Holding Out for a Hero (Baytown Heroes #9)

Chapter 1

1

FOUR MONTHS AGO

Bess Crowder stepped into the bar and immediately felt her shoulders relax. She was hit with the double-barreled sensation of the scent of loaded fries smothered in cheese and the pulsating rhythm of music from the speakers mounted in the room's upper corners. God, I need this.

The dim light cast a warm illumination over the room. Tables were filled with couples or groups, and everyone ate, talked, drank, and laughed. The murmur of conversations blended with the music. A few couples danced near the back, swaying to the beat. She made a beeline to the bar on the left and hefted her booty onto a tall seat, waiting to catch the eye of the bartender. He turned, looked her up and down, then ambled over, a wide grin on his face.

“Hey, darlin’, what’ll it be?”

She smiled and glanced at what was on tap. “Blue Moon. Tap.”

He winked and dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “You got it.”

A moment later, he set the beer on the bartop. “Thanks,” she said, wrapping her hands around the cold brew. The icy glass felt good against her burned finger, and she glanced down at the reddened skin. Wincing slightly, she placed it back on the cold glass. She took a sip and let the drink slide down her throat, relishing the crisp, refreshing taste. By the time she was halfway finished, she ordered a plate of the loaded fries, unable to resist the temptation of the scent wafting from the small kitchen in the back. Soon, the taste of potatoes, cheese, and bacon, along with the beer, chased the remnants of her cares away.

“Hello.”

Startled by the deep voice that came from behind, she twisted around in mid-bite. Even on the elevated barstool, her eyes landed on the torso of a tall man, forcing her to tip her head back to drag her gaze upward. A smile crept over her face at the handsome man before her. He had a strong jaw covered in a trimmed beard, thick auburn hair with an unmistakable wave, and deep-set, piercing blue eyes that held her own captive.

His gaze dropped to her lips, reminding her to pop the rest of the french fry into her mouth. Chewing and swallowing, she kept her eyes on him, silently praying she didn’t have a string of melted cheese dribbling down her chin.

But then his lips curved into a smile that lit up the room. When he beamed it toward her, she felt more than the room light up—it was the first time in a long time her entire body took notice. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he noticed she was quivering. When one side of his mouth quirked upward, she wondered if he could feel her throb from where he stood.

He wore jeans, a blue chambray button-up shirt with a navy tie, and a dark gray sports jacket. The whole package was memorable because of the confidence he oozed from every pore. Not cocky but self-assured. She recognized that confidence and could meet it with her own. His hands went to his hips, and the subtle shift caused her gaze to drop to the badge clipped to his belt. A detective?

His gaze dropped to her chest, then went back up to her eyes. “Bess. You must be the famous baking Bess I’ve been hearing about.”

She rolled her eyes and blushed at the realization he wasn’t checking out her boobs but was reading her shirt’s logo. Then she was hit with the realization that this gorgeous man was seeing her in a polo shirt paired with jeans that probably had a swipe of flour somewhere on them, most likely her ass. They were comfortable but weren’t chosen to make her ass look amazing. Her choice of bright red sneakers only added to the unsexy ensemble. She didn’t even want to contemplate what her hair, pulled back into a ponytail, and her mostly bare face looked like under the lights.

But she couldn’t do anything about her packaging at the moment, short of stepping into a time machine and going back in time and rewriting the minutes that led to this encounter. She could picture it vividly—racing home after work to shower, shave, carefully add makeup to mask imperfections and accentuate her eyes, and style her hair to look effortlessly beautiful. Then she’d slip into a cocktail dress that she didn’t actually own but had always imagined herself wearing for a special occasion before stepping out into the night. But if she had done all that, she might have missed him.

Coming back to the present, she noted he continued to stare while her mind had slid sideways. She tilted her head to the side, smirked, and arched a brow. “Considering I’m wearing a shirt that boldly proclaims I’m Bess, and This Is My Bakery , that wasn’t a Sherlock Holmes–level assumption for you to make in guessing my name or profession. I expected a bit more deductive prowess from our fine county detectives.” Twisting to the side, she gave him her full attention and managed to cut the distance between them by half. “Unless, of course, you think I’ve killed the real Bess and hidden her body under a pile of cookie dough after stealing her shirt for my nefarious disguise while indulging in a post-murder-theft drink.”

