Make Mine a Bad Boy (7 page)

“Oh, no.” She waggled a finger beneath his nose. “You’re not eating breakfast here. You’re finding your motorcycle and leaving, A-S-A-P.”

“And just how do you expect me to find it when I don’t know where the hell Sheriff Winslow put it?”

She thought for a moment before her eyes lit up. “Kenny drove it off.”

“Kenny Gene got on my chopper!”

Since he had never been much of a yeller, Hope blinked. “How else do you think they were going to get it out of the middle of the street?”

He hadn’t thought about that. He’d been too pissed off to do more than fantasize about getting his hands around his sister’s neck. And Hope’s. Agitated, he ran a hand through his hair, but he should’ve known better than to show any weakness around his arch nemesis.

“Aww, does the big, bad biker not like to share his toys?”

Damn straight, he didn’t like to share his toys. Especially with some hick who didn’t know the time and effort put into one of his bikes. But he wasn’t about to let Hope know how pissed he was.

“So you think Kenny has it?”

“Probably.” She started walking again. “Unless he wrapped it around a telephone pole.” She shot a sly glance over her shoulder. “He was pretty drunk last night.”

“Funny.”

“I thought so.” She grinned, showing off her crooked incisor. Besides her disposition, it was her only flaw. But Colt had never viewed it as such. For some reason, he found it endearing and extremely sexy.

“So are you going to give me a lift out to Kenny’s?” he asked, in an attempt to get his rebellious mind on other things.

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not if you want me gone, you don’t.”

“Fine.”

It was the first time Hope had ever conceded anything to him, and his enjoyment of the day increased tenfold—even if the concession had to do with getting rid of him.

And as they walked together down the uneven sidewalk, Colt took the time to look around.

Bramble had changed little over the years. There was the pharmacy, where he’d swiped more than his fair share of Fireballs and Bazooka bubble gum. The Duds N Such, where he drooled over a pair of lizard cowboy boots. And Josephine’s Diner, where he worked every night after leaving Jones’ Garage. But what
had
changed was his
feeling about the town. What had once seemed as suffocating as a wet wool blanket now felt, if not welcoming, at least familiar.

“I guess they still have the Parade of Queens,” he said as they walked along.

“According to Mama, every year.”

“Minus the most popular homecoming queen.”

Hope glanced over at him. “If you are referring to me, then yes. Although I hear my sister filled in for me this year.”

He expected to see a thundercloud settle over her features. Instead, she laughed. It had been a while since he’d heard the deep, husky sound or felt the warmth it caused deep down in his belly.

“I have to say that’s one thing I’ll gladly give her,” she said.

“Not the hog-calling trophies?”

“Are you kidding? I don’t share my trophies with anyone,” she mimicked his earlier response to Kenny riding his bike.

“I don’t think hog-calling trophies are in the same league with eighty-thousand-dollar motorcycles.”

She halted in mid-strut and stared up at him with eyes the same color as the sky above them. “Do you mean to tell me that motorcycle cost you close to a hundred thousand dollars?”

“It’s worth that, and then some.”

“Have you lost your mind, Colt Lomax?”

He grinned down at her and shrugged. “Some people think so.”

“Hey, Hope!”

Startled, they turned and looked down the street.
Kenny Gene stood out in the parking lot of Josephine’s Diner, a parking lot filled to the brim with dust-covered trucks and dinged-up American-made cars.

“Oh, hell,” Hope grumbled under her breath, but it only took a second for her to recover and wave and smile like the true homecoming queen she was. “Hey, Kenny Gene! We was just talkin’ about yew.” She spread the Texas twang on thick as peanut butter. “You wouldn’t know where Colt’s motorcycle is, would yew?”

“Shore do!” he yelled back.

“And just where would that be, Kenny?” Colt asked.

“Well, hey, Colt! I didn’t see you standin’ there.”

It wasn’t surprising. Colt had always been invisible to the people of Bramble, especially when standing next to the town sweetheart.

“So where is it?” Hope asked.

“Where’s what?”

Damn, Colt had forgotten how annoying the folks of Bramble could be.

