Mick watched Sarah Jane dart into the house to catch her ringing phone and wished like hell he could follow her. Only he wouldn’t let her answer her phone and would insist they take up right where Chase Collins had, quite irritatingly, interrupted.

Which, on the grand scale of Stupid Things He’d Done in His Life, would probably rate right up there at the top, dethroning scoring the Headmaster’s daughter--on his office desk, no less--and sending Carson Wells over that ill-fated ridge when, as team leader, if anyone was going to take that chance it should have been him. He’d been certain--or as certain as he could be with the intel he’d been given--that the route had been safe.

It hadn’t.

Mick swallowed.

At any rate, sleeping with Sarah Jane was more than beyond the height of idiocy, it was just plain wrong. He was here under false pretenses and given what he’d gleaned from her tonight, knew that he should call Huck alert him to the change and move on.

Simply put, he should leave.

As Payne had said, Ranger Security wouldn’t be a party to anything illegal and Chastity Walker using their services under false pretense to keep Sarah Jane from getting her rightful inheritance was definitely breaking some sort of law. He didn’t know which one precisely, but that hardly mattered.

Furthermore, in the event he slept with her and she somehow managed to find out who he really was--what he’d originally came here for--he didn’t have a single doubt that she’d once again end up in jail, only it wouldn’t be for lewd and lascivious behavior--it’d be for his murder, because she’d undoubtedly kill him.

And he’d deserve it.

This--being with her, kissing her, God help him liking her--it was all a mistake, but one he didn’t know how to correct and frankly, despite knowing all of that, didn’t want to. Mick slid into his truck, cranked the engine and reluctantly pulled away from the curb. Rather than return to the B&B, he decided to drive around town for a little while. Knowing that a homosexual ghost was probably responsible for the weird hand-on-his-thigh feeling this morning when he’d awoken didn’t exactly engender a happy feeling about going back to Clara’s, he thought darkly.

The town square was lit with pretty antique post lights, illuminating older couples holding hands and chatting on park benches, kids playing in the fountain and the occasional trendy Millennial walking their dog. Monarch Grove night life, Mick thought, feeling a smile steal over his lips.

Funny, he’d always been under the impression that small towns rolled up their sidewalks after dark, but this little burg seemed more interested than talking to each other than watching reality TV. If he didn’t know better, Mick would chalk up their habit to no cable, but knew that wasn’t the case. Clara had a top-of-the-line satellite system, enjoyed hundreds of channels, some of them even in foreign languages which accounted for the occasional Portuguese epithet he heard her mutter under her breath.

At any rate, this town along with its inhabitants--particularly one dark blonde hellion with melting toffee eyes--had turned every preconceived notion he’d had about it on its ear.

Though his grandfather had lived in Minot, Kentucky for most of his life, Mick couldn’t help but think the older man would love it here. The last time he’d visited Charlie’s old hometown, the little burg had all but died. The few businesses that hadn’t folded when the larger chain stores and such had taken up residence out on the highway had abandoned the old town square and gone into strip malls to survive. Little by little the new had eroded the old and very little had survived the so-called progress. Amazingly, Monarch Grove seemed to have been able to absorb the new without forgetting the old, a rare balance that took a special brand of people.

Mick snagged his cell from the holder at his waist and dialed his grandfather’s number, ashamed that it had been more than three months since the last time he’d called. He’d been a wreck then, leaving the military and, while he hadn’t been able to share it with his dad, he couldn’t not share the decision with Charlie.

His grandfather answered on the second ring. “Hello.”

“Hey, Gramps. How’s it going up there?”

“Same as it always is, Micky. Slow as molasses, boring as hell, but a body gets used to it.” He paused. “How about you? Working your new job now?”

His body wouldn’t get used to it, Mick thought, staring at the bustling activity around the square. His grandfather had always been so active, so full of purpose. “I am,” he admitted. “I, er... I don’t think it’s going to work out,” he said, giving voice to the niggling thought. Hell, he’d suspected when he’d taken the job that it wasn’t for him, but Huck had been so sure that it was the right thing, and Levi had seemed almost envious of the hire, which had somehow made him think that he was missing something they could see. And considering his own judgment had been shot to hell... He’d just said yes, thankful that anyone thought he was worth having.

Unfortunately, Mick wasn’t sure what sort of work he was cut out for, but the security specialist field wasn’t for him. It didn’t fill a void--and though it pained him to admit it, even being a Ranger hadn’t the way he’d thought it would--but merely clocked time.

