Make Mine a Bad Boy (30 page)

“Why? Are you planning on skipping town without telling anyone?”

That was exactly what Hope planned on doing. Things would work out so much simpler if she left the following week, and Shirlene just ended up adopting a baby in eight months. Hope would tell people eventually, but for now, the town had enough to worry about.

“It’s for the best,” Hope said.

“For who? You’re miserable about giving up your baby to Shirlene.”

It was hell having your brain picked clean, and even worse having all your emotions put into words.

“I assume you have a better plan,” Hope said, keeping her eyes on the field and her miserable emotions to herself.

“You can marry Colt.”

“What?” Hope’s gaze snapped over to her sister, who looked as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb of atomic proportions. “Have you lost your mind?”

“You tell me.” Faith leaned closer and stared back at her sister.

The image that flashed into Hope’s brain was like a Disney storybook ending, complete with a dark-headed prince, a set of laughing twins, and a princess who looked ready to pop with happiness.

Stunned, Hope looked away. “You
have
lost your mind.”

“Why?” Faith lowered her voice. “If Colt’s the father of your child, it only makes sense.”

“Sense to someone who lives in a fairytale. Believe me when I tell you that the last thing that Colt wants is to be saddled with a kid and a wife.”

“But maybe he just needs the right motivation to change,” Faith said, her big eyes pleading. “Maybe you two just need to spend more time together, talking things through.”

An image of the note Austin had given her on Halloween night popped into Hope’s mind, and her gaze narrowed on her sister. “You.” She pointed a finger, and
Faith’s eyes got as big as saucers. “You’re the one who sent me that note—not Colt.”

“Okay, so I admit it.” Faith held a hand to her chest. “But only because I truly believe that you and Colt belong together—”

Hope slapped a hand over Faith’s mouth as their parents maneuvered their way along the row. She might’ve squeezed a little too tightly, because her sister’s eyes watered. But Faith deserved a lot more than that. And although Hope was forced to keep her words to herself, she couldn’t help sending her sister a telepathic warning:
Stay out of my business, you little conniving matchmaker.

The answer came back loud and clear.
No.

In the third quarter, the Cougars ran one in for six, but the extra point was no good, and the Bulldogs answered with a sixty-yard drive down the field that resulted in a field goal. With the score fifteen to ten with less than twenty seconds on the clock, things didn’t look good for Hope’s alma mater. But she should’ve known that Slate and his team had worked too hard to give up easily. Third down and thirty yards from the end zone, Austin threw a perfect spiral straight into the hands of his wide receiver, who raced over the goal line to win the game with only seconds to spare.

The people from Bramble were a small portion of the forty thousand in attendance at the Alamodome. But size didn’t diminish the volume level as pandemonium broke out on the field and in the stands. The townsfolk jumped and screamed and hugged and smeared face paint from one end of the bleachers to the other. Rachel Dean squalled like a baby. Harley howled up at the bright afternoon sun. Shirlene’s broads fairly jumped out of her tight
sweater as her feet left the ground. And Faith squealed like her prince had just slain the biggest dragon.

Hope was kissed and hugged and passed around like a jug of moonshine at the end of Prohibition. But even as she reveled in the victory, her mind kept returning to a happily-ever-after that included two loving parents and a couple of smiling babies.

“Cowboy, you still suck at dancing,” Hope stated, as Slate clumsily maneuvered her around the dance floor of the San Antonio honky-tonk where the town of Bramble had chosen to celebrate.

“And, darlin’, you still try to lead.” Slate twirled her under his arm and ended up bumping her head with his forearm and catching a piece of her hair on the pearl snap of his cuff.

Untangling her hair, she steered him back into the two-step. “You’re right, which is why we will never amount to much on the dance floor.”

He sent her a cocky grin. “But you still love me.”

“Yes.” Hope laughed. “I still love you.” Looking up into those familiar hazel eyes, she said what she’d wanted to say all through the celebration dinner at the Golden Corral. “I’m proud of you, Slate Calhoun.”