His gaze remained steadfast, but a glimmer of amusement danced in his eyes. He appeared to fight to maintain his composure that might crack hardened criminals, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him, inching upward until he was full-out grinning.

She tapped her chin with her forefinger. “I like to get to know my customers. Who are you?”

“I guess I’m the detective who made a rather clumsy deduction. And for the record, no, I don’t think you’ve committed any foul play and hidden the body of the real Bess.” A sheepish smile accompanied his admission. “Honestly, when I walked in and spied your red sneakers, I wondered if Tommy was serving an underage patron. I’m relieved I came over and discovered that you’re youthful but not a youth.”

She barked out a laugh. “You are using your deductive skills.” Her gaze devoured him, and she gave in to her curiosity. “I’ve never seen you in my bakery, so you must be new to the area.”

A hint of pink tinted his cheeks as he hesitated. “Um… not exactly.”

She tried to ignore how her stomach swooped at the sight of his lightly reddening cheeks, and her interest was piqued. “No? I should be insulted that you’ve heard about the culinary genius of my work, yet you’ve ignored the calling to investigate for yourself since I opened eight months ago.”

He raised his hands in a gesture of defense. “In truth, I’ve enjoyed your treats and coffee. I have a… um, coworker who comes in early and brings some in for me.”

“My, my, Detective,” she teased mischievously. “You’re blushing. Is this coworker someone who thinks that if they ply you with Bess's aromatic coffee and delectable pastries, you’ll be inclined to ask them out? Or perhaps you’re already involved with them, and this is their way to ensure you remain by their side. Or perhaps you’re utterly devoted to this mystery person and have simply decided to express your gratitude to them for their thoughtful gestures.”

“Damn, you don’t hold back, do you?” He chuckled, clearly taken aback by her brazenness.

She laughed and shook her head. “I’ve always been told that I’m too blunt. I just feel like life’s too short to pussyfoot around.” She stuck out her hand. “For the official introduction, I’m Bess Crowder, by the way.”

He wrapped his hand around hers, and she blinked at the tremor that started with their touch and traveled throughout her body.

“Brad Stowe.” He inclined his head toward the stool next to hers. “May I?”

She nodded as she reluctantly withdrew her hand from his and waved toward the empty stool. “Go ahead, Brad. I’m here alone, but I can’t imagine you can say the same.” Her gaze searched the bar, feigning nonchalance. “Hmm, your date must not be here yet. Whoever she is, she won’t come at me with bared claws, will she?” She wiggled her fingers, showing off her necessary short nails. “The fight would hardly be fair.”

He started to chuckle, then wrapped his long fingers around her wrist and held up her hand. Inspecting her finger, he lowered his brows. “That burn looks painful.”

“The hazards of owning a bakery,” she quipped, trying to ignore how his touch on her skin sent tingles up her arm. What was it about this man who had all her senses so electrified? It had been months since she’d been on a date and even longer since her lady parts had had something to giggle about. Yet she wasn’t so desperate that she’d had this reaction to just any man she’d been around.

He settled onto the barstool next to her, and even that movement appeared confident, which was incredibly sexy. He lifted his chin toward the bartender and ordered a beer. Once it was in front of him, he raised his glass. “Here’s to the continued success of Bess's Bakery.”

“I’ll drink to that!” After a sip, she said, “You evaded my question about your date and conveniently sidestepped my not-so-subtle inquiry about who brings Bess's coffee to you.”

His grin widened. “I’m not here to meet anyone, and no one is waiting for me at home.”

Her gaze shot to his left hand, and she noted his ring finger looked no different from his other fingers. No paleness. No indentation. It was just as beautiful as his other fingers. She lifted her gaze back to his face, and from the way his gaze penetrated hers, she was sure he knew she’d been checking out his status.

Continuing, he said, “I had no plans this evening other than to get a drink, but now, I’ve been blessed with meeting a beautiful woman.” He leaned closer and inhaled deeply.

