Waking Hearts

by Elizabeth Hunter

  “Shit.”

  Allie bit her lip to keep from laughing. She might not have been a tall exotic beauty like the girls Ollie dated, but her lingerie game was on point. That had to count for something.

  “It’s just underwear, Ollie. Everybody wears it.”

  “No.” He straightened, a pair of black lace panties dangling from one finger.

  She had to admit they were small. Even by her standards.

  His eyes were angry, and he sounded pissed off. “Not everyone wears these.”

  She batted her lashes. “They do if they like silk.”

  He glanced at the clothesline where Allie had already hung most of her bras. “Is all your underwear like this?”

  “You’re the one who offered to help.”

  “Is it?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He took a deep breath. “So, when you’re at work in your jeans and T- shirts…?”

  “Yep.”

  His eyes finally raked down her body with a surge of awareness in his eyes. She might have been wearing cutoff shorts and an old concert tee, but she’d never felt more naked in her life.

  His eyes finally landed somewhere around her hips. “What—?”

  “Polka dots,” she whispered. “Pink.”

  He stopped breathing for a second, then he spun on his heel and marched out of the backyard. “I need to call my grandmother. I told her I’d pick up a pie at the diner. I should—shit!” He’d tripped over one of the kids’ bikes and banged his shin. “I should… find out what kind she wants. Or something.”

  Well, how about that? A fox could make a bear run away. As long as that fox was wearing polka-dot panties.

  Chapter Four

  THERE WAS ONLY SO MUCH one man could take.

  That… ridiculous excuse for underwear was crossing the line. Ollie stomped across the gravel driveway and slammed the door on the Bronco. He closed his eyes and willed the image of pink polka dots away while he put the key in the ignition and turned the air-conditioning up full blast.

  Pink polka dots. And purple silk. Black lace.

  If he’d ever imagined Allie in her underwear—which yes, he could admit happened regularly—he’d always imagined her in something sweet. Soft pastel cotton. Maybe with a little bow or two. Or… flowers. Cute, practical underwear he’d tease her about when he finally got to see it.

  He groaned. “I’m screwed.”

  There was nothing sweet or cute or practical about the string of temptation waving in Allie’s backyard. What if her neighbors saw it? If any of them were male, he might have to kill them for looking. Shouldn’t she be hanging those inside or something? He lowered his head against the steering wheel.

  It was useless. He was doomed. She’d come into work every night and he’d be seeing nothing but black lace under her jeans. She might as well come in naked.

  And that thought wasn’t helping the situation in his jeans.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, but every time he did, all he saw was Allie in lingerie. He’d always scoffed at men who got excited about their women in lingerie. In Ollie’s opinion, there wasn’t much sexier than naked. And lingerie got in the way of naked.

  Now he realized it wasn’t about the sex, it was about imagining your girl walking around all day—going to work, making dinner, running errands—with that sexy secret under her clothes, just waiting for you to unwrap it when you got her alone. Like a Christmas present you got to open every damn night.

  And now she’d flashed him a peek at a present. And it wasn’t his to unwrap. Torture.

  His phone rang on the seat beside him.

  “Yeah?”

  “Is that any way to talk to your grandmother?”

  Ollie winced. “Sorry, Yaya.”

  “Is Allie coming over?”

  He gritted his teeth. “Yeah, she’s hanging some wash right now.”

  His abuela gave an approving cluck. “I knew I liked that girl. Very smart. Why do people use the machines when it’s so warm out? When I was a girl, no one would buy them because they were a waste of money.”

  When you were a girl, they didn’t make underwear that only covered half your ass, was made of black lace, and needed to be hidden from the neighbors.

  Or maybe they did. He really didn’t want to know.

  “I’m running by the diner. What kind of pie do you want me to pick up for you and Pop?”

  “Coconut cream if they have it. Otherwise whatever berry pie they have.”

  “How about I get you both?”

  “Oso, you’ll have your grandfather losing the last of his teeth with all the sugar. It’s not good for him.”

  Why did he find his yaya’s nagging so amusing? Her natural form might have been a bobcat, but she chirped like a bird. And she was the closest thing to a mother he’d ever had.

  “Love you, Yaya. I’m getting you two pies.”

  “Just bring Allie. Does she have the baby with her?”

  He smiled. “The ‘baby’ is in kindergarten now.”

  “No!”

  “Yep.”

  “Then swing by and get the Crowe girl too. They’re friends and she has the new baby. There are too many old people around here.”

  “I have to go.” He saw Allie come through the front door, turning and locking it before she slid her sunglasses on and walked toward the truck. “You can visit Jena and her baby another time. Pop wants to talk to Allie about her ex.”

  “Oh,” his grandmother said. “That’s a bad business.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m glad she’s away from that man now. He was never good for her.”

  “Yaya…”

  “You know what I think. Don’t waste time. Some other man is going to scoop that one up. Don’t be lazy again, Oso.”

  Allie was trying to open the door, but it was a sticky bastard.

  “I really have to go. See you soon.” He hung up and jumped out of the truck, walking around to pull the door open. “Sorry about that. I’m still working on this door.”

