Free Ties That Bind by Natalie R. Collins Page A

cooperated.
    “I need some answers.”
    “Don’t we all.”
    Sam whirled around to see Gage standing three feet away, a cup of coffee in each hand.
    “Speak of the devil,” she muttered.
    “You wound me. I come in peace. Bringing gifts, no less.” He held the coffee cups out, and Sam couldn’t help but sniff the air. Good coffee was one of her weaknesses, a total departure from the way she was raised. While good, believing Mormons didn’t drink coffee, Sam Montgomery drank it by the pot. Perhaps another way of sticking it to her past.
    And Gage remembered that weakness.
    Sam glared at the ruggedly handsome man standing before her. He wore faded Levi 501s, button fly—always button fly for him— Stop. Get your mind out of the gutter.
    He had on a tan Roosters Polygamy Pale Ale T-shirt that pronounced: “I tried Polygamy in Utah.” Over the top of the T-shirt was a large, short-sleeved black shirt with an understated white print. From where she stood it looked like a Kokopelli design. Since Gage was known to take off for days in the southern Utah desert alone, it suited him. He also wore an NBA Jazz basketball cap over his dark, crisply shorn hair. Under the cap, his dark eyebrows furrowed and his blue eyes seemed to spark electricity. Nothing about his attire really went together, and yet on him was all in perfect synchronicity. The black shirt was large and open and untucked, and she knew that on his right hip, camouflaged by the shirt, he had a Smith & Wesson model 357PD in .41 Magnum—a revolver that didn’t jam like an automatic, which made it simpler and more reliable. His preferred “off-duty” gun. The department made him carry a Glock. But on his own time, he made his own choices—ones that made him both dangerous and, to her, incredibly alluring. The rough-and-tumble instability of her youth led Sam to want to always be protected. She never went anywhere without a weapon. She knew Gage was the same.
    Even in his casual attire he held an appeal and charisma she could not understand. She did not want him to be attractive to her, or to anyone else for that matter. She wanted him to be ugly and stubby and … bald. Bald would be good.
    How about it, Callie? Can you help me out here? Ask God to send Gage a little bald curse?
    “You’re thinking bad thoughts about me, aren’t you?” Gage said drolly, folding his arms across his chest, which of course emphasized his muscular build. He had never been much of a talker—Sam had always assumed that his stint in the Army had taken care of any outgoing tendencies he might have once had. He didn’t speak much about those days, but they were in his eyes, the lines on his face. And yet, history aside, his subtle sense of humor was always there, constantly simmering beneath the surface.
    “I am not,” she protested, but it lacked enthusiasm. Who am I trying to kid? Even bald, the man would be hot. “Why are you here?”
    “To talk about the case, of course.”
    “It’s Sunday. I’m off-duty.”
    “A cop is never really off-duty. Especially a detective.”
    “Gage, why are you doing this? Why don’t you go back to your little haven in Salt Lake, and leave me with my case. I— we don’t need your help.”
    “You say that, but you aren’t even giving me a chance to offer my expertise.”
    “I know. You’re always right, and everyone else is wrong, and you call the shots. And pull people off cases when they are making headway. That kind of expertise is one I can do without, thank you very much.”
    “I don’t call all the shots, but when I’m in charge I have to make the decisions. When it’s life or death it’s my ass on the line if something goes wrong. I don’t intend to let anyone die under my watch.”
    “Well, it isn’t your watch this time. It’s not your case. You made sure I failed miserably in Salt Lake, and if you’ve come here to do it again, it’s not going to work.”
    “Sam…”
    “No, no ‘Sam.’ No saying my name or