, I think you’re safe.”

“They are eccentric—I’ll give them that.”

“And proof positive of something my grandmother always said. There is a lid for every pot.”

The Coke opened with a satisfying pop as Grier snagged a few slices of bread off the counter and moved to stand next to Avery. “Thank God.”

Avery hip bumped her before passing over a bowl of egg salad she’d just finished stirring up. “I’ve got some file folders in the office if that will help.”

“I’m not confident an entire filing cabinet would help, but I’ll take what I can get.”

They moved to a small table with their sandwiches and sat in companionable silence for a few minutes.

“Did you get what Jack said last night?”

Grier glanced up. “About what?”

“About Ronnie being afraid of Roman. Do you think that’s true?”

Grier hedged on saying anything that might hurt Avery, but she also couldn’t bring herself to lie. “I can see Roman being an imposing figure for the other men around here. Sure.”

“Do you think that’s why I can’t seem to get a date?”

“Do
you
think that’s the reason?”

Avery reached down and toyed with the edge of her napkin, tearing off small pieces. “I didn’t think it was, but I’m starting to wonder.”

“Have you been interested in any of the men in town?”

“No one’s quite blown my skirt up, but I wouldn’t say no to a date now and again. But no one ever seems to ask. So it got me wondering after Jack said what he said.”

“Well, you could certainly go out with Ronnie if you had a mind to.”