  She looked up and he could see the sheen of sweat on her upper lip. It was already well into the nineties. Despite that, her smile hinted at mischief.

  “Thanks.” She hopped into the Bronco. “Do you think your pop is going to want to talk long? I don’t want my panties to get bleached.”

  Ollie muttered under his breath, glad he’d walked behind the truck so she didn’t see him trip.

  He put the truck in reverse and backed slowly away from her house and all her underwear.

  “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  Her cheeks were pink. “Maybe a little.”

  “YOU’RE part of the wolf clan,” Ben Campbell said gently. “But you are coming to us?”

  “The McCanns are my mother’s clan and… I do feel a connection with them. But Alex is already helping me with so much. And he’s in the public eye now.” She glanced over her shoulder at Ollie. “I trust Ollie and your family. If anyone can find out what Joe was mixed up in, it’s you guys.”

  “You realize that what you’re asking might not put your ex-husband in any kind of good light. Are you sure you want to know? Are you sure your children need that shadow over their father’s memory?”

  “Mr. Campbell, right now all they have is questions. The younger two don’t know anything about the body yet. The older boys do. They deserve answers. Maybe not now, but someday. And I want to have answers if they ask me. I need to know.”

  Ollie sat back and watched his grandfather question Allie. His pop had an instinctive read on people and always had. He had known when they were seventeen that Joe Russell and Allie Smith weren’t a good match. It was his pop who had come to him, comforting him when his teenage heart had been broken.

  I don’t know why the Good Lord allowed this, Oliver, but know that not all things last. And that boy is one of them. I don’t see any kind of forever in his eyes when he looks at that girl. So don’t lose hope. Be patient. You never know what might happ
en.

  It had been his pop who realized that the devotion Ollie had felt toward Allison Smith had been far more than a teenage infatuation. His dad hadn’t understood; neither had the stepmother who came later.

  And Pop had been right. He only wished there was a manual for what to do next.

  “Ollie can look into it,” Pop said, nodding at his grandson and giving him the formal blessing of the clan’s elder. “But I want you to be honest with him. Anything he wants to know, you tell him. Even if you think you or Joe could get in trouble. Remember, we aren’t the police. We take care of our own.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Campbell.”

  “You call me Pop, sweet girl. We aren’t so formal around here.” He patted her hand. “Now, can you go help my Maria with the pie and let me talk to my boy here?”

  “Yes, sir.” Allie tossed him a tentative smile and walked into the small kitchen of the apartment in town where his grandparents had moved when he’d taken over their house.

  Ollie lowered his voice, and asked, “Well?”

  “You be careful.” The sweet old man was gone and the canny elder was back. “We don’t know what that man was involved in. You find answers, but you be careful. I was gonna have you look into this even if she hadn’t asked.”

  “Why?”

  “Got a feeling about things.” Ben Campbell leaned back in his chair, worry lines etched in his dark brown forehead. His thick, tightly curled hair was still closely cropped to his head, but now it was a gleaming white instead of a glossy black. Most of the time, Ollie forgot how old his grandfather was. Times like this, he was reminded.

  “You think Joe brought this on himself?”

  “The only one responsible for that man’s death is the one who killed him.”

  “But…”

  His grandfather sighed. “The way he was darting around here after Marcus Quinn died. The way all that business about the drugs came out later? Joe Russell fell into some bad business. Then all of a sudden, he disappeared.”

  “And now he’s back.”

  “Bad things happen when bones get turned up, Oliver. Don’t you ever forget that.”

  “I won’t.”

  “And stay close to that woman and her children. Whoever killed Joe—if it is Joe—might not even know his name. Once the newspapers identify him—”

  “He had a pawn ticket in his pocket with his name on it. They have to know who he is.”

  “No,” Pop said. “He had a ticket with ‘Joe Russell’ on it. But that boy changed his name when he married your girl.”

  Which wasn’t that unusual for their kind. It was one of the reasons so many McCanns and Vasquezes existed in the Springs. When outsiders married in, they’d often took the name of whichever spouse was established in town. The Russells, who had disappeared as soon as their son married Allie Smith, had been a distant offshoot of the McCann family. So Joe had changed his name to Allie’s, angry at the parents who’d never cared much for him anyway.

  “His legal name was Smith,” Ollie muttered, turning the thought in his head, considering what it might mean for Allie and the kids. “But if he was going by Russell…”

  “If he had any enemies, the minute the papers get ahold of his name, whoever killed him is going to know where he came from and who his wife is. Do you think you could get her to move into the house with the children?”

  Ollie blinked. “What? My house?”

  “It’s a clan house first, and that woman has asked us for protection. That house is the safest one in town, and you and I both know why.”

  Because the Allens and Campbells hadn’t ever stopped serving whiskey, even during Prohibition, and they had the getaway tunnels to prove it.

  “I don’t think she’d move the kids,” Ollie said. “Not unless there was a clear threat.”

  “Then you stick close. And let your other friends know too. Especially the wolves and that skinwalker. They need to know what the danger might be. I’ll talk to Scott Smith and Thomas Crowe myself.”

