Make Mine a Bad Boy (15 page)

“He doesn’t have a daddy,” Sam said. “Just a mama that works nights at that truck stop on 87.”

“I thought she worked cleaning rooms at a hotel in Lamesa,” Kenny leaned over the table and snagged a cookie. “Least ways that’s what Jesse’s big sister told me when she picked up the money for that hair dryer—pretty thing, but not real friendly.”

The thought of a single mom working two jobs made Colt reevaluate the deal he’d made with Jesse. Of course, knowing how prideful people on Grover could be, he
couldn’t just hand the woman a check. But once he finished the bike, he could jack up the appraisal.

“Would you look at our little Hope,” Sam pulled Colt’s attention away from Jesse. “It looks like she’s back to her old self.”

Sure enough, Hope was giving Harley Sutter an earful. At first, Colt thought she was ranting about her gay friend getting kidnapped. But when he walked over, he realized she was rattling off from a list that she held in one hand.

“… and the storefronts along Main need some paint. And we could use another stoplight to keep the out-of-towners from speeding—I was thinking right on Spruce, near Josephine’s, since it might pull in more business. And what happened to that hotel chain building a hotel in Bramble?” She tapped the list. “Oh, and there’s a pothole on the corner of Maple and Main that needs fixing.”

Harley chuckled, and his mustache twitched. “Now that’s the goddaughter I remember—always trying to take my job.”

Hope snorted. “Not hardly, Uncle Harley. I just wanted to point out some things that need fixing.”

“All things I’ve noticed for myself. But money has been a little tight the last couple years. And with Dalton Oil cuttin’ back, it doesn’t look like it’s going to get better anytime soon.”

“Cutting back?” Hope’s eyes turned concerned.

Harley patted her shoulder. “Nothing to get upset about. Just a little tightenin’ of the belt, from what I hear.”

Since Desperado Customs also had to cut back on spending from time to time, Colt wasn’t concerned about Lyle’s company. But Hope wasn’t so easily pacified.

“Will anyone lose their jobs?”

“Of course not. They probably won’t hand out Wal-Mart gift cards for Christmas this year, is all.”

Colt could tell by the look on her face that Hope didn’t completely believe him. But she allowed Harley to change the conversation to the upcoming Halloween carnival and Thanksgiving Day Parade. Colt didn’t really care about carnivals or parades. He only had a day before he left town, and he planned on spending it trying to get in Hope’s panties. But it wasn’t easy to distract a woman who was as single-minded as Hope. His own mind had about exhausted itself, when Slate and Faith showed up.

Faith led her husband by the hand, as if she was forcing him to do something he really didn’t want to. And Colt figured out what that something was when Slate opened his mouth.

“I want to thank you for helping out, Colt.” He glanced over at his wife. “If I’d known how many different configurations a couch could be put in, I would’ve bought a couple of beanbag chairs and been done with it.”

“Shush, you.” Faith swatted at him, and then laughed when Slate pulled her into his arms and snuggled her neck.

The open show of affection had Colt glancing over into Hope’s hurt eyes. He couldn’t really blame her. The guy had built a house with his own two hands. Damn, you couldn’t get any more perfect than that. Hope had the right to be bent out of shape, and having it shoved in her face at every turn couldn’t be easy… something that might play right into Colt’s hands.

“You’re welcome,” Colt said. “But I probably should get going.” He turned to Hope. “Since my ornery sister seems to have left already, did you need a lift?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, she answered. “If it’s no problem.”

“No problem, at all.” Colt tried to contain his smile, while Faith didn’t even attempt to hide her enthusiasm for the idea.

“If you’re riding on Colt’s motorcycle, you’ll need some boots,” she offered, before she scurried back inside.

The cowboy boots were bright red and sexy as hell. Colt had a hard time keeping his eyes off them as Hope braided her hair and waited for him to pull the helmet and leather jacket out of the side bags he used when traveling.

“I don’t need the jacket,” she stated.

