Beauty & the Biker (5 page)

“I have time. Weeknights and every weekend. Except this Saturday. I’m attending the Arts and Fiddler Festival with my friends. I could bail, but I’d rather not. It’s tradition with us, not that you’d care.”

Jesus
.

“Other than that, I’m all yours.”

She was a pretty, young woman. A vibrant, sociable spirit. Surely she had better things to do than to swing a hammer and sand wood in her limited leisure hours alongside a moody SOB. Joe pushed off the post and walked down the stairs, bypassing chunks of broken cement. “Considering I’m a monster, aren’t you afraid to be alone with me. Out here.” He indicated the remoteness. “For extended periods?”

Instead of backing away Bella stood her soggy ground. She glanced at Killer who’d followed Joe off the porch—clinging to his leg like a dryer sheet—then met Joe’s gaze. “I’m thinking your bark’s worse than your bite.”

“You’re wrong.”

She sized him up then cocked her head. “That death glare needs some work, Savage. I’m not afraid of you.”

He searched her sweet face, those blue-blue eyes and—good God—he believed her. Yes, she’d blasted him in the heat of her fury. But now that she’d calmed down, she was giving him the benefit of the doubt. Joe couldn’t remember what it felt like to believe the best in people—especially strangers. Especially potentially dangerous strangers. Hell, he wouldn’t trust a one-legged beggar on the corner. Joe’s faith in mankind had crashed long ago. His doubt regarding his own virtue was a more recent development.

He flashed on the fortune cookie email that had directed him to the library.

Rediscover what you’re missing at the Nowhere Public Library
.

He’d assumed they were directing him to check out the self-help, philosophy, or religious section. “They” being some faceless, nameless data analyst.

One night last week, after too many beers and too many hours of dwelling on his own monsters, Joe had surfed the Internet, scanning various restoration and custom airbrushing sites—dream cars, dream bikes. Out of curiosity, he’d clicked on an advertisement regarding “impossible dreams”. The cop in him, the logical part, pegged the company as a scam, but he’d been a little drunk and a lot depressed. He’d applied for the impossible. To vanquish the darkness that had seeped into his soul, hardening his heart, and twisting his perspective. To cleanse his conscience. To turn back time.

He’d actually typed that sentimental crap into the online application.

He’d been D&D.

Drunk and delusional.

On the other hand, he’d been stone sober when he’d received a response. Why he followed through on the email and actually visited the library, he couldn’t say. Boredom. Curiosity.

Desperation
.

Staring into the sky-blue eyes of Princess Rainbow, Joe’s brain fired off another
D
-word. One he refused to consider. Nor did he give sincere credence to that dream site. The fact that Bella worked at the library, the fact that her dad had screwed up last night and she was here now, this was coincidence. She radiated what he craved, yet his impulse was to douse that sunny optimism. The real world ate creampuffs like her every hour.

“Okay.”

Her eyes sparked and she hugged herself as if to contain a fist-pumping victory dance. “Okay, you’ll give back the truck if I help with renovations?”

He nodded. Trusting him, trusting any stranger was a mistake. He’d teach her to be wary and she’d be safer. A good will gesture that would square them regarding that damned welcome basket.
A kindness to atone for my sins,
he told himself even as he tacked on a selfish stipulation. “Also…”

“Name it.”

“I have to attend a special function next week. I need a date.” He’d intended to go stag. Hell, he didn’t want to go at all, but that wasn’t an option. Bella would prove a valuable buffer.

If she agreed.

“Next Saturday,” he clarified. “That’s over a week from now. Plenty of time to clear your calendar. Although you did say your weekends are free, right?”

She blinked up at him and he realized he’d moved so close she had to crane back her neck to meet his gaze. Impressive that she didn’t falter. He could be damned imposing.

“Just to be clear,” she said while narrowing her eyes. “I help you spiff up this place and accompany you to some shindig and you’ll give up all rights to Big Red?”

He nodded.

