Make Mine a Bad Boy (3 page)

Although not as concerned as Colt.

Slate carefully laid Hope down as Jenna soaked a napkin in water and ran it over her face. The rest of the town moved in to huddle around her, and it took a few well-placed elbows for Colt to make his way to the front of the pack.

“She ain’t dead, is she?” Kenny tipped his black cowboy hat up on his forehead and leaned closer as the knot in Colt’s stomach tightened.

“Of course, she ain’t dead,” Rachel Dean said, although her man-sized hands were clutched to her chest in a very unconvincing way.

With her purple gown spread out around her and the bouquet resting on her chest, Hope looked like a fairytale princess. Not the one who slept, but the one who had been poisoned. Miles of rich dark hair framed a deathly white face. A face as familiar to Colt as his own, from her high forehead to the stubborn chin—a chin that now had a nasty-looking red knot.

What the hell was the matter with these country bumpkins anyway? Someone should be calling 911 or running to fetch Doc Mathers, not standing around like a bunch of hicks straight off the farm. But before Colt could voice his thoughts, Slate leaned over her, presenting a picture all too familiar.

Now the fairytale was complete. Slate and Hope. Star quarterback and homecoming queen. Colt waited for the prince of Bramble to kiss the princess awake, but instead Slate tapped her cheek in a way that didn’t look all that princely.

“Come on now, wake up, Hog.”

The nickname sent a stab of anger through Colt. But it was nothing compared to what he felt when those long, dark lashes fluttered open, and a dreamy smile slid across those rosy lips.

“Slate,” Hope breathed with what could only be described as awed relief.

Slate grinned down at her. “What? Did Hollywood
turn you into a citified wimp? You used to take a punch a lot better than that, Hog.”

Just that quickly, her smile slipped, and her gaze shot around the room until it hit Colt square in the gut. Those baby blues narrowed, and in one fluid motion, she swung her legs over the edge of the table and hopped down onto her scuffed brown cowboy boots.

“You hit me!” Hope yelled in a voice that made his head ache. She swung at him, but he caught her wrist, the bouquet of heavy-assed flowers cracking into his forearm with a painful thud.

Her other fist flew at the opposite side of his face, and he grabbed it too. With no hands left, her little cowboy boots started in, attacking his shins with a vengeance. It hurt like hell, but he wasn’t about to let go of her hands, not in a room filled with heavy ceramic pigs. Of course, he didn’t think about her knees until one came way too close for comfort.

Colt turned to the side to avoid having his voice changed three octaves and tried to figure out some way to contain the wildcat. Luckily, Hope’s daddy, Burl, stepped up and placed a beefy arm around her waist, gently pulling her away.

“Settle down there, little girl, your mama’s worried you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Hurt herself? Colt was the one with a multitude of bruises. Not that anyone seemed to care. All eyes were on Hope, who still ranted and raved like a lunatic.

“You lowdown son of a snake! You smelly piece of Texas roadkill! You disreputable good-for-nothing motorcycle bum!”

It wasn’t anything that he hadn’t heard coming out of
Hope’s mouth before, so he settled in and waited for her to run out of steam. He knew from experience that it could take awhile. But the rant was cut short when his baby sister pushed her way through the crowd.

“What in the world is going on here?” Shirlene sashayed over to Hope in her high heels and pretty gold dress. Next to Hope, she looked like an Amazon, a golden-haired Amazon with laughing green eyes. It had been only six months since he and Shirlene had met in Odessa to visit with their mama. Still, it looked as if his baby sister had grown even more beautiful since then.

As Shirlene set down the plastic cup of what looked like straight tequila, her gaze drifted down to the bouquet that dangled from Hope’s arm. “Okay, so I see you caught the bouquet, but is that any reason to throw a temper tantrum? I mean, it’s not like you’re going to become Twyla.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean, Shirlene Dalton?” Twyla huffed.

Shirlene lifted an eyebrow at the woman in the too-tight dress and piles of makeup. “Do I need to explain it, honey?” She turned back to Hope. “But it’s only a bouquet, Hog. It’s not like anyone’s forcing you to get married.”

