Unruly (16 page)

My car was my sanctuary when I needed to sing loudly, but even after my afternoon of music and my current loud and unrestrained singing, it wasn't curing what ailed me tonight. When even singing wasn't curing my foul temper, I knew it was the sort of day best forgotten.

Then I heard the
ka-thunk
.

“No, no, no!” I jabbed the button to turn off the radio, but I didn't actually need to hear more to know what it was. My car tugged to the left, and the feel of the road under my wheels was wrong. I had a flat, and it wasn't just a slow leak either. That was a sudden jolt, which meant the tire blew . . . which meant that I had to pull over.

I killed the engine after I pulled as far off the road as I could get without ending up in a ditch. At least the shoulder wasn't terribly narrow. On the other hand, there was exactly no light out here. I kept my driving lights on so if anyone did come down the road they wouldn't rear-end me.

The
swish screech
of my wipers was louder now that the music had stopped. My tire was blown. My blades were bad. My bad day just kept getting worse. I took a breath and hoped things were as bad as they were going to get. I snatched up my phone and looked at it. No bars.

“Really?
Really?”
I pounded the steering wheel a couple of times. There were a dozen things I'd rather be doing at midnight on a Monday. Even sorting laundry sounded a whole lot better. I leaned into the backseat and waved my phone around again on the slim chance that there might be a magic spot where I had reception. There wasn't.

No signal. No lights. No one in the passenger seat to lend a hand.

I debated walking; I was only a few miles from town. I debated trying to wait out the rain; it had to stop sooner or later. I had no idea when, though; I wasn't exactly a weather watcher. Neither walking nor waiting seemed wise. Traipsing along an unlit back road in the rain put me in danger of getting hit or picked up by someone dangerous, and staying in my car would mean sleeping here with only a locked door for protection. I had my gun with me, but that wasn't something I was eager to use if there was a better option.

Both of my potential plans so far meant I was risking ending up in a bad situation. I didn't think people were inherently dodgy, but that didn't mean I was going to go looking for trouble either. Sleeping in a car alongside the road was only marginally better than walking along the road . . . which meant I needed to woman up and change the flat tire so I had another option. That was the smartest and fastest solution. It just meant that I was going to be cold and filthy too.

“This just keeps getting better,” I whined. Maybe it was stupid, but I didn't want to ruin my best outfit. I'd worn it to the interview to highlight my skills as a designer. Destroying it while changing a flat
after
the disastrous interview was too much to bear.

Lightning illuminated the sky, providing a flash of brightness that made quite clear that the road was getting nearly impassable. I needed to change the flat and do it soon.

“Lousy day just gets lousier by the damn minute,” I muttered as I glanced in the backseat hoping to find something a little less nice to wear for wrestling the spare out of the trunk and sloshing around in the mud and rain. At least I had a pair of old boots there. If I had to sacrifice my new shoes . . . well, let's just say that I'd be more likely to go barefoot and hope there weren't any broken bottles.

“From awful to fucking ridiculous.” I pulled off my shoes and shoved my feet in the worn-out combat boots. If I hadn't cleaned my car, this wouldn't have happened. I usually had several outfits in the car. Clothes were a passion. I designed them, sewed them, and I'd hoped to be getting an internship writing about them.

Now I was looking at having to sacrifice my new favorite blouse to mud. I'd hand-stitched it and I'd be damned if I was going to let it get destroyed today on top of the rest of the day's disaster. I looked outside again. Not a single car had passed in the fifteen minutes I'd been sitting here. Mud, rain, and darkness were all I could see. I should've stayed in Memphis tonight and taken another turn on the stage. I'd only gone onstage to sing again a couple of times so far, but it was like that first cookie after a long diet: I wanted more.

Maybe tonight's fiasco was God's way of reminding me that I wasn't doing what I was supposed to be doing. Now that Echo had pointed it out, now that I realized that I might be able to look after Mama if I let go of my reasons for refusing to take the stage, I felt like there was a compulsion to just do so. I felt guilty, though, for not realizing it till now, so I'd opted to drive back home rather than tell Mama I wanted to stay in Memphis and sing. The result appeared to be that I was stranded in a downpour with a flat tire.