“Believe me, you’ll feel differently after a few minutes in a fifty-mile-an-hour wind.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t argue, but slipped her arms into the jacket that he held out. Once she had it zipped, he handed her the helmet. It was too big, but it would have to do. She struggled with lacing the strap, so he brushed her hands aside and did it for her. But the feel of the soft skin beneath her chin distracted him so much that it took him a couple tries.

“It’s a pretty bike,” she said, her breath falling over his face, all warm and sweet.

But it wasn’t her breath that left him feeling like he had just planted the American flag on the moon. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that he had built the bike, was involved from its conception to the last spit and polish. But before he could, her mouth quirked up in a smirk.

“Not eighty thousand pretty,” she completely deflated him, “but pretty.”

“I guess I’m just a sucker.” He jerked the helmet strap tight before he walked around the bike to flip down the
passenger foot pegs. Most choppers didn’t have pegs or a small removable leather seat that fit over the back fender. But his client had a wife, although Colt wasn’t sure for how long, after the woman spent a few hours straddling the hard metal.

Colt didn’t plan on riding that long. Just long enough to get Hope somewhere less populated.

After climbing on the bike, he turned and helped her on. Then he flipped down the visor on her helmet before he took his aviators from the collar of his shirt and slipped them on.

“You ready?”

“Yes,” came her muffled reply.

He turned the electric switch on the chrome analog dash and punched the starter. The engine roared to life, and the loud throb soothed his bruised ego as he settled back on the form-fitting leather seat and released the clutch. He eased the slick machine over the gravel drive and out onto the blacktop. Hope’s hands rested on her knees, until the bike bounced over the edge of the asphalt, and then she quickly latched on to his waist.

He smiled.

Okay, so maybe a passenger wasn’t such a bad thing.

Colt took his time on the side roads, cruising no faster than thirty. But when he turned onto the highway, he twisted the throttle, and the bike took flight. Hope slid back before her arms and thighs tightened, and she slid back up, the edge of the visor bumping against his head. Of course, a sledgehammer could’ve dropped from the sky and he wouldn’t have cared, not with those sweet thighs locked around him. Heat emanated from the spot pressed against his lower back, taking the chill right out of the wind that whistled past them.

The pretty autumn scenery took a backseat to hot
images of tanned thighs spread wide and waiting. Desire knotted in his stomach, and his crotch started to throb more intensely than the engine. He tried to keep his mind on the road, but it was difficult with two soft hands inches from the brain he was now using.

Hope seemed to be falling right into his plans to get her into bed; now all he had to do was figure out what bed. He didn’t think she’d go willingly back to Shirlene’s guesthouse. Nor could he take her back to her house. Not when Jenna and Burl could arrive home at any minute. And a hotel was a good fifty miles away.

That left only one other place.

He expected Hope to start yelling and pounding his back when he turned off the highway—even an unbaffled motor was no match for a champion hog caller. But, strangely enough, she didn’t show any signs of protest.

The road to Sutter Springs was unpaved, and it took all his concentration to finagle the bike around the ruts. Once there, he pulled under the big cottonwood and cut the engine. Before she could ask what they were doing, he quickly tried to come up with a feasible excuse.

“Since you’re not used to riding, I thought you might need a little break.”

She slipped off the back of the bike, taking those sweet thighs with her.

“Geez.” She rubbed her butt. “You really need to come up with a better backseat.”

With his eyes glued to the way the soft denim clung to the sweet hills, he couldn’t comment.

Undoing the strap beneath her chin, she pulled the helmet off. “You would think with as much as the bike cost, they could add a little more cushion.” She slipped
off the jacket and placed it, and the helmet, on the seat. Then she stretched her hands over her head, showing off a strip of tanned stomach that finished off the moisture in his mouth.

Colt turned away, hoping to get some kind of control over his out-of-control libido. “Custom choppers aren’t really made for passengers.”

“Then who invented the little seat?”

“A guy who was hoping to get lucky.”

