by Tina Leonard
“Is moose meat or dog food the special of the day?” Declan asked, inspecting his plate.
“It’s not nectar of traitors,” Trace declared. “And you two are traitors, so begone from my booth.”
“Ah, Lord Meat Loaf commands us begone,” Saint said to Declan, and they smirked at Trace.
He was in no mood to be jollied by his brothers. “Don’t you two have somewhere to be?”
“Nope,” Declan said. “And even if we did, we wouldn’t miss the opportunity to join your scintillating company.”
“Besides, we need to discuss Miss Judy’s team with you,” Saint said.
Trace sighed. Ava. Of course. Always on his mind—whether he liked it or not. Just like the country-western song, only it wasn’t a compliment, more of a headache, the kind you got right before the flu bore down on you like a freight train. “Seems like everything’s going just fine with the team. They have instructors.”
“They’ll need things,” Saint said. “Sponsors, insurance, team uniforms, and so on. Mainly Hell sponsors.”
Trace waved a hand. “Talk to Judy about all that. Falls under the heading of not my problem.”
“It falls under the heading of your problem,” Declan said, “because the Horsemen have offered a major sponsorship for the Belles.”
Trace’s jaw went slightly slack at this new move in the chess game. “Judy will never allow that.”
“Judy may have to,” Saint said. “It’s a hundred thousand dollars plus gear.”
That was quite the chunk of change. Trace mulled it over, nursing his beer. The Horsemen didn’t have the business coming in to cover that, so the old man must have ponied up. Which meant his son had worked him over, touting it as a business opportunity which couldn’t be overlooked. A chance to give back to Hell, show the home team what good guys they were out at Wild Jack’s, blah, blah, blah.
Stephen Redfeathers put two steaming plates of whatever-meat in front of Declan and Saint, and they thanked him. When he nodded and left their booth, Declan said, “Better than an MRE, right?”
“Tastes like chicken, I’m sure,” Saint said, digging in. “This is what we came home for: sitting in this booth, shooting the shit, and thanking God we’re still alive. And healthy enough to survive Stephen’s food.”
“It’s getting better all the time,” Trace said, lying, because he was pretty sure it was getting worse, and certainly didn’t taste like any chicken he’d ever eaten.
Which got him onto thinking about chickens.
“Bunch of chickens got their necks wrung out at Rory’s place.” Trace nodded at the huge piece of chocolate cake Stephen laid in front of him, wondering why he didn’t just skip dinner and go straight to the good stuff at Redfeathers. Stephen got his nightly baked goods from Hattie, and it was a good thing, too. Folks came here for the companionship, the drinks, the darkness, the pool, and the desserts. “Trying to figure out who might have a grudge against the judge.”
“Everybody,” Saint said, eying Trace’s dessert with a woebegone expression. “Everybody who ends up in his court wishes they hadn’t. He can be a crusty old fart.”
“Yeah.” Trace’s gaze latched onto Ava as she came into Redfeathers with Judy and the team. Every one of those women was guaranteed to stop the heart—the quartet had everybody in the place staring. “Why’d you butts tell me to drop Ava, and then pick her up?”
“Because you weren’t thinking rationally,” Saint said, as the sheriff slid into the booth. They made room, and Stephen brought him a steaming plate of dinner. Steel looked at his companions.
“Taste like chicken?”
They shook their heads in the negative.
“Well, shit.” Steel dug in. “Better than eating at home alone.”
“Judy still giving you the cold shoulder?” Trace asked.
“It’s not cold, exactly,” Steel said. “It’s more like deep freeze in the Antarctic.”
“Ouch,” the men murmured, commiserating. Trace knew exactly what it felt like to get the deep-freeze treatment—he was so far in the cold with Ava right now he’d probably never feel her warmth again.
No kisses. No holding her.
I’d like to say that’s a good thing, but it pretty much sucks.
“Anyway,” Trace said, “you knuckleheads are the ones who told me Ava wasn’t suited to bullfighting. Now you’re training her, and I’m the last one in town to know. I’d be pissed except I’m fascinated by what you’re up to.”
