Hunted Love Box Set: Big Game, Bounty, Captured (11 page)

Falon had to contain his half-smile of admiration. These women had it going on. They certainly weren't as vulnerable as implied by the absence of male staff members.

The black-haired woman snatched her arm away from Kellen's grip and stepped back. "You aren't welcome here, Kellen. Now take your crew and get out. And don't come back. I'd hate to have to call the Butcher in, but I won't hesitate if I see you again."

"You bitches will pay dearly for this." Kellen stared pointedly at the blonde with the shotgun. "I will track you down and make you wish you'd stayed home tonight." He turned back to the black-haired woman. "You belong to me, and I will have what's mine." He spun and stalked away, his men following.

Falon didn't miss the concealed gesture one of Kellen's men made to a slender young female patron who had entered after the men. Unless Falon missed his guess, she had just been directed to watch whoever came down from that balcony and get their name. Her barely perceptible nod declared the message had been received.

He sat back on his stool. It looked like he was about to step squarely into a very nasty local hornets nest. And yet, if he were going to do his job, he couldn't avoid it. And Kellen clearly needed to be taken down. Hard. The temptation to follow Kellen and his men and immediately take the outlaw into custody was hard to resist. But he didn't care for the seven-to-one odds. Besides, if he showed his hand too early, Kellen would just move on temporarily like he always did. So Falon would wait.

In the cautious bustle of activity that followed Kellen's departure, the black-haired woman approached Falon with a wry smile. "By the way, I'm Rita James, proprietress." She held her hand out. "Look, I saw you start to interfere. It's a good thing you didn't. Kellen and his crew are serious bad news. You don't want to cross them."

Falon took her hand and returned the smile. "Falon Harris. And how do you know I'm not even worse news than they are?"

She left her hand in his a little longer. "Because you're a nice guy. I can tell by the eyes. Windows to the soul or some shit like that." The smile turned mischievous. "Now, would you like to see that trailer before the rush hits and I'm slammed for the evening?"

That smile and the light it brought to her blue eyes made it impossible not to respond in kind. Falon chuckled a little. "I would like that a lot."

***

Her brain must be on vacation. That was the only explanation because, normally, Rita would never lead a strange man out to the little trailer after dark. Not by herself, at least. She should have grabbed one of the girls to go along, of course, for safety's sake, but she'd been reluctant to give up the adventure of time spent alone with the man.

Something about Falon Harris said she had no need to fear him. All she had to worry about was what she would allow him to do, if he asked. Even just walking through the back of the Rattlesnake ahead of him, she had to fight the urge to put just a little extra sway to her hips. Ridiculous. Last thing she needed was more attention from any man, let alone from a stranger just moving through on his way to something better.

Maybe if she could get Kellen to leave her alone, she might be able to look elsewhere. For the millionth time, she asked herself why she'd done something so stupid. As always, no suitable answer presented itself. She gave herself a little mental shake. No sense thinking that way. The past couldn't be changed, and she would simply have to deal with the consequences of her decisions, both good and bad.

She should say something. Yes. "How long you planning to be here, Mr. Harris?"

He chuckled a little and leaned around her to hold the back door for her. The movement brought him right up close and personal, making Rita very aware of him. "That depends, Miss James." He smiled a little, drawing her attention to the small scar at the edge of his lower lip.

Rita started walking again, partly to gain a little distance from all that overwhelming maleness. "You're here for work then?" Of course he was. No one came to Stags Leap for pleasure.

He fell into step beside her with a half shrug. "Not really. I don't usually stay any one place long enough for work." He shortened his long strides noticeably to accommodate her.

The reply seemed to discourage further questioning, so Rita walked on in silence for a moment. She felt tiny walking next to Falon; he must be well over six feet to make her feel that way at five-foot-nine. Time to say something else and get her mind off his size. That line of thought could lead to dangerous places. "The rent is fifty a week. That includes an extension cord plugged in back there by the door, and use of the water spigot. Propane's on you. Toilet works as long as you keep the outside water tank filled from the hose. You'll have to make do with the shower in the staff restroom inside."

They reached the door to the old camper and Falon checked around the exterior while Rita opened the padlock that secured the door and went inside. She clicked on the antiquated shop light suspended by the door just as Falon came up the rickety metal stairs and ducked through the door. Right away the camper became doll-house sized as he seemed to occupy all the available space.

All that maleness overwhelmed her even more in the confined space. A faint hint of his cologne, something spicy and warm, tantalized her and she caught herself moving a little closer and inhaling a little deeper. Downright pitiful. Anybody would think she'd never had a man, the way that smooth tanned skin showing in the vee of his shirt tempted her fingers to touch.

