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He’d start with the sensor lights. He dumped his purchases on the kitchen table and then bagged up the pieces he needed for the sensor system.
With the bag under his arm, he trudged down the gravel path to the garage. He dug his key ring from his pocket as he reached the double doors.
“Damn.” He kicked the door with his boot.
Too late. Someone had broken off the padlock that held the two doors together.
He loosened the broken lock, letting it fall to the ground. Using his T-shirt to avoid leaving fingerprints, he flicked up the latch and nudged the door open with his foot.
He yanked the chain to turn on the overhead lights and released a sigh. Slick’s five Harleys were all where he’d left them when he’d checked them out his first day back.
He entered the garage and scanned the walls, his gaze skimming over the two shotguns mounted in racks and a collection of fishing poles and tackle.
Nothing jumped out at him. Slick had kept plenty of tools in here and God knows what else. He hadn’t done an inventory when he’d been in here before. He didn’t care if someone robbed Slick blind and Slick wouldn’t mind now.
Only the bikes mattered to Jim.
He wandered toward the shotguns and ran a hand down the long barrel of one. That’s one thing he owed the old man. Slick had taught him to shoot—and he’d been a crack shot right from the get-go.
He spent the next few hours setting up the sensor lights on the outside of the garage and fixing the padlock latch. He’d have to think of a better way to lock these doors, and he should probably file a report with the sheriff’s department.
He peered at the sky as he returned to the house. The cloud cover hid the setting sun, but it had to be dusk and Scarlett would be done working. Should he bring something more than her locks? Dinner?
At least he knew she hadn’t cooled off toward him because of his clumsy fall. His tattoo had freaked her out. Had she believed his story about not seeing Rusty’s tattoo or recognizing him in the dark? He wouldn’t have believed that lame explanation.
He finished showering and dried off in front of the mirror. Turning his back to the mirror and twisting his head over his shoulder, he could just make out the tail end of the tattoo on his back—the tattoo that ended in the letters LC.
Maybe he should’ve gotten the damned thing removed. At least it had caused some fear among his captors.
He slicked back his wet hair, which almost reached his shoulders. Didn’t look much like a ranger these days. He smoothed the pad of his thumb across the thin, white line on his forehead. But he had the battle scars to prove his service.
He shaved and dressed in a pair of jeans and buttoned a red-and-black flannel shirt over his black T-shirt. He grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. “You’re dropping off some hardware, Kennedy, not going on a date.”
He stuffed his arms into his leather jacket and locked up. He could’ve walked through the woods to her place, but he was sick of the woods already.
He rode his motorcycle the short mile to Scarlett’s place and left it on the edge of the ring of trees sheltering her cabin. He made plenty of noise taking the two steps to the door since he didn’t want to startle her and risk getting attacked with a poker.
He used the lion’s-head knocker and called out, “Scarlett, it’s Jim.”
The curtain at the window shifted and he took a step to the side to show himself.
She opened the door. “I thought you’d forgotten about me.”
Forget about her? Never.
“You said dusk. I didn’t want to disturb your work.”
Poking her head outside, she sniffed. “This is night, not dusk.”
“Excuse me for missing the nuance.” He held up the bag. “These are for you, and I have your change.”
She opened the door wider and as the light from the cabin spilled over him, her gaze tracked across his body, igniting a fire in his belly.
Her long, dark lashes fluttered and her chest beneath her tight sweater rose and fell. “C’mon in.”
He swung the bag from his fingertips. “Can you install this stuff, or do you know someone who can?”
“I can use a simple screwdriver and hammer, but I draw the line at drills. I don’t even think I have a drill.”
