All Flash No Cash (3 page)

Shaw’s bed squeaked and the lamp snapped on.
His buddy sat up, his old T-shirt showing their high school mascot,
a cowboy on a bucking bronc. “You did? That’s great.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t pay, except for my
expenses, but they’re raffling the bike off for charity.” Just
thinking of the project, his chest expanded and his heart thudded.
It still was one of the most exciting things that had ever happened
to him.

“Where’s this at?” Shaw rubbed his fist over
his eye. His brown hair had gotten shaggy in the last few
months.

“Deadwood. A biker bar.”

Shaw nodded. “Figures. When do we get to see
this masterpiece?”
We
was Shaw and his woman, Harper
Johansen, who worked as a traveling promotions person for a
national beverage company. Spring, summer, and fall, she traveled
to rodeos as the company’s sponsor. Shaw had met her over the
Independence Day weekend at a rodeo in Belle Fourche, South Dakota,
and the two worked at getting together every weekend they
could.

“I’ll have pictures mid-October, and it’ll be
raffled on Halloween.”

Shaw’s phone buzzed. “Tight schedule.” He
read the text and typed in his reply.

“What’s going on?” In the doorway, Pete’s
brother, Huck, and their fourth roommate, Dax Marshall, stood in
their underwear and T-shirts. “Pajama party?” Huck looked so much
like Pete, folks thought they were twins, instead of just eleven
months apart in age.

“I got a job painting a motorcycle.” Pete
glanced at Huck’s leg. A big, round bruise covered half his calf.
His gaze shot to his brother’s eyes, and Huck tugged down the side
of the sleeveless T-shirt he wore. Covering another bruise? He was
always either bruised or limping. What the hell did he do every
weekend?

Dax grinned. “Congrats. When’s the big
reveal?” With that smile, his dark eyes, tan skin, and black hair,
the guy could be a model instead of a roughneck—who wrote country
songs in his spare time.

“Halloween. At Dirty Harry’s in
Deadwood.”

Shaw’s phone rang. “Sorry, guys, Harper just
got to her hotel.” He nodded toward the door.

Pete got up and left the room, closing the
door behind him. “Huck, I need to ask you something.”

His brother froze.

Dax looked between the two brothers, then
hightailed it into the room he shared with Huck, shutting the
door.

Huck turned slowly, his greenish-brown eyes
narrow, jaw tight. “Yeah?”

“I need to work on the bike the next four
weekends. Can you get back to the farm and help out?”

Huck dropped his head. “No. I can’t. I got
commitments.”

“Commitments?” Pete crossed his arms. “What
kind of commitments?”

Huck shrugged. “I can’t say right now, Pete,
but it’s not anything hinky.” His brown eyes lifted to meet Pete’s.
“When I can talk about it, you’ll be the first one I—”

“What about Momma and Dad? They think you’re
the prodigal son, or something.” Every weekend when he arrived home
without his brother, Pete could see the hurt in his mother’s
eyes.

Huck ran his hand across the back of his
neck. “I know, I just gotta do this thing right now.” He sat on the
arm of the couch. “I’ll see if I can hire somebody to help Dad on
weekends.”

Pete and Huck had never kept secrets from
each other. It felt foreign to be excluded this way. “The Amhursts
would probably do it.”

Shaw opened the door to their room. He caught
the looks on Pete and Huck’s faces. “I’m off the phone.” He shut
the door and the thin line of light under the door went dark.

“Yeah, okay.” Huck stood. “I’ll call Dad
tomorrow and work it out. And I’ll talk to Momma.” He trudged to
the door to his room. “I’ll be sure to make it to the Halloween
thing, little brother. I’m really proud of you.” He opened the door
and disappeared into the room he shared with Dax.

Pete shook off the feeling of impending doom.
Huck was an adult. Whatever he was doing, he could handle on his
own. “Hope so, big brother.”

Friday night, CJ blinked through the steam
blasting from the dishwasher behind the bar, and started unloading
the hot glassware. Midnight, and the place was only half-full
because of the live concert at one of the parks. That was fine with
her. Maybe she could let her other bartender go early. Or maybe
she’d leave early, go to the park and listen to the band for…

Who was she kidding? Her sense of
responsibility to the place would tug at her like a big old rubber
band. She reloaded the dishwasher, set it to start, and looked up
as the front door opened. A tall man walked in, wearing a black,
short-sleeved shirt that showed off his big shoulders, nice muscles
on his arms and chest, and was tucked into the narrow waist of his
dress jeans. Shiny cowboy boots clomped toward her. And thank you
Karma, he had a nice, healthy bulge at the front of those
Levis.

“Ma’am.” He stopped at the waitress
station.

She looked up into light-brown eyes with
green flecks. “Hayseed?” This was not the same country boy who’d
shown up on Sunday. He’d tamed those wild curls some, but they
still looked soft and touchable. Damn cute specimen of the male
species.

“Yes, ma’am. Pete Gonally.” He sounded a
little agitated. “I’ve come to look at the bike, if that’s all
right.”

“Sure.” She wiped her hands on a towel. “I’m
just surprised that you actually clean up.”

Pete didn’t move a muscle.

She had to give him credit for not shooting
back about her outfit. Catching her reflection in the mirror behind
the bar back, she smoothed her white T-shirt, spotting a few stains
on it. Her jeans were old and comfortable, but there wasn’t any
changing now…without looking like she was trying to impress him.
She did slide her feet out of her purple rubber clogs into a pair
of flip-flops. That’d be her concession to fashion for the day.

CJ caught the other bartender’s eye. “Tony,
I’ll be out back in the garage.”

He nodded, and went back to pouring tequila
into a dozen shot glasses.

“C’mon, Pete Gonally. Let’s get you
acquainted with your work space.” She led him out the back door of
the bar to a one-car garage. The opaque windows had bars over them,
and the door was heavy metal with a keypad lock.

“It’s like a fortress.” Excitement had
replaced the irritation in his voice.

“Been broken into one too many times.” She
entered numbers and the door popped open. On the opposite wall, the
alarm flashed and beeped. CJ flipped on the lights and hustled over
to enter the code to shut it off.

Pete closed the door and clomped in behind
her.

In the middle of the nearly-empty building,
the brand new black motorcycle sat shining like a kid on the first
day of school. But her gaze wandered to the corner. To the old bike
sitting in shadows, collecting dust.

“She’s a beauty.” Pete walked three circles
around the new bike, his enthusiasm pouring off him. “Okay if I
grab my stuff out of my truck and get started?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, that’s fine.” He had to
be tired. Hadn’t he worked all day on the farm? And driven hours to
get down here? “Unless you want to wait until tomorrow?”

He shook his head. “I couldn’t sleep, knowing
this was here waiting for me.”

His youthful zeal was almost catchy. Almost.
She pulled a waitress pad and a pencil from her back pocket.
“Here’s the door code and the alarm shut-off.” She wrote the
numbers. “When you leave for the night, turn the alarm back on.
Just press
Arm
and get the hell out quick.”

“Will do.” He reached for the paper and their
fingers touched.

A spark flared along her skin, making her
breath catch.

“I appreciate the opportunity, ma’am. I’m
going to do my best on this job.”

She appreciated the respect, but it made her
feel like Pete’s elderly aunt. “I get the feeling you will, Pete,
but seriously, if you call me ma’am once more, I’m gonna go get my
walker and smash you over the head with it.”

He smiled, a sexy curve of lips, a little
flash of his white teeth. “Ms. Overton?”

“CJ.” She could look at that smile for the
rest of the night, but she had a business to run. “Park back here.
We have a security guard and cameras, so you’ll be safe.”

“I wasn’t worried.” His voice sounded
different. Low and manly. “Let me walk you back into the bar.” He
stepped around her and opened the door, standing back for her to go
first.

The way he looked at her, like he couldn’t
figure her out, made her a little incautious. She put a little sway
in her hips and strolled past him. “Thank you, Pete. You’re quite
the gentleman.”

The half-laugh he let out almost made her
smile. Almost. CJ kept up the seductress’ walk until he opened the
back door of the bar. She wandered in, and Dolby came rushing out
of the office, nearly barreling into her.

“Got us a fight.” He hustled along the
hallway and into the main barroom.

Men shouted, a woman screamed, the sound of
glass and wood breaking reached them.

CJ took a step forward, but Pete grasped her
arm and pulled her behind him. “Wait here.” He ran full-throttle
into the bar.

