Make Mine a Bad Boy (8 page)

“Rachel,” he called, even though the woman wasn’t more than six inches away. “You have a sweater or something for Hope to put on?”

Hope’s eyes shot down to the front of her shirt, and she quickly crossed her arms as Rachel scurried to do his bidding.

Shirlene laughed. “If you didn’t wander around half dressed, honey,” she said as she stirred five packets of sugar substitute into her coffee, “your teacup handles wouldn’t be showin’.”

“Real funny, Shirl.” But that didn’t stop her from taking the ugly gray sweater and slipping it on—with the annoying help of one very cocky motorcycle bum.

“Nice to see you remember your manners, son,” Harley said, before he leaned over the counter to whisper
something in Rachel’s ear. She nodded and moved back to stand in front of Hope.

“Manners is a nice thing for a man to have,” Rachel said. “Neither one of my husbands had a manner one, although Homer always said a polite ‘excuse me’ after he burped or farted.”

Colt choked on his coffee, but had the manners to whisper a quick “excuse me” before Rachel continued.

“But worse than that, in my opinion, is a man who don’t take responsibility for his own actions.” She lifted her nonexistent eyebrows at Hope, as if to convey some message Hope wasn’t getting.

Nor was she getting any coffee.

“She’s right,” Sheriff Winslow chimed in from his spot further down the counter. “There’s nothing lower than a scoundrel who won’t own up to his mistakes.”

Knowing the town could go on and on about something that had nothing to do with anything, Hope finally spoke up.

“Could I get some coffee?”

After topping off Colt’s cup, Rachel held up the half-full pot. “You don’t want this coffee, honey, it’s been sittin’ out too long.” She dumped it in the sink and grabbed a pitcher of orange juice. “Now let me pour you a glass of OJ. All that vitamin C is much better for a body than caffeine.”

“I don’t want orange juice,” Hope stated as Rachel set the glass down in front of her. “I want coffee.”

Rachel’s smile faltered, but only for a second. “Well, of course, you do. I’ll just start another pot.” Except she didn’t move to start one; instead, she set the pitcher down and rested one big man hand on her hip and the other on the edge of the counter.

“Now I bet there’s a lot of men out there in Hollywood who ain’t got no idea how to treat a lady, especially someone as sweet as our little Hope.” She leaned closer. “I bet you knew a few fellers like that, didn’t you, Hog?”

The clink of forks on plates halted all at once, and Hope could’ve sworn the entire place leaned in. Even Colt’s gaze settled on her.

She sent him a scalding look before she answered.

“A few.”

“A few, like two?” Rachel asked. “Or is that a couple? I always get those two mixed up.”

“A few is three,” Cindy Lynn enlightened her from a table behind them. “And a couple is two. Like Ed and me are a couple.”

“Unless she’s at Bootlegger’s,” Shirlene mumbled under her breath. “Then her couple can expand to any man willing to give her the time of day.”

“A few.” Rachel’s eyes turned worried. “That many, huh? Are you sure you couldn’t narrow it down some?”

Harley leaned over from his end of the counter. “Well, now, I’m sure Hope doesn’t want to talk about all the men she dated out in California. After all, there had to be a slew clamorin’ for an opportunity to date the prettiest homecomin’ queen we ever had.”

Colt snorted.

“But what Rachel was askin’,” Harley continued, “is if there was any one special. Anyone that might’ve made an impression on our little sweetheart.”

With a pair of steel gray eyes pinned on her, Hope really wanted to come up with a name of someone really special. A name that would wipe the cocky smirk off Colt’s whiskered outlaw face. But since she had been too
busy in California trying to make ends meet, the only man she could come up with was her old roommate. Sheldon had only been a friend, but Colt didn’t need to know that.

“Well… there was this one guy—”

“A movie star?” Twyla jumped in.

“Matthew McConaughey?” Cindy Lynn’s voice almost wept with envy.

“Tommy Lee Jones?” Rachel Dean breathed.