He cleared his throat a little, drawing her startled gaze upward to catch a half-smile playing across his mouth. "Anything else I should know?" The hint of mischief in his voice sent a little flutter of surprise through her chest.

Heat flushed across her cheeks as she fumbled with the keys for a second then held out the ones for the trailer's locks. "Rent is due in advance. No drugs or other illegal activity, nothing that will disturb my staff or patrons, you pay for anything you damage, and you clean it up when you're ready to leave." Rita fought the impulse to cringe. He knew she'd wanted to touch him, and he'd been amused. At least he hadn't caught her staring at the front of his jeans. The mere thought threatened to drag her gaze downward and she barely avoided the overwhelming urge.

Falon's fingers brushed hers with a warm tingle when he took the keys. "I vow to be a model tenant."

Somehow, the trailer had shrunk again. Falon had come closer without moving, and loomed over Rita. The little glint of heat in those blue eyes said he knew exactly how much her fingers wanted to explore. For just a heartbeat, it seemed he would lean down and kiss her, but then his eyelids lowered in a slow blink and the moment fled.

Rita stamped down the flood of disappointment. Damn, she couldn't take a chance on that sort of entanglement anyway. No matter how nice that tanned skin looked. An awkward need for conversation intervened and she cast about for something meaningful to say. "I'm counting on it. This trailer has always been a safe place for women that needed it. I can't have that reputation compromised." Not really what she'd intended to say, but it had needed to be made clear anyway.

He nodded, suddenly serious. "Understood and noted. I'll be careful." He looked around at the trailer, sharp gaze missing nothing. "I'm going to check everything out and bring my stuff inside if that's okay." The dismissal came through loud and clear.

Rita fought down the little sting of disappointment and stepped back and to the door. "If you need anything after you're settled, you know where to find me. I have an apartment up over the Rattlesnake if you need anything after hours. There's a buzzer by the back door that rings up there too." She maneuvered her way down the narrow steps. "Have a good one." Self-conscious that he might be watching, she made her way back across the lot. Finally, at the back door, she gave in to the urge and glanced back.

Falon stood silhouetted in the door, the narrow slice of light emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist and hips. Ridiculous to look at him like that. He said himself he was just passing through, and she had absolutely no interest in a quick fling. Nothing but trouble lay in that direction. No, she'd best avoid Falon Harris as much as possible, but of course that would be easier said than done. Already, she would fall into bed with him the moment he showed any interest. Her heart didn't need another mortal wound, no matter what her hormones thought of him.

Inside the service area behind the kitchen, she paused for a moment, deep in thought. What would it be like? A decent man, a house in the suburbs, an SUV, a kid or two and carpools and PTAs? She hadn't considered the fairy-tale picket-fence life for a long time. Not since before Jeremy. She forced herself to move. That was a memory lane best left abandoned. Bad enough every glance in the mirror reminded her with the faint white scar across her left cheekbone. Even Craig, the only other man she'd had a long-term relationship with, was too painful to remember, though for other reasons.

Through the fire door and into the kitchen, the band over-powered the sounds of the hoods and fryers, forcing the cook staff to shout orders and updates. Rita paused again. She loved that noise. It meant her business thrived, even though the crappy economic conditions filled every newscast. People would eat out and party whether they could afford it or not. And she just so happened to have the only place in the county where they could do it all. Some of the younger crowd made a habit of stopping in on Friday evenings for a burger and fries, and ended up staying for honkytonk hours.

Past the kitchen, the bar staff kept a steady stream of alcohol flowing. Out on the floor, the patrons had a nice buzz going and the band kept it all nice and chill with a good mix of classic Southern Rock and their own material. Things at the Rattlesnake only rarely got out of hand and when they did, nearly everyone respected her rule to take all fights to the parking lot. Anyone who happened to forget received a prompt warning from the bartender's sawed-off twelve gauge.

Pride brought a tear to her eye. The Rattlesnake had done well since she took it over. Craig might have laughed at her wild plans back when he was alive, but he would be proud of her now. He always said she had a head for the business, and now the proof stood right there in front of her. Four lonely years and she'd made it a resounding success.

"Hey Rita!" The bartender's voice barely carried the twenty feet to Rita through all the noise. When she glanced his way and raised her chin a little, he waved her over. "Sorry to bother you, but there's a guy down there I think needs watching."