  Ollie knew his grandfather would waste no time telling the older generations what was what, leaving Ollie to communicate with the younger. It wasn’t spoken, but he was the oldest direct descendant of William Allen in his generation. The assumption that he’d one day lead the small bear clan was understood and accepted. His father preferred roaming the country with his new wife and their motorcycles and had no interest in leading his family.

  That left Ollie with a lot more responsibility than the average thirty-five-year-old man. He owned and ran the Cave, but he was also the go-to problem solver for anyone in his clan younger than him. And more than a few who were older. He loved his family, but sometimes the amount of time they took made him a little resentful.

  “Pop?” Ollie lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “About Allie… I was starting to think— But now with Joe… I think her grief is more for the kids, but…”

  “Lord, son, finish one thought so I can understand what you’re trying to say instead of guessing it.”

  “I want her,” he said bluntly. “You know that. But I don’t want to rush her. She’s got a lot on her plate right now.”

  “And you wouldn’t help with all that if you were her man?”

  “Of course I would.”

  “Then what’s the problem, son?”

  “The problem is… the timing sucks. Even if she is over Joe, she’s still got to worry about her kids. I don’t want to be the jerk that takes advantage of a vulnerable woman.”

  “So don’t be a jerk and don’t take advantage. It’s really not that complicated. And she’s about as vulnerable as my Maria is. Good Lord,” Pop said, “that girl is tough. She kept going through all this mess her ex-husband put her through and never once lost that sweet spirit or her smile. Any man’d be proud to have a woman with that kind of backbone.”

  “Pop—”

  “I’ll tell you right now that there’s no perfect time for anything.” Pop’s eyes bore into him, making Ollie feel like he was about ten years old again. “That was always the problem with you, Oliver. You kept waiting for the perfect time to speak your mind or make your move.”

  “I know.”

  “Sometimes you need to meet a person where they are. Even when things are messy.”

  Ollie rubbed a hand over his face and listened to the friendly chatter of his grandmother and Allie as they made coffee in the kitchen.

  “But right now—”

  “There is no perfect time,” Pop repeated.

  “Fine,” Ollie said. “There is no perfect time.”

  “You don’t think that woman could use a man who loves her to help her through this mess?” His grandfather leaned over and put a still-firm hand on his shoulder. “You got a heart as big as the sky, son. Who’s gonna be better for that woman and those children than you?”

  Ollie stood and walked to the kitchen door when he heard the women approaching. He could smell the sweet scent of pie and the bite of cinnamon coffee his grandmother always made.

  He held the door open, only to have Allie almost stumble through.

  “Oh,” she said with a smile. “Didn’t expect anyone to get the door. Thank you.”

  I didn’t expect anyone to help. It was such a little thing. And Ollie wanted to do so much more.

  “You’re welcome,” he said softly. “Let me get those plates.”

  He held his hands out.

  Who’s gonna be better for that woman and those kids than you?

  No one.

  THE bar was closed on Monday nights, but that didn’t mean it was empty. Ollie heard the roar of bikes driving up the road, then the bang of the door as Tony Razio and his boys entered.

  Red Rock Drifters was a relatively harmless motorcycle club as far as most motorcycle clubs went. Not that any of them—save the casual ones made of retired professionals—were really guys Ollie would want to hang out with. There were bikers like his dad—who had always had motorcycles and liked to work and ride them, mostly on the
ir own—and then there were guys who bought into the lifestyle.

  Tony Razio bought into the lifestyle. Big-time. The Drifters dealt drugs and treated the groupies that hung on them like they were disposable. Unfortunately, they’d gained a weird kind of glamour hanging out at the Cave where the new bands from LA thought they were the shit.

  Damn television shows.

  But guys like Tony also had their uses. They were dangerous enough to keep the nastier clubs away, and they lived up to their name. The Drifters rode all over the high desert, though their house was in Blythe, and they were good at keeping their eyes and ears open when Ollie asked them to.

  While most of the club greeted him with a shout or a wave and wandered over to the pool table or the dartboard, Razio sat at the bar and waited while Ollie pulled beers for the older club members and the younger ones hustled them out on the floor. The Drifters didn’t keep a tab, so to speak, but they’d leave enough to cover most of the beer and still owe Ollie a favor or two.

  “I was surprised you called,” Razio said. “Haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  “It’s been quiet.” Ollie leaned his forearms on the bar. “The town’s almost getting respectable with this resort coming in.”

  “And there goes another good hangout,” Razio said. “Lost to the kids with money.”

  Ollie said, “I didn’t say the Cave was getting respectable.”

  “Probably won’t ever get respectable if you keep beating up stockbrokers.”

  “He was an investment banker,” Ollie said with a grim smile. “And he was asking for it.”

  “Heard he was messing with your girl.”

  “Something like that.”

  Razio took a long pull from the longneck that Ollie had given him. “So what can I do for an old friend, Campbell?”

  “There’s a guy who has family here in town. Went missing a while back.”

  The biker sat up a bit straighter. “How long?”