Burning Hot Rumors (Choices: Tarkio MC Book 2)

by Debra Kayn

  But she had no idea what she liked or how to gain that level of feelings she'd seen displayed before her. She probably never would.

  "Callie?" A hand touched her back.

  She startled, turning around and finding Kent beside her.

  "The buzzer on the oven is going off," he said.

  "Right," she mumbled, backing away from him and finally turning to hide the warmth in her cheeks. "Go ahead and sit down. I'll bring the food to you."

  Holding the potholders in shaking hands, she carried the two hot dishes to the table and set them on the mat with a thunk, misjudging the distance.

  He grabbed her wrist to keep her from grabbing the hot surface. "Easy."

  Goosebumps broke out on her arms. She jerked away and sat in the chair opposite him. Her stomach fluttered, and she wondered if she could fake her way through dinner and then eat after he was gone.

  "We sure had a rush of people in utility trucks at the gas station after lunch, huh?" He forked the roast beef and put a slab on his plate.

  "On the third Saturday of every month, all the power company's rigs come and fill up. It'll be that way now throughout winter. They like to keep them ready in case of power outages."

  "Figured." He wiped the back of his hand over his lips. "It was the same way with the vehicles at the oil sites. We all drove the trucks into town and filled them up on the company dime."

  "You worked in the oil field?" She set her hand holding the fork on the table. "North Dakota?"

  He nodded and finished chewing. "Before I came here."

  "That's a really good job. Why did you come to Montana?"

  "It was the direction I rode off in." He scooped up some mashed potatoes. "I've never stayed in one place for long."

  "You must've as a child."

  He shook his head. "Army brat. I can't even name all the places I've lived."

  "I can't imagine." She dipped a spoonful of vegetables onto her plate. "That had to be hard to make friends as a kid, always switching schools and starting over."

  "Didn't know any differently." He met her gaze. "Have you always lived here?"

  "Yes." She pointed her fork. "Not in the single-wide trailer. We had a house where the trailer sits, but it burnt down when...well, I wasn't living at home when it happened. It was just my dad here."

  "Your mom?"

  She finished chewing. "She died giving birth to my baby brother."

  "Sorry."

  "I was only three years old when it happened. All I remember is Dad taking care of me." She finished her roast beef.

  Often times, she wondered if things would've been different if her mother and brother had lived. Maybe her mom would've seen something in Josh when they were dating and warned her, saved her, from getting married. Maybe her brother would've beat the snot out of Josh for her when she first found out he'd cheated on her. Perhaps then Josh would fear her, and wouldn't have started the stupid rumors.

  Caught up in her past, she said, "I heard you tell my dad awhile back that you've lost both your parents."

  "Yeah, Dad died in Vietnam back in seventy-one, I believe, and a year later, I lost my mom to cancer." He leaned back, finished with his food.

  "How old were you when you lost your mom?"

  "Twenty-one years old."

  She swallowed. That meant he was thirty-six years old. He was two years older than her.

  They had a lot in common. Besides both losing their parents, they were both loners, preferring to be by themselves than with other people.

  "And, you continue to travel around." She studied him. "Are you looking for a permanent home?"

  Realizing how that sounded, she wiped her mouth off on the napkin and dropped it on her plate, using it as an excuse to stop eating.

  He inhaled deeply in satisfaction after the meal. "I suppose one day, I'll stop moving around when I find someplace that calls my name."

  "Well, make sure you give me two weeks' notice if you get an itch to leave one day." She stood and gathered their dishes. "I'll need to hire someone else."

  She went into the kitchen, filled the sink, and quickly washed the dishes. Aware that Kent had moved from the table to the chair beside the woodstove, she used every excuse to look over her shoulder.

  Not having any idea what he planned to do now that dinner was over and the food from last night was finally gone, she tried to figure out what he wanted to accomplish by staying.

  Tomorrow, the gas station was closed. It was her only day off.

  That meant he could go out tonight and not worry about getting up early. Wasn't there a party in town he'd want to go to? Have a date? Meet at the biker bar?

  While she should spend her off-day doing inventory and lightening up her work schedule for Monday, she planned to sleep in, then clean the house and do her laundry. Something she'd neglected and needed to remedy before the chore became overwhelming.

  Kent remained by the fire, his legs stretched out, his hands locked behind his head, and his eyes closed. Her chest warmed. It seemed like ages since she had someone sitting in the living room, ready to spend time with her.

  Her throat closed. God, she missed her dad.

  Smoothing the front of her shirt, she opened the fridge and removed a beer. She quietly approached Kent, in case he'd fallen asleep with a full stomach and the warmth of the fire on him.

  When she got close, she shuddered as if it was his heat covering her skin. He was looking at her, and his gaze was warmer than the flames in the woodstove.

  She held out the beer without asking if he wanted one. When she turned to go sit on the couch, he said, "You're not going to make me have a drink alone, are you?"

  The pop of the pull tab coming off filled the room. Because she was nervous. Or maybe because a beer sounded good. She retrieved one for herself and returned to the couch.

  Kicking off her sneakers, she bent her legs and hid her feet in the hem of her jeans. She pulled the tab off the can, dropped it into the opening, and drank. The malty aroma tickled her nose.

  As if her body woke up from a massive yawn, she took another sip. It was refreshing and indulging.

  Several minutes later, Kent leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. "When you're done, I have something for you."

  She studied him, not liking the turn in the conversation. Was he still hooked on trying to help her find her old self? Was he talking about sex?

  The comfort from the meal, the company, and the drink left her body. She clamped her thighs together. She still couldn't trust him not to believe everyone else in Missoula.

  Chapter 16

  Kent

  THE NEWS THAT HE HAD something for Callie had shut her down tight. He could see the weariness in her gaze and the way her body tensed.

  It was too soon.

  He would need to wait. She needed more time.

  Finishing the beer, he walked into the kitchen and set his empty can on the counter. He pulled money from his wallet and set a few bills down.

  "Can I have the keys to the store?" he asked.

  "What for?" She never looked behind her to see what he was doing.

  "I think we both need another beer, and frankly, that three-point-two crap your dad drank tastes like water." He waited, and when she never made a comment, he continued. "I'm paying. I put money on the counter."

  "The keys are hanging by the door." Her voice shook.

  Determined to get back the comfort they'd had over dinner, he left the house and made a beeline for the back door of the store. Retrieving a six-pack of Coors from the cooler, and making sure he locked up behind him, he returned to the house.

  He handed her a can on his way through the living room, took one for himself, and put the rest in the fridge. Then, he sat back down by the woodstove. Without any urging, Callie started drinking her second beer.

  His intentions were never to get her drunk. Though, he wasn't against the idea. He could use a night of letting loose, but for now, he'd save that for when he went over to the
bar or the clubhouse with Curley and the other Tarkio members.

  Tonight was about introducing Callie to herself. She needed to remember how it felt to be a woman, before Josh, before the rumors, before her dad died.

  He drank half the can and sighed in contentment. "Now that is a damn good beer."

  She glanced at him, the can, and nodded. "You shouldn't drink and drive...ride."

  "I'll stop at two. We can have the rest another night."

  Her head raised, and she frowned at him. He lifted his brow, encouraging her to keep talking.

  "Why do you do that?" she asked.

  "What?"

  "Plan to hang out with me." She took another drink. "Wouldn't you rather go home, back to your van, or do biker stuff."

  "Biker stuff?" He chuckled before the amusement left him at the seriousness of her question, the vulnerability of her gaze. "I like talking with you, honey."

  "I don't know why." She pulled her feet back up on the cushion and leaned against the corner of the couch. "I'm boring."

  Jesus. She was the most interesting person he knew.

  "If you could do one thing tonight, what would you want to do?"

