The Wild Ones (2 page)

“Out where?”

He shrugs.  “Eh, some sort of field thing.  You know how country people are.”

I feel my frown, but can’t stop it.  I know Brent doesn’t really mean anything by the comment, but it still bothers me.  Unlike most of my friends, I know what life without money looks like, feels like.  Granted, it was a long time ago, but some things a girl never forgets.

Sexy eyes drift through my mind…

“I want to get that thing running so I can drive you around and show you off.  I mean, drive
it
around and show
it
off.”  He grins at me.  I grin back.  The sad thing is, I think he had it right the first time.

CHAPTER TWO- Trick

Tiny hands tap on the bare skin of my back.  I feel the thump of them echo through my throbbing head. 

“Uuuuuuuugh,” I groan into the pillow.

I hear a giggle.  “You sound like a monster when you do that.”

I groan again, louder this time.  Another giggle.  Grace loves it when I sleep in.  She gets a kick out of waking me up.

“I neeeeed foooood,” I growl in my best monster voice.  Then, as fast as I can manage to move first thing in the morning with a hangover, I turn over and loop my arm around her tiny waist and throw her onto the bed.

I grab her foot and start tickling it relentlessly.  She jerks and wiggles, rolling around on the bed, giggling the whole time.  

“Stop it!  Stop it!  Stop it!  That tickles,” she cries breathlessly.

“You know this is what happens when you wake the sleeping giant.”

“I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to!”

I let her foot go and throw my legs over the side of the bed.  “I’m letting you off easy this time, but only because you remembered the magic word.”

“I’m sorry?” she asks as she sits up and pushes her dark brown bangs out of her eyes. 

“No, that’s two words.  The magic word is hippopotamus.”

She grins.  “I didn’t say hippopotamus, silly.”

“You didn’t?  Well then…”  I lunge at her and she scoots off the bed, squealing all the way out the door.

I sit back down on the bed, my head pounding painfully. 
Not having
a ten year-old sister in the house and
having
a bedroom door that locks were two of the major benefits of college life. 

Don’t go there.  Too little, too late.

Pushing myself off the bed, I head for the bathroom. 

At least
it
has a functioning lock.
 
Thank God!

After a couple splashes of cold water to my face, the night before comes back in a rush.  Amazing near-violet eyes come to mind and, right after that, a blush that makes me hard just thinking about it. 

Cami.  She was gorgeous!

Damn!

Not that it matters.  Girls like that
always
have boyfriends.  Possessive ones who know what they’ve got and are willing to throw down for it.  I certainly would.  She’s the kind of girl you fight to the death for.

Damn.

“Hurry up, slow poke.  Breakfast is almost ready.”

I hear Grace’s little feet scampering away from the door, no doubt thinking I might come charging out after her.  I smile into the mirror above the sink.  Even though she can annoy the daylights out of me, I still love her.  Hell, I practically raised her.  I’m the only man in her life, the only father figure she’s ever really had. 

My thoughts turn bitter and angry, so I splash a little more cold water on my face before I head for the kitchen.  Big, homemade breakfasts are one of the benefits of
not
being at college. 

“Mornin’, hon,” Mom says with a bright smile. 

“Mornin’,” I return, sitting in front of the place she has set for me, the place that used to be my father’s.  “I told you, you don’t have to do this, Mom.  I can make myself breakfast.”

“Not like this, you can’t.”

I grin.  “Good point.”

Her smile fades as she sits down with her own plate.  She looks at me from the corner of her eye.  “You out drinking again last night?”

I sigh.  “Yeah.  Why?”

“I’m not fussin’.  It just seems like you’ve been doing an awful lot of that since you had to come home.”

“Mom, I didn’t have to come home.  I
chose
to come home.”

We both glance at Grace, who is pretending not to pay us any attention.

“I know it’s not what you wanted and I feel—”

“Well, don’t.  Don’t feel that way.  I
wanted
to do it, Mom.  You and Grace are all I’ve got.  It just makes sense.”

Her smile returns.  “I knew all along you’d grow up to be this kind of man.  I’m so proud of you, Patrick.  I just wish…”

“Mom, college isn’t going anywhere.  I can finish up later.  Right now, this is more important.”

Her smile turns sad and she nods.  I know she feels guilty, like she ruined my life by telling me the insurance money had run out.  For the first part of the last year, I felt that way, too.  But I meant what I said; she and Grace are the only family I’ve got.  If I don’t take care of them, who will?

“Just promise me if it all gets to be too much, you’ll say something. I don’t want to see you drink yourself—”

“Mom!” I interrupt sternly.  I soften it with a grin.  “I’m fine.  Really. It’s just some fun with the boys. No big deal.  There’s nothing else to do around here, remember?”

She shrugs one shoulder and shoots my line back to me.  “Good point.”

CHAPTER THREE- Cami

The smell of bacon pulls me out of my dream with both hands.  My first thought? 
Where am I? 
Once I realize the canopy above me was mine from childhood, my second thought comes in. 
Drogheda’s making me breakfast.

I smile.  One of the best things about spending the summer at home is Drogheda, the housekeeper and my oldest confidante, and her wonderful cooking.

As I lie in bed, enjoying the familiar smells, my third thought rushes in, disturbing the peace of the morning.  It comes in a vision—two twinkling greenish-gray eyes and a sexy grin. 

Trick.

I should
not
be thinking about him.  Still.  But somehow that boy got under my skin.  Big time.

Pick ‘treat.’  Please, for the love of God, pick ‘treat.
’

Just remembering those words makes my stomach do a flip.  What is it about him?

I hear a loud
clank
come from the kitchen.  I smile.  Whenever I sleep longer than what I should, Drogheda “accidentally” drops things in the kitchen.  A lot.  And very loudly.  Eventually it wakes me up and I go down for breakfast.  She’s devious like that.

Throwing back the covers, I stretch before tiptoeing across the room to quietly open the door.  Ever since I was ten years old, Drogheda and I have played a game of cat and mouse the first day I’m back from school, before she gets used to me being home for the summer.  I make a point to pop up unexpectedly and scare her at some point during that first day. 

We did it all the way through grade school and prep school, and we’ve done it since I’ve been in college.  It’s one of those traditions that, no matter how childish it is, I’ll always continue.  And I’ll always treasure. 

This morning, I’m getting started early.  I creep in through the back entrance of the kitchen, making my way silently through the butler’s pantry.  I peek around the corner and see Drogheda standing at the stove, her back to me.  She’s humming softly as she so often does when she cooks.  She has a spatula in one hand, flipping pancakes.

I wait until she flips the last of the four and moves to set her spatula aside before I pounce.  In three long strides, I wrap my arms around her.

“Drogheda!” I cry, squeezing her tightly and kissing her rounded caramel cheek.

Drogheda screeches and reaches around to smack my butt with her palm.  She lets out a string of words in her native language before she says something in her thick accent that I can understand.  “
Chica
, you scare an old woman half to death!”

“Oh, you love it and you know it.”  I reach around her and take a piece of bacon that’s draining on a paper towel.  “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Drogheda turns to me, one hand holding the spatula and the other on her hip.  “Of course I’m happy to see you.  The house is so empty without my
picaro,
my
poco diabla.”

I stop chewing, pointing my half eaten strip of bacon at Drogheda.  “My Spanish is a little rusty, but didn’t you just call me a little devil?”

“Me?”  Drogheda asks, feigning innocence.  “No,
chica
.  You must’ve misunderstood.  Why, I would never call such a sweet, innocent child a name like that.”

I snort.  She snatches the bacon from my fingers and pops it in her mouth then points her spatula at me. 

“Ladies don’t snort.”

I grin.  “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, you go sit down.  Breakfast is almost ready.”

As she always has, Drogheda fixes herself a cup of coffee and sits with me while I eat.

“So, tell me about your plans for the summer,” Drogheda urges.

“You mean besides attending every party within a hundred mile radius and working on my tan?”

She swats at me.  “Oh no! 
Mi Camille
isn’t going to grow up to be one of those useless rich women.  Tell me what you’re
really
going to do.”

I smile.  Drogheda knows me well.

“Actually, I’d like to learn a little more about the business.  I mean, I’ve always loved horses and somebody’s gonna have to take over once Daddy gets too old to oversee it all.”

“Ha,” Drogheda laughs.  “Your
papi
will never be too old.  You will have to prove to him that you can be his
partner
first.  And then, maybe one day…”

“That’s some awfully sage advice from a pretty young thing like you, Drogheda.  When did you get so smart?”  At fifty-two, while she certainly isn’t young, Drogheda definitely doesn’t look her age.  Her rich golden skin is still smooth and soft.

“What about that boy?  Do you still see him?”

I smile.  “Drogheda, his name is Brent, which you know. You are so ornery!”

She curls up her lip.  “I don’t care.  I don’t trust that boy.  He is after something.”

I grin devilishly.  “I can tell you exactly what he’s after.”

Drogheda’s face gets all stern and she points a finger at me.  “Don’t you dare let him spoil you,
chica!
  He’s not worth it.  Save that for someone who loves you.”

It’s my turn to roll my eyes.  “I know, I know.  I’ve had the lecture a thousand times, Drogheda.  You
do
realize that I can’t stay a virgin forever, right?”

She’d kill me if she knew it was a moot point.

“I’m not saying stay a virgin forever. I’m saying wait.  Just wait.”

“For what?”

“Not for what, for
who.”

“But I told you.  Brent loves me.”

“No, he doesn’t.  Not like he should. He loves your beautiful face and your young body and your father’s company.”

“What else is there?”

“One day, someone will love you with or without all those things.  You just have to find him.  You’ll know when the time is right,
mi Camille,
when
the boy
is right.  And trust an old woman,
that
boy
is not the right one.”

CHAPTER FOUR- Trick

I move out from underneath the hood of the Hemi ‘Cuda and reach for a bottle of water.

“Damn, it’s hot under there!”

“Six months at the new job and already you’re a pansy,” Jeff ribs good-naturedly.

“Pansy, my ass!  Stables are just a lot bigger and cooler than this rinky dink garage.”

“I guess the next time you need to work on your Mustang, you’ll just have to find a fancy garage to work in, then, won’t you?”

“Who are you kidding?  That car is cherry, man!  She doesn’t need any more work.”

“It
looks
cherry, but I happen to know the guy that restored it.  Freakin’ pansy.  Hell, that thing could fall apart on the road somewhere in BFE.”

“Not gonna happen.  I hear he’s brilliant.”

“A brilliant pansy?”

“Yep.”

“And humble, too.  Or so I hear.”

“Seriously, Rusty,” I begin. I’ve called my best friend, Jeff Catron, “Rusty” ever since his freckles started coming in around the third grade.  Even though he’d long since outgrown them, the nickname stuck.  “I just don’t know if a fuel injection system is gonna work with this model.  I don’t think it’s gonna fit, bro.”