Blinking, she jerked back while snorting. “Seriously? Did you just sniff me?”

“Absolutely.” This time, his voice held no embarrassment. “You smell like sugar, cinnamon, and chocolate! How can a mere mortal man resist?”

Her shoulders shook as she chuckled. “I’m glad the perfume of my work can cast spells over mere mortals. It’s how I stay in business.”

He glanced down at her plate of fries and called the bartender back over. “Double order of wings. Sauce on the side.” He looked at Bess. “Hot?”

Crinkling her nose again, she shook her head. “Sorry. I can’t handle hot. I mean… spicy… um… food. I can’t handle spicy food. That's probably why I bake sweets.” Now, it was her turn to feel her cheeks burn as she blabbed.

His lips twitched as his gaze slowly left hers and shifted to the bartender. “Another beer for the lady, and honey mustard and ranch on the side of the wings.”

She didn’t admit it aloud, but those two sauces were her favorite with the wings. Clearing her throat, she tossed out, “I know we’ve just met, but since you’re sharing your wings, I’ll gladly share my fries.”

Without hesitation, he reached for one and popped it into his mouth. She watched as he chewed and then swallowed, mesmerized by how his throat worked. It has been too long since I’ve been laid! Blowing out a breath to dislodge the idea of him eating something of hers that would be a helluva lot more personal than her fries, she asked, “Now, I’m curious. What’s your favorite Bess's treat?”

“Well, one of my coworkers favors your éclairs?—”

Her smile dropped. “Oh. Damn. You must be referring to Aaron Bergstrom.”

Brad snapped his mouth closed, but the tips of his ears turned red again, and the telltale sign of his discomfort was alarmingly charming.

He sighed and nodded. “I was afraid you’d know him. And, just for the record, Aaron first brought your coffee and bakery items to the station, introducing me to the goodness of your shop.”

She once again waved her hand dismissively. “I can’t hold you responsible for the actions of others, but you might as well know that I’m extremely protective of my big sister. And, in truth, he didn’t break her heart. But it’s his loss.”

“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure he has regrets?—”

“He should! My sister is amazing!”

He held her gaze and nodded slowly. “Then it sounds like the Crowder sisters are very much alike.”

Their gazes didn’t waver for a long moment, and the urge to lean closer to see if his lips were as delectable as they appeared grew increasingly difficult to ignore by the second. Suddenly, a platter was plopped down onto the wooden bar between them.

She jumped, hating that their connection had been broken. Looking down, they both dove in, each going for a wing before dipping it into the sauce. She relished the crispy coating on the perfectly cooked chicken wings. She was never shy about eating in front of a man. She had a healthy appetite, and if someone was interested in a stick-thin, calorie-counting woman who’d deny themselves the pleasure their taste buds could encounter with good food, then the man might as well go looking for someone else.

Finally, wiping her greasy fingers on a napkin, she leaned forward again. “Brad, tell me… do you have any other deep, dark confessions you want to get off your chest? For example… I know Aaron hasn’t been in the shop in months, probably trying to avoid running into Belinda while simultaneously realizing he made the biggest mistake of his life?—”

“Okay.” Brad interrupted as he chuckled and wiped his mouth with his napkin, drawing her gaze to his lips. “I’m only telling you this so you won’t think I’m a total dick for not mentioning it sooner.”

Shifting back on her stool, she lifted her hands in front of her, mock horror on her face. “Oh God, this sounds like a confession that might be too much for me to handle.”

“Why do I have the feeling there is little you can’t handle, Bess?” His eyes twinkled, and she stared. She could honestly say she’d never noticed a twinkle in anyone’s eyes before—except perhaps her grandfather when he was about to slip her and Belinda a cookie before dinner.

Blowing out a breath, she couldn’t hold back her smile in the presence of such an enticement. “You’d better confess so we can see if I can absolve you!”

Tossing his napkin onto the counter, he signaled for another beer before returning to her. He shifted on the stool so that his legs were on either side of hers as they faced each other. She didn’t feel trapped… more like enveloped.