“She ain’t mad about the bouquet, Shirlene,” Rachel Dean enlightened her. “She’s mad because Colt knocked her out.”

“Colt?” Shirlene turned and her gaze snagged him. “Colt!” In two steps, she was in his arms, and he had to say that it was nice to finally receive a warm welcome. “What are you doing here, honey?” she asked. She pulled back, all smiles, until her gaze settled on his lip. Then her face looked like a mama tiger that had just discovered her cub abused. “Who hit you?”

He tested his lip with his tongue and, tasting blood, used the back of his hand to wipe it off. “It’s not a big deal. I made a mistake, is all.”
More like numerous mistakes. The biggest was coming back to Bramble in the first place,
Colt thought.

“What kind of mistake?” Shirlene’s eyes clouded with confusion. Colt knew exactly how she felt. He still wasn’t quite sure what he had walked into.

“I think I can explain.” Harley Sutter stepped up.

Harley was the mayor/judge/lawyer of Bramble, and as such, he had always taken it upon himself to be the town mouthpiece, a long-winded mouthpiece who could talk for days. Which was why Colt leaned back against the edge of the table and crossed his arms.

“It appears to me that this is a simple case of mistaken identity. Colt here—” Harley paused and gave Colt the disapproving look he’d always given him. “I thought you were in prison, son.”

Colt tossed back his signature go-to-hell look. “I got out on good behavior.”

Harley’s eyes narrowed suspiciously before he rested his hands on a stomach that had seen too many nights of chicken-fried steak from Josephine’s Diner and then continued. “Not being as perceptive as the rest of the town, Colt assumed that Faith was Hope.” His gaze moved around the room. “Where is our little Faith, anyway?”

“Right here.” The woman Colt had kissed stepped forward, and his eyes widened.

During the hoopla of the last few minutes, he’d convinced himself that, between lack of sleep and the hard ride, his mind had played a trick on him. But his mind hadn’t tricked him at all. The blushing woman who stared
back at him with innocent blue eyes looked identical to Hope—identical except for the short, honey-streaked brown hair that curled around her face.

“So you’re Shirlene’s brother,” Faith said, without any twang whatsoever.

“Faith, this is my ornery brother, Colt Lomax,” Shirlene made the introductions. “Colt, this is Faith Aldri—I mean, Faith Calhoun.”

His gaze shot over to Hope, and their eyes locked for a brief second before she looked away. But a brief second was all he needed to read the turbulent emotions that swirled around in the endless blue eyes.

“It’s nice to meet you, Colt,” Faith said.

Since Colt had done a little more than meet her, he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and stumbled through his mind for a way to apologize for cramming his tongue down her throat. “Nice to meet you, ma’am. And I’m real sorry about the confusion and all.”

A tentative smile tipped the corners of her mouth, and she took a few steps closer. She looked so much like Hope that if he hadn’t already been leaning against the table, he might’ve taken a few steps back.

“Apology accepted,” she said in a voice so soft that he could barely hear her.

Colt cocked an eyebrow. She might look like Hope, but she sure didn’t act like her. Hope had never accepted an apology from him in her life. Not that he’d ever given her one.

Those pretty eyes scrunched up. “Did you realize you’re bleeding?” Before he could do more than nod, Faith jerked a couple napkins off a nearby table and dunked them in a cup. “I wish I had my disinfectant wipes, but this will have to do.”

The first touch of the soaked napkins on his cut lip almost sent him straight through the ceiling tiles.

“Lord, woman!” He held a hand to his burning lip. “What the hell is on that?”

Her blue eyes widened before she glanced down at the napkin. “Water?”

“I think that would be Rachel Dean’s Everclear, Faith,” Slate said as he took the napkins from her hand. “But don’t you worry, darlin’, 150-proof liquor works just like your disinfectant wipes,” his humor-filled eyes tracked over to Colt’s, “just with a little more sting.”

