Page 13 of Ace (The Deuces Wild #4)

They ended up at the nearest Waffle House.

Savannah wouldn’t have accepted Agent Boniface’s offer, but she needed a break after watching RJ manhandle her beloved great grandmother’s remains into a body bag.

But when he’d dusted his hands on his pants when he’d finished as if he’d taken out the trash? She could’ve cried all over again.

It hadn’t taken long for Agent Boniface to catch onto Dr. John.

RJ’d always given Savannah the creeps, but today he’d outdone himself.

After he’d left and the professional, polite, and sensitive mortuary attendants had taken Gran Mere away, Savannah slipped into a pair of her great grandmother’s sandals, locked the houseboat, and forced her thoughts away from all she’d lost.

There was nothing she could do for Gran Mere now, and at some level, Gran Mere had been preparing her for this day for years. A deep sigh eased out of Savannah’s heart. She was tired, but rest was better left for another time. There were still things to be done.

She’d been on her feet since before sunrise.

Kennels didn’t clean themselves, and while she’d hosed and disinfected Sanctuary, the dogs had free run of her portion of Gran Mere’s property.

Only now it was Savannah’s property, all one hundred-plus acres of the swampland Gran Mere had loved.

Savannah didn’t want to think about that, either.

Agent Boniface was a pleasant diversion.

Now that Savannah knew he was an empath, she kept her hands to herself to avoid overloading him with her emotions.

Not that he had unraveled at touch alone.

He’d also turned gray when he’d gotten the call from his boss.

His empathy receptors for others’ pain seemed to be running him instead of the other way around.

Empathy could be an all-consuming taskmaster.

She would know. That was why Sanctuary now needed every bit of its five acres for her rescued dogs, cats, and birds.

Yet when the hostess showed them to their booth, Agent Boniface hadn’t started sweating or breathing heavily when he’d put his hand at the small of Savannah’s back.

But Savannah did. No man had ever touched her as gently.

She’d shivered at the simple gesture that probably meant nothing to this tough-minded, professional FBI agent.

He probably did the same thing to female agents he worked with all the time.

It was no big deal. Gentlemen did little gracious things like that every day.

She’d seen it in movies and on TV. But to Savannah, it felt like the sweetest caress. It meant something.

Agent Boniface wasn’t just being cavalier like Dr. John. Eww. She cringed recalling the smell of RJ’s bad breath in her face and his grasping fingernails digging into her forearms. What had he thought, that she was his girlfriend now that Gran Mere was gone? He’d acted like it.

Agent Boniface’s touch felt more sincere, as if everyone watching had better understand that she was in his care and under his protection. Unable to resist the masculine warmth at her back, Savannah leaned into him instead of taking her seat.

His palm curled around her waist. “You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?” he asked in that gruff, no-nonsense FBI tone he seemed able to summon on command.

Savannah cast a glance over her shoulder and up at him. Agent Boniface was standing so close, his chest was almost touching her arm. Her bronzed and golden man looked down at her. Time seemed to stop.

That was how she’d always remember this tawny skinned, amber-eyed federal agent who’d come to her aid on the worst day of her life.

Something coiled between them, and for one heart-stealing moment, the world of syrup and waffles ceased to exist. It was just them, just Agent Boniface and her standing together—somewhere.

His eyes were extra dark, his pupils big and black.

The amber around the edges had turned soft, more brown than gold.

His breath hitched. He canted his head. Just barely.

Just enough to make her think he wanted to kiss her.

She licked her bottom lip, wishing he would and wondering if he’d taste like the melted maple syrup she saw in his eyes.

All at once, the manly hold on her waist felt exquisitely intimate, as if he didn’t want to let her go any more than she wanted him to release her.

As if they really were a couple. As if she had any claim on him.

“Do I, umm, have to call you Special Agent Boniface?” she asked breathlessly as her wayward tongue slid over her bottom lip again. “Don’t you have a first name?”

His gaze turned smoky, tracking the innocent movement of her tongue. “Keller,” he answered, his voice uncommonly hoarse for a man so refined and proper. The grumpy corners of his mouth turned up the tiniest bit. “Please, call me Keller.”

