Ready To Burn (Due South Book 3) by Tracey Alvarez Read Free Book Online

suitcase?”
    From behind him a hand ruffled Del’s hair and knocked his head forward. “Stirring up the locals already, brother?”
    West sauntered over and opened the van’s passenger door. “I’m calling shotgun. Del—you ride in back. Piper’s making you up a bed downstairs.” He climbed in and glanced over his shoulder. “And she’s cooking dinner. We’ll stop for a pie at Russell’s on the way. Hope you can wolf it down then act like you’re starving.”
    Del hopped onto the first row of seats, and Ford slammed the sliding door. Del jumped, pent up nervous energy sparking up and down his spine. After the day he’d had, he needed to let loose in a kitchen. He needed the concentrated focus of being in the weeds during a busy dinner service. Backlogged orders and utter chaos kept his mind on a singular track with no room for anything else. Working a crazy shift, sex, or a long run were his go-to methods of burning off the fidgets. As sex wasn’t on tonight’s menu, he’d go for a run later—he sure didn’t want to listen to West banging his fiancée upstairs.
    They drove the short distance to Russell’s grocery store, and West disappeared inside, returning a few moments later with three brown paper bags, small spots of oil already soaking through in places.
    Del took the offered bag and bit into the steaming pastry. “Fuck!” he spluttered, fanning his open mouth and burned top pallet.
    Laughter erupted from the front seat.
    West passed him a water bottle. “Blow on it first, idiot. The Russells keep their pies thermo-nuclear, remember?”
    No, he did not fucking remember. The last time he’d eaten the Kiwi tradition of a hot, savory meat pie, he’d been a different person. He’d been a kid whose greatest worry was if he’d ever be good enough to play for Southland’s Under 16’s rugby team. Or whether the pretty, blonde Bree Findlow smiled at him, or if he and West would end up sleeping at the Harland’s yet again, since their parents were fighting.
    He wasn’t a naive kid anymore. He was a professional chef who shouldn’t be soiling his taste buds with ground beef, gravy and golden pastry. Like everything on Stewart Island, it looked good on the surface, but underneath lurked things which burned.
    Del unscrewed the bottle cap and gulped water. “How can you put this kind of shit in your body?”
    “That shit you’re eating cost me four bucks. If you don’t want it, Ford’ll eat it.”
    “Hell, yeah.” Ford finished blowing on his pie and took an enormous bite.
    They ate in silence for a few minutes.
    West grinned at Del over the seat. “Maybe you should save room for dinner.”
    Ford gave a low snicker. “I’d pay to be a bug on the wall after your bro insults Piper’s cooking.”
    “I’m not going to insult her damn cooking.” Del ate the last chunk of pie, refusing to lick the buttery crumbs of pastry off his fingers, because that would make it look as if he’d actually enjoyed it.
    “You haven’t tried it yet,” Ford muttered and started the van.
    They drove along the waterfront and wound up a steep hill, turning into the driveway of a two story house overlooking Horseshoe Bay. West crumpled his paper bag and stuffed it into the coffee holder. Del and West hopped out of the car and unloaded the bags.
    Sliding the van door shut, West banged on the panel. “Poker tomorrow night.”
    “Better save my cash for the stripper we’re hiring for your stag do,” Ford yelled out his window. “Shit. Uh—hi, Piper! Just kidding.”
    With a quick wave, Ford revved the engine and took off.
    Del turned to the woman leaning against the open door frame. Taller than her sister, Piper still had the Harland family brown hair, hazel eyes and athletic build. Shaye’s eyes were more green than hazel, and although still a tall woman, she had softer curves.
    Dressed in khaki shorts and an It’s not that time of the month, I just hate you tee, Piper picked her way in bare feet over the