Faith shook her head, and the curls danced. “I’m so sorry… I thought—”

“Is someone going to tell me who hit my brother?” Shirlene cut in.

“I did,” Slate stated.

Shirlene’s eyes narrowed on him. But before she could let him have it, Rachel Dean jumped in.

“Only because he was kissin’ Faith.”

“More like devouring,” Twyla added. “I got all hot and bothered just watchin’. ’Course after years in prison, a man must be pretty starved for female attention.”

Something that sounded an awful lot like a growl came through Slate’s teeth, and Colt braced himself for another go around. Although at this point, he would welcome a good fight. But his sister held up her hand before Slate could threw the next punch.

“So let me get this straight. Colt mistook Faith for Hope and laid one on her?” Shirlene asked. Without waiting for a reply, she started laughing like a crazy woman.

Always willing to laugh at a good joke, the town joined in. And, as annoyed as Colt was with the entire
prison comment, he had to smile. The only person not laughing was Hope, whose eyes had turned as cold and icy as a North Dakota fishing pond in the dead of winter. And all that frigid hate was directed solely at him before she whirled and stomped off.

As usual, once Hope was gone, the townspeople didn’t quite know what to do with themselves. Women looked at each other while men stuffed their hands in their pockets and studied the tiled floor. More than a few uncomfortable minutes passed before Harley took the bull by the horns.

“Well, what are we all standin’ around for?” He nodded at Bud Mueller, who had always played a mean fiddle, and Bud hurried off, followed by the other band members. “Are we gonna let a little fight stop us from celebratin’ Faith and Slate’s weddin’?”

A chorus of
hell no
s rose up, and just that quickly, people dispersed, leaving Colt alone with his sister.

“Lord.” Shirlene shook her head as she retrieved her cup and sat down at the table. “I leave for two seconds and miss all the good stuff.”

“Believe me, it wasn’t all that exciting.” He sat down and grabbed a napkin and held it to his mouth.

“I guess after spending the last few years in prison, Bramble must seem awfully dull.” Shirlene shot him a quirky little grin before she offered him her cup. When he shook his head, she pulled it back and took a deep drink. “I bet folks would be surprised to know you’re such a teetotaler. Of course, folks would be surprised by a lot of things.”

He sent her a warning look. “Things I’d just as soon you kept to yourself.”

She ran a finger across her lips. “Sealed as tight as a drum.”

Colt didn’t need the reassurance. Shirlene could keep a secret. Which was a good thing, given their childhood.

Cradling the cup between her hands, she rested her elbows on the table. “So what brings you back to Bramble, big brother?”

“I missed my little sister.”

She snorted. “I’d believe you, if it hadn’t been eight years since you’ve been back.”

“You got me.” Colt winked at her before stretching the truth a little. “I’m on my way to Austin to deliver a bike and needed a bed for the night.” Even though she was good at keeping secrets, there were still some things that she didn’t need to know.

She sat up, splashing tequila on the gold satin of her dress. “One night? You’re only staying one night?”

He hadn’t even planned on staying that long. In fact, he hadn’t planned on coming at all. One second, he was talking about a bike delivery, and the next thing he knew, he was passing by the
WELCOME TO BRAMBLE
sign on the same bike that should’ve been heading for Austin in a covered trailer.

“Hope is right,” Shirlene huffed as she set down the cup and flopped back in the chair. “You are a lowdown motorcycle bum, Colt Lomax. The least you could do is stay a couple nights and keep your sister company.”

“Lyle working a lot?”

“Too much.”

Colt scowled. As much as he liked Shirlene’s husband, the twenty-five-year age difference was still hard for him to swallow, especially when his sister didn’t look all that
happy. Of course, he could help with that. All he needed to do was stick around for a few days. Unfortunately, Colt had his own demons to deal with, and most of them resided right there in Bramble.

“I’ll tell you what.” He leaned his arms on the table. “How about if you come to Austin with me for a few days?”

“On the back of your chopper?”

He lifted one eyebrow. “I was thinking more of you meeting me there.”