Make Mine a Bad Boy (28 page)

Since Colt had never done a wheelie or a handstand for any girl, he quirked an eyebrow.

“I busted out three teeth showing off for Martha on my bike. Most embarrassin’ day of my life.” He shook his head at the memory. “ ’Course, you chose pranks over showin’ off. The pig snout on the homecoming semi. The live ammo in that there stage gun.”

“I did not put—”

Tinker held up his hand. “Not here, nor there. What matters is what you do now. And if you tell me you’ve hoisted her bra back up on the town hall flagpole, I’m going to warm your butt just like the last time.”

Colt hadn’t hoisted her bra. It was worse. He’d gotten her pregnant. Now instead of dealing with a few moments of humiliation, she got to spend a lifetime wallowing in it. And he was to blame.

Again.

Moving over to the chair, Colt flopped down and ran a hand over his face. “I got her pregnant.”

Until that moment, he had placed equal blame on Hope, but now he realized that most lay at his doorstep. He was the one who knew how old the condom was, and still he had gone ahead. And maybe, subconsciously, he had wanted her to get pregnant. All in an effort to get Hope to notice him.

God, he wished he had just done a handstand.

The chair squeaked as Mr. Jones leaned back. “I figured as much when Tyler told me about the baby. Of course, he’s convinced, along with the town, that it’s
somebody out in California who did the deed. The blame fools don’t even seem to know that’s the same place you live.”

Colt looked over at him. “So you want me to stand up and touch my toes or lean over the counter?”

“I reckon you’re a little too old for a whuppin’. Besides, that kind of mistake takes two people. Two people to mate, two people to create.”

“One person to hate,” he mumbled under his breath, but not low enough.

“And who would that person be?”

“We both know who it is. And I can’t blame her. Not after everything I’ve done to her.”

Mr. Jones sat back and laughed.

It wasn’t quite the reaction Colt expected.“I’m glad you find it so amusing,” he said, without humor.

“It’s amusing that men can be so damned stupid where women are concerned, especially when women wear their hearts right out on their sleeves for anyone who takes a notion to see. Men are just too busy worryin’ about their own egos to take the time to look.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, that girl has had a thing for you since you were both knee-high to a grasshopper.”

“I think you’ve got me confused with Slate.”

Those bushy brows lowered. “Don’t go callin’ me senile, boy, or I’ll change my mind about that whuppin’. I know who Slate is, and I know who you are. And that girl didn’t like Slate for anything more than a boy to soothe her ego after you’d bruised it to hell and back.”

Colt stared at Tinker with disbelief. “But he was the town hero.”

“So?”

“So she was the sweetheart. It made sense.”

“ ’Course it did, which is why an entire town played into it. But whose fault was that, Colt? You didn’t exactly give them another choice.”

It was the same thing Tyler had told him, and Colt had started to wonder if maybe they didn’t have a point. The thought rumbled around in his head while Mr. Jones swiveled in the chair and started rummaging around in one of the desk drawers.

“Since Tyler has always been a bit of a packrat, I figure it’s got to be around here somewhere—here it is.” He lifted a small rectangular photograph from the drawer. He studied it for a few seconds before swiveling back around and holding it out for Colt. “I took it with the new camera Martha had gotten me for my birthday that year. I guess you must’ve been around fifteen, which would’ve made Hope…”

“Thirteen,” Colt supplied, as he took the picture.

It had been taken from the doorway of the office. It was a close-up of two young kids: a dark-headed boy, who sat cross-legged in front of a motorcycle, his gaze intent on what he was doing, and a brown-headed girl, who sat just beyond. The angle caught his profile, the large nose and unruly hair that fell over his forehead. But it was the girl’s face that was the focal point of the photo. A pretty little girl with a sprinkling of freckles across her button nose and a blush of womanhood across her high cheeks. She stared intently, not at the engine of the 250 Yamaha, but at the boy who worked on it.

In those eyes, Colt saw something that shook him to the core of his being.

“Tell me now that she didn’t like you,” Mr. Jones said. “And every time I looked out, that’s exactly what I saw.”

Colt stared at the picture, afraid to take his eyes off it. Afraid it might change if he did.

“What do you want, Colt?” Mr. Jones asked. “It’s an easy question, boy.”

It was an easy question. At least, it had been an easy question a month ago. Then he could’ve answered with one word: freedom. Freedom to go where he wanted to go and do what he wanted to do. But looking down at the picture, he realized that freedom didn’t come close to holding the same allure as a pair of adoring eyes the color of a West Texas sky.

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Colt started to hand back the photo, but found he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it. “This was taken a long time ago. She doesn’t feel the same way anymore.”

Mr. Jones eyes narrowed. “But what if you’re wrong, son?”

“M
ARRY ME
, H
OG
!”

Hope turned to the carload of teenagers who slowly drove past her as she walked down Main Street. With a roll of her eyes, she addressed the kid who hung out the back window with his hand over his heart.

“Call me when you’re old enough to shave.”

The kid rubbed his baby soft chin. “That could be years.”

“I’ll wait,” she hollered back.

The boy grinned and blew her a kiss as the car picked up speed.

“What’s the count?” Hope’s mama, Jenna, stepped out the door of the Feed and Seed and took the can of purple paint Hope had been delivering for the storefront.

“Jonas Murphy was twenty-one, so I guess that makes Anthony twenty-two.” Jenna held out a Styrofoam cup to Hope. “It’s decaf.”

Hope accepted it and took a heavenly sip before answering. “Either way, it’s absolutely ridiculous.”

“Now, I agree that the flowers and gifts have gotten
a little out of hand—last night your daddy couldn’t even find the remote with all the boxes of candy and vases of flowers—but not every girl can claim twenty-two marriage proposals. That has to be some kind of a record.”

