Beauty & the Biker (9 page)

She looked up at Carson, squirming under his compassionate regard. She’d expected an invitation to dinner not a proposed intervention. This is how he’d seduced her in the first place. Stepping in as a calm and confident force in the wake of her mom’s passing. Feeling awkward, Bella folded her arms, shifted. “I appreciate your concern.”

He moved forward and cupped her shoulders. “Things were good between us before I suggested you were wasting your writing talent. I apologized for hurting your feelings. When are you going to forgive me?”

“I do forgive you.” Bella licked her lips, cursed her erratic pulse. She hated confrontation. She hated being forced into expressing her thoughts, especially when they’d inflict hurt or intensify the conflict. Breaking off with Carson hadn’t been easy and she’d tried her best to make the split amicable. When was he going to respect her position? “I know you didn’t mean to hurt my feelings, but that doesn’t change how you feel. Not just about my writing, but about a good many of my interests and opinions.”

“Bella—”

“I’m not the person you want and you’re not the person I imagined.”

He tightened his hold, softened his gaze. “I’m everything you need and more. You just can’t see it right now because you’re blinded by stress.”

Since shouting was discouraged within the library, Bella refrained from blowing her top. She did, however, tremble with frustration.

He angled his head and crooked a persuasive smile, the kind that could sell an Amish man a car. “How about instead of you taking care of your dad, you let me take care of you and him?”

“Carson—”

“Right. You don’t love me. So you said in the heat of anger.”

“So I know in my heart. We’re not compatible.”

“You’re intimidated by my wealth and position. You don’t think you deserve me. But you do.”

Bella closed her eyes, willing patience, willing words. “Please unhand me.”

When his touch fell away, she chanced his gaze, and instead saw that he’d given her his back. Thankfully, he was leaving. But not without reaffirming his stance. “I’m not giving up on you,” he said over his shoulder. “On us. I am the man you imagined—a flesh and bone knight in shining armor. I will sweep you off your feet.”

As she went about the rest of her day, Carson’s parting promise lingered in the back of Bella’s mind. She anticipated more flowers, more spontaneous visits, random acts of kindness and attempts to right her world. He expected her to succumb to his generous and romantic gestures. She’d become the ultimate challenge and he was determined to win her heart.

Ironically, that against-all-odds scenario fueled many of the starry-eyed tales Bella held near and dear. If she didn’t know Carson better, his romantic declaration would’ve summoned a choir of angels, signaling Bella’s spectacular change of heart.

Instead, his persistence left her hollow and aching for the attentions of a sincere champion. Which reminded her of the application she’d filed with Impossible Dream. She’d complicated her desire to hook up with a gifted illustrator by listing qualities she associated with an ideal lover—
sense of humor, generous heart, optimist, hard worker, kid friendly, magical kisser.
She cringed now wishing she hadn’t been so specific. She hadn’t just colored outside the lines, she’d scribbled into the abstract.

By the time Bella left the library, her mind was dizzy with ruminations regarding her past and future. Carson, her dad, Savage, Prince Picasso Charming. Considering her troubles revolved around men, who better to confide in than Angel.

Bella loped down the front steps, smiling as her grounded and experienced friend pulled her zippy white sports car—a gift from her second husband—curbside. Baxter Drake, rest his soul, had worshiped the ground Angel walked on, showering her with possessions she hadn’t even wanted. She’d be happier driving a snazzy Jeep than this sleek import, but since Baxter had gifted her with the sporty convertible the night before he died, Angel refused to part with it. She was sentimental like that. She was also very stylish in a bohemian sort of way. Hence she looked all trendy and rebel like—her blazing red hair, wind-tossed and wild—sitting behind the wheel of the sophisticated and uber expensive car.

Sliding on her sunglasses, Bella settled into the passenger seat and, as always, battled claustrophobia. Not that she’d ever complain, but the sports car was ridiculously small. Who cared if it was cute and fast? There was no wiggle room. At least today the top was down. “I really appreciate this.”

“You say that every time I give you a lift to and from work,” Angel said as she pulled back onto the street. “You really need to stop. Seriously. Stop. Your place—”

“Dad’s place.”

“—is on my way home. It’s not an imposition. How was work?”

“Good. Same. Except for Carson’s unexpected visit.”

“The man is persistent.”

“Only his approach was different this time. He homed in on dad. Said he needs professional help.”

Angel didn’t say anything, which was as good as agreeing. Or maybe she was considering the best response. Angel rarely spoke without thinking, unlike Emma and Georgie who often blurted whatever came to mind. Chrissy was more stingy with her opinions but when she voiced them she was usually blunt. Not that anyone had commented at length on her dad’s drinking or Bella’s decision to move home.

Not for the first time, she felt like her friends had been walking on egg-shells ever since her mom’s death. She just wanted life to go back to normal, although how could it? Her life had been altered—along with everyone who’d loved Laura Mooney.

Bella clutched her bag to her knotting stomach. “If he’d just talk to me…”

“He will. Eventually.” Angel flexed her fingers on the wheel, pressed her lips together as she turned onto Frontier Street.

“Whatever you’re thinking, spit it out. I can take it.”

“You sure?”

“I’m all ears.”

“Give me a sec.” Angel held silent while blowing past most of the stores lining the street, a third of them deserted. Nowhere had been dying a slow death for the last twenty years. Younger generations kept moving away to explore more exciting and viable locations. Years ago, the Inseparables had made a pact to stay in Nowhere, working in their own unique way to keep their beloved town alive. They’d been kids then and they were all still here. With the exception of Sinjun Ashe. Although they had recently reconnected with their long lost friend via Party-Line. Ah, the wonders of social networking.

