With a puff of exhaust, the Ford twitched frantically across the pavement and ripped away from Bo. He stumbled into the fumes, waving his hand.
In the mirror Peggy saw him run for the Bearcat.
"Run, run as fast as you can!" she laughed.
She turned hard onto the highway, the tires squealing. She hit the headlights to light up the road, and even over the clanking of her motor, she heard the deep, primitive engine of the Bearcat roared to life.
The chase was on.
The question is, Peggy thought, is Bo McDonough man enough to catch up?
All along the highway for the next six miles, Peggy had the gas pedal almost to the floor. The speedometer hit fifty, then sixty, then settled in at a comfortable seventy miles per hour. She could tell that it had been a while since somebody had really opened the car, gotten all eight cylinders running. Once the rust was knocked off, the Ford really knew how to put out the horsepower. Sometimes that's all the car needed—not to be handled with kid gloves, but to be hammered, the pistons pounding, driving forward until it was about to give in, then finding a second breath and springing to life in a way that it had forgotten it could.
Like car, like driver, Peggy thought.
A hundred yards outside of town, the speed limit dropped to thirty-five, and Peggy hit the brakes hard. Behind her, the headlights of the Bearcat flooded her mirrors, blinding her. Bo came right up to her tail, his bumper almost touching hers. The engine roared, and it sounded like a ravenous wolf, hard on her tail, as if it had picked up the scent and was ready to devour her.
"I’d like to see you try," Peggy said, looking into the mirror. She realized that it was the truth—she really did want to see him try. Once in a while, a gal needed a big bad wolf to gobble her up.
Twelve
Peggy parked the Ford on the road across the street from the boarding house. Most of lights were out in the white clapboard Georgian house. There were two pinpoints of light remaining, the largest was a dull shimmer from the foyer. Yellow light emanated from the colorful sidelights of the door. The other was a very bright, incandescent burn of what might've been a reading lamp in a corner bedroom on the third floor. Peggy thought she saw a shadow in front of the window, as if the occupant of the room was looking down at the road to keep a watchful eye for interlopers.
The rest of the street was empty. Gaslights burned at the streetlamps, creating puddles of flickering yellow light. A mist formed in the humid evening, and the sound of cicadas and tree frogs was so loud that at times it was the only noise that could be heard. Except for a couple of kids playing hoops and sticks, the street was deserted. Peggy had heard that small towns rolled up the sidewalks at sunset.
At least something she’d heard about the South was true.
Peggy crossed the street just as Bo passed her in the Bearcat. He let the huge car glide to the next block.
"Thank you for escorting me," Peggy said when she met him on the sidewalk. "Although I'm not sure if it was an escort as much as it was a race. Nevertheless, I appreciate you making sure that I arrived all in one piece."
"Bring your Ford by the barn tomorrow," he said, "and we’ll do some work on the engine. See if we can wring more horsepower out that thing."
"You know all about getting more horsepower, is that right?"
"I know a thing or two about how to get the motor running, yeah."
"You don't say? I’m not sure I believe you. Some boys are all talk and no action."
Before a smile could form on Peggy’s lips, Bo had slipped one arm behind her, locking his hand on her waist and grabbing her shoulder. He tilted her back so that she was balanced on one foot. With the grace and raw power of a predator, he slipped her from her feet and planted his mouth on hers. It wasn't the gentle kiss of a young man taking his high school date home after a sock hop, but a full on rush of an experienced hunter who realized that his conquest was at hand.
She was trapped in his arms, a slave to his grip, her breath being pulled away from her. Before she could help it, a moan escaped from her throat, and she felt something rise in her stomach, the familiar ache that had been yearning to be set free all day, every time she looked into his eyes or thought about what he could take from her.
Peggy ran her hands up his arms to his strong shoulders and touched his bare neck with her fingers. She felt his pulse pounding. It was like a trip hammer. He wanted her, and it made her want him even more.
With the same grace and speed, Bo set her back on her feet and pulled away. Peggy felt a blush of heat in her cheeks, and her knees wobbled a little bit. It had been too long since she had felt the touch of a man, and she realized how much she had been starving for it.
The porch light glinted in Bo’s eyes. He was smiling, just a little bit so, and taking her in the same condescending way he had since the first time she had laid eyes on his handsome face.
"How's that for getting the motor going?" he said.
"Not bad," she said, "though it could do with a little more fine tuning."
"I hate to leave work undone," he said. "But it's hard to do a really good job till you've had a peek under the hood."
"I think that might be arranged." She put her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his hair. "Except the owner of my boarding house keeps watch like the hounds of hell."
"What if there was a back way into the boarding house?"
"Then I would be forced to ask you how you came to gain this information."
"We used to deliver to the boarding house. There's an access door by the back stairs that lead right to your room."
"How would you know which room is mine, sir? I don't believe I've told anyone that, even your father."
Bo produced a key. It was labeled with the number seventeen. "The key gave me a pretty good idea."
"How did you get that?" Peggy snatched the key out of his hand. "Put that in my—" She patted her chest, running her fingers around her brassiere. "How did you get that out without me noticing?"
Bo smiled broadly for the first time. "Funny, I was wondering the same thing, but you seemed to be pretty distracted while I was going about my business."
Peggy felt her soft blush again. Something in her head told her to slow down, that she was moving too fast, and this wasn't the Army bases in Europe that she'd gotten used to. There, a pretty girl could enjoy a passionate tryst with a handsome young soldier, and never have to stick around for the consequences. Here, in a town where a young woman was looking for her unknown father, doing hanky-panky with the local moonshiner was definitely a way to ruin a reputation.
Logic, though, had completely deserted her. She leaned in close and whispered in Bo’s ear. "If you can figure out a way to get the car in the garage, I might let you take a look under the hood. But I warn you, you've never seen an engine like this before."
Thirteen
Peggy hurried up the stairs and down the hall past the other rooms. Most of them were shut, although the sounds of laughter drifted from a few of them. All the voices were feminine. No music. No men.
She unlocked her room and threw the bolt. Following Bo's instructions, she threw open the sash of the window and stepped back.
Seconds later, Bo McDonough swung into her room.
"How did you do that?" she said.
Bo put a finger to his lips and whispered, "Trade secret. Now about that look under the hood."
She lowered her eyes and unbuckled her belt. "If it's what you want."
Bo met Peggy's eyes and held on like a man clinging to the end of his rope. She said something nonsensical, and he replied—not in words, but in action. He threw an arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. He used his other hand to push the hair out of her face and tucked the strands behind her ears. He ran his thumb down her cheek and teased her lips before stepping back and untucking his shirt.
"What are you doing?" Peggy said.
"Removing my shirt," Bo said. "Do you mind?"
Peggy shook her head
as he began to pull his shirt off. Slowly, ever so slowly, revealing the defined muscles of his chest and the hard, washboard stomach below it. Peggy didn't mind him removing his shirt at all, and she didn't mind it when he kicked off his shoes. In fact, she would've been perfectly happy if he had unsnapped his gabardine slacks and slid out of them. Better yet, she would've been happier if she’d had the nerve to push her fingers inside the waistband to see what kind of overdrive he had. With his build and the way he moved, she expected that he was more than well equipped.
Peggy felt the strength go from her knees and she rocked into Bo, drawn to him like a fox into a spring trap. There was something primal in his eyes, like an animal that had stalked its prey and was now circling it. Peggy had been with men before, but never with one who was so strong that he could make her feel like she was liquid, like she'd let him do anything that he wanted to her body without complaint.
Slowly, achingly slowly, as yearning built up within her, Bo moved his face toward hers. Spotted with stubble, he rubbed his cheek against her soft skin. The breath caught in her throat, and she gasped. His lips pushed hers apart, and he pulled her body against his rock-hard chest. Peggy pushed against him, and he reacted by using his hand to pull her mouth harder into his, pressing her breasts against his hard chest.
"Fair is fair," he said.
"What do you mean?"
"I took my shirt off. Now, it's your turn."
"If you want my shirt off," she said and narrowed her eyes at him, "you have to take it yourself."
Bo’s mechanic’s fingers moved to her buttons. To her surprise, he adroitly unbuttoned the blouse, starting at the bottom and working his way up until he reached the midpoint of her chest and only one single button was left.
He paused, staring at Peggy with those so sexy eyes, teasing her.
"Why are you stopping?" she said.
"Because I never rush things," he rumbled. "I like to savor the moment."
Mercifully, the moment didn't last long. He undid the buttons quickly and swept the blouse off her bare shoulders. He caught the top and tossed it on the bed.
"Like what you see?" she asked.
"What I see. And what I feel."
As he ran his hands around her naked back, her mind went blank for a few seconds, lost in bliss. She thought of all the things that she'd like him to do to her. How she wanted Bo to throw her on to the bed. To pull off her skirt. To unhook her too-thick bra so that her breasts fell free. She wanted him to pull her panties down her legs so that she lay naked in front of him.
"I like the way you moan," he breathed into her ear.
Peggy wanted him. She wanted him to take her with the same ferocity that he was kissing her, to feel the rest of him inside her the way she felt his warm, sexy tongue in her mouth, stealing her breath and awakening the fires within.
He let out a low growl, and she moaned in reply, almost ready to tell him to make love to her, when the knock came at the door.
"Room check!" a young woman called. "Open up, Margaret."
"Oh damn," Peggy said quietly, then clapped a hand over her mouth.
"Room check!"
They had been caught red handed. It was well after nine o'clock, and there was a gentleman caller in her room. Not only that, his mouth was on hers, and his hand had moved from her hair down to her breast, which was exactly where she wanted it to be and it practically killed her to remove it.
"You have to hide!" she whispered after she broke away from the kiss. "Duck into the closet. I'll get rid of her."
His chest puffed up like an affronted roaster’s. "Bo McDonough does not hide in closets."
Peggy pulled her blouse on and frantically, haphazardly buttoned herself up. "You have to do something! You can't be in here! I'll get thrown out on my ear!" She pointed to the bed. "Under there!"
"That's even worse than the closet!" He grabbed his shirt and threw one leg over the window sash. "You sure know how to hurt a guy."
"I'm sorry," she whispered and frantically waved her hands. "But you have to go. Wait! You can’t climb down three stories. We are on the third floor!"
Bo reached for something outside and swung himself out of the window. "What, you think this the first time I've been caught in this boarding house?"
Peggy squeaked, thinking that Bo had jumped. She rushed to the window. "Bo?"
On the ground, there was nothing but the concrete slab porch and a pair of dress shoes.
"Bo?"
Peggy leaned out farther, trying to look around the house, and spotted him. Shirt stuffed into his mouth, he clung to the drainpipe like a gorilla on the Empire State Building.
"Bo!"
"Adios!" he saluted and began climbing down ever so slowly.
"Miss Fitzgerald!" Mrs. Hogan called from the hallway. "Open the door! Immediately!"
Peggy jumped at the sound of the landlord’s voice and slapped her head into the sash. The windows shook, and her brain rattled. For more than a second she saw stars.
"Coming," she called and retreated from the window, rubbing the rising knot on the back of her head.
"Open the door this minute!" Mrs. Hogan rapped on the wood panels with something metal. Or maybe it was her knuckles. With bony hands like hers, there probably wasn't much difference. "I know you have a boy in there. It's absolutely, prohibitively against the rules of my house to have a gentleman caller in your quarters. Open up, or I shall telephone the sheriff and have you evicted posthaste!"
Peggy smoothed her dress. She checked herself in the mirror and made sure that her head was held high and her shoulders thrown backward. She thought of opening the door with a suppressed yawn and a bleary-eyed look, but Mrs. Hogan was too wily for that trick. Better she should meet the crone head on, like a well-armed soldier opposing a tank. Who knew, she might be able to get off a lucky shot and prevent the attack.
"Well hello!" Peggy threw the door wide. She stood strong, ready for the assault. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Mrs. Hogan?"
Mrs. Hogan didn't ask for an invitation. Using a cane as a wedge, she burst inside and looked around the room like a drill sergeant doing an inspection. "Where is he?"
"Where is who?"
"The young man who was in this room. I heard it."
"Heard what?"
"Scuffling. There was activity in this room."
"Activity?" Peggy said. "You bothered me because you heard activity and happy feet?"
"I know carousing when I hear it. That was definitely carousing."
"I happen to be an expert on carousing, and I saw no evidence of it in this room. Maybe it was my dancing that you heard. I like to keep in practice."
"If you were dancing, where's the music? Unless you have hidden a Victrola, there is no way for you to play a musical interlude in here. There is no dancing allowed after six o'clock."
"You never said that."
"Answer the question! Where is the music?"
"I hear the music in my head." Peggy tapped her temple. "The Tennessee Waltz. It's one of the skills I picked up when I was in the service. Plus, I have an excellent memory. Photographic, according to my commanding officer. I remember great details of many things. Songs. Speeches. Anything mechanical. The exact words that you used when I rented this room."
"My exact words were," Mrs. Hogan huffed, "I said there were no men allowed."
"I assure you, Mrs. Hogan, there are no men in this room."
"Then what is that smell in the air? I know cologne when I smell it."
"It's eau de toilette from Paris." Peggy picked up a bottle of green liquid. The label was written in French, so there was no way that Mrs. Hogan could know that it was actually joint tonic. "I use it liberally throughout the day. It keeps me fresh."
"Open the closet door."
"I hardly think that paying you five dollars a week allows you the right to order me around."
"Open it, or I'll open it myself."
"Be my guest," Peggy said. "I'm sure my luggage and extra p
airs of shoes would be glad to make your acquaintance."
Keeping her word, Mrs. Hogan twisted the crystal knob and swung open the closet. The stink of old cedar planking and mothballs wafted out.
"Out! Out!" She jabbed her cane into the dark space. "Ah...ha?"
"Thank you for airing out my clothing," Peggy said. "Now that you've had a chance to inspect my wardrobe, maybe you would you care to look under the bed? I'm sure there are several dust bunnies that would be glad to meet you."
"Dust bunnies? In my house? I think not! We clean the rooms thoroughly every day, and I’m absolutely sure that Olivia my maid left nothing under your bed. But maybe you did."
Despite her middle age, Mrs. Hogan dropped to her knees quickly, staring into the dark space under the bed. For a moment she said nothing, but then she attacked the springs, her cane tapping each one.
"I assure you there's nothing in my bed," Peggy said, "unless you rented a space with bedbugs."
Mrs. Hogan practically hopped to her feet. "Now you've gone too far, young lady, by suggesting that I would allow bedbugs in my home. One more word from that sassy mouth, and you'll be packing your bags and finding another place to spend the night."
"No packing is going to happen here," Peggy said. "Innkeeper laws of the state of Georgia that you're obligated to allow me to stay as long as I’ve contracted and paid rent in advance, unless you find contraband or evidence of me breaking the law. Since you found no other evidence except for the smell of mothballs and a few rusty springs, I'll ask you to leave my room immediately."
"I will do no such thing."
"Then I'll stand on my rights to remove you myself."
"You wouldn't dare!"
"Mrs. Hogan, I once ejected a Brigadier General from my tent with my heel firmly planted on his rear end. Trust me, you are nothing compared to him."
"Is that right?" Mrs. Hogan pounded the wooden floor with her cane. "If you think that, young miss, then you have severely underestimated me."
Holding her shoulders high, Mrs. Hogan exited the room. When she reached the hallway, she turned and stuck the cane in the door as Peggy tried to close it. "I’m nothing if not law-abiding, however, if you expect to stay in my house, I expect better from you."
Liquor & Love: McDonough Boys #1 Page 6