by Beth Ciotta
Bella frowned. “We tend to skirt uncomfortable issues.” She chanced his gaze. “What about the date part of our deal?”
“That holds.”
“Should I be nervous?”
“Depends. How do you feel about formal affairs? Dining and dancing?”
She blinked. “You dance?”
“Not if I can help it. But I promised a friend I’d attend.”
“A chance to shop for a special dress?” Bella grinned. “Fun.”
“If you say so.” He gestured toward the stack of boxes before she could ask for more specifics. “I could still use your help,” he said. “If you have time.”
She sidestepped Joe, limping toward the hoarded collection of photos that made him see red.
“What’s with your leg?” Swooping her up before she could protest, he settled her atop his drawing table, next to a pile of sketches. “Ankle?”
“Knee. It’s throbbing but I’m sure it’s fine.”
Joe stooped, rolling up the left leg of her baggy overalls. Hard not to admire her toned creamy calf. Even harder to resist exploring her thigh. Somehow he managed to focus on the knee. “Swollen and bruised. You’re walking on it, so I doubt there’s serious damage but I can’t be sure. I should take you to a doctor.”
“For a bad boy, you sure are a worrywart. I don’t need a doctor. Honest.” She combed her fingers through his hair and cradled the back of his head. The tender and soothing gesture hugged his heart and sparked desire.
Rarely was Joe taken off guard. Bella blindsided him with the force of a speeding train.
“These drawings,” she said, referring to latest renderings. “They’re amazing.”
He reached back and palmed her hand briefly before rising, scrambling to make sense of this whirlwind infatuation. Thankfully her gaze was fixed on various mock-ups for three potential customers.
“It’s a hobby,” he said. “Was a hobby. I’m hoping to develop a lucrative business.”
“Skulls, flames, wolves, silhouettes of naked women. They’re quite…masculine.”
Since she wasn’t looking at him, Joe smiled, amused by her polite description of his graphic sketches. “Appropriate, considering my clients are men. I custom airbrush art on motorcycles, cars, and trucks.”
“Oh.” She met his gaze. “That scenario never crossed my mind.”
“Why would it?”
“Ever dabble on the lighter side? Unicorns? Rainbows? Sparkly castles?”
“A little out of my realm.” He didn’t have it in him. Life, his experiences and observances, had been too morbid.
“Maybe you should broaden your horizons.”
“Sparkly castles on fuel tanks?”
“Surely your art isn’t restricted to cars and bikes.”
“That and tats.”
“You’re not inked. At least I didn’t notice any tattoos when you were shirtless yesterday. Not that I was looking.”
Her flushing cheeks said otherwise. A nice girl, Joe thought. A girl who asked for a kiss instead of initiating one. A girl who lacked seduction skills and feared herself frigid. The fact that she ran hot for Joe was massive turn-on. He helped her off the table, his hands lingering at her waist as he set her on the floor. Another kiss would be nice. Being inside her would be even better. “The tattoos I mocked up were for other people, not me,” he said, tearing his mind from the gutter. “Given my past profession, I avoided distinguishing marks.”
She perked up at that. “What did you use to do?”
“Collar criminals.” No sense in lying. McClure knew and he’d probably tell his sister who would in turn tell Bella. “I worked undercover for the Chicago Police Department.”
Bella gaped—a candid mix of surprise and awe. “Wow. Were we wrong about you? My friends and I,” she added. “We’d pegged you as a bad boy.”
Joe tucked her windblown hair behind her ears. “Oh, I’m bad, sweetheart. Trust me. I wouldn’t have gotten to where I am otherwise. But that’s not a story for anyone’s ears.”
* * *
Bella’s heart screamed, “Told you.” She’d sensed he was a good man. But he was far more than that. Savage was one of the good guys. A warrior who protected and defended. A man who battled evil. If he’d worked undercover that meant he’d mixed with dubious sorts. Surely a certain amount of suspect behavior was required in order to blend with hoodlums. She was bursting with questions. Questions she held at bay. She well understood not wanting to discuss uncomfortable issues. She danced around them all the time. So did her dad. He hadn’t even told her about settling his debt with Savage—something that must have dinged his pride big time.
“So,” she said, steering the conversation somewhere new. “What’s in the boxes? How can I help?”
She tried not to limp as she crossed to the cardboard towers. She also ignored her smarting hands and forehead. If Savage knew how much she was hurting she was certain he’d whisk her to the hospital or home. No way was she leaving this place. The prospect of getting to know him, of learning his secrets, of bonding more deeply, was invigorating. Intoxicating. Inspiring. Plus she was dying for another kiss. Dying to fast forward to even greater intimacies. Where Carson was concerned, she hadn’t felt a sincere spark of desire for months. Savage had discombobulated her entire world in one second with one kiss. Lust with variables, he’d said. She was curious about those variables.
“Photographs,” she said, while pulling open the flaps of one of eight boxes. She fingered the top layer. “Of Funland.”
“Several decades worth, dating back to the 1960s.”
“Back when people used film in their cameras.” She fingered through a few of the nostalgic shots. Some in black and white. Some in vibrant or muted colors. Most of them featuring kids enjoying Rootin’ Tootin’ Funland in its prime. Some showing the damaged grounds and rides after various storms. “I knew Mike was a shutterbug, but I had no idea he was so obsessed. Are all of these boxes filled with photographs?”
“Not all. Some contain various memorabilia—souvenirs, carnival prizes, newspaper articles, letters from satisfied visitors. I think some of these pictures were taken and sent by those customers. If you look at the writing on the back, they don’t all match.”
“You’re right. And the dates. Everything’s mixed up and thrown together. Why didn’t Mike sort by years and months or decade or category? How did he find anything?”
“This is a small sampling of the chaos I found when I first entered this barn. My uncle was a pack rat. A hoarder. Most everything was broken or corroded, rotting or rodent infