Heating Up (High Ridge #2)

Chapter 1

Piper

I’m humming along to my bluetooth speaker when I am startled by someone knocking on the back door.

I’m still a bit jumpy after my best friend Meg and I were held up at gun point last month, but I’m working my way through those issues.

At least, I’m trying to convince myself that I am working through those issues.

“Psycho serial killers don’t knock on doors, Piper. Get a grip,” I mutter to myself. Now I’m talking to myself. I guess there is no where to go but up. Drying off my hands, I poke my head around the wall to see who is there.

It’s Holt. I sigh. Holt is so good looking it is irritating.

He is everything anyone could want. Strong, protective, handsome, tall.

Muscles for days. Completely capable, and totally out of my reach.

He has gotten into the habit of checking on me after the incident.

It’s only because he is a nice guy who pities me.

And I can’t say that I blame him. I did spend 2 days huddled up on his couch jumping at every little noise and creak.

I was a hot mess after that crazy guy came to town to kill my bestie.

Meg and I had been through a lot of things together— being held at gun point wasn’t one I cared to repeat anytime soon.

If Holt and his brother Sterling hadn’t gotten to us in time, I shiver thinking of what would have happened.

After 2 days, I decided I had done enough wallowing— and taking advantage of Holt— and decided to go back to normal.

Whatever that is. Holt tried to talk me out of leaving so soon, but I knew that if I stayed with him any longer I wouldn’t be able to stay on my own.

Besides, it isn’t like I was the target.

I was just caught in the crossfire. I shouldn’t be traumatized.

And, I wasn’t. Just spooked. Sure, sure—keep telling yourself that.

Shaking my head, I make my way to the locked door and wave at him through the glass window pane.

Holt has been showing up to check on me most mornings.

He claims he is doing surveillance early in the morning for a client.

I’m not sure that I buy that. I pull open the door and feel how chilly it is outside.

“Piper,” Holt says in greeting. His smirk should be outlawed in the tristate area.

Both he and his brother won the genetic lottery.

I run my hand over my apron, painfully aware that it cuts my plus-size frame in all the wrong places.

Not that it matters, Holt is just being Holt.

Both he and his brother, Sterling, love to play the hero.

I’m not complaining. My best friend and I have definitely benefitted from their penchant for coming to the rescue.

I can’t really blame Holt, it is his job. Owning a private security company in this mountain town keeps him busy. Which is why he doesn’t need to concern himself with me any longer.

“Holt, you don’t need to keep checking up on me. I am fine, really,” I say to him gently. I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I don’t want to be a burden. He has other things to do.

“I was in the neighborhood—thought I would swing by and get a coffee before I headed to a job for a client,” he explains as he runs his large right hand through his golden brown almost blonde hair.

He is studying me with his light blue eyes.

I turn around to avoid them and head to the coffee maker.

I already have a big pot of regular brewed and in a carafe.

“Coffee, I can provide,” I state cheerfully as I pour it into a to-go cup. I keep a stack on hand in the kitchen. Turning around I notice that Holt is still staring. His head is cocked slightly to the left, as if he is examining me.

“What—do I have flour all over me again,” I ask, looking down at my apron. He chuckles and rubs his angular jaw.

“No, not today,” he says. His eyes are glinting in amusement.

I take a moment to take him in. He is at least a foot taller than me, angular jaw, full lips.

He is sporting his signature 5 o’clock shadow.

I notice his black henley shirt stretching across his muscular chest. His black leather riding jacket hugs his bulging biceps.

My eyes travel down a flat stomach to his muscular thighs covered in dark wash jeans to his feet encased in black boots.

I don’t know how he manages to look like he walked off of a movie set at 6 in the morning. Someone needs to tell me that secret. I’m broken out of my musings by Holt calling my name.

“Piper, are you good,” he asks me. He is smirking slightly and I hope he doesn’t realize that I was checking him out.

“Uh, yeah. Everything’s fine. Sorry, what were you saying,” I shrug my shoulders trying to brush off the embarrassment and move on. He takes a step forward getting a bit closer. His gaze darkens, turning serious.

“I asked if you were doing alright. You and Meg went through a traumatic experience—it takes awhile to get over that shit,” he explained to me.

“Holt, I’m fine—really, he wasn’t even after me,” I smile.

Hoping it is convincing. I can’t tell him the total truth.

What do I say? I jump at every floor board creak?

I have trouble falling asleep and staying asleep?