“Okay… here goes. Aaron wasn’t the only one bringing in treats from here.”

“Aha! I knew a man who looks like you would have someone special.”

“No!” he rushed. “Not special. Just… uh… ”

Bess propped an elbow on the bar and balanced her chin on her knuckles. “Let me guess. There was a woman. She loved you from afar and was desperate to gain your attention. She’d come into my shop and buy coffee and treats for not only herself but also for you. One day, she realized she was not the love of your life, so she cut you off and no longer buys you Bess's goodies.”

At his silence, she threw her head back and laughed. “Well, unless you have another woman who’ll spend her hard-earned money at my place for you, you’ll have to come in yourself.”

He leaned closer and grinned. “For the record, I always paid for my coffee and treats, no matter who brought them in. But now it looks like I’m on my own.”

“A man like you will not be on your own for long. I can only imagine a string of broken hearts behind you and a line of women in front of you just waiting to deliver you their goodies.”

His shoulders shook with laughter. “Damn, Bess. You’re a tough cookie.”

“In my family, I’m known as the blunt one with the fiery temper that goes along with my red hair.”

His eyes twinkled… again. “I like a woman who calls it as they see it.”

“If that’s the case, then you’ll love me.” With that shot fired over his bow, she turned to signal a refill from the bartender.

Brad stared at the captivating beauty seated next to him. They had finally relocated to a table in the corner, and as she slid from the barstool, he couldn’t help but notice how he towered over her. Her larger-than-life personality was packed into a petite body. A body with curves he’d noticed right away.

He gently rested his hand on her lower back as they wove through the maze of tables to one that allowed more privacy than the bar. And with his hand guiding her, he sent the unmistakable signal to anyone else in the bar that she was with him. Primitive but effective.

Instead of sitting across from her, he slid into the seat next to her, wanting to be as close as possible. Flirting with a woman alone in a bar wasn’t typically his style, at least not since his younger days, but as soon as he’d walked in, his gaze landed on the fire-engine-red sneakers on her feet. Her attire wasn’t unusual on the Shore. The nightclubs filled with scantily-clad women would be across the bay near Virginia Beach and Norfolk, especially near the naval base. Here, you were just as likely to see someone in waterman’s boots as heels. But those red shoes were a beacon.

As he approached the bar, he was enveloped by her sweet, intoxicating scent. Nearing, the sight before him grew more mesmerizing—red hair pulled into a ponytail cascading down her back, porcelain skin, a dash of freckles racing over her cheeks, and blue eyes that intently stared into his. As soon as his gaze dropped to the embroidery on her shirt, he recognized her name.

But what struck him most was the connection they shared in the hour since he’d been in her presence. He’d laughed more, talked more, and learned more about Bess than any other woman he’d been with in a long time.

“I can’t believe what you’ve accomplished at such a young age. Dual culinary and business degrees. All the jobs you’ve had. And now, before thirty, you own your own business.”

She shrugged, and her hand waved in front of her face. “No more than you! Military police in the Marines, police academy, then working in Fairfax County as a police officer. Now you’re a detective.” She smiled, then cocked her head to the side. “Why the Eastern Shore?”

It had been a long time since a woman had expressed interest in what he did and why. When he spoke, Bess held his gaze. “I grew up in a little town on the shore of Delaware, so I was used to coming down this way when my family would travel to Virginia Beach.” He hesitated at the memory, then continued. “After a few years in Fairfax, I applied for a position here. Once I came, I never wanted to leave.”

“And do your parents still live in Delaware?”

Nodding his reply, he asked, “What about yours?”

“I grew up in the area, but my parents sold their house last year and are down in Florida to help out my grandmother and her sister.”

“They sold their house here?”

She dropped her gaze as she played with the napkins, tearing and rolling them into smaller pieces. “That’s complicated?—”

“I’m sorry,” he hastened to say, wincing. “That was intrusive?—”

“Oh no,” Bess assured, her gaze jumping back to him, blue eyes wide. “Don’t apologize. It’s not like it’s a secret. It’s just a convoluted story, and I’m sure you don’t want to hear all about the Crowder chronicles.”