“Keller, huh?” Her heart pounded like a flock of hummingbird wings had suddenly taken flight in her throat. “It fits you. I like it.” Kiss me.

And just that fast, up-tight, in-control Sergeant Friday was back on duty. Keller stiffened as if he’d suddenly remembered who he was. He took a step back. He dropped his hand. He let her go.

Darn. Disappointment was a hard pill to swallow.

Savannah masked hers as she stepped away from the man who wasn’t really her knight in shining armor.

Why had she thought he was? He’s a stranger, a federal agent on a mission to save his friend, not you.

You’re the last person he expected to see. Stop acting like a duck.

Sliding all the way across the smooth burgundy upholstered vinyl seat, she still wished he’d take the hint and sit on the same bench with her. That’d be nice.

He didn’t. Instead Keller— oh, I like that name —followed common social convention and took the opposite bench. Kissing him was a foolish idea anyway. He wasn’t one of the silly boys from town.

Puzzled at the way her mind and body seemed to be working against her today, she nodded, silently agreeing with herself.

She’d bet her last two cents Special Agent Boniface had never traveled in a pirogue or trapped a gator.

The man was big-city pressed and big-city clean.

Professional men didn’t waste time gigging frogs or trapping nutria, the big rats chewing their way through the bayou.

They were civilized and they held civilized jobs. Clean jobs. They had clean hands, too.

His asking her to breakfast meant nothing.

He was just being polite. This wasn’t a date, and she was not going to entertain a silly schoolgirl crush by thinking it was.

His treating her like a lady was simply what nice city guys did.

They graciously took care of business. They were polite and kind.

But when their social obligations were met, they went back to their white-collar lives and their high-society wives. End of story.

But Savannah also recognized a troubled animal behind that crisp, clean facade.

Smiling did not come easy to Keller, and she wanted to know why.

Married or not, this elegant male held his cards too close to his chest. His unwillingness to share might win a hand in poker, but in the game of life, it made him vulnerable.

It left him wanting and bereft of things he had a right to.

Happiness, for one. Love, for another. Comfort, for sure.

The moment he’d held onto her to keep her from falling back at Gran Mere’s told Savannah a lot.

He’d expected to receive nothing but pain at the contact, but Savannah had shocked him when she’d offered relief instead.

Gran Mere had always said to do unto others like you’d wanted them to do unto you.

So Savannah gave Agent Boniface what she gave her dogs.

Solace and Sanctuary. Maybe a tiny bit of—

No. This was not love. Dogs were easy to love. Men were different. They were complicated. He wasn’t a dog. Like Agent Boniface, she was just being nice.

“Can I get you kids something to drink?” the perky platinum-blonde hostess who’d been waiting for them to take their seats asked. “Coffee, sweet tea, soda?”

“Coffee,” Savannah said simultaneously with Keller. A quiet laugh bubbled out of her, a sound she very much needed to hear after the events of the morning.

“Two coffees,” Keller said, then asked Savannah, “Cream or sugar?”

“You tell me,” she teased, needing to feel normal instead of embarrassed for being such a hick.

But you are a hick.

I know that, she answered herself, but he might not know it .

His eyes narrowed for less than a second before he looked up at the hostess and said, “We’ll take a couple flavored creamers. Sugar too.”

Savannah could’ve laughed out loud. He’d just tried to probe her mind. She’d felt his energy, but it evaporated at first contact with her energy. Oh my gosh. She’d suspected as much, but now she knew for sure. Keller wasn’t telepathic. At. All.

“You betcha,” the hostess replied as she placed two menus on the table and gathered the extra napkins and silverware. “Tyrone’s your waiter this morning. He’ll be right with you. Y’all have a nice day now, ya hear?”

“What’ll it be?” Agent Boniface asked as he flipped quickly through the sticky, plasticized two-page menu. “Waffles or—waffles?”

“Good morning, America!” a tall, slender young man exclaimed when he placed two hearty mugs filled with coffee to a good inch below their brims on the table.

Dressed in the corporate uniform of the day, black slacks, WH issued tan shirt, and black apron, the bright yellow name tag on his chest declared Tyrone had arrived.