“Sandra Bullock?” Kenny added. When everyone in the room shot him a surprised look, he smiled sheepishly. “Faith had an on-counter with her. I just figured it was worth a shot.”

Hope didn’t have a clue what Kenny was talking about, but then again, she never did. So instead of getting sucked into the craziness, she kept it simple.

“No, Sheldon is not a movie star.”

“A pro quarterback?” Sheriff Winslow asked, and Hope couldn’t help but smile at the mental image of Sheldon on a football field.

“No.”

“A country western singer?” Cindy Lynn leaned around her poor whipped husband.

“Afraid not.”

“Is he at least a Texan?” Harley said, and when Hope shook her head, he heaved a sigh and slumped back on the bar stool. “Well, I guess that settles that.”

“It’s not the end of the world, Harley,” Rachel Dean said, as she slipped two plates down in front of Hope and Colt. “He can’t be all that bad if our little Hope likes him.” She pointed down at the plate and prodded. “Go ahead, honey, Josie made it just the way you like it—the eggs runny and the chili hot.”

While Colt attacked the food like the starving convict he was, Hope stared at the two fried eggs swimming in a sea of brilliant red chili. The same red chili that had burned a hole in her stomach two weeks earlier.

God, she
had
become a wuss since leaving Texas.

She pushed the plate away. “I’m not feeling like chili today, Rachel.”

Rachel only looked confused for a second before she jerked the plate back up, and then reached out and patted Hope’s hand. “Take a few deep breaths, honey. It will pass.”

“What will pass?” Colt turned to her, his fork poised in midair. “Are you sick?”

As Rachel walked off with her plate, Hope turned to Shirlene. “Is it my imagination, or has everyone completely lost their minds?”

Shirlene shot her a skeptical look. “You have been gone too long, honey. Since when have the people of this town had minds?” She took a couple bites of steak and eggs before she continued. “So what shall we do today? Everyone could come over to my house for a barbecue and margaritas. Or we could go out to Sutter Springs for a picnic. Or we could—”

“Find my motorcycle,” Colt stated.

“I told you I’d get it back to you.” Shirlene pointed her fork at him. “But is it too much to ask for a couple days? You would think that a man who owns—”

“Fine.” He threw her a warning look. “I’ll stay for a couple of days. But come Wednesday morning, I’m out of here.”

“A week would be better.”

“Don’t push it, baby sister.”

Her dimples flashed. “Wednesday it is.”

It was hard for Hope to keep her mouth shut when she wanted to yell “No!” at the top of her lungs. She didn’t want Colt to stay one hour longer, let alone three days. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything to do about it. Shirlene was too smart for her own good, and there wasn’t any way that she would let Hope’s objections go without a pisspot full of questions. Questions Hope wasn’t about to answer… even if she could.

“Here you go, honey.” Rachel set another plate down in front of her.

Hope stared down at the four saltine crackers and wondered if Rachel had sniffed too much diesel fuel from the clothes of her truck-driving husbands.

“What is this?” she asked.

“Crackers.”

“I know they’re crackers, but why are you giving them to me?”

“To settle your stomach.” She winked. “Every mornin’ for three entire months I ate nothin’ but saltines and a little ginger ale. ’Course around lunchtime, I was right as rain and could swallow down an entire cow without stoppin’ to spit out the hooves and horns. But until then, I couldn’t look at real food or even smell it.”

“What are you talking about, Rachel?”

“Oh, honey.” Her eyes teared up. “I realize that at a time like this you’d just as soon not have a big bunch of people makin’ a fuss over you. But we’re family, Hope. And we love you. Even if you did run off to Hollywood and get yourself—”

“It’s a mistake!”

Hope was still trying to piece together Rachel’s words
when Faith’s voice rang out through the diner. She swiveled around on the bar stool to find her sister standing by the door, looking all wild-eyed and sleep-tousled.

And annoyingly satisfied.

The satisfied part, no doubt, came from the handsome cowboy who stood directly behind her. Although he didn’t look exactly happy to be there.