With another sigh no one was around to hear, I unbuttoned my blouse, set it aside, and debated. I was already down to a skirt, gray stockings, black calf-high boots, and a bright blue pantie and bra set. I shucked the skirt.

Aside from the boots and stockings, it was a lot like stepping into the rain in my swimsuit. The combat boots over stockings looked a bit crazy, but it wasn't like anyone was going to see me. “What the hell . . .”

I picked up my little handgun and opened the door. I was willing to change a flat in my underthings rather than ruin my clothes, but I wasn't stupid. Deserted roads were dangerous if the wrong sort of people came along. Fortunately, I'd spent most of my life around the Wolves. Bikers might get a bad rep in a lot of places, but they were my family—and they'd taught me to handle a gun and fight dirty if I had to fight at all.

I popped the trunk, put my gun to the side, and heaved the spare out so I could get to the jack and lug wrench.

By the time I'd loosened the nuts, my hair was drenched. I shoved it back, hating the way the tendrils felt as the rain washed all the product out. I didn't even want to guess what my makeup looked like.

I had the car up on the jack and the nuts off without much trouble. Lack of light made it slower, but it was going just fine—until I started shivering. My clothes wouldn't have made a difference, but I was cold enough that I wished I'd had that tiny extra layer of fabric just then. I dropped one of the lug nuts and had to get my phone to use it for light.

“Seriously?” I let out a frustrated yell as I scanned the mud and gravel to find the missing nut.

I spied it, only to realize that I'd done so because of a flash of headlights.

“No. No. No.” I scrambled to the back of the car, snatched up my gun, and tried to calm myself as the driver of the truck rolled to a stop behind my car. I stood there with a wrench in one hand and a gun in the other. If I were a different sort of girl, I might've tried to cover myself, but modesty wasn't as much of a defense as a wrench or a bullet.

The headlights were all but blinding me, and some part of me was cringing at the way I had to have looked. Wet underthings clinging to me didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination. My hand shook for a moment.

“Ellen?”

I lowered my gun. My hand still shook; whether from the cold or burst of fear, I wasn't sure.

“Alamo,” I said, my voice shakier than my hand. “Come to rescue me yet again?”

He laughed. “Anytime you need me.”

My heart clenched at his words.

“I can usually take care of myself,” I said, despite my best efforts at being nice. I hated that he was seeing me a mess again.

He, of course, looked both gorgeous and collected, and while I wasn't exactly in need of rescue, I couldn't help drinking in the sight of more than six feet of firm muscle and menace. If that wasn't enough to make me smother a sigh, a glance at his face would do. He was the best sight I'd had all day.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

“Taking a shower. Care to join me?”

He grinned. “I save my cold showers for
after
I see you, darlin'.”

I rolled my eyes. Alamo might tease now and again when the mood struck him, but I was fairly sure he found me about as attractive as an angry rattler. A guilty voice whispered that maybe seeing me like this might change his mind, but I didn't want his attention if he wanted me only for the exterior. I was an all-or-nothing girl these days.

I folded my arms over my chest and said, “I dropped one of the lug nuts.”

“Was that before or after you thought changing your flat while
naked
was a good idea?” He pointedly didn't look anywhere but at my face.

“I'm not naked.” Any lingering fear I had gave way to a touch of embarrassment and anger. He was in his usual jeans, T-shirt, and jacket. I had a handgun, a pair of boots, and not much else.

He shucked off his leather jacket and draped it over my shoulders. “You're going to freeze out here.”

“I'm fine,” I lied.

Alamo's jacket hung down far enough that my hips were covered. Add to that the fact that riding leathers were thicker than the stuff that people wore for fashion only, and I was weighed down by heavy, warm leather. The sheer pleasure of it left me momentarily speechless.

I hadn't realized how cold I was until I felt warmer. A small sigh of pleasure escaped me. “Thank you.”

His voice was gruff as he ordered, “Just . . . get in the truck, woman. I'll get this.”