“Okay. Here goes,” Angel said, yanking Bella out of the past as she smoked the town’s limits. “And please don’t take this the wrong way. I know you lost your mom,” she said, raising her voice as they roared into the wind, “and that’s a God tragic blow. Especially since you were so close. But your dad lost his soul mate, his wife, lover, and friend. They’d been married how long?”

“Thirty-five years.”

“That’s a long time. Eddie and I barely made our third anniversary before I lost him, but we’d been sweethearts since the sixth grade so it seemed like we’d been together for a lifetime. And then Baxter, well that was a different kind of love and we only made it two years, but, if he had lived, I just know we would have been together forever. Anyway, even though the intensity of the grief varied, I can honestly say there is no greater heartache than losing a beloved spouse. At least none that I’ve experienced.”

“So you’re saying Dad’s hurting more than me?”

“I’m saying it’s a different kind of pain. One he may not feel comfortable discussing with his daughter.”

“So you’re agreeing with Carson. You think Dad should see someone. Like a grief counselor.”

“Maybe he just needs more time. And space.”

Why did the latter feel like an insult? Bella shoved her wind tossed hair from her eyes and angled toward her friend. She wanted to change the subject, to sidestep what felt like an oncoming dose of tough love, but she’d sworn she could take it. And to be honest, she was curious. “Go on.”

Angel cleared her throat. “Remember how you and the girls kept checking in on me after Eddie? After Baxter? Comforting me? Caring for me? “

“I remember you telling us that you needed to stand on your own two feet.”

“I could have leaned on you forever. Happily. Both times. But then I never would have healed. I needed to be okay with being alone. With taking care of myself.”

“You think I’m hindering Dad’s recovery by living at home?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you think it.”

“I’ve known Archie Mooney all my life, Bella.” She glanced over as they whizzed by the Morgan Ranch. “He’s a good man. A strong man. More than capable of picking up the pieces of his jumbled life. Except…”

“I’m slowing the process. Enabling him to wallow in his grief.” She thought about how she’d stepped into her mom’s shoes. Cooking and cleaning for him. Making sure he kept up with the bills and banking. Always asking how he was and what she could do for him.

“You mean well,” Angel said. “But why should he get on with his life when you’re not getting on with yours?”

Bella saw it then. Her true impetus for moving home. To cling to the past. To her mom. The reason she’d handled the loss of her mom better than her dad was because she’d never accepted the permanence of the situation.

“I didn’t hurt your feelings, did I?”

“No,” Bella said honestly. “But I do feel bad. Selfish and, ugh, cowardly.”

“Don’t. There’s not a selfish or cowardly bone in your body, my friend. We all deal with loss in our own way. There’s no right or wrong. But there does come a time when we have to let go and move on.”

Bella nodded, her mind racing nearly as fast as her pulse. She looked away, focusing on the passing landscape. Tough love. Time to move out. Time to give her dad incentive to pull it together, to create his new life without his daughter breathing down his neck and making him feel like a fragile, screw-up.

She could always impose on one of the Inseparables while she shopped for new accommodations, but somehow that felt like a cop out. She palmed her phone, intending to research real estate options, but got distracted by an email. A reply from ImpossibleDream.com.

Considering her elaborate request, she hadn’t expected to hear back so soon. Bracing for a rejection, she opened the note and stared. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Angel asked.

“This can’t be for real.”

“What can’t be for real?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“No. But you’re making me crazy. What is it? What’s wrong?”

Every time she thought her life couldn’t get more complicated, more weirdly unpredictable and shocking—it did. Heart pounding, Bella looked at her friend. “Have you ever heard of an Internet site called Impossible Dream?”

“No.”

“You apply for something—a job, a trip, a home—something beyond your immediate scope, something you think is unattainable.”

“Impossible dream,” Angel said. “Got it. I take it you applied. But for what?”

“A dream partner.”

She grinned. “What, like Prince Charming?”

“Sort of. I mean, I did list some romantic qualities. Couldn’t help myself. But mostly I focused on an artist who could augment my stories with magical illustrations.” Bella flashed her phone. “They just wrote me back.”

“With suggestions? Portfolios? Profiles? Names?”

“Just one name.”

Angel glanced over, eyebrows high above her dark sunglasses.

“You won’t believe it. I don’t believe it.”

“For God’s sake Bella. Who?”

“Joe Savage.”

Chapter Seven

An ocean of water couldn’t wash away the grime of Joe’s existence these last few years. Nevertheless he braced his hands on the shower tiles and bowed his head, his tension easing as hot water pounded his shoulders.

He’d been working in the barn, his converted studio, gathering various boxes he’d tagged for Bella to sort through. Even though Archie had worked off what he owed, Joe still had a deal with the man’s daughter. He didn’t need her help renovating the house, but he did want her company. She’d invaded his dreams, suffused his psyche. In spite of Archie warning Joe off, Bella was a sweet temptation he ached to explore. An innocent he wanted to protect. Instead of breaking their deal, which involved a date, he’d adopted a contingency plan. A project that didn’t involve great heights or power tools, but would require Bella’s presence.

Unfortunately, that project had instigated what had felt dangerously close to a panic attack. He’d stepped away—
distance
. Shut down his mind—
denial
. He’d left Killer circling the stacked boxes of photographs while he’d fled to the house, desperate to wash away the shitty feeling that polluted his soul.

He soaped and rinsed and steamed and focused on something good.

Bella
.

Aware that she’d be arriving soon, Joe’s pulse quickened as he toweled off and dressed. When his phone chimed, he answered mid-ring anticipating a rainbow. Expecting a cancellation. “Hello?”

“Mr. Savage.”

He didn’t recognize the voice—male—or the number. “Who’s calling?”