So surprised that she couldn’t move for a few
seconds, CJ blinked and nearly did as she’d been told. Then she
took a hop and started running.

By the time she reached the corner where the
noise came from, Pete had one biker by the arm, and Dolby held the
other in a choke hold. A blonde woman begged Pete, “Let my Stumpy
go.”

Pete looked at Dolby, who gestured toward the
door. Pete marched Stumpy out of the bar. The blonde followed.

Dolby sat his captive down. “Stay here, and
get your wallet out. You’re paying for half the damage.” He
motioned CJ over. “I’d say a hundred should cover half.” He trotted
outside.

“A hundred? “That’s bullshit.” The biker in
the chair started to rise.

CJ’s brain finally got in gear and she
stalked over to the fighter who stood weaving from side to side.
“It’s that or a night in jail, friend.” She held out her hand in
front of him.

He grumbled and eventually put a stack of
twenties in her palm.

She glanced out the front door. Pete stood
talking to the man and woman. Who knew he had those kind of
moves?

Dolby came back in, closing the door behind
him. Pete must have gone around to the garage. Dolby nodded to her,
showing the stack of bills in his hand, and went back to his
office.

While the other bartender cleaned up the
mess, CJ poured drinks and ruminated on Pete Gonally. Farm boy,
graphic artist…and bouncer? Would he ever stop surprising her?

Over the next half-hour, the remaining bar
crowd dwindled. A fight did that, sometimes. Sobered people up and
made them long for their beds. CJ popped a big frozen pizza in one
of the ovens the pizza company provided them with, and opened a
to-go box. She grabbed four cold longnecks from the cooler and put
them in a bucket of ice.

Mr. Pete Gonally deserved a hero’s
reward.

****

Pete wandered around the motorcycle,
sketching out another new idea on his pad. The garage space was
perfect for the job. He’d need to construct a work table, bring in
a chair, set up a painting booth. He penned a shopping list on the
corner of the drawing.

Beeps sounded just before the door swung
open, and CJ walked in, carrying a pizza box and a bucket of beer.
“Hungry?”

He took the box from her. “Starved,
thanks.”

She braced the door open with the bucket.
“Hang on.” She jogged away, then came back with two folding lawn
chairs. “Stole them from the smoking patio.” She set them up and
placed the bucket on the floor between them, letting the door slam
shut. “Nothing fancy.” Reaching behind her, she pulled a stack of
napkins from her back pocket.

He smiled. “It’s good for me. Thanks.” They
sat, balancing the pizza box between them on the chair arms, and
made it through almost the whole large pie, barely saying a word
through all the munching.

On his second beer, Pete pointed to the
classic cycle in the corner. “What’s the story behind that old
girl?”

Her face turned solemn. “My dad’s.”

“Harry?”

“Yes. He named the bar after himself, the old
kook.” That barely-there smile reappeared. She really was
beautiful. Soft and curvy in the right places, long and lean most
everywhere. Just her demeanor—gruff and unapproachable—made her
less appealing. But he’d work on that. See how far under her suit
of armor he could get.

“I could paint it, too.” He hadn’t meant to
blurt that out and sound like a kid with a crush. “While I’m here,
I mean. There are some rust spots, and I could fix it up. You know,
if you wanted to surprise him.”

She let out a long breath. “He wouldn’t
appreciate it.” She glanced at him, then stood. “But I appreciate
the offer.”

He got up, too. “Sure. If you change your
mind…”

“Thanks for what you did in the bar tonight.
It was brave, but stupid.” She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to
say that…” She dragged a hand down her face. “I mean, you could
have been hurt, so don’t do that again, okay?”

“Sure.” He’d gone a little crazy, imagining
CJ in danger, and had jumped in without thinking.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” She tipped
her head, and her blonde curls bobbed.

“Dad’s a retired Marine. He showed me and my
brother…and my mother…how to defend ourselves.”

“You did really good. I’ll give you a call
when Dolby retires.”

He laughed. “No, thanks. Like you said, it
was a moment of extreme stupidity.”

“Yes, I said that. Things come out of my
piehole that…well… You got a place to stay tonight?” In the cold,
white lights, her green eyes sparkled.

“Yeah, a friend’s expecting me. He lives out
closer to Lead.”