Make Mine a Bad Boy (9 page)

“So what are we gonna do?” Kenny asked as he watched Hope cuss Shirlene up one side and down the other.

“I’m not sure,” Harley stated. “But we can’t let our little Hope raise a passel of children by herself.” There was a long pause as Harley twirled the end of his mustache. Finally his eyes narrowed, and he looked over at Rachel.

“Rachel, isn’t your cousin, Bear, a private eye?”

“He ain’t a private eye, Harley. He’s a bounty hunter.”

Harley nodded. “Well, I’d say that’s even better.”

C
OLT MISSED THE
open road.

Shirlene’s guesthouse was more than comfortable, and her Mexican cook sure knew her way around a kitchen, but comfort didn’t compare to freedom. Which was why, before Shirlene rolled out of bed on Tuesday morning, he stole the keys to the Navigator and headed out on his own.

On the way into town, he made a few calls on his cell phone, a phone Shirlene had retrieved from the leather bags on his bike, along with his aviators and extra clothes. He wasn’t much of a talker, so the calls only lasted a few minutes. Just long enough to make sure things were going smoothly back at his custom motorcycle shop in L.A.

Colt had started Desperado Customs six years earlier in an old, abandoned warehouse. With his ability to hand-form sheet metal into unparalleled designs, wealthy customers had quickly lined up to own the hottest bikes on the street. His talented group of designers and mechanics didn’t build a lot of motorcycles, but the motorcycles they built were unique enough to attract a huge cult following.
The majority of his followers couldn’t afford his bikes, but they were more than willing to shell out twenty bucks for a T-shirt or twelve for a ball cap. He made as much selling that crap as he did selling his motorcycles.

After checking in with the shop, he fiddled with the radio until he found a station that played soft rock, which was about as far from country as he was going to get in this neck of the woods. He was singing along with a Bob Seger tune when he drove past Bramble High School.

The school was small and looked even smaller compared to the huge football stadium next to it—a tribute to the town’s dedication to the sport. Colt hadn’t played football. Not because he hadn’t wanted to, but because school and work didn’t leave room for much else. But, occasionally, he would sneak into the games after he finished working at Josephine’s, to watch Slate Calhoun throw winning touchdown passes while Hope cheered him on with high kicks and straddles.

It was after those games that he got into the most trouble.

Up ahead, the faded and chipped sign of Jones’ Garage stuck out like a sore thumb against the gray skies, and Colt lifted his foot off the accelerator.

“Hey, Colt,” Tyler met him as he stepped from the SUV. “I see you got some proper boots.”

Colt looked down at the black lizard cowboy boots he’d purchased in Lubbock; a foolish whim egged on by a sassy sister. Luckily, he’d drawn a line at the snap-down plaid western shirt.

“Yeah, well, you know how it goes.” He placed his hands on his hips and stared over at the garage, a garage he knew like the inside of a carburetor. “So I guess if I
was to wander around a bit, I just might run into a custom bike.”

Tyler grinned as he took the cap off the gas tank. “You might. But I sure hope you don’t.”

Colt arched an eyebrow. “I thought we were friends, T-bone.”

“Sure are.” He lifted the nozzle and slipped it in. “Which is why I hope you stick around for a while.”

“And you and Shirl are about the only ones who feel that way.”

Tyler spit out a stream of tobacco before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And whose fault is that? I’ve never seen anyone work so hard to make folks dislike him.”

“I didn’t have to try all that hard.”

“Nope.” Tyler leaned against the side of the Navigator and crossed his arms while the tank filled. “You just had to be your obstinate self. If the town said white, you said black. Couple that with spending most of your free time bullying the town sweetheart, and that about did it.” He returned his attention to the pump. “It was your choice, buddy. Always your choice.”