“So where is my motorcycle, Kenny?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you that. Shirlene would have my hide.” His eyes narrowed. “Hey, ain’t you supposed to be in the town jail?”

“I’m going to kill him,” Hope said through her teeth.

“Only if you beat me to it.” Colt stepped off the curb with every intention of grabbing Kenny up by his stiff western shirt and shaking the information out of him. Unfortunately, before he could, the mayor came out of Josephine’s.

“Hope, honey, what in the world are you doing, standin’ over there?” Harley waved his hand. “Come on over here and let me buy you some breakfast. At a time like this, we need to keep you well fed.”

Confused, Colt looked over at Hope, but she didn’t even spare him a glance as the bright fake smile slid back in place.

“Actually, Uncle Harley, Mama and Daddy are waitin’ breakfast. So I need to get.” As she backpedaled down the sidewalk, she spoke to Colt out of the side of her mouth. “Just keep walking, and when you get to the corner, run like hell.”

Most people wouldn’t understand her crazy talk. But after growing up in the town, Colt understood perfectly. One Bramble citizen was easily dealt with—two, almost impossible. Unfortunately, before he could follow her instructions, a brand-new black Lincoln Navigator came barreling down the street and zipped into the parking lot. The dust hadn’t even settled before the door opened and a pair of bright turquoise stilettos slipped out.

“Well, good mornin’, big brother.” Shirlene strutted across the street in a tight pair of jeans, a huge concho belt, and a white blouse unbuttoned low enough to show off the hundred pounds of silver and turquoise wrapped around her neck. “I see you made it out of jail all right.”

“No thanks to you.” Colt crossed his arms and shot her an annoyed look.

“Now, honey.” Shirlene batted those green eyes at him. “You aren’t mad at me for forcing you to keep your promise, are you?”

He probably should be mad. The woman was too arrogant and controlling for her own good. But she had a point. He had promised to stay the night. And she was his baby sister, who he’d always had a soft spot for.

“Besides,” she continued. “I knew you could get out anytime you wanted. In fact, what took you so long? I was
hoping we could watch—” Those green eyes flickered over his shoulder and widened, but only for a split second. “Well, now, what do we have here?”

He glanced back to see Hope standing a few feet away, frozen in her spot. She looked all mussed and cute in her saggy pajama bottoms, her big eyes a little fearful at being caught by someone who knew how to put two and two together. For some reason, her fear prompted the need to rein in his sister.

“Quit being a brat, Shirlene, and tell me where you stashed my motorcycle.”

Her gaze flickered back to him. “A brat? All I’m trying to figure out is why the Sweetheart of Bramble is wandering around in her pajamas with an escaped convict.”

Colt really wanted to give his sister a good sock in the arm for bringing Harley’s attention to the situation.

“What are you doin’ with our little Hope?” Harley asked, not looking at all happy about the situation.

“Doing?” Hope finally entered the conversation, her voice sounding three pitches too high. “Nothing. We aren’t doing a thing… I was just taking a walk and ran into him.”

Shirlene tipped her head and smiled. “Sleepwalkin’, were you, honey?”

With her hair all tangled and wild around her face, Hope did look like she just rolled out of bed. And she pretty much had—his bed. The thought brought a flash of heat to his crotch and, not wanting to embarrass himself, he tried to get his mind back on track.

“It doesn’t matter what Hope is doing. Where’s my bike?”

Shirlene flapped a hand, the morning sun refracting
off her huge diamonds. “Would you stop worrying about that bike? You’ll get it back all safe and sound in a few days.”

“A few days!” Both he and Hope spoke in unison.

As if on cue, Sheriff Winslow pulled up in his squad car and rolled down the window.

“You put the cell keys back, Shirlene?” When she only flashed her dimples, he turned to Colt. “Colt, I shore hope you ain’t plannin’ on causin’ any more trouble. I’d hate to have to lock you up again.”

