"Hey," he said, scratching Bailey behind the ears. "Don't you know you're supposed to be in bed?"
"She likes you," I said. "It looks like you're awake, having a little party of your own."
He held up the bottle. "Want some?"
I shrugged, and took it from him, taking a sip and nearly spitting it out. I wiped the back of my hand across my mouth. "God, that's awful."
Cade sat down on the step. "So what are you doing, sitting out here all by yourself?"
I couldn't tell if it was just late or his words were slurring.
"I couldn't sleep."
"That's what this is for," Cade said, shaking the bottle.
Yeah, he was definitely slurring.
"Yeah, that'll definitely help with your sleep," I said, sarcastically. Just because I'd stopped being a surgeon didn't mean I stopped thinking like a physician.
He didn't notice the sarcasm. "It helps turn off my mind."
I couldn't help but ask. "Bikers do a lot of ruminating about things?"
"You have no idea," he said.
"My mind runs on a loop." Why did I just say that?
He closed his eyes, silent for a while, and I wondered if he had passed out. "So you came back to West Bend, Junebug. Starting a bed and breakfast."
Junebug. Other kids had called me Junebug when I was young, and I'd hated it. Then Cade had called me the same thing, and it became my favorite name in the world. "I am. I bought this place. Just need to fix it up a little bit."
"Returning to a simpler life,” he said. He ran his finger down the neck of the bottle and I pictured him running his finger down the length of me. “Do you remember when we used to plan to run my dad’s ranch?”
It had been my life’s ambition. I nodded. “Do you ever think of coming back home?”
“Every day,” he said. Then, quickly, "Not really."
He looked tired. Sad.
"You look like you never left," he said. I felt naked under his gaze. Vulnerable.
I laughed, suddenly nervous. "You mean I look like a local again."
"No, that's not what I mean, Junebug," he said, his gaze intense. "This place, it looks good on you."
"Well, you look different," I said.
Cade laughed. Axe. The name somehow suited his new persona. His biker persona. I'd always thought of him as a cowboy. Even after I’d heard he joined the Marines, I couldn’t shake the thought of him still riding on the ranch, back here in West Bend. "Not exactly what you expected, is it?"
"I didn't expect you at all," I said. I didn't mention that for years I'd fantasized about running into him. That was a long time ago.
"I hoped I'd see you again," he said. "But not like this."
I took a drag of my beer. "What is 'like this' exactly?"
He was silent, his eyes studying the ground. "I needed to get Crunch and his family out of trouble. It's nothing, Junebug."
It was more than nothing. I knew that much. "Are you in trouble?"
"No,” he said, finally making eye contact again. “Yes.”
“With the bikers?”
“Probably.”
What the hell was the appropriate response for this situation? “Well, that sucks, huh?”
Cade laughed, the sound warm, just like I remembered. “Yeah, it does. You want to join me?"
It took me a minute to figure out he was talking about sitting on the stairs. No, I thought. That's the last thing I need, to get even closer to him.
But I stood anyway, moved beside him on the stairs. Bailey harrumphed and moved back up to her spot on the porch. As soon as she moved from between us, the proximity to Cade felt close. Too close. I didn't look at him.
“So, what’s keeping you up at night then?” he asked.
What the hell should I say to that? "Well, I'm not generally in the habit of telling all my secrets to every dirty biker that walks through my door."
He leaned forward. "Well, I'm not just any old dirty biker," he said. "Am I?"
"No, you aren't." My heart thumped loudly in my chest.
"Well, I can't promise I'm not dirty," he said.
I shivered, but not from the cold, biting my bottom lip. No, I'd bet he was all kinds of dirty now, wasn't he? I sat there, feeling paralyzed by desire for this man I didn't know anymore. The man sitting beside me was sexy as hell. And dangerous, I reminded myself.
And drunk.
I looked over at him, my eyes wandering from his hands, to the tattoos that snaked across his forearms to his biceps. An image peeked out from under the sleeve of his tee shirt, and I recognized the symbol. I reached over, lifting the edge of the fabric, squinting to see underneath. An Eagle Globe and Anchor, surrounded on each side by an "S." I dropped the sleeve, and looked up at him.
His expression was curious. "Something interest you there?"
"You were a sniper," I said. “I knew you were a Marine. I didn’t know any more than that.”