Had it been? Funny, but it hadn’t seemed that way so many years ago, when he was forced to scrap for everything he got. Growing up, he’d always thought it was the town that held him back, the town that kept him from being what he wanted to be. But he wondered if Tyler wasn’t right. Maybe it hadn’t been the town that held him back as much as his own belief that he would never be more than “that poor Lomax kid.” Of course, it made no difference now.

Changing the subject, Colt nodded at the excavated lot next to the gas station. “Planning on expanding?”

“I thought about putting a car wash there, but that outfit on the interstate beat me to it.” Tyler shook his head as he hooked the nozzle back in the pump. “ ’Course I didn’t really have the money for it, anyway. Things have been slow around here.”

Colt took his wallet out of his pocket and handed Tyler the cash. “Thanks, Ty.”

Tyler nodded. “You still tinkering around with motorcycles?”

“Pretty much,” he said. “You still making babies with Missy Leigh?”

Tyler’s smile was genuine and proud. “Pretty much.”

Grinning, Colt walked around to the driver’s door.

Tyler followed him. “If you stick around until Friday, we’ve got a play-off game. Best darned quarterback since Calhoun.”

“Sounds like fun, but I’ll be long gone by then.” Colt opened the door and climbed in. But before he pulled away, he backed the truck up and checked inside all three open garage stalls, while Tyler stood there laughing.

“Take care of her, T-bone,” he yelled through the open window.

Tyler nodded. “Will do, Colt.”

After leaving the gas station, Colt decided to take a quick cruise through town before he headed back to Shirlene’s. He thought about breakfast at Josephine’s, but Shirlene’s cook had fed him enough red and green chili to last him awhile. That, and he didn’t much feel like listening to the people of Bramble talk their nonsense. Although he had enjoyed them razzing Hope about being pregnant with twins.

Hope pregnant. He shook his head and laughed.

Crazy townsfolk.

Of course, he hadn’t been laughing at first. He’d been too stunned to laugh. Over the years, he’d thought of Hope in a lot of different scenarios. But pregnant wasn’t one of them. Probably because babies weren’t something he spent a lot of time thinking about.

Not that he didn’t like babies. He liked babies just fine. His sister had been a baby once, and she had been kind of cute. Still, it had been a full-time job making sure that she didn’t roll off the couch or play around electrical sockets or ram pennies in her mouth. And as she got older, there were more responsibilities. Like getting her out of bed, dressed, and fed before school. And making sure she washed behind her ears and did her homework before she watched TV. And keeping all the boys away from her when she finally outgrew being a tomboy and turned into a hormonal teenager.

It had been a relief when she married Lyle and settled down.

But that didn’t mean that Colt had stopped worrying about her. In the last couple days, he’d noticed that she was drinking more than usual. He figured it had to do with Lyle being gone so much. Lomax women didn’t do well without their men—his mama was a perfect example. Which was why he planned on talking to Lyle about staying home more often and keeping his wife from drowning her lonely heart in a bottle of Jose Cuervo.

With his thoughts wrapped up in Shirlene, he barely noticed the woman who stepped off the curb to flag him down until he almost ran her over. He slammed on the brakes, and the tires squealed to a stop inches from her scuffed cowboy boots.

He didn’t have to read her lips. Even with the windows closed, her voice carried.

“Oh. It’s you.”

With a thunderous look, Hope turned and stomped back over to her beat-up truck, parked next to the curb in front of the Food Mart. Biting back a smile, Colt pulled into a space and got out. Even with the gray clouds that rumbled overhead, the day somehow seemed brighter.

“You need somethin’, honey?” he asked politely, although he had to admit a little gleefully.

Completely ignoring him, Hope struggled with the big box of groceries that sat on the sidewalk next to her truck, the same truck she’d had eight years ago.

He walked over and leaned against the open tailgate. “You sure you don’t need any help? That’s a mighty big box for such a little thing.” He drew the word thing out into a nice Texas
thaaang
.

“I’m good,” she growled between clenched teeth.

His gaze traveled over the swells of her bottom in the thin cotton dress. “No doubt about that, honey.”

