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Hands touched her shoulders, and she jumped.
“Take it easy.” Boone was looking at her, worry on his face. She hadn’t even heard him come inside.
“Sorry, I was daydreaming.”
He tipped her chin up. “You mean worrying.”
She blew out a breath. “It’s kind of hard not to.”
He smoothed her hair back behind her ear. “You’re not alone, Gemma.”
“I know.”
“Smells good in here.” Shep walked past them and opened the fridge. He pulled out another bottle of beer. “Is it time to eat?”
Gemma smiled. “Yes, it is. You two sit down and I’ll serve up.”
Soon, she had the garlic bread and salad she’d made in the center of the table. She served the men large plates of meatballs, and a smaller one for herself.
Atlas hovered nearby, but she knew Boone had already fed him. She slipped him a dog treat and his tail wagged.
“Wow.” Shep stared at the plate of food hungrily. “If this tastes half as good as it looks and smells…”
She beamed at him. “It does. But make sure you leave room for apple pie.”
“Oh, there’ll be room.” Shep dug in.
Boone gave her a small smile before he started his own meal.
“Fuck,” Shep said. “Gemma, this isgood.”
She felt a flush in her cheeks. It was one of her most favorite things in the world when people enjoyed her food. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good home-cooked meal that I haven’t thrown together myself.” He ate another large forkful of food.
It was after they’d eaten, and after Boone and Shep—despite her protests that she could help—had cleaned up the table and kitchen, that she found herself on the couch in front of the fire. She snuggled into Boone’s side, Atlas lying at their feet. Shep sat in an armchair across from them.
The men had switched to Scotch, both of them cradling glasses.
“So, any more information on this Carruthers?” Shep asked.
Gemma stiffened, and Boone stroked a hand down her arm.
“Not yet,” Boone said. “He’s rich and British, that’s all we have.”
“And he’s an arms dealer.” Shep’s tone said exactly what he thought about that. He sipped his drink.
“How does the man sleep at night?” Gemma asked quietly. “When you’re responsible for so much death and suffering.”
“He probably doesn’t feel anything,” Shep said. “Doesn’t care.”
“Or he justifies it to himself,” Boone said. “That he’s not the one pulling the trigger or detonating the bomb. That the weapons he sells aren’t the problem. It’s the people who use them.”
“Right, but he sells dangerous weapons to dangerous people. And profits off it.” She shook her head. “I’ll never understand.”
Boone gently tugged on her hair. “Try to turn it off for a bit. You’re just a woman relaxing in a cabin in the Rocky Mountains.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not that easy.”