Those eyes widened before he reached up and yanked on her hair.

“Ouch!” Hope glared at him as he flashed a smile.

“Just checking to make sure you’re Hope Scroggs.”

Rubbing her scalp, she grumbled. “That’s the last time I give you a compliment, cowboy.”

“Good.” Slate made the turn and stepped on her toe. “You don’t want me to get a big head, do you?”

“As if your head isn’t already the size of Texas.”

His smile almost blinded her. “Well, whose wouldn’t be? I mean, I’ve got the prettiest wife this side of the Mississippi—a baby on the way—a state football title—and the Sweetheart of Bramble, Texas, proud of me. What more could a man ask for?”

Releasing a loud country yee-haw, Slate picked her up and swung her around, with no consideration for the people who danced around them.

“Put me down, you crazy fool,” Hope said as she clung to his neck and laughed.

But he didn’t pay her a lick of attention. No telling how long he would’ve kept going if Colt and Faith hadn’t danced past. Slate released Hope so fast that she almost landed on her butt as he reached out and tapped Colt on the shoulder. When they stopped, Slate took off his black Stetson and pressed it over his heart.

“What do you say, Mrs. Calhoun? Can I have this dance for the rest of my life?”

It was one of the corniest lines Hope had ever heard, but Faith didn’t seem to realize that. Grinning as if she’d just been awakened from a thirty-year nap, she slipped into his arms. “I think that could be arranged, darlin’.”

Hope watched as they waltzed off to a country swing. She waited for the pain of loss to return, but instead all she felt was a rising wave of relief. Relief that Slate had been smart enough to figure out their relationship long before she had.

“So do you want to dance or throw a fit because Faith took your best beau?”

Hope shot Colt a skeptical look. “Since when do you dance?” When he only shrugged, she let him off the hook.
“How about we wait for another waltz? It looked like you could count to three, but a western swing is a little more complicated.”

“I think I can handle it.” Colt grabbed her hand before she could get off the floor.

“You sure, because I can’t lead you through—”

“Shut up, Hope.”

And before Hope could continue to argue, she was being whirled around like a top—their arms twisting and untwisting in so many configurations she had trouble keeping up. His style was a cross between the Dallas Push and the Houston Whip with an added spark that was solely Colt—cocky dipped in a whole lot of wild. But not one time did he bump her head or catch her hair or lose the beat of the music as his boots shuffled around her. His grip was firm but not too firm, and he never jerked or pulled, only directed with a sureness that left her light-headed and breathless. When the song ended, he reeled her in to his hard-muscled chest and dipped her low.

Panting like the winner of the Kentucky Derby that had been ridden by a competent jockey who knew exactly how hard to push, she stared up at him in stunned disbelief.

“Where did you learn to dance like that?”

The look he sent her was one of complete indifference. “My mama liked to dance.”

As he released her from the cuddle wrap, Hope’s eyes welled up. The entire pregnancy weeping thing was really starting to annoy her. Every time she turned around, tears threatened. And she was getting darned sick of it. Unfortunately, there was nothing to do about it, especially when she couldn’t shake the image of Colt dancing with his mama in the tiny front room of their trailer.

Luckily, a two-step started, and Colt swept her into the quick-quick-slow before she could make a fool of herself. His two-step was even better than his swing. His steps perfectly matched hers, with the dexterity to pull her into promenades and spins without losing track of the beat. The few times she tried to take the lead, Colt twirled her around until she was so dizzy all she could do was cling. And after a while, she relinquished all desire to lead and let Colt take her where he would. He took her to a heaven of dizzying polkas, and smooth two-steps, and slow, tranquil waltzes.

It was midnight when the folks of Bramble started to load back up on the buses to return to the hotel. Hope headed to the bathroom, surprised at how disappointed she felt that the night was over so quickly. She had just locked the bathroom stall, when someone jostled the handle.