If there was any good thing that could come out of his recent screw-up, it was the opportunity to find something he loved. Like Charlie had, Mick thought, envying his grandfather his purpose. Like Sarah Jane, too.

“Well, you’re not a quitter and never have been--“

Though he knew that, hearing his grandfather say it was more important than he would have ever imagined. Mick swallowed tightly.

 “--and if you ask me, I think you need to be working with your hands. You’re too much like me, Micky. Restless and miserable without a purpose. That’s why carpentry work always suited me so well. It was my outlet, so to speak. All that energy had to go somewhere, so I figured pouring it into a building was as good as any way to use it. Start with a blueprint, end up with a building, something to be proud of, tangible proof of labor, then onto the next project.” Though he wasn’t there, he could imagine his grandfather’s shrug, the wisdom in his lined face. “At least, that’s always what I’ve thought, anyway.”

 “I’ll think about it, Gramps.”

In truth, he had to admit he’d been more content working with Sarah Jane today than he had in months, possibly longer. Breaking a sweat, feeling the weight of a hammer in his hands...it had all been very therapeutic. He’d completely lost track of time, had thoroughly enjoyed every minute. Of course, that could simply be a product of the company and not necessarily the work. Furthermore, he didn’t need to get too attached to either. He was at a crossroads at the moment, struggling to find his path, and dragging someone else along on his blind journey--one he had a tendency to screw up--was hardly fair.

“Have you talked to your father, told him about your recent occupational change?” his grandfather wanted to know.

Mick hesitated. “Not yet. I haven’t heard from him.” And he hadn’t called him, either. Frankly, though he shouldn’t give a damn, knowing the inevitable disappointment he’d hear in his father’s voice had prevented him from making any sort of effort to contact him. Becoming a Ranger had been the only accomplishment Mick had ever managed that had impressed the man.

“Me either,” his grandfather said. “He and your mother must be on another one of their vacations. Probably off riding camels or looking for tigers or something.”

Mick chuckled at the distaste in Charlie’s voice. “Riding a camel might be fun.”

“Men ride horses, boy. Not camels. Where are you, exactly?”

Mick rested his head against the back of his seat and smiled. “I’m in Monarch Grove, Georgia--Home of the Fried Pie Festival.”

“You don’t say?” Charlie replied, sounding genuinely interested. “I love fried pies. Haven’t had a good one in years. Not since your grandmother passed away, anyway. Peach was always my favorite.”

Mick felt his lips twitch. “I have it on good authority that blackberry is best.”

“Oh, I bet that would be good. A Fried Pie Festival,” he repeated, almost wistfully. “I can’t say as I’ve ever been to one of those.”

Mick couldn’t say he’d ever heard of one, so his grandfather had him beat. “It starts next Friday afternoon, Gramps. You should come down. There isn’t a room to be had in town, but I’ll share mine with you.” The invitation caught him off guard, but it suddenly occurred to Mick just how much he meant it.

“Nah,” his grandfather said, albeit reluctantly. “I’ve got too much air to breathe here. Might mess up the delicate balance of things if I’m not around doing my part.”

Mick chuckled, mildly disappointed. “Just thought I’d offer.”

“And I appreciate it, and I’d love to see you. Speaking of which, when you do reckon you’ll be in this neck of the woods? Anytime soon? Should I change the sheets in your room? Dust off the chess board?”

Another reminiscent smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. How many hours had he logged in playing chess with Charlie? Hundreds, possibly thousands. “Soon, Gramps,” Mick said, meaning it. In fact, when this was over, he’d go home. After all, his grandfather’s old farm house was the closet thing to a home he’d ever known. That old iron bed and single chest of drawers in Charlie’s old house had been the location of some of his best childhood memories. In fact, were it not for his grandfather, he grimly suspected he wouldn’t have had any at all.

Damned selfish parents, Mick thought. He hadn’t been that bad. What had been so wrong with him that they hadn’t wanted him? Weren’t they supposed to love him unconditionally? Weren’t they supposed to have had some sort of sentimental attachment to him? He’d read stories of mother’s who performed heroic acts of strength to save their children, but knew beyond a shadow of a doubt his mother would be the exception to the rule.

She’d sure as hell never come to his rescue. Not once, Mick thought bitterly.

He was an adult, old enough to reason and understand, mature enough to comprehend that he wasn’t responsible for their emotional shortcomings, but there’d always been a small part of him that secretly thought that if he was so flawed his own parents hadn’t been able to invest a little love in him, then why would anyone else bother?

“I hope so, boy,” his grandfather said, pulling him back into their conversation. “It’s been too long.”