“Well, you didn’t get lucky, Lomax.” She moved over to the shade cast by the shimmering gold leaves of the cottonwood tree.

Finally able to move without causing himself pain, he pulled out a rain poncho from one of the side bags and walked over to spread it out under the tree.

“So why are you still here?” she asked, once they were both seated on the poncho. “I thought you would be long gone by now.”

Leaning back on his elbows, he cocked a brow at her. “I could ask you the same thing, especially when it seems painful for you to be around your sister and Slate.”

“It’s not painful,” Hope snapped.

“Really?”

“Okay.” She crossed her arms and looked away. “So it’s a little painful. So what? I’ll get over it.”

He reached out and grabbed a blade of buffalo grass and placed it in his mouth. “I don’t doubt it for a minute, especially since you’ve lived five years without him.”

“That was different.”

He shrugged. “Well, I’m not an expert, but true love seems like it would get a little antsy after five years.”

“You’re right. You’re not an expert.” Hope shot him a
snide look. “Did you ever even have a girlfriend—and I’m not talking about one-nighters.”

He tipped his head. “You sure you don’t want to talk about one-nighters? Because some of the best times I’ve had have been one-nighters.”

He didn’t expect her to take the bait. Hope had always had a selective memory. He only wished he could be as fortunate, but with those glossy lips in front of him, memories sizzled through his brain as if they had happened only yesterday.

“Never mind,” she said as she turned and looked at the horizon. “I should’ve known I couldn’t have a normal conversation with you.”

“A few.”

Hope looked back.

“I’ve had a few girlfriends, but nothing serious,” Colt said, truthfully. “And what about you? And I’m not talking about gay roommates.”

“Who said Sheldon was gay?” When his eyebrows hiked up, she conceded. “Okay, but he’s also a very nice guy who helped me out when I first arrived in L.A. and who didn’t deserve to be dragged halfway across the country by a crazy bounty hunter. I’ll be shocked if he doesn’t sue the entire town.”

“He won’t. From what I could tell, he has a major crush on Bear. Besides, Shirlene pampered the hell out of him and flew him home first-class.” He pulled the blade of grass out of his mouth and tossed it away. “So what happened in L.A.?”

It hadn’t been hard to figure out that Hollywood hadn’t been kind to Hope. He had dated his fair share of women with stars in their eyes and had listened to countless horror stories of tough casting directors and endless auditions.
Most never made it past a few commercials or a couple lines in a B-movie. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. But Hope wasn’t one to own up to defeat. Which was why he was shocked when she answered so honestly.

“I sucked.”

A snorted laugh popped out of his mouth and earned him a vicious look from her sky blue eyes.

“Don’t get all feisty.” He held up a hand. “I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing at your choice of words.”

“I don’t know why,” Hope said. “Those were the exact words you used after my debut performance in
Annie Get Your Gun.
Are you telling me you lied?”

“I might’ve stretched the truth a little. You weren’t that bad.” When she glanced over at him with a look of disbelief, he added, “I mean, some parts weren’t so bad—the scenes where you didn’t look terrified.”

“I wasn’t terrified. I was merely nervous. And who wouldn’t be nervous when the gun in their hand held a live round?”

“Come on, Hope,” he pressed, “be honest. The only reason you took drama your senior year was because Shirlene wanted to. And the only reason you ended up as Annie was because Shirlene got the flu and couldn’t do it. Still, I might’ve believed you stumbled onto your one true passion if I hadn’t been sitting in the audience that night. The girl I saw up on the stage looked like she was about to throw up—and not from happiness.”

“I did throw up,” she stated. “Right in the back of the wagon Daryl Watts loaned to the drama department.”

He laughed, and this time she joined in. The sun had dipped even lower, low enough to spill beneath the aging leaves of the cottonwood, gilding her face and catching
the natural highlights in the lock of hair that had come undone from her braid.
Cute
and
sassy
had always been the words that came to mind when he thought of Hope. But now the word
beautiful
joined the list.