Declan laughed. “And because you saved my life Saturday night, you feel like I owe you. It’s a heavy burden.”
Trace shook his head. “There’s a conspiracy. And it involves Ava.”
Saint and Declan thought that was hilarious. Steel glanced at him with sympathy, but Trace caught the sheriff’s chuckles.
“You’re not in any better shape,” he told Steel.
“That’s why I’ve got your back on this.” Steel raised his beer mug to him.
Trace sighed and watched Judy and the Hell Belles sashay their way over to the table. Judy bumped Steel with her hip so he’d slide over, which he did rapidly, as did the other men.
Now they were one big happy family again—just like they’d been the first night Judy had brought her Belles to town.
Trace wasn’t happy. He’d made love to Ava. He wasn’t going to get to do that again. Everyone had ganged up on him. She refused to look across at him, pretending like he was merely a part of the cracked leather booth.
“Well, boys,” Judy said, “what happened while I was away?”
“Declan nearly died, Trace kicked Ava off your team, or at least said he wouldn’t train her anymore, and lots of chickens met their maker.” Steel shrugged. “It’s sure quiet when you’re not around, Judy.”
She smiled, her eyes almost catlike. “Well, hang on to your hats, fellows. I’ve got good news.”
The men stared with envy as Stephen and his helper set four steaming potpies down in front of the ladies. Trace could smell the warm aroma of perfectly browned flaky dough. “I have a funny feeling that the meat in those pies not only tastes like chicken, it is chicken,” Trace said. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Mayor.”
Judy took a deep breath, her face alight. “We’re going to have a parade in Hell!”
The men stared at her. Trace glanced at Ava, who was checking out his reaction as she stuck a fork into her potpie. Steam rushed out, and yes, he definitely smelled chicken.
Stephen certainly had diverse levels of meal plans for different citizens in Hell. “Okay, I’ll bite. Why are we having a parade?”
“Because,” Judy said, “we’re having a two-day ‘Go to Hell’ parade weekend! And Ava has graciously agreed to be our parade princess.”
He met Ava’s gaze again. He seemed to have magnets in his eyes that were solely magnetized to her. Steel chuckled, and Trace’s attention snapped back to the sheriff. “Steel, did know know about this?”
“Why would he?” Judy demanded. “The idea hit me when I was out interviewing a few new riders. Anyway, I’ve decided that the parade princess shouldn’t wear one of those long gowns. It’s too cliché.”
The men took that in with great interest.
“Bikinis?” Saint asked, grinning, earning himself a huge frown of disapproval from Judy and her team.
Saint sat back in the booth, realizing he’d been properly ostracized for his poorly timed jest.
“No, Judy doesn’t let me in on the big decisions,” Steel said. “I never know anything. But I’m okay with that. Surprise me, I always say, and so she does.”
He looked liked he desperately hoped for Judy’s approval, but she didn’t even favor him with a glance.
“Isn’t it exciting?” Judy asked the table at large. “This is the precursor to the rodeo we’ll be having in two years.” She nodded decisively. “A Hell rodeo, my ultimate goal.”
“Judy, have you discussed this with the busybodies?” Saint asked.
“Busybodies?” She gl
anced around the table. “Who are they?”
Trace sighed. “Jimmy Merrill, Hattie, you, Steel, Cotton Carmichael, Ann Chandler. The usual suspects we can always count on to keep Hell on the straight and narrow.”
“That seems a bit rude, and no, I haven’t discussed it with anyone.” She looked around, a little deflated. “But I take it you aren’t up for being parade marshal, Trace, since I hear a definite lack of enthusiasm.”
He hesitated, looked at Ava again. “I don’t know, Judy. What’s the point?”
“The point is to grow Hell,” Judy snapped. “It’s to make it bigger and better, so people want to come here. Because maybe, just maybe, Trace, sitting around staring at you every night in Redfeathers is getting on my nerves!”
She scooted out from the table, leaving her potpie untouched. Steel frowned at Trace, Saint and Declan gave him disgusted looks, and the Belles leveled disappointed expressions at him.
He was in the doghouse. Again.
“I guess I’ll excuse myself,” Trace said. “Let me see if I can hunt Judy up before she does something we’ll both regret.”
“Trace,” Steel said, his tone warning, and Trace glanced at the sheriff.
“Sorry, Steel, I don’t know what’s gotten into my mouth. It’s like I open it and dumb-ass comes rushing out.” He sighed. “Let me find Judy and see if I can make our esteemed mayor smile again.”
Ava looked at him reproachfully. “I know I have moments where my mouth gets away from me. However, I do have my lovable moments,” he said, but she didn’t seem appeased.
He sighed and went to find Judy. The mayor and he were good friends; they fought, they made up. Judy knew he was an asshole at times, and she also knew that in the end, he usually did exactly what she wanted.
Usually. Except for training Ava, which had really put him in a tough situation in their small town.
How he was going to get on Ava’s good side, he didn’t know. He had to—and soon.
Those lips of hers were driving him mad.
Chapter Fourteen
“Judy.” Trace followed her onto the pavement, the mayor walking at a good clip. Judy never did anything slow. “Mayor Judy, let me give you a ride home.”
“I’m coming, too,” Ava said.
“Aren’t I on your bad side, too?” he asked.
“Yes.”
She ran on ahead of him, and after a second of calculating whether being alone with these two women, neither of whom were happy with him, was a good idea, Trace caught up to them.
“Hell, Judy, don’t be mad,” Trace said. “I’ve got so many strikes against me that I’ll be on your bad list until Christmas.”
“You’ve turned into a knucklehead,” Judy said. “And when I’ve cooled off, I’m going to talk to you about how you’ve split up my team.”
He looked at Ava. She favored him with a raised flat palm, as if to say, Tell it to the hand, so he went back to work.
“Damn it, Judy, I’m sorry. Will you stop for a minute?” He got her to stop walking, which was pretty much like trying to stop a locomotive.
“You’re doing everything you can to rain on my parade,” Judy said. “You just ooze negative energy.”
Ava nodded in agreement.
“Okay, okay, I’m the bad guy. Can we kiss and make up?” he asked, regretting it the moment he said it because it got him to thinking about kissing Ava again, and his gaze slid to her mouth. By the way she frowned at him, he knew those lips were never going to be under his again.
Unless he did some fast hero work.
“I’ll stop oozing negative energy,” he told Judy, “and you compromise on the bullfighting idea. These women would make perfect role models for our community in another capacity. Such as Hell Hostesses.”
“What’s a ‘Hostess’?” Judy demanded.
“Ambassadors. They should give tours on horseback and do shows, Judy. Right in the town square. What these girls are awesome at is riding.” He glanced at Ava. “We need ambassadors to showcase our town, let everybody know this isn’t just a hardworking men’s backwater of two hundred people. There aren’t any kids to speak of here, Judy, except for Hattie’s daughter, and she turned twenty-two this year. Women aren’t rushing to live here.” His gaze softened on Judy. “You know it’s true. Not everyone is like you, Judy.”
“Meaning?”
He smiled at her irritated tone. “That you’re one of the few females who could survive in this town without bake sales and parties and a dress store, and all the other female things ladies like. It’s not soft here.”
Judy sniffed. “I have friends. I have Madame Chen, and Hattie, and Dr. Ann. Plus my team,” she said, brightening.
“Think about it,” Trace said, glancing at Ava. He noted that she didn’t look entirely as if he were a horrible snake at the moment, so maybe he was on a good path. “What we need are more ladies. Not that I’m looking for a woman or anything,” he said hurriedly to clarify, and Judy gasped.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” she said. “When I have my parade, I’m going to have Hell’s first kissing booth! Booths!” Her gaze fell speculatively on Ava, and his heart flat stopped.
“Now, Judy,” Trace said, “that wasn’t exactly—”
“You, Saint, and Declan will be my first Hell Kissers. A competition to see which of you can get the most paying ladies to kiss you,” she said excitedly. “And I may even invite those scurvy Horsemen. Or put my girls up against Ivy’s girls in a charity kiss-off! Wouldn’t that just put the crimp in ol’ Ivy’s derriere? My girls would for sure beat hers hands down!”