“Whatcha all eatin’ this mornin’, folks? ”

Keller nodded at the mugs. “Thanks for not filling them full.”

“I’ll bet you’re one of them guys who likes a little coffee with his creamer, huh?” Tyrone’s chocolate brown eyes sparkled.

“And coffee’s easier to stir when it’s not sloshing over the edge. Good job. ”

“You bet. Mama always says make room for all the sugar and cream you can, cuz life’s tough enough. Don’t need to make it tougher.”

Keller’s eyes narrowed on Savannah. “Do you know what you want?”

“Oh, my, I umm…” And there she stalled. There were so many choices. So many different versions of pancakes, omelets and breakfast combinations. Whoever heard of peanut butter waffles? “I, umm…” Hmmm. Cinnamon French toast...

“We’ll need a few more minutes,” Keller told Tyrone.

“Sure. I’ll check back in a couple.”

“I’m sorry,” Savannah whispered after Tyrone sauntered away. “I don’t get out much.” The understatement of the day.

Keller nodded like he understood. Man, was he in for a surprise. “I imagine you’ve been busy taking care of your great grandmother.”

“Not at all. Lately, I’ve been too busy at Sanctuary to visit Gran Mere...” Instant remorse swamped Savannah. Wasn’t that the truth? She’d been so preoccupied with the latest additions to her four-legged family that she’d neglected the one person in her life who’d meant the most.

Keller reached across the table and lifted her fingers from her menu with a gentle squeeze. “I am sorry for your loss, Miss Church. I wish you’d let me do something for you.”

She put on her brave face as his body heat once more lapped over hers.

For some reason, he seemed able to share his strength as well as his comfort through touch.

Pinching his fingertips, she let go of him first this time.

“I’m handling things at the moment. But if you’re Keller, then I’m just Savannah. ”

A glittering vein of golden amusement twinkled deep in his eyes. “Of course. So what are you hungry for, Savannah?”

He’d made her name sound as delicious as those peanut butter waffles.

“Pancakes,” she breathed as she skimmed the menu, hurrying to decide, so he wouldn’t think she’d never been to town.

She had, just not recently. “Ummmm…” The chocolate chip pancakes looked good, but those pecan waffles… “I’m ready to order.”

Keller signaled Tyrone. The moment he trotted back to the table, she told him, “I’d like pecan waffles, please.

” Gran Mere always said to put on your Sunday morning manners when you went to town.

‘Course, she also said to make sure your underwear was clean in case you got into an accident, which Savannah always did.

“Excellent choice. Would you like eggs with that?”

Oh, that’d be nice. “Sure.”

“One egg or two?”

Ooo, choices. “I’ll have two,” she replied, proud of herself for adding protein to her all-carb order.

Tyrone must know shorthand. He had everything written down on that little tablet of his before she’d finished speaking. “How would you like them cooked?”

She blinked up at him. He was so nice!

“Sunnyside up? Over-easy? Over-medium? Over-hard? Scrambled? Poached or—? ”

“Scrambled,” she replied before she lost track of her choices. There was a reason she didn’t eat out.

Self-conscious now, she looked past Tyrone to the woman and the older gentleman in the booth across the aisle.

The woman was upset, and the gentleman stared at his food.

Something was wrong, but not with him. The more the woman talked at him, the worse he felt, until the despair rolling off him hit Savannah like a slap in the face.

The woman was his daughter and she’d decided he needed an assisted living home.

She couldn’t handle him leaving the stove on in her house anymore. She’d had enough.

“Cheese?” Tyrone asked.

Savannah nodded to get him to go away. “Please.”

“What kind? We’ve got provolone, swiss, cheddar, American, gouda, and—”

Oh. My. Gosh! “Cheddar.”

“Grits on the side?” Tyrone’s dark eyes really did sparkle, darn him.

“No. That’s all I want, just waffles and eggs and…” She waved a hand at him. “…and whatever else I already ordered.”

“Excellent.” He turned to Keller. “And you, sir?”

“Ham and eggs, over-medium, wheat toast, no hash browns. And please don’t forget the creamer.”

Savannah sighed, mentally storing Keller’s succinct order for the next time she ate out. He made it sound easy.