I am paranoid and sometimes think I’m being followed?

I keep the light on in the bathroom at night so that my house isn’t completely dark?

I do not want to whine and complain. Not when Meg had it infinitely worse.

I mean, her house was set on fire. In comparison, I just had a few minutes of trouble.

Holt’s eyebrow is raised in disbelief. Apparently, I need to work on my acting skills.

“Have you talked to Meg,” he asks me. I hear the concern weighing down his voice. He takes another step closer to me. Holt is not deterred easily, so I know I can’t brush this off completely.

“No, I don’t want to ruin her happy bubble. She has been through enough. She and Sterling are spending quality time together, and I am not going to rain on her parade. I’m fine, Holt. Really, I’m getting better,” he still doesn’t believe me, but I can sense he is going to let it go—for now.

“You have my number, use it,” Holt states simply.

I nod at him enthusiastically. Grateful for the reprieve.

I probably won’t use it— but I appreciate the gesture.

Holt’s hero complex could make a girl think he is interested.

I know the score though. This is just the way Holt is built. He can’t NOT help.

“Would you like a muffin,” I ask. The dinging timer reminding me that it is time for them to come out of the oven. Maybe if his mouth is full of baked goods we can change the subject. I see him smirk.

“I’d love to have your muffin,” he waggles his eyebrows. My cheeks flush and I throw the dish towel that I was wringing in my hands at him. He laughs and catches it with one hand easily. The noise that was trapped in my throat comes out as a snort and groan.

“I-I-you know I didn’t mean it that way,” I finally manage to stutter out. Come on Piper, you can do better than that.

“Just because your mind is always in the gutter, doesn’t mean the rest of the population’s is,” I retort. I’m putting the muffins on the tray that goes in the display case. They are still fairly warm, so I’m playing a game of hot potato. Even being careful, I still manage to burn myself.

“Yeowee,” I start to blow on my hand. All of a sudden, Holt is behind me. Gently moving me to turn around.

“Jesus, Piper, let me look at that,” he says gently taking my hand. I start to shake my head and pull my hand away. He won’t let me.

“I’m just a klutz, I burn myself at least once a day. I mean, if I don’t it is a miracle,” I ramble jokingly. He doesn’t look amused at my explanation. His light brown eyebrows are furrowed over his blue eyes.

“Maybe you should get some gloves,” he says. I start to laugh, but stop when I realize he isn’t joking.

“It’s just a little burn, really. In about 5 minutes I’ll forget all about it,” I try to reassure him.

This is becoming a theme between the two of us.

I successfully snatch my hand away and spin around to the tray.

Picking it up, I begin to walk out towards the register and display case. I feel Holt follow me.

“How is the search for help coming along,” Holt asks me as I put the tray in the case. I turn around to turn the other pot of coffee on and snort.

“About as well as me winning the lottery,” I mutter. I’m flipping the espresso machine and coffee pot on when he comes up next to me.

“I don’t like that you don’t have any help here. It is dangerous for you to be working alone all the time,” he is trying not to sound grouchy— but I can hear the tone. I know what he wants to say. He wants to say, if you don’t get help in here soon, I will do it for you.

“I am trying, Holt. It isn’t easy. I have hired 5 people in as many months and none of them stick around for longer than 2 weeks,” I explain frustratedly. He holds his hands up.

“Hey, hey, I know you are. I just don’t want you to run yourself ragged here,” his voice is quiet but the caring tone hits me in the chest. I am usually the one that is worrying about others, and it is nice to have someone worry about me for a change.

I swallow the lump that has formed in my throat.

“Thank you, I’m sure I’ll find help soon,” I say.

Trying to get a handle on the emotions that have suddenly welled up.

I don’t know why Holt brings out this side of me.

I am not needy. I need to shut it down, though.

I look at the clock. It is time to open.

Before I can say anything, Holt is striding to the front door. He flips the sign and unlocks it.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” I exclaim as I grab a muffin and put it in a to go bag. Holt is already sliding a 20 dollar bill across the counter.

“You don’t have to—,” I start to say when he interrupts me. Putting a stop to the words coming out of my mouth.

“Take it, Piper. No arguments,” he orders. Before I start to protest the bell on the door dings, indicating my first customer.

“I’ll see you later,” he states and strides out the front door. I stare after him for a moment. My mouth agape. I’m broken out of my thoughts when someone clears their throat. Shaking my head, I get to work.