Wildflower (31 page)

“How about a look at what you’ll get?” the man suggested.

He grabbed the top of her bodice and tore until the buttons popped. Delicate, smooth skin and pure white undergarments gleamed bright in the surrounding sea of drab browns and grays. She clutched the ruined dress and tried to cover herself, but the cousin twisted her arm until she cried out in pain, and her lush breasts spilled over the top of her corset, her pink nipples puckered by the cold.

Her eyes widened, and a scarlet blush spread over her cheeks, but she drew back and spat into the man’s face.

“Well, now, gentleman, you can see she’s a fiery one.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his face. “She won’t disappoint you in bed. What’s the bid?”

“Two hundred fifty!”

“Three hundred!”

The blond man shook his head. “I’m afraid it takes more than that to have her.”

A putrid combination of molded pelts and rotten eggs invaded the air.
Rafe
knew who stood behind him before the man spoke.

“Three seventy-five. Now give her to me.”

Skinner Joe’s voice confirmed the smell.

If Joe took her, she’d be dead before spring. The perverse man took pleasure in hurting women, and just the thought of his hands on this lady made chills slither down Rafe’s spine. His hand tightened on the gun. Damn, shooting Joe would be less trouble than taking responsibility for a woman.

“Ain’t nobody gonna pay more for her,” Joe argued.

Damn, damn, damn.
Rafe
squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a deep breath. “Five hundred,” he shouted before he changed his mind.

###

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Battle-Born Love

Lynda Bailey

Chapter One

Rory Dawson charged through the door ready for a fight.

Too bad the only person in the tiny office was Eldon James, the fifty-year-old Paiute Indian who was as much a part of Dawson Repo as the battered tow truck parked outside.

Eldon looked up from his scarred desk, concern on his face. “I take it things didn’t go well in court.”

Rory stomped to the other desk as best she could in the low heeled sandals that pinched her feet to a smaller size. She plopped into the swivel chair with the torn vinyl and pulled off the torturous foot garb. Shedding her panty hose and denim skirt also held great appeal, but she figured waltzing around in her skivvies at eleven in the morning, even with the late March temperature nearing an unseasonable ninety degrees, probably wasn’t a good idea. She leaned her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes.

God, she hated her life.

Seconds later, Eldon’s chair creaked then her desk moaned as he perched on the edge. “Wanna talk?”

No, she didn’t want to talk. Tears burned her eyes, but she battled them away. Breaking down wouldn’t help anything. The silence stretched out long and thin.

“How much to bail him out this time?”

God bless Eldon and his ability to cut to the meat of a matter. She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Ten grand.”

He shook his head with a heavy sigh. “Guess that Reno judge isn’t gonna give him any leeway this time, huh?”

“Not in the least.” She rubbed at the ache spanning her forehead. “With all his priors, we should be grateful his case didn’t get booted up to Federal Court.”

“How’d he look?”

“Pale. Scared. Old.”

“Where you gonna get that kind of money?”

Biting her lower lip to stop any trembling, Rory lifted her shoulders in a short, helpless shrug.

“I’ve got a couple thousand you can borrow.”

She snapped upright in her chair. “I’m not borrowing money from you. You and Ellie just bought that house. Your money needs to go to curtains or landscaping or whatever else Ellie thinks of. Besides, I sign your paycheck. If you’ve got that much money, I must be paying you too much.”

Eldon grinned, his teeth a brilliant white against his dark skin. “We both know that ain’t the case.”

She forced her mouth into a pitiful semblance of a grin. “Then no more talk about borrowing money. He’s my old man. I’ll take care of business. Somehow.” She straightened her shoulders, shoving her helplessness aside. “Is the ‘Vette outside the one we got the repo order on yesterday?”

“Yep. Parked pretty as you please at the mall.”

“Keys?”

Eldon shook his head and headed for the back door. “Maybe I can jimmy the lock.”

“No doubt it’s an electronic system.”

“I’ll try anyway.” He paused in the doorway to look at her. “You should go home, boss. You look beat.”

Left alone, Rory lost the battle to keep her head up. Fatigue crumbled her forward until her desk became a pillow.

She looked beat because she
was
beat. She wished she’d been smart enough to remember a change of clothes before going to court. A worn pair of jeans, an old T-shirt and ratty tennis shoes would make her feel better, physically at least.

In a burst of determination, she sat up and reached for her Rolodex. Maybe she could borrow Pop’s bail money. Her heart wailed at each blank card she turned.

Ten thousand dollars!