Maybe it was sheer stupidity, but I hated looking like I needed help. Alamo was a good guy. I knew he wouldn't razz me over it, but that didn't erase the urge to prove myself.

“I can change it myself. Like I said, I dropped a lug nut. Just let me find it,” I said as I started to squat down.

He caught my arm. “No.”

“Your headlights are a lot better than my phone. Once I get—”

“I'd rather not have my coat in that mess.” He nodded toward the mud that was oozing up over my boots. “I know you could change the tire, Ellen. We
both
know it.”

I looked at him, trying not to shiver again. He released his hold on my arm.

“I also know that you're already cold, and I'm not interested in arguing. This road's not too long from washing out. That's why I was out here. Echo sent me and a bunch of the guys to check roads.” He softened his voice a little and added, “How about we both agree that you're a badass and you get in the truck?”

I wanted to argue. That was my first instinct most of the time. Being an outspoken girl in the South meant flaying the chivalrous hide off boys, and then later, men. It meant needing to prove myself. My mama had taught me that. She was a single mom determined not to raise an idiot.

“Ellen?” Alamo prompted.

I looked at him. The headlights behind him cast enough light that I could see the rivulets of rain outlining muscles that were the fantasy of many a woman at Wolves & Whiskey. He'd been my fantasy since he'd picked me up the day I left Noah—not that it mattered. He'd do this, flirt for a heartbeat or two, but then he avoided me like the plague. I was beyond sick of it, and I simply wasn't having it anymore.

“I'm more than able to do this. I don't need you. I haven't called you for a favor since—”

“Since I took you to see Killer at the hospital,” he finished. “Trust me, darlin', I noticed.”

“Really?” I glared at him and decided that being blunt was past due with him too. “I'm surprised you noticed anything, the way you dodge me.”

He said nothing at first, just stared at me.

“I'll change my own damn tire,” I snapped. “Just let me find the lug nut.”

“Stop.” Alamo wiped rain off his face and said, “Please . . . get in out of the wet and let me do this.”

“Why?”

“Because it'll be faster, and because you're a sensible woman, and because . . . I
want
to.” He sighed. “I don't mean to piss you off by staying clear of you.”

“You admit to doing it, though?” I pushed.

He let out a growl. “If I admit it, will you get in the truck?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, I avoid you. Happy now?”

“No, but I'll get in the truck,” I said.

He held out his hand for the lug wrench.

I handed it to him. Then I walked over to his truck and climbed into the warm cab, drawing in the scent of fuel, cigarettes, and whatever shampoo Alamo used. It was a kind of minty smell that was uniquely him. The underlying scent of cigarettes was a little out of place. He didn't smoke. A lot of the Wolves did, though, so it wasn't surprising to smell the undercurrent of it in his truck.

I closed my eyes and let the warmth soak into my wet body. It wasn't a minute later that I closed my eyes. I meant for it to be just for a moment. It had been a wretched day, and the night hadn't been any better. Honestly, the only good thing had been Alamo.

At least that was what I thought until I opened my eyes again to realize that the truck was moving. I blinked and turned to him. “What the hell?”

“You were asleep.”

“And you couldn't wake me up?” I pulled the jacket closer around me. “Now I need to get my car and—”

“I already called Dash and told him to send someone to bring it round the house before seven. I didn't know what time you had school.” He glanced at me briefly, and then averted his eyes as soon as they fell on my stocking-and-boot-covered legs. He cleared his throat. “Sorry I don't have a blanket or towel or something. I wasn't expecting to find a naked woman with a gun alongside the road.”

I steadfastly ignored the mention of Noah.

Alamo pointed at the heating controls. “You can adjust the temperature if you need. I wasn't sure if you would be too warm with the jacket, and the windows were already fogging up from the wet on us both.”

I glanced his way, despite my best efforts, studying the man beside me again. He was as wet as I was, and without his jacket, his T-shirt and jeans did nothing to hide his build. He downplayed his size most of the time, wearing loose shirts and being careful not to come up on people unawares. He was subtle, but I'd noticed.