“It’s taken,” she said. And after a little more jostling, whoever it was slipped back out the door.

Unconcerned by an obvious drunk’s behavior, Hope finished using the bathroom. But when she tried to get out, the door wouldn’t budge. Since it wasn’t the first time she’d had trouble getting out of a bathroom stall, she spent a little time jiggling and jimmying until she realized that whatever was holding the door had nothing to do with the latch.

Hope thought about crawling underneath. But after working in a strip club, she knew the disgusting stuff that could end up on a bathroom floor. So instead, she yelled at the top of her lungs until a waitress came running in and unbuckled the slender belt that had been looped between the handle of Hope’s stall and the hinge of the one next to it.

By the time Hope washed her hands and came out of the bathroom, she wasn’t the least bit surprised to find Colt waiting.

“Faith said you weren’t feeling good.” He pushed away from the wall that he was leaning against. “You okay?”

“I guess the buses are long gone,” she said through gritted teeth.

Colt’s eyes widened fractionally before he nodded. “But I don’t mind giving you a ride back to the hotel.”

For a moment, Hope had to fight back the strong desire to chase the bus down so she could strangle her sister with her own belt. But once she got her anger under control, she tossed the belt into the nearest trash can and grabbed Colt’s hand.

“Let’s dance.”

That’s exactly what they did. They danced until they were sweaty and thirsty, then downed some water and danced some more. They couldn’t have a conversation without fighting, but on the dance floor they had found a perfect harmony.

“I never would’ve believed it,” she leaned her head on his chest and listened to the steady thump of his heart as the band struck up the last song of the evening.

He adjusted his hands around her waist and pulled her closer. Close enough that the fly of his zipper brushed her belt buckle. “Believed what?”

“That Colt Lomax is the best darned dancer I’ve ever danced with.”

“Better than Bucky Higgins?” He rested his cheek on the top of her head.

“No comparison.” She smoothed a hand over his shoulder and down to his biceps. His bare skin was hot
and moist, his muscles hard and exciting. “Why didn’t you ever ask me to dance?”

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her T-shirt and stroked along the waistband of her jeans, sending a tiny shiver up her spine. “Maybe because you were always dancing with Slate.”

“Liar.”

She could feel his grin against her head. “Okay. So maybe I was afraid you’d say no.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

“Now who’s lying.”

She laughed. “Okay, so I probably would’ve said no, but only because I would’ve thought it was some kind of trick.”

“Smart girl.”

Pulling her head back, Hope hooked her arms around his neck and fingered the silky hair that curled up on his shoulders. “Bad boy.”

A smile tipped one side of Colt’s mouth as those beautiful gray eyes stared back at her. “Sometimes bad can be really good.”

His hands slipped under her shirt, and his fingers trailed lightly up and down her spine. She probably should’ve pulled away; their caresses had moved beyond dancing to something much more dangerous. But he was right—sometimes bad could feel really good. As they continued to sway to the music, she allowed his hands to wander along her flushed skin as she stared back at the man who was so different from the belligerent boy who wore a scowl a mile wide.

Although the eyes were the same. The same hungry gray. And now as then, she couldn’t bring herself to look
away. In the stormy depths, she’d found a reflection of her own soul. A soul that wanted so desperately to be loved, not for the image a town had concocted, but for itself.

The music continued, and their boots slowly swept back and forth against the wood floor. When they couldn’t take the truth in each other’s eyes a moment more, Colt dipped his head and kissed her. The first heated brush of his lips had her trembling, and his fingers tightened as he pulled her closer. Standing on tiptoes, she aligned her body to his. And with every step they took, a wonderful heat built beneath the friction of blue jeans. A moan vibrated between their lips—a hum of need and desire. Colt broke away first, his eyes two glittering coals beneath the fringe of dark lashes. He stared down at her mouth for only a second before he unhooked her hands from around his neck and pulled her from the dance floor.