“It’s all a mistake,” Faith continued as she stepped into the diner in a cami and pajama bottoms very similar to Hope’s. “Slate told me what you all think, and I take full responsibility for you thinking that because it was me who said it—although I didn’t mean it the way it came out—I was just trying to explain to Slate why I had left Bramble without saying a word and I didn’t realize everyone was listening and would assume what you’ve obviously assumed. But she’s not.” She held a hand to her chest. “Really.”

There was an exchange of glances as if everyone knew what Faith was rambling about—everyone but Hope, Colt, and Shirlene. Shirlene seemed to fit the pieces together quick enough.

“Lordy.” She fanned herself with one hand. “Things just keep getting more excitin’ and more excitin’. Pretty soon I’ll have to move just to get some rest.”

“What are you mumbling about, Shirl?”

“I think you’re about to find out, honey.” She winked at Hope as Harley slipped off his bar stool.

Hitching up his pants, he moved over to Faith. “Now, I realize Hope’s embarrassed about what happened, and being her sister, you want to keep her little secret, but you can’t change our mind about something we heard with our own two ears.”

“But you heard wrong!”

Hope had to give it to her. Faith could win a few hog-calling trophies of her own.

Harley’s eyes squinted. “So are you tellin’ us you lied?”

“Not lied, exactly. I just didn’t explain things properly.”

Slate stepped up and placed his arm around Faith. “Now, darlin’, I know you want to set things straight and all, but I don’t think now’s the time or place. Why don’t we go on back to Bubba’s and continue where we left off before I went and opened my big mouth.”

“No.” She shook her head. “If I don’t explain they’ll continue to believe Hope’s pregnant, and I can’t let them—”

“What?” Hope came off the stool so quickly that her slipper got caught in the rung of the bar stool. And she would’ve hit the floor, just like Colt’s coffee mug, if Shirlene hadn’t reached out and grabbed Rachel’s gray sweater and reeled her back in.

Rachel hurried around the counter, ignoring the broken shards. “Now, don’t be gettin’ yourself in a lather, honey.” She fanned Hope with one hand, which created enough air to rival a ceiling fan. “It’s not good for the babies.”

“Babies?” Hope sat down hard on the bar stool and tried to keep from passing out.

“ ’Course, babies.” Rachel fanned harder. “You’re a twin, ain’t you?”

“No.” Faith raced over. “I told you, she’s not pregnant. It was all just a misunderstanding. She threw up, and I just assumed she was pregnant.”

Rachel nodded her head. “And that’s a good assumption, honey. I threw up like the town drunk with both my kids.”

“Except she’s not pregnant.”

“Says who?” Harley said.

“Says me.” Hope finally came out of her comatose state and stood back up to glare at her twin sister. “I gather I have you to thank for this mess?”

Faith’s eyes widened, and she nodded.

Damn. A double murder was going to be more difficult. But before Hope could let her sister have it, Slate pulled Faith toward the door.

“Come on, darlin’, I think you’ve straightened things out enough for one day.”

“B-but,” she stammered and sent Hope one last beseeching look before she disappeared out the door.

Once they were gone, Hope turned to the group. “I’m not pregnant,” she stated firmly. “It was just a little misunderstanding between sisters.”

“So you didn’t throw up,” Kenny jumped in.

“Yes, I threw up, but only because I ate red chili the night before.”

“But, Hope,” Twyla entered the conversation, “you grew up on red chili—”

“I’m not pregnant!” Hope screamed so loudly that the glasses rattled on the shelf behind the counter.

The town exchanged looks before Shirlene spoke up, her green eyes twinkling almost as much as Colt’s were.

“I don’t know, honey. Throwing up and bad mood swings, I’d say that about clenches it.”

Shooting a murderous glare at her best friend, Hope
slapped Rachel’s fanning hand out of the way and jumped up from the stool.

“Where are you going, Hog?” Kenny yelled as Hope headed for the door.

“To get me a cup of coffee and a loaded gun!”

The folks of Bramble waited for Shirlene and Colt to follow Hope out before they hurried over to the window.