“I’ll start tomorrow night after work, squeeze in a couple of hours after the festival on Saturday and commit to all day Sunday. After that we’ll play it by ear.” She smiled and offered her hand. “Deal?”

She didn’t ask specifics regarding their “date” or set a time limit on the repairs.
Play it by ear
? He could milk those renovations for months. Shocked and disgusted by the extent her naiveté, Joe pulled her dad’s keys from his pocket and pressed them into Bella’s palm. “Deal.”

Chapter Three

“I think I just bargained with the devil.”

“What?”

Heart thudding, Bella scrambled to clear her senses. She couldn’t recall ever being so angry. First with her dad. Then with Savage. Two confrontations in one morning. A record for Bella. One she never hoped to repeat. “Never mind.” She pressed the phone closer to her ear, steering the mower one handed and giving herself a full body shake.

Focus
.

“I hate bothering you on your day off, Angel, but do you think you could swing by the house at some point and give me a lift. Big Red’s parked in town. Georgie’s having car trouble and Emma and Chrissy are working.”

“Aren’t you?” Angel asked. “Working, I mean? Shouldn’t you already be at the school?”

“There was a situation,” Bella said as the gas reeking mower bumped across the sweet smelling field. “I had to call out.”

“What kind of situation,” Angel asked, sounding worried.

Everyone knew her dad was struggling. However the gambling problem was new, even to Bella. “I’ll explain when I see you.”

“I can be there in an hour.”

Enough time to change out of her ruined clothes. “Great. Thanks. I owe you. Coffee and a Buzz-Bee cinnamon roll?”

“Am I alive and breathing?”

Bella smiled. All the Inseparables had a weakness for Buzz-Bee’s baked goods. Who in Nowhere didn’t? Plus, it’s where her cousin Chrissy worked and right now Bella was anxious to surround herself with friends. “See you in sixty,” she said, then slid her phone back into her messenger bag—also muddy. Her bag, not the phone. “Dang.”

She could only imagine what she’d looked like climbing over that fence in her princess gown only to fumble and fall, smack dab in gooey mud. She would have been mortified if she hadn’t been so peeved. She’d been fired up good and plenty when she faced Savage. So fired up that she hadn’t been seeing straight. Otherwise she was certain she would have disintegrated into a blushing, babbling ninny.

Dark, ripped, and broody had been half-naked.

At first she’d been blinded with fury, but then the red haze had faded around the edges and…
Hello, Grade A Prime
!

Holy smokes
!

Not that he’d been indecent, exactly. He’d been wearing pants. Jeans, to be precise. Faded jeans that rode dangerously low on his narrow hips. And boots. Biker boots. She’d always been a sucker for cowboy boots, but, cripes, yeah, those laced, leather bad boys were hot. The whole package was hot. Especially, the naked part.

Her body revved just thinking about Savage’s shredded torso.

Had the man ever eaten a cinnamon bun in his life? Did he pump iron twelve hours a day, seven days a week? How else did one develop that kind of intense chiseled physique? His shoulders, his chest, his arms… The man was cut. And his abdomen! Six pack?
Pffft
. How about twelve-pack? She was pretty sure his muscles had muscles, not that she was looking that closely. Seriously. You’d have to be blind not to notice the ridiculous, mouth-watering definition of Joe Savage’s body. How was it that Emma hadn’t been all over the guy all ready? Or for that matter, Georgie? He was definitely their type. Angel didn’t have a type and Chrissy would’ve nailed him for the heartbreaker he surely was—avoiding him like the plague.

Bella gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, her innards performing gymnastics as she steered the mower back across the Cartwright’s lavender farm, careful to keep to the narrow trail so as not to crush their crop. She was pretty sure her spastic heartbeat and rolling stomach had little to do with the bumpy ride and everything to do with Savage.

That man mangled her senses. And not in a good way. She’d been so rattled by conflicting emotions—anger and lust ranking highest—she’d forgotten to ask about his brief appearance at the library. The fly-by dis still rankled. His gaze had been concealed by sunglasses. Even so, she’d imagined him rolling his eyes. He’d definitely sneered. At Dr. Seuss! Or maybe he’d been sneering at her performance or the kids’ laughter.
Whatever
. She’d been so certain he was a too-cool-for-his-boots, misanthropic jerk! Then he’d claimed her dad’s truck in a card game and she’d added heartless monster to the mix.