“Actually, I’d love to hear whatever you want to tell me.” For a few seconds, he was stunned at the words he’d just said. Pickups don’t get into each other’s family news. They sure as hell don’t care about anything remotely sounding like they’re interested. Yet he was fascinated listening to Bess talk in what he came to realize was her candid, unassuming way.

She smiled up at him as though his listening meant something to her, and he was glad to give her any reason to offer her beautiful smile.

“We all loved the house we were raised in, but none of us are overly nostalgic about a place.” Her brows lowered, and she scrunched her nose. “That sounds terrible, but I mean that we care about the people we love, but the place we’re in is just the vessel at the time that holds us. Mom and Dad were ready to downsize, and they were planning to sell while having a new, smaller, one-level house built in The Dunes resort in Baytown. Then everything happened, and they needed to leave for a while.”

“What happened?”

“I only have one grandparent still living… Nana Jules. She sold her house several years ago and moved in with Mom and Dad. And she’ll be living with them in the new place. But her sister in Florida, my great-aunt Gwennie, had a small stroke, so Nana Jules flew down there to spend some time with her. Then Nana Jules fell while playing pickleball and broke her arm?—”

“Good God.” Brad shook his head, thinking of the changes in their lives in a short time.

“I know! It’s crazy, isn’t it? Anyway, Belinda and I have apartments next to each other over the bakery, and we didn’t want to take care of the big house while they were gone. They sold their house, and their new house will be ready in late fall. Then they’ll move everyone back. Gwennie will move in with them, too.”

“Wow, you do have a supportive family.”

She nodded. “Nana Jules gave me and Belinda money when she sold her home to help us get started. I didn’t need to borrow as much from the bank to open my bakery, and the money helped Belinda launch her photography business. The sale of my parents’ house gave them money for the down payment to their builder and some to invest for later in their lives.”

Brad was impressed with how much personal information she’d shared and also how easily she offered it. There was honesty in her eyes and her words.

“They sound wonderful.”

She nodded, her smile back in place. “They’re great. Now that I’ve been open for about eight months, I’ve started paying them back. Business has been wonderful.”

Leaning closer, he grinned, deciding to take the conversation away from family. “What’s the longest you’ve gone without having a kitchen fire?”

“Hey,” she protested, playfully slapping his arm. “You make it sound like I set buildings on fire for recreation.”

Lifting a brow, he waited, enjoying the sound of her voice.

“Well, I’ve never set my kitchen on fire, per se, but I have had a few small flames shoot up from a hot pan. But even that was a couple of years ago. So far, nothing in Bess's Bakery.” Suddenly, her eyes opened wide in an expression of mild panic. “Oh, I hope that wasn’t a jinx!”

“Quick! Knock on wood,” he urged, playfully pointing at the wooden table. His mother always performed that action when she was afraid of tempting fate. He found it amusing that Bess immediately rapped her knuckles on the table and heaved a sigh of relief as though she’d escaped the universe’s wrath.

“So,” Bess began, still holding his gaze. “When your coworker brought you treats from my shop, did you have a favorite?”

He wondered if Bess could be included on the menu and leaned closer. “I do now.”

Sucking in a quick breath, she continued to smile in return. “I meant from the bakery case.”

He nodded, a smile still playing about his lips. “The cookies that were packed with a bunch of stuff were fucking fantastic. When she stopped by your place, I’d give her money for those.”

“You’re right… they are fucking fantastic. It was my grandmother Ruth’s recipe. They've got it all: oatmeal, pecans, dates, raisins, brown sugar, coconut. She called it the everything cookie.”

His breath caught slightly in his throat as they were a few inches apart. “I can tell. Everything I want all rolled into one amazing… cookie.”

“I remember a woman coming in often and always asking for those. She must have been your dessert angel.”

Shaking his head slowly, he replied, “There’s only one angel, and that’s the one who does the baking.”

Her breath was audible as she inhaled.

Now, they were a scant whisper from each other. “I’d like to kiss you, Bess.”

Her sweet breath puffed over his face as she responded, “I’d like that, too.”