Where in the world would she get that kind of money?

Jail time might do him good, she thought bitterly. Prove to him that his actions had consequences. She barked a laugh. The hollow sound echoed off the bare walls. Right. Consequences.
For her.

Rory pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. The headache she’d picked up after her father had gotten arrested three days ago threatened to leak out her ears.

She couldn’t leave Pop in jail. She’d taken care of him ever since turning thirteen, when her mom split. She couldn’t stop now. No matter what, he was family.

The only family she had left.

She stood, hoping Eldon had aspirin in his desk, when the door burst open.

And into her office strode a commanding masculine presence.

He wore authority better than his charcoal gray, tailored suit. Tattered jeans and a tank top would be a better fit with his bronze complexion and sun-streaked brown hair which brushes the top of his suit collar.

Recognizing the controlled look of indignation, the tight-fisted stance, she pulled back her shoulders. No longer a distraught daughter, she was now a businesswoman.

She dealt daily with people enraged that their property had been repossessed, through no fault of their own, of course. Pricey suit or not, she knew exactly who she was dealing with. Still, when his acorn brown eyes honed in on her, she was glad she wore her best, if only, skirt.

“Who’s in charge here?”

His demanding tone failed to intimidate her. But a hot shiver of anticipation did skate down her spine at his silky baritone voice. She curved her lips into a smile. “How can I help you?”

“You can help,” he enunciated each syllable as though she were a child, “by telling me where your boss is.”

Her smile vanished. What a patronizing, chauvinistic jerk. Before she could set this guy straight, Eldon came through the back door and the stranger shifted his attention to him.

“Are you in charge here?”

When Eldon shook his head, Mr. Personality drew a hand down his face with a long-suffering sigh. “Could one of you please tell me who is in charge here?”

Eldon hiked his thumb in her direction. “She is.”

****

Kane glanced at the woman behind the desk. Her arms were crossed, a smirk on her face. “You’re in charge?”

With her green eyes and wicked grin, she looked positively feline. “That’s right. I’m the Dawson in Dawson Repo. Now, like I said, how can I help you?”

Kane struggled to regain some degree of professionalism in the face of his gaffe. “The Corvette outside has something very important in the glove box.”

“Really,
Mr
…” She snatched a paper off the cluttered desk. “Solomon. Perhaps you should have paid your past-due lease payments before putting something so
important
in the glove box.”

He stepped forward. “But I’m not Ty Solomon. My name is Kane Williams. Ty is a friend and I borrowed his car—”

“It’s not his car,” she pointed out. “The bank owns it.”

Kane fought to remain calm. He couldn’t afford to insult this woman more than he already had. “All right. I borrowed the ‘Vette and, as I said, left something valuable inside.”

“So you have the keys?”

“Of course.”

“Give me the keys and I’ll get what you left inside.” She lifted a shoulder at his hesitation. “If I have to break in, I won’t be so accommodating.”

“Fine.” He dug the key ring from his pocket.

“What’s inside?”

“An engagement ring.”

“Describe it please.”

“Two-carat, marquise-cut diamond with rubies and emeralds.”

“Sounds like a frigging Christmas tree.”

In spite of the circumstances, Kane’s mouth hitched up in a small grin. Alexia did so adore ostentatious jewelry.

The woman tossed the keys to the Paiute, who was almost as wide as he was tall. “Go check it out, Eldon.”

“You got it, boss.”

She picked up another paper from the desk and sat down, effectively dismissing him. An awkward hush descended. Guilt pricked Kane’s neck.

He’d been so unbelievably rude. Though retrieving Alexia’s ring was his top
priority, that
did not excuse his attitude. A woman running a repo business might be unusual, but he knew better than to make assumptions. His late father would be very disappointed. “Look,” he said. “About before, I’m—”

“Forget it.”

Her words slapped his face, a deserved sting. “I didn’t realize you owned this business.”

She sat back, her chair squeaking, a haughty, half-smile on her lips. “Do you talk to everybody like they’re idiots, or is it just me?”

Damn. She was right. His father had taught him never to be arrogant or judgmental. Those two qualities were restricted to Kane’s grandfather. He moved to stand in front of her desk. Her feline eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“I was a pompous ass,” he admitted. “Please accept my sincere apology, Ms. Dawson.”

The corners of her rosebud mouth twitched then lifted. She was quite attractive, he decided, with auburn hair and unique eyes that had hazel flecks swimming in a sea of green.

“Consider it accepted.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets with a grin. “Good.”