Zane moved over to the fridge and checked out the selection, choosing a pitcher of what looked like iced tea. He’d seen her pull glasses out of a cabinet at breakfast, so he knew where to find those. He was pouring the tea when he happened to glance out the window over the sink and froze mid-pour, the tea splattering a bit on his shirt and the countertop.

In the small clearing behind the house, Ty was working on a pile of logs, splitting them easily with powerful, arcing swings of the axe he wielded. He’d taken off the shirt he’d been wearing and hung it on a nearby tree branch, leaving only his thin T-shirt to cover hard muscles Zane was intimately familiar with. The material was soaked through with sweat, clinging slightly, and the words were almost obscured by the darkened material. Zane could still read them, though, and they brought a smile to his face. He hadn’t seen one of Ty’s Tshirts in quite a while, and this one was right on par with all the others. There was a police car on it, and the words “The police never think it’s as funny as you do.”

As Zane watched, Ty stopped, set the axe down, and yanked the T-shirt over his head. He wiped his face with it and then tossed it aside.

Zane had to blink a few times as his gut cramped. Jesus. It wasn’t like he’d never seen Ty shirtless before. Clearing his throat, he set down the pitcher and picked up the damp dishrag to wipe up the mess he’d made.

“Is that a bad batch?” Mara asked as she turned to peer at the tea. “Sometimes Earl makes it and it could peel the paint off an outhouse.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I just, uh, missed the glass a little,” Zane said weakly, turning on the cold water to wash out the rag, keeping his body facing the sink. It probably wouldn’t do for Mara to see how tight his jeans were all of a sudden. It was indecent how sometimes just one look at Ty was all it took.

“All the time you boys spend at the shooting range you’d think your aim would be better,” Mara said with a smile evident in her voice.

Zane snorted as he got himself at least somewhat under control. He moved to put the pitcher back in the fridge. “It’s vacation. I wasn’t really aiming to do anything remotely resembling work.” As he picked up his glass after shutting the fridge door, he couldn’t help but glance back out the window.

He could hear the pop of the axe hitting every time Ty swung it. Each log split cleanly, no match for the power Ty could put behind the swings, lifting the axe up in a jerky motion and then bringing it down with frightening speed. Zane could see the thin layer of sweat on Ty’s skin, glistening in the dying light as his muscles bunched and shifted. His frame wasn’t bulky, but Zane knew he was solid. Solid and strong. Especially since the Bureau’s gym was as close as Ty could get to action lately. Zane shook his head and made himself turn his back on the sight before he got caught staring. With a settling breath, he joined Mara at the table, sitting across from her and pulling the plate of baked dough pieces a little closer.

“He ain’t cut any limbs off, has he?” Mara asked wryly.

“All accounted for,” Zane said as he took a bite of a dough roll. “So far, anyway.”

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Mara smiled without looking up from her apple. “I never worried about Ty when it came to sharp things,” she told Zane with a mixture of amusement and sadness. “Deacon, now he’s another matter. He’s not even allowed to peel apples.”

“Deacon,” Zane mumbled before swallowing the rest of the cookie. “Unusual name.”

Mara was nodding. ”Deacon was my mama’s maiden name. It’s a tradition ’round here, starting to die out, though,” she informed Zane as she dumped a handful of apple slices into the bowl and reached for another.

Zane remembered now. Tyler wasn’t really his partner’s first name. Burns had introduced him as B. Tyler Grady. Ty had warned him off asking questions about it, and Zane had promptly set it aside. Zane smiled as he nabbed another cookie. “Ty’s not fond of his first name, huh?” he chanced.

Mara was shaking her head, her eyes on the apple she was peeling. The rhythmic thwack of the axe splitting wood reached them as they sat there. “Always hated it, even when he was tiny. I think that’s why he makes up his own names for everyone.”

“You mean his nicknames?” Zane asked fondly.

Mara nodded again. “How many has he got for you?”

“I really couldn’t tell you,” Zane said in the same wry tone. “Although Lone Star seems pretty popular.” He glanced to the window but couldn’t see out at this angle. “When we first met it was a different one every hour.”

“No telling how that boy’s mind works,” Mara muttered. “He has friends he’s known for twenty years, and I still don’t know their real names.”

Zane laughed and leaned back in the chair, extending legs to the side of the table and crossing them at the ankles. “He’s still got friends back that far, huh? Pre-military,” he commented.

“Oh yeah,” Mara answered in a surprised voice, as if that should have been obvious to Zane. “If he’s in the area much longer they’ll start showing up at the door too. His best friends, though, they came from the service.” She sighed softly and shook her head.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Zane said slowly. “Marines are pretty good guys.”

Mara glanced up at him, eyes wide. She nodded. “They are. For the most part. I wonder about a person who’d choose to be one of his own accord,” she admitted, her voice low. “Grady boys have been Marines for a long time. Drafted, every one of ’em. When Ty was born, and then Deacon, I swore they’d be the first who didn’t have to fight for a living. And then Ty went and volunteered,” she said with a sorrowful shake of her head. “I was proud of him, mind you. But I cried for a month.”

Zane didn’t know what to say to that. From what he did know of Ty, he could imagine his partner had been on fire to move when he graduated high school, and the Marines gave him his way out. He wondered if Ty knew what it had done to his mother.

Mara looked up at him, her cheeks flushing. “I’m sorry, Zane, I didn’t mean to go into that.”

It was easier than he thought to meet her eyes. “He’s talked about you a few times. Good things,” he said quietly.

Mara smiled, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth appearing briefly. “He’s a good boy. I just wish he didn’t like to shoot things quite so much.”




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