Bad Boy Heroes Boxed Set

by Patricia Ryan

  “Because of the rape.”

  The word swamped her. She was back in that bedroom, totally helpless, totally at his mercy. She’d never told anybody but Sara about it, not even Beth or Margo. “Yes.”

  “I’m not recommending you have a relationship with your ex-husband, Annie. I’m just saying that Linc’s right in some ways. You’ve got to let go of the anger, for your own sake as well as Matt’s.”

  “And how do I do that?” Joe’s handsome features, contorted in a mask of rage as he forced her to have sex that last time, made Sara’s recommendation seem impossible.

  “The first step is to decide you want to let go of it.”

  Annie’s shoulders slumped. Did she want to let go of it? The anger took so much energy. The resentment ate away inside her at night, after Joe’s visits. And in church, on Sundays, she felt estranged from God.

  “I guess I’d like to let go of it. I just don’t know how.”

  “Let’s brainstorm some strategies, shall we?” Sara smiled. “And for the record, I think that’s the right thing to do.”

  Chapter 13

  *

  BE CAREFUL WHAT you wish for,” Beth mumbled as she assembled the last of the order for the big powwow taking place in her diner. She’d anxiously awaited the opening of the track, even for qualifying and other preseason events, because it meant business would really pick up. Placing parsley sprigs on a western omelet, she was grateful for the added business, topped off by the official meeting Mayor Hunsinger had scheduled to have here over breakfast today.

  She just hadn’t known it was to discuss the publicity for Tucker’s exhibition race in the fall. Tucker, who sat stone-faced, glaring at Doc who apparently—she overhead this—had not told him the meeting was at her diner. Tucker, who was obviously avoiding her, and whom she’d likewise avoided, the past two weeks.

  Ever since Ronny’s interrogation. He’s hitting on you, Mom…He looked at you like Linc looks at Margo…

  “Frittata’s ready.” Gerty raised her eyes from the stove. “Lordy, girl, is it letting up out there at all?”

  “A bit from the breakfast crowd.” Beth glanced at the clock. “But lunch’ll start soon. I’m sorry about this, Gerty.”

  “Not your fault Nana got sick. Then Milt and Nancy,” her two part-timers, “got in that fender bender on the way to work.”

  “I’m just glad they’re all right.”

  “Are you holding up?”

  Knotting the towel tighter around her waist, she straightened her pink blouse and hefted the tray onto her shoulder. “I’m fine.”

  Only she wasn’t. As she headed to the tables set up for ten, she prayed her hand didn’t tremble like when she’d taken Tucker’s order. He was dressed in a forest green sweater and tan Dockers that looked like a million bucks on him. When she’d bent over to take his order, the masculine smell of aftershave had zinged right through to her toes. She’d noticed a cut he’d gotten from shaving near his ear and she’d had the absurd urge to touch it. Chiding herself for her feelings, she reached the back of the diner.

  At the table—Tucker sat facing Danny’s picture and she’d caught him staring at it a few times—she set the heavy tray down on a serving stand. “It’s here,” she announced to the group. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

  “Not to worry, little lady.” The mayor nodded to the group. “We’ve been making plans.”

  She gave them a weak smile. As she’d filled coffee mugs, she’d overheard those plans—and Tucker’s stoic reaction to them. Publicity shots with him in the racing suit he’d worn when he’d won the Daytona 500…pictures of him around Glen Oaks…shots showing the sexy race car driver relaxing in the Big Apple.

  The last had come from Tara Snow, the shapely blonde from an advertising agency in New York, who was in charge of the PR.

  And who had her hands all over Tucker.

  She’d touched his arm as she’d outlined her strategy. Her vampire-red fingernails had scraped down his shoulders as she’d made a point of how he looked in his racing suit. She’d giggled breathily as she’d leaned over to say something in his ear.

  Beth tried not to react when she delivered the woman’s order—an egg-white omelet that Gerty had had to fuss over. Just at that moment, Tara reached out and squeezed Tucker’s big masculine hand. “Pass the salt please, Tuck.”

  Beth served his frittata next.

  “Looks good,” he said, eyeing it appreciatively.

  “I’m sorry service is so slow.”

  “You should hire more help, dear.” Tara smiled at her sweetly. “This place will be hopping from now until the race.”

  Tucker threw Tara an annoyed look. “Beth told us she was short three people this morning.” He gave Beth a grin full of warm Southern honey, and her heart turned over. “You’re workin’ miracles by yourself out here.”

  “Gerty doin’ okay out in the kitchen?” Doc asked.

  “She’s keeping up.”

  Doc scowled. “I hope her back’s okay.” Gerty had thrown her back out the week before, but Beth wondered how Doc knew about it.

  She smiled at him. “She went to some Chinese masseuse in the city and he cured her.”

  Doc rolled his eyes. “Damn fool woman.”

  “Beth, could you cash us out?” a customer called from the front.

  “Excuse me.” She placed the last plate in front of Doc and hurried away.

  At the counter, she tried hard to keep her gaze away from Tucker. But business slowed enough for her to get a cup of coffee, and her eyes wandered to him as she sipped it.

  She’d successfully stayed away from him. Because, Sunday morning in church, she’d admitted Ronny was right. She’d seen the spark of interest in Tucker’s green eyes when he looked at her. And she was attracted to him. Of all the things that could have happened when he came back to town, this was the worst, and most unexpected.

  She was attracted to a man who, along with many people in town, thought that he’d killed her husband. To a man who Ron thought had killed his father. How the hell had it happened? They hadn’t been together that much. But they’d made connections when they had been in each other’s company. She remembered talking to him at the police station, crying on his shoulder the night she took Ronny to jail, standing up to Julia and Carl with him. Or maybe it was just plain old chemistry. Who knew?

  She told herself that at least Ronny had seemed happier in the last two weeks. And Doc had said he’d been nicer to Tucker. They were even working on the car together.

  When Roman Becker came in and sat at the counter, she welcomed the distraction. “Hi, Roman.”

  “Morning, Beth.” His thick black hair was slicked off his face as if he’d just showered, accenting his chiseled features. He always reminded her of a young Laurence Olivier. He was only a few feet away from Tucker. Her gaze strayed past Roman to those linebacker shoulders that she’d read had given Tucker trouble getting out of race cars.

  “Busy today?”

  “Uh-huh.” She explained her situation.

  “You work too hard.” He reached out to squeeze her hand. Just as Tucker drew back his seat, stood and turned.

  His gaze fell on their clasped hands. His eyes darkened. He nodded to Roman, didn’t look at her and headed to the bathrooms.

  “What’s the matter with The Menace?” Roman asked.

  She drew her hand away and indicated the back tables.

  “That’s a meeting with the brass. He hates the publicity part.”

  “Are you kidding? The babes hang all over him.”

  Beth had seen some pictures of Tucker and the racing groupies. Though the married race car drivers often brought their wives on the circuit, and many had RV’s they stayed in, the single drivers were pursued like rock stars. She couldn’t think about it. She was almost grateful when the lunch crowd started to file in.

  Tired though she was, she’d preferred working herself to exhaustion to watching Tara Snow fall all over Tucker.

 
*

  TUCKER COULDN’T KEEP his eyes off of Beth. She was a rare and precious cameo next to the glare of costume jewelry like Tara Snow. As they all stood to leave, Beth circled the counter to grab a big gray tub. Scanning the diner, he saw people waiting by the door and several tables in need of clearing.

  “Where’s Doc?” the mayor asked.

  “He went to the kitchen. He’s friends with the cook.” Tucker suspected Doc was out there helping Gerty get the food out.

  Tara Snow shook back her mane of streaked blond hair with supermodel style. “We don’t need him anyway.” She batted heavily made-up eyelashes at Tucker. “We’re done now, Tucker. Want to show me around town?”

  “Sorry,” Tucker lied. “Doc and I have an appointment.”

  She pouted her rouged lips. “You have to spend all of next Monday with me, remember? I’m coming back for the photo shoot of you and the town.”

  “Sure.”

  Tara scanned the diner, noted Beth working like a demon to clear the tables, and took in the crowd impatiently standing at the door. “I do hope they get their act together here before the onslaught descends on them for the race.”

  Tucker said nothing, though he took her criticism personally. For Beth. Who he’d avoided for two weeks. He’d managed to be upstairs or out in the garage most of the time when she dropped off Ron or came to pick him up. And when he had seen her, he was remote. Once, though, he’d literally bumped into her coming out of the office as he headed to the kitchen, and had grabbed her arms to steady her. She’d felt strong and solid under his hands and he experienced a longing so deep it made his knees weak. She’d been as skittish as a newborn colt that night, and he knew why.

  Ron. Tucker had guessed, after her son’s open animosity that afternoon at the diner, that the kid had said something to her. Not that there was much to say. He and Beth had only been together a few times. And it wasn’t until Ron had been outright rude, that Tucker had admitted to himself he was attracted to Beth.

  Which only added to his list of sins. How could he want the widow of the man he killed?

  You’re not responsible for Danny’s death . She’d told him a hundred times.

  And the problem was, when he was with Beth Donovan, he believed it. Which probably accounted for the heat he felt every time he was near her. Not her dry sense of humor. Not her devotion to her son. Not her hard work ethic. And certainly not that body that he’d dreamed about in 3-D living color.

  A rattle, then a crash, drew him from the X-rated thoughts. He heard, “Oh, no!” Beth had dropped the tub of dishes. Several had bounced out and broken on the floor.

  Tara shook her head. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Tucker scowled. “Go on, I’m waitin’ for Doc.”

  The others filed out as Tucker crossed to Beth. She was bent over the mess, picking up the pieces. He tossed his jacket on a stool and squatted down next to her. “Can I help?”

  She raised worried eyes to him. “No. I’m such a klutz. I was watching—” She stopped and blushed. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.” She swiped a strand of chestnut hair out of her eyes.

  He smiled. “Hey, Bonnie Parker’s no klutz. She was a great waitress. Just like you.”

  “How do you know she was a waitress?” They talked as they picked up the dishes.

  “I read about it.”

  “You did?” Distracted by a customer calling her, she scanned the diner. Her pretty brow creased.

  “Why don’t I finish up here? You go seat those customers.”

  “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

  “You didn’t ask.” He raised his thumb and pointed. “Scoot.”

  He could tell she was torn. But when two people turned to walk out, she stood. “Okay. Just until I get this under control.”

  Tucker smiled like he hadn’t smiled in a couple of weeks as he gathered up the last of the shards and disposed of them. He whistled as he found the mop inside a closet and swabbed the floor. In minutes, the mess was gone, and the customers seated

  By the time he stowed the mop, three more booths had emptied. Beth was in the kitchen.

  Aw, hell, he couldn’t just leave them. Snagging a big white towel from behind the counter, he tied it around his waist, picked up an empty tub and had the booths cleaned and three more parties seated by the time she returned.

  Her pretty mouth fell open when she saw what he’d done. She headed right toward him, like a female vigilante; he was behind the counter where he was pouring soft drinks.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Helpin’ out. My mama taught me the way around a kitchen when I was knee high.”

  “Tucker, you can’t do this.”

  “Why?” He placed four cokes on a tray and lifted it up.

  “I…you’re a…I…”

  He chucked her under the chin. “You’re stammerin’, doll-face. Why don’t you just take the orders and we’ll discuss why I can’t do this later.”

  She had no choice. As she left him to tend to her customers, she was shaking her head.

  By two o’clock the diner had finally cleared out. Tucker had bussed tables, served drinks and hummed along with the jukebox to some Tammy Wynette and Garth Brooks. Beth plopped down on a stool and blew a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. She looked tired and a little sad.

  He turned, got her coffee and put it in front of her.

  “Tucker, please, you’ve done enough.”

  “Hell, I hardly exerted myself.” He grinned down at her. “It was fun.”

  Shaking her head again, she smiled. “The customers loved it. I think they stayed longer just to watch you.”

  “Hey, I wield a mean towel.”

  “And Doc’s a great cook.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He leaned over and braced his arms on the counter. “Now tell me, pretty lady, if he can help out, why can’t I?”

  “You’re a superstar.”

  “Shucks, ma’am, I’m just a country boy.”

  “You’ve been listening to too much Western music.”

  He grinned again.

  “How can I thank you?”

  Swallowing hard, he straightened. He tried looking at the wall—at her husband’s picture—but the reminder didn’t work this time. An image of her thanking him, wrapped up in white satin sheets like his own personal birthday present superimposed itself over the photos. His body hardened. “No thanks necessary.” He tried to joke, letting his accent thicken. “I’m happy to oblige, ma’am.”

  When he faced her again, she’d cocked her head. “You’re a nice guy, you know that?”

  “Don’t tell Tara Snow. I think she’s after a different image.”

  “I think she’s after a lot more than that.”

  He rolled his eyes. “God forbid.”

  “Why? She’s beautiful.”

  “She’s plastic and painted.” It used to be his type. “I prefer my women natural and wholesome.” At least now he did.

  Her eyes, fringed with naked thick lashes, widened. And her unpainted lips parted.

  It was just like that night he’d come here after Ron’s first jail weekend. He was lured in. Drawn to her, like a sexual magnet. He stepped to the counter, leaned over and reached out his hand. Slow and easy, he ran the pad of his thumb over her lips.

  She swallowed hard.

  So did he.

  Locking his gaze on her lips, he said, “Real natural.” Tracing his finger over the few freckles on her nose, he whispered hoarsely, “And real wholesome.”

  He continued to stare at her.

  Only when Doc and Gerty came out of the kitchen did he draw back.

  Chapter 14

  *

  “DID YOU GET what you needed, Linc?” Jane Meachum peered up at him from her desk in the reception area of the new Social Services wing of the town hall. Her deep blue eyes held warmth and concern.

  “Yes, I did. Thanks for typing this.” He held up the schedule for the next Council meeting.
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  “You’re welcome. It took all of ten minutes.”

  “Ah, Super Secretary.”

  Her smile was wholesome. Like her outfit—a maroon sweater and turtleneck and a black pleated skirt with tights. Very preppie. Margo wouldn’t be caught dead in those clothes.

  Jane glanced at the clock. “I’m, um, due for a break. Want to get some coffee with me?”

  “I’d love to, but I have a women’s group meeting in fifteen minutes at the church.”

  “Oh, well, I know how that is.”

  “That’s right. Your dad’s the minister over at Glen Presbyterian.”

  “That’s me, a Preacher’s Kid.”

  “Lucky you.” He grinned. “Maybe next time?”

  “Sure.” He turned to go. “Linc?”

  He pivoted.

  “I’d really like to have coffee with you. Or lunch sometime.”

  It had been so long he didn’t recognize the come-on, demure and ingenuous as it was. Margo’s face appeared before him. She’d always been his type—sassy, stylish and sexy. But his conversation with Beth rang in his ears. You need a woman by your side…you should have kids. And he hadn’t heard from Margo since their disastrous phone conversation. He’d called and left messages twice. Then he stopped.

  Linc gave Jane a huge grin. “How about lunch today?”

  She blushed. It was cute. “Sure. I’m free.”

  “Wanna meet at Beth’s diner or shall I pick you up?”

  “I’ll walk over and meet you. About one?”

  “Great. See you then.” And he strutted out whistling.

  Hmm, he said to God as he walked back to the church. Now, that’s interesting.

  I provide, my son, I provide.

  Are you my personal date consultant now?

  He heard God snort.

  And started whistling again.

  He was no longer whistling when he arrived at church, entered the fellowship hall and found a stream of water seeping out from under a closet door. Oh God, give me patience, he prayed as he headed to the janitor’s closet. In a hurry, he slipped and fell right on his ass. “Damn it to hell!” Standing in now wet jeans, he picked his way to the closet. Inside, he found the utility sink overflowing onto the floor, out of the closet all the way to kingdom come. Again, carefully—his back was already starting to ache—he waded in and shut off the faucet. Where the hell had Henry gone? He heard the women for his Tuesday group arriving as he walked out of the storage area. “Be careful ladies, we’ve had a slight leak here.”