Mick silently concurred, then listened to his grandfather complain about his neighbor’s fence and how he’d had to fix it for him and how the portion sizes at the diner had gotten downright paltry and how nobody took pride in doing things right anymore and that was the problem with the whole world and America, in particular. “Spoiled, the lot of them,” according to Charlie. Mick answered where appropriate and provided commentary for the better part of half an hour before he finally ended the call.

Still reluctant to go back to the B&B, he circled the square a couple more times, then parked a few houses down from Sarah Jane’s under the pretense of putting her under his new and improved form of surveillance--which involved keeping her out of Chastity’s house and thereby out of jail until he could come up with a better plan--when truth be told, he just wanted to catch a glimpse of her.

Pathetic, Chivers. Utterly pathetic.

And yet he knew it was true, couldn’t deny that he’d been completely enchanted by her from the minute he’d looked at the blurry, out of focus picture. Sarah Jane Walker was the real deal. She was honest and forthright, hardworking and funny, loyal and loving. She could also kiss like the very devil and would undoubtedly take that same skill and furor into the bedroom. His dick jerked hard against his zipper, where it no doubt bore a permanent imprint after spending the entire evening with her.

He honestly didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed a woman’s company more and knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he’d never been so affected by a mere kiss. Mick had always liked the taste of a woman against his tongue, eating those soft inhalations, the slide of feminine lips against his, the suckling of tongues, the mimicry of making love with the mouth. It was erotic and pleasurable and, when right, in many respects, just as enjoyable as sex. Would every man agree with him? No, probably not many, he thought, silently chuckling at the thought.

But from the moment he’d stolen his first kiss in second grade, he’d always been a huge fan. In his opinion, a man had a lot riding on that first kiss. If he was sloppy, or too eager, or too lazy, he might as well forget making it to the next base. A kiss should enflame, not be a hasty prelude to sex.

And he could honestly say that if enflaming were truly the goal, then he’d definitely succeeded in setting himself on fire.

Simply put, he wanted her.

He wanted to kiss her until she melted, taste the side of her neck, slide his tongue over her nipples and feast between her legs. Then he wanted to settle himself firmly in the womanly cradle of her thighs and plunge into her until they were both screaming with release.

Unfortunately, dragging her into the convolutedly mess of his life--particularly when he’d initially come here under false pretenses--was simply out of the question. Kissing her had been bad enough, a breach of trust. Sleeping with her would leave his conscience in shreds. It would match his life, of course, he thought with a dark chuckle, but that was beside the point. He had to resist her. For both of their sakes, he really needed to do the right thing and sadly, the right thing in his instance, felt horribly, horribly wrong.

But there was one thing he could fix, Mick thought, and he had every intention of doing that. Thankfully, Payne had given him the leeway to make his own choices regarding this case, and unbeknownst to Chastity, he was switching sides.

He just wasn’t going to tell her until after he’d found Sarah Jane’s father’s will.

When had decided this was the right course of action? Who knew? But he knew it was all the same. If Chastity was willing to go to the trouble and expense to hire them--with Sarah Jane’s money, he thought darkly--and hide her husband’s will, then she was fully capable of following through with the threat to have her arrested and put back in jail. Her mug shot haunted him.

Not on his watch, Mick decided. He wasn’t going to let her steal from Sarah Jane.

He opened his cell once more and keyed in Huck’s number.

“Finn,” his friend answered by way of greeting.

Mick outlined the situation for him, alerting him to the change in facts as he knew them. “She’s sleeping with the attorney who Sarah Jane says drafted the will,” he said. “According to the local banker she’s withdrawn a sizable amount of cash for a deposit on a vacation home. She’s breezing through the money like its growing on a damned tree, as though she wants to spend as much of it as she can before the will surfaces. Frankly, I suspect we were hired to keep Sarah Jane from finding the will, not to keep her from stealing things from the house.” He snorted. “As far as Chastity’s concerned, that’s just a little bonus.”

Huck swore. “You’ve got full discretion on this, Mick. If you think it’s time to pull the plug, then by all means let’s do it. Ranger Security doesn’t want any part of this. We’ll quietly withdraw.”

Mick winced, uncertain how to proceed. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to keep Chastity in the dark for a little while longer and do some poking around.”

 Bad metaphor, Mick thought as a beat slid into three.

“So long as you know what you’re doing,” Huck said, a hint of warning in his voice.

Not precisely, Mick thought as he snapped the phone shut and ended the call. A fateful smile slid over his lips. But when had that ever stopped him?