He’d looked pretty menacing today, too. What with his dark, wild hair, stubbled jaw, and shoulders worthy of a trained boxer. But today, aside from being shirtless, he’d also been sans sunglasses. Today, Bella had looked into his eyes—big dark-chocolate eyes that swirled with a myriad of emotions, however fleeting. Savage was cynical, all right. Aloof. Hard. But she’d also caught a glimpse of grief or regret or…something that suggested he was haunted or wounded. Crazy, but she’d swear he needed a hug. Not that he’d appreciate it.

Don’t mess with me.

Buzz off.

No trespassing
.

“What’s your story, Savage?”

She hadn’t expected him to hand over the keys to her dad’s truck so easily. She’d been so relieved she hadn’t blinked at his terms. She should have asked for more details or set some limitations. The further she drove away from Rootin’ Tootin’ Funland, the more she pondered their deal, the more she worried she’d been duped in some way.

He’d asked her straight out if she was scared to be alone with him.

Her answer had been a swift and sure “no.” For all of his tough aura, deep down, maybe deep, deep down and locked away behind iron, beat the heart of a decent man. Maybe not nice, but good. She had no proof, just a sense. Plus, he had a cat—a cat who seemed awfully fond of the man. Animals, for the most part, didn’t cuddle up to abusive owners. Plus, he was related to their previous neighbor Mike, and Mike had been sweetheart. A little off his rocker and a bit of a loser, but salt-of-the-earth decent. Which is why she’d felt it was safe to consent to a date with Savage. How far could the apple fall from a related tree?

Although what if all of Savages dates ended in bed? What if he expected sex? And where was this “special event” anyway? In Nowhere? The next town over? The next state over? Across the flipping ocean? How long would the event last? An hour? A day? A week? Like a bikers convention or something?

Cripes
! Had she unwittingly pulled an Emma? Agreeing to fly off with a man for a casual fling?

Bella’s imagination soared, sending her zooming pulse into overdrive. She told herself she was being ridiculous, told herself to get a grip. She’d seen a lot of things in Savage’s eyes, but raging lust hadn’t been one of them. Not that she’d been at her most attractive. Nope. She’d been, and still was, a sweaty, muddy mess. Not to mention she was wearing a poofy, glittery princess gown.

Unless the man had a costume fetish.

Gah
.

* * *

Bella could count on two things these days.

Pure escapism via a good book and her best friends Georgina Poppins, Emma Sloan, Chrissy Mooney, and Angel Drake (Formerly Barnes. Formerly Kane).

Known as the Inseparables, Bella and the gang had been as thick as mud since grade school. Now they were flirting with thirty, except for Georgie and Angel who’d already celebrated that milestone. Although they didn’t see one another every day, they were still in constant communication. They even had a standing date. Every week—although the exact night varied—they met for dinner at Café Caboose—a nineteenth-century rail car that had been augmented and converted into a popular eatery long before Bella had been born. Buzz-Bees was their next favorite hangout and—although this was an impromptu meeting—Bella reveled in the presence of her friends as she navigated her latest crisis.

“You did what?” Chrissy, the youngest in age and yet the oldest soul among them, gawked at Bella as though she had two heads.

Bella had already dished her tale to Angel and Georgie. The two women had touched base on the phone and were both dying to know what “situation” had caused Bella, who rarely missed work, especially on storytelling days, to call out. So Angel, who owned her own hair salon and therefore kept her own hours, had picked up Georgie before picking up Bella. Now they were sitting at a corner table of Buzz-Bee’s—away from the main bustle—along with Chrissy who’d taken a fifteen minute break from the counter.

“She traded her body for her dad’s truck,” Georgie told Chrissy.

Bella flushed. “That’s not what I said.”

“To that badass biker dude on Funland,” Angel said.