The box thumped down, and glass bottles rattled as she turned to glare at him. “Don’t you have something else to do, Lomax? Like maybe find a hundred-thousand-dollar motorcycle so you can get the hell out of town and quit harassing me?”

“I hate to bring this to your attention, but I wasn’t the one who flagged you down.”

“I didn’t flag you down! I flagged Shirlene down!”

With his arms crossed, Colt shrugged. “Well, one Lomax is as good as the other.”

“A few days ago, I might’ve argued the point. But after all the stunts your sister has pulled recently, I’ll have to
agree with you on that one. I don’t know why I flagged her down in the first place.” She turned back to the box.

It would’ve been easy to leave her there. In Bramble, someone would show up to help her out. But
easy
wasn’t in Colt’s vocabulary. Besides, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

Pushing away from the tailgate, he bodily picked Hope up and set her out of the way, taking only a second to notice the way his hands spanned her trim waist.

“Darn you, Lomax, I told you I don’t need your help!”

“I know. But you’re going to get it anyway.” He picked up the box and hefted it into the back of the truck, next to the other boxes of food. “Burl training for the pie-eating contest?”

“Funny.” She tried to shove him out of the way to close the tailgate, but he wasn’t having it.

“So where are you taking all this?”

She glared at him for only a few seconds before she answered. “Out to Grover Road.”

His eyebrows shot up at the mention of his old neighborhood. “I thought the church only handed out boxes at Christmas?”

“They do, but I thought they might need something to tide them over. So I called Shirlene, and she called Ed and told him to charge whatever I wanted.”

It was so like Hope. Whether delivering Bibles or food for the hungry, Hope never let the people of her town go without. The realization brought with it a wave of warmth that settled all nice and cozy in his stomach. Although the look she sent him was anything but.

“So do you mind moving so I can get out of here before it starts to rain?”

On cue, a rumble of thunder drew their eyes up to the dark sky.

“You got a tarp?” he asked. When she didn’t answer, he looked away from the nebulous clouds into annoyed baby blue. “I’ll take that as a no.” He reached back in and pulled the large box out.

“Give me that back! I don’t need any help.” She tried to take the box from him, but he held tight.

“I don’t doubt that for a minute, sweetheart. But you ever tasted soggy cereal?” When she looked confused, he glanced up at the sky. “Because in about three minutes that’s exactly what you’re going be handing out to those kids if you don’t let me get the rest of these boxes inside that SUV.”

“Fine.” She released the box and stepped out of his way. “But if you hadn’t nosed in, I could’ve made it.”

“Doubtful.” He placed the box in the back of the Navigator and turned to find her standing there with another one. He went to take it from her, but she refused to let go.

“You really can’t help yourself, can you?” He lifted a brow at her. “Now let go and let me do it.”

“Or what?” Her blue eyes snapped, and he would’ve laughed at her stubbornness if the store owner’s wife, Jeannie Mitchell, hadn’t raced out the front door.

“Hope, I thought I told you to wait until Ed got off the phone before you loaded those boxes. You want to give those babies bad backs?”

Colt laughed, and Hope’s eyes narrowed as she released the box. “I hope Kenny Gene is riding your motorcycle all over the countryside.”

Mentally cussing Kenny, Colt loaded the rest of the boxes while Jeannie stood on the sidewalk and watched with a confused look on her face.

“I sure never thought I’d see the day when Colt Lomax did charity work.”

“Actually, I’m just takin’ these back to Shirlene’s.” He winked at her as he slammed the hatch. “But I figure you’re the type of woman a man can trust with all his secrets.”

Jeannie blushed to the roots of her bright-red hair. “Rachel was right. You have turned into quite a sweet talker since you’ve been in prison, Colt Lomax.” Her smile got even bigger when he walked around and held open the door for Hope.

“Fake talker is more like it,” Hope mumbled beneath her breath as she slipped inside, flashing a good amount of tanned legs before she jerked down the hem of her flower-printed dress.