“A record I have no desire to have.” Hope sat down on the bench under the window, and her mother set down the can of paint and joined her.

“It just shows how much the people of this town love you, Hope Marie. They just don’t want you raising that baby all by yourself.”

At the mention of the baby, Hope’s chest tightened and tears threatened. She tried to hide the reaction by taking another sip of coffee, but when she glanced back up, her mama was studying her with a concerned look.

“It’s okay to be scared, honey,” her mama said. “Having a baby is a scary thing, especially when you haven’t planned it.”

The week before, Hope would’ve agreed with her mother. She had been scared about being pregnant and raising a child by herself. But after her decision to give the baby away, she wasn’t scared as much as… in pain. She felt as if a huge anvil had been placed on her chest. And day by day, it grew heavier and heavier, until she wondered if her ribs would hold beneath the pressure.

It made no sense whatsoever. She had thought it all out and made dozens of lists, and all the pieces fit perfectly together. But if that was the case, then why did it feel so wrong?

“Was it hard?” she asked around the lump in her throat.

Thinking Hope was asking about motherhood, her mama jumped right in.

“Yes, it was hard. At fifteen, I didn’t have a clue what
to do with a colicky baby or a husband who would rather be out with his friends. And I couldn’t blame him, not when he had the responsibility of putting a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs.”

“So why did you keep me?”

Her mama stared off across the street. “When two babies came out instead of one, I guess I took it as a sign—a sign that God wanted me to have one for my own.”

Hope set the Styrofoam cup down on the sidewalk. “Were you ever sorry?”

“Sorry for giving Faith away? Or sorry for keeping you?”

“Both, I guess.”

Seconds ticked by before her mama finally spoke. “I wish I could tell you that I regretted one but not the other. But the truth is, there were times I wished I had Faith with me and times I wished I didn’t have you—like when all my friends were going out and I was stuck at home because your daddy was working swing shift and I couldn’t afford a babysitter. Or when we didn’t have money to get me a new pair of jeans or a pretty new shirt because we had to buy diapers. Or when I couldn’t buy you a new Easter dress for church.”

She shook her head. “Of course, those thoughts blew in and out of my young brain like the unpredictable West Texas rain—they were gone as quickly as they came. All it would take is you snugglin’ close to me, your breath all sweet and warm against my throat, and I figured I’d made the right choice after all. Then I’d start feeling bad about Faith.”

This time Hope couldn’t fight back the wall of depression that seemed to engulf her. Tears welled up in her
eyes, and her voice shook. “But how did you live with all those conflicting emotions?”

Noting her tears, her mama reached out and pulled her close. “Awww, honey, you just take things day by day. That’s how all folks do it. And it all worked out. You both turned out to be intelligent young women any mother would be proud of.”

Hope pressed her face against her mother’s neck. “I don’t see how you can be proud of me.”

Pulling back, her mama stared down at her in disbelief. “How could I not be proud of you, Hope Marie? You have always been a perfect child—slightly stubborn and controlling, but a hard worker, a loving daughter, and a good human being. What more could I ask for?”

“How about my having enough smarts to stay away from the wrong man,” she sniffed.

It was the first time Hope had even come close to acknowledging her condition, and her mama’s eyes filled with relief.

Reaching out, she smoothed the hair off Hope’s forehead. “I’ll reserve my opinion about the father of my grandchild until I get to meet him. All things have a way of working out in the wash.”

Hope got to her feet. “That’s doubtful, Mama, given that my machine is broken.”

Her mother chuckled as she stood. “Well, I guess I better get back inside and make sure Marty’s not playing those silly games on his phone instead of taking inventory. If his daddy catches him at it again, that boy is going to get his ears boxed but good.”

The bell on the door jangled as her mother opened it. “I’d tell you to go home and take a nap—you look tired,
honey—but you never have listened worth a hoot.” The door jangled closed behind her.

Once she was gone, Hope wondered if her mama wasn’t right. She was tired, so tired that she wanted to curl up on the bench and sleep—sleep until the nightmare of the next eight months was over.

“Uhhh… hey there, Hope.”

The deep, slowly spoken words pulled her attention over to a large farmer in a faded pair of overalls. Hope had always had a soft spot for Ethan Miller, so she flashed a smile and quickly got to her feet.

“Hi, Ethan. What brings you to town?”

His face was sunburned, but it got even redder as he stared down at the scuffed toes of his boots. “Uhhh… well, I… brought you somethin’.” He tugged on the leash that he had wrapped around one platter-sized hand, and a baby pig trotted out from behind his legs.

“This here is Sherman. Uhhh… he’s house-broke and don’t eat much. Though he does like an occasional roll in the mud.”

Other men had offered Hope live gifts, but she had been able to reject them with a few teasing jokes. But Ethan wasn’t a person who understood teasing, not when the kids in school had been so cruel about his size and awkwardness. And Hope hadn’t become his champion all those years ago to hurt his feelings now. Even if a baby pig was the last thing she needed.

“Thank you, Ethan.” She accepted the leash and knelt down to let the pig bump her with his snout. “He’s adorable.”

A grin appeared for a brief second before he continued. “Uhhh… so I was thinkin’.” He paused and swallowed
hard. “That’s if you don’t have your sights set on someone else…”

When he took another pause, Hope searched for anything to keep him from continuing. Accepting a pig was one thing, but a marriage proposal was something else entirely. Fortunately, before he could do more than utter another “uhhh,” Colt walked up.

She hadn’t talked to him since the day of the doctor’s visit. And suddenly she felt as shy and embarrassed as Ethan. Or maybe just guilty about being the type of woman who was willing to give away their child.

“Nice pig,” Colt said, but he merely glanced at the pig before his intense gaze settled back on Hope.