“I sure hope so too, Sam.” Shirlene threw Colt a sly look. “It breaks my heart to see my big brother behind bars. And I give you my word that I’ll keep an eye on him. In fact, we were just headed over to Josephine’s to have us a nice, hearty breakfast.” She waltzed over to Hope and hooked an arm through hers. Hope put up a good fight, but in the end Colt’s ornery baby sister prevailed and tugged her across the street.

Colt remained on the sidewalk with his arms crossed over his chest, debating whether or not he wanted to follow his sister or tell her and the entire town of Bramble to take a hike. But the truth was, with the bike delivery deadline a week out, he didn’t have anywhere that he needed to be.

Still, he hadn’t completely made up his mind until Hope shot him a wicked glare over her shoulder. A glare that grew even more poisonous when he couldn’t help but grin. She turned back around, and he watched the wiggle of her butt beneath the thin cotton.

What were a few days?

Especially when it annoyed the hell out of the homecoming queen.

T
HERE HADN’T BEEN
anyone murdered in Bramble, Texas, since 1892, when the sheriff shot William Cates for attacking the mayor, after the mayor refused to pay him for the dedication plaque he’d made for the town hall.

But Hope was about to change that.

As she sat at the counter, awaiting a breakfast she hadn’t ordered and didn’t want, she eyeballed the knife Harley was using to spread the mound of whipped butter over his pancakes and calculated how long it would take to grab the knife, ram it through Shirlene’s conniving heart, and get out the door before Sheriff Winslow could clear his gun from beneath the edge of the counter.

Of course, it didn’t matter how quickly he cleared it. He didn’t keep any bullets in it anyway. “Safety first” was the town motto. And people knew from experience that Sam wasn’t someone who could carry a loaded weapon safely.

Still, the sheriff wouldn’t need a gun to stop her. Especially when her truck sat at her parents’ house. By the time she said good-bye to her sisters and brother, her
mama made her bologna sandwiches for the trip, and her daddy checked the oil and the other fluids in the engine, the lynch mob would be in the front yard, amid her mother’s whirling lawn ornaments.

So her murder plans would have to wait.

“… so I said to Mary Jean, you should be thankin’ your lucky stars that Melvin ran off with your manicurist,” Rachel Dean continued her nonstop chatter as she poured Shirlene a cup of coffee, coffee that smelled as good as it looked. “After two husbands, I can tell you men ain’t all that.”

Hope flipped her cup over and set it in the saucer.

“Maybe you just haven’t had the right man,” Colt spoke up for the first time since entering the diner. Not that it was easy to get a word in edgewise with the folks of Bramble. Especially Rachel Dean.

Rachel turned to Colt and studied him as if just realizing he sat there. A smile creased her weathered face, and she moved past Hope’s empty cup, right on over to his.

“Well, it looks like you got yourself a golden tongue while you was in prison, Colt Lomax.” She sent him a saucy wink as she poured his coffee. “And I can’t say as I don’t prefer it to that chip you carried around on your shoulder as a kid.”

Since Colt had never taken criticism well, Hope waited for him to take offense. Instead, he gave Rachel a sexy, gray-eyed wink of his own before he took a sip of coffee and closed his eyes in euphoric satisfaction.

Annoyed that she wasn’t experiencing the same enjoyment, Hope tapped a finger on the rim of her cup. But Rachel couldn’t seem to take her eyes off Colt. Not that she could blame the woman, or any of the other women
in the diner, who had lost interest in her food to stare at the man who exuded a raw, masculine sex appeal in his travel-worn clothes and dark scruffy stubble.

Like a regular at a local bar, Colt straddled the red vinyl stool, his knees almost touching the counter where his bare forearms rested. Tattoos snaked up the arm furthest from her, while the one closest boasted nothing more than hard, tanned muscle, covered in a sprinkling of silky black hair. The muscles led to a thick wrist and a hand scarred and calloused from tinkering with machines.

Hope watched as his hand lifted the white porcelain mug to his firm, unsmiling lips. But before he took a sip, the cup halted. She glanced up and found him watching her, his eyes bemused. Not wanting to appear guilty, she stared back. They gazed at one another for a few moments until his eyes lowered to her chest. His brows knotted.