Following the bartender's gaze in the mirror behind the bar, she quickly found the patron in question. Taller than average and with bulging muscles built by a great deal of time in the gym, at first glance, the deeply tanned man looked like a nice prize for some lonely lady. Something in the set of his mouth and the stern expression on his brow prompted closer observation. He certainly didn't have the look of a man hunting a piece of tail.

While Rita watched, the man turned toward the tables and glared at a couple in one of the small booths. The pair held hands over the table and talked, appearing lost in their own world. And Muscles continued to stare. Jilted ex? Jealous husband? No matter. Either way, he looked like trouble waiting to happen.

She turned back to the bartender, who had moved to serve a patron at the bar. "Hey Ty, what caught your attention there?"

Barely taller than Rita, Ty gave her his trademark dimpled smile, the one he used to assure female companionship whenever he wanted. "Just the stance at first, all silent and lone-wolf-ish in the middle of the party. A couple of really hot chicks played up to him, clearly on the make, and he shot them down straight off. That just doesn't happen often. Then I noticed he was paying real close attention to that one table." He gave a little half-shrug, one he'd practiced to perfection in order to emphasize his pecs and shoulders in the snug t-shirt. "Figured he needed watching."

"You mention it to Georgie?" Georgia Simmons, a.k.a. Georgie, made up the entire Security staff for the Rattlesnake. Rita had found the former cop at the Merry Max, just over the river in Ohio, passed out drunk in her car while a low-life busily tore at her clothing in the process of robbing her and probably worse. Rita ran the jerk off and got Georgie to a safe spot to sober up, and won a friend for life.

"Not yet, haven't had a chance. I've been slammed all evening. If the guy hadn't stayed in one spot and nursed the same beer, I'd never have even noticed him."

Rita nodded. Beginning of the month was super busy for them. "Okay, thanks for pointing it out. I'll fill her in." With a friendly hand to Ty's shoulder, Rita slid behind him and made her way back through to the kitchen and smacked the nearly invisible button on the wall beside the corded phone.

Tiny red lights would flash in all the various security stations. Wherever Georgie happened to be at the moment, she would spot the signal and make her way to the bar right away. In the meantime, Rita looked over the supply inventory list and started filling out the order for next week.

Georgie finally arrived, green eyes flashing with annoyance. "People are fucking nosey, you know that? I like to never got off the cat-walk. Couple bitches trying to suss out why there's a Supply closet in the hall." She shook her head and impatiently pushed unruly blonde waves back. "What you needed?"

Rita put the supply order back in the folder and tucked it in the wall rack she used for regular paperwork. "Come on." Over at the closed-circuit TV monitor, she switched between views until she found the camera behind the bar. "Right here, this uptight dude. He's watching a couple in a booth, and he's not a happy camper. I figure he's trouble waiting to happen."

Georgie took a close look at the man on the screen. "Never did see that one here before. I'll set him straight."

Rita smiled a little as she watched her friend walk away. People often underestimated Georgie. At five-three, her petite frame could hardly be considered a physical threat. The brain and skills she brought to the game were what ended up hurting people. Some kind of expert at martial arts, she had a real knack for kicking douchebag ass.

A headache started to pound its way up the back of Rita's skull. Time to head upstairs and get some rest so she could get up in a few hours and start the whole thing over again. She took the time to stop and speak to the head cook for a minute. After a quick update, Rita let the woman know she was leaving for the night.

Outside, the cool evening air felt good against the heat at the back of her neck. Even with her hair up, the kitchen always felt like a sauna. She started up the stairs that led up to her apartment, then gave in to temptation and dropped to sit on one about a quarter of the way up.

The music thumped through the wall and made the stairs vibrate. The specter of that fairy-tale picket-fence life reared up in her mind. The woman who lived that life didn't go to sleep every night with her bed shaking to the beat of the music downstairs. For maybe a second, she almost wished she were that other woman living that other life.

But then reality kicked back in. No matter what life her parents raised her to live, this was the one she was stuck with now. She was the one who gave up a full ride to college and married the hot-tempered bad-boy Jeremy. She'd become an expert at covering up bruises and black eyes, and she'd celebrated when he was sent up. And when he got shanked in prison and died? She was glad to be a widow.

The light in the camper went off, bringing Falon Harris to mind. Was he turning in for the night? The little bed in there wouldn't be all that comfortable for a man his height. He'd be cramped, since there was nowhere for his feet to hang off the end of the bed. The image of his big frame sprawled on the short, narrow mattress imposed itself on her thoughts. What did he wear to sleep in? Man like him, it'd be a shame if he wore anything to bed.