  Her eyes rounded, and her mouth tightened. Her lips—damn those full lips—puckered toward him.

  "I don't know," she said.

  "Come on." He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles, getting more comfortable. "What would a twenty-something year old do—?"

  She laughed before biting her lower lip, cutting off the sound. "I'm thirty-four. Past the age to go out and party."

  "Bullshit." He took another drink. "You can bet your sweet lips that I'll be enjoying a Saturday night by slugging one back, enjoying the buzz, and thinking life is pretty damn good when I'm an old man with aches in my bones." He tapped the side of his head with his finger. "You're always young up here."

  "That's irresponsible." She shook her head, but he noticed the slight curl at the side of her mouth. "Besides, it's no fun to drink alone. I've done that, and I've drunk around other people. It's only fun at a party."

  Truly hypnotized by the slight glimpses of Callie she was showing him, he stared. "You're not alone now."

  She looked down and rubbed her thumbs against the beer can. His cock pulsed to life, imagining her hands on him, circling, caressing, tightening.

  He cleared his throat. Sitting here wasn't going to work for him. "Let's go out."

  "Now?" She frowned. "It's dark."

  "Now you sound old." He pulled his feet under him and stood. "What do you want to go do?"

  "I don't know."

  "Want to hit a bar?"

  She shook her head. "I don't want to be around others."

  "Okay." He stroked his beard. "There has to be something you want to..."

  He chuckled, earning a curious look from Callie.

  "What?" she asked.

  The thought came and went, yet hung on. Tonight was all about introducing Callie to her old self. She needed to get some of the anger out of her that she held on to so tightly.

  "Bundle up. Dark clothes. We're going out." He drained the rest of his beer, then looked at her. "Finish your drink first."

  When she hesitated, he reached out and lifted her arm. "Down the hatch."

  She swallowed the rest of the beer. After shaking her head and wiping her mouth, she said, "What are you going to do?"

  "You'll see." He planted his hands on her shoulders, turned her, and gave her a gentle push toward the hallway. "We'll have to take your truck unless you want to ride on the back of the Harley."

  "I'm not riding on your motorcycle." She walked away from him.

  He ogled her ass, reminded that he'd come over with the intent to give her a package, and he'd already derailed his plan. The new clothes would have to wait.

  Once she was in her room, he went to her fridge and peered inside. Finding what he needed, he grabbed the item and went outside to the truck to wait for Callie.

  Five minutes later, she opened the front door and looked for him. He waved her over. It was a chilly night. Hopefully, the adrenaline would keep her warm until the old heater on the truck kicked in.

  She walked down the steps and handed him the keys. He opened her door, and using the excuse of being in a hurry to touch her, lifted her up into the cab and shut the door.

  Her curious gaze followed him as he rounded the front bumper and slid into the driver's seat. "Ready?"

  "No."

  He cocked his head. "Serious?"

  "Whatever." She shrugged. "Do what you want."

  "Good deal."

  She frowned at him. He winked.

  Once she settled against the seat, he started the engine, backed up, and pulled around the gas station. Once on the street, he turned the knob of the radio up. Knowing she hadn't gone out in a long time, he wanted her to forget her worries and let herself enjoy the night.

  After learning Callie had married Josh Hill, he'd asked a few customers some innocent questions while he'd pumped their gas earlier. He also kept his eyes open. While he had no idea where Hill hung out or where his swingers' club was, it wouldn't take him long to sweep through town, looking for Hill's truck.

  It wouldn't be too hard to spot because nobody else had a seventy-eight Chevy, and Missoula wasn't that big.

  A few miles later, Callie looked at him. "Where are we going?"

  "I'll know when I see it." He glanced at her.

  "You're mysterious."

  He glanced over at her and winked. "Some women find that sexy."

  She failed to hide her amusement and quickly said, "I don't."

  Turning the corner, he chuckled. Yeah, she was going to be a handful when she finally put the past to rest.

  Awarded for his good intentions, he spotted Hill's truck parked at the rear of a building in downtown near a furniture store that was closed for the night. He rode around the block and pulled up next to the curb, shutting off the engine.

  Callie looked around the area. There were no bars, lounges, or restaurants on the block, and he sensed the moment she recognized her ex-husband's truck.

  She sat straighter. "I want to leave."

  "We will, but first..." He opened his door. "We're going to have some fun."

  If Callie was a man, he'd storm inside with her and beat the shit out of Hill for the pure joy it would bring both of them. But there wasn't a violent bone in Callie's body. She'd repressed her anger when it came to her ex-husband.

  He bet that she hadn't always been that way. Raised by her father without a mother, she needed to remember what Ed had taught her. And he was going to help remind her.

  She refused to get out of the truck. He walked around to the passenger side and opened her door. She continued to sit inside. He grabbed the carton out of the bed of the pickup that he'd stolen from her refrigerator and set the eggs on her lap.

  "You can sit there and be pissed that your fun was stopped by your ex-husband and mad at yourself for letting him win." He leaned closer and hooked her hair behind her ear. "Or, you can take those eggs and do some target practice. I know for a fact, there's a big black truck parked thirty feet away that would be the perfect target to test your aim."

  Her head jerked toward him, and she gawked. He opened the carton and put a raw egg in her hand.

  "Did your dad teach you how to throw, or do I have to show you?" he said.

  She rolled the egg in her hand. "For your information, I played second base on the girls' softball team all four years in high school and was a cheerleader for the football team. I know how to throw."

  "Do you now?" He stepped back, taunting her. "That's been a few years..."

  She glared and slid out of the seat. "It could scratch his truck."

  "Yeah, it could."

  "Or, break a window," she said.

  "If your aim is still good."

  "I'm going to get in trouble."

  "Only if someone catches you." He shrugged. "You can always blame it on me."

  "You'd let
me do that?"

  "I'd spend a night in jail, at the most. The gas station is closed on Sunday, so I wouldn't miss any work." He leaned against the side of the pickup. "I've got nothing to lose."

  She hesitated, staring at Hill's truck. He gave her the time to work up her courage.

  The longer it took, the more intense her facial features became. He could tell she wanted to throw the egg.

  She glanced over at him. He crossed his arms. If it took her all night to make up her mind, he'd wait.

  Finally, she stepped forward. Putting the egg in her other hand, she pushed up the sleeve of her jacket and changed her footing. She looked around the area. Her arm came back, and she threw the egg.

  Ten feet from the truck, the shell hit the concrete and broke. He said, "There are eleven more eggs in the carton."

  She marched back and grabbed another egg. More determined, she never hesitated. Winding up, she pitched her arm forward. He watched the white egg sail through the air and land on the hood of the truck.

  "Yes," she hissed on a whisper.

  "You got too much air on the throw. Concentrate on the side of the door and give it a good, hard toss." He reached over and grabbed an egg, handing it to her. "Picture his face on the side if you want."

  She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it inside the truck, ignoring the cooler temperature. Her blood ran hot. She was getting serious. He could see the grit in her movements.

  Callie practiced her aim. On the third try, the egg came straight out of her hand. A second later, a satisfying splat filled the night.

  She jumped, smothering her laughter. Not wanting her to lose that adrenaline rush, he picked up the carton and fed her egg after egg.

  "I'm going to hit the tire." She threw, nailing her target. "Give me another one."

  Her laughter, heavy breathing, smile warmed the night. He got caught up in her free spirit. She was beautiful. Sexy. Intoxicating.

  She threw the last egg, hitting the passenger side window. In the distance, a car engine grew louder, drawing her out of her excitement.

  Callie grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the truck. "Oh, my God, we need to get out of here before we're caught. Hurry."

  She pushed him out of the way as she scrambled up on the seat. He tossed the empty egg carton in the back of the bed, and by the time he got behind the steering wheel, she was hunkered down below the dash out of sight of the passing car.