She laughed and patted his arm. “Sometimes you actually come up with a winner, Trace. Thanks. Come on, Ava. We’ve got potpies back at Redfeathers that are probably just about cooled off enough to eat. Hattie’s no slouch in the kitchen, but Stephen Redfeathers is the best cook around for sixty miles.”
The ladies left him standing on the pavement. Trace shook his head, dumbfounded. Once again, he’d gotten himself caught in Judy’s trap.
And once again, he was thinking about Ava and her soft sweet lips. Only now he had to worry about Judy’s kissing booth, and the fact that Ava would be one of Judy’s kissers. Judy wasn’t slow on the curve. The idea of a unisex town kiss-off was brilliant—and there’d be a line stretching from here to Austin to kiss Ava.
The men would go mad over those soft, velvety lips.
There was only so much a man—even an Outlaw—could take.
* * *
“Tell her no,” Steel said, patting Trace on the shoulder as the men grouped around the pool table. “Just tell my girl no.”
Trace looked at the sheriff with real disgust. “When’s the last time you told Judy no about anything and got away with it?”
“Never.”
Declan and Saint grinned. “I think it’s a helluva idea,” Declan said. “And I’m going to beat both of you hands down.”
Saint nodded. “I’m all in. I hope Judy does run a kissing competition. I hope the ladies come running fast and hit up all over my pucker. Come to papa!”
Trace couldn’t believe his ears. “You,” he said, pointing at Steel, “are still in the doghouse with Judy; you’ll go along with anything she says. But the rest of you should have some pride. And further,” he said, ladling on the righteous disgust, “we still need to discuss how it happens that you tell me Ava’s not fit for bullfighting but then go behind my back to train her.”
“You’re too involved,” Saint said. “You know that.”
“You have too much lust ruling you to think straight,” Declan said. “We can handle this better.”
“Are you going to train the other girls?” Trace demanded. “Am I relegated to the pretty-pony part of their lessons?”
His buddies and Steel laughed. They stiffened when the Horsemen walked into their haunt.
“Look what we have here,” Buck said. “Girly boys.”
“No,” Fallon said. “We have Outlaws.”
“
Outlaws looking for in-laws,” Rebel said, and they laughed. “Which one of you will end up with which of Judy’s team?”
“That’s what the game is all about.” Jake put his boot up on a chair near Trace. “Judy went out of town to hire a wedding consultant for Hell.”
Trace, Declan, and Saint stared their rivals down.
“She was interviewing new team members,” Trace said.
“Nah.” Buck laughed. “She went to her sister’s in Austin to find the latest and greatest in wedding-fantasy stuff.” He smirked at them. “We overheard her telling Hattie and Dr. Ann all about it.”
A conspiracy. Judy was full of them. Look at the Hell Belles. He glanced over at Ava and the table of her friends, sitting and laughing as they had a “team” meeting with Judy.
“Thanks for the intel,” Trace said, “but I’m not really sure how that affects us.”
“Yeah. Why tell us?” Saint demanded.
“Because Judy’s got her eyes on settling you lot down,” Jake said. “We intend to sit back and watch you fall like dominoes, right in a line like you do every time Judy tells you to.”
It was an irritating-as-hell gibe, but unfortunately there was a ring of truth in there somewhere. Declan hit a ball and then leaned up against a wall, ever so casually. Trace recognized the beginning of trouble in his brother’s stance, a warning that revenge wasn’t far off.
“Speaking of falling like dominoes,” Declan said, “how does it happen that you’re donating gear and money to the Belles? Throwing Daddy’s money around again, Jake?”
“Pop said it was a good cause. He needed a tax write-off. It’s been a good year for Wild Jack. And it’s never a good idea not to back the mayor.” He grinned. “Besides which, there’s always money in pretty ladies.”
Trace could feel steam practically rising from his hat. “Don’t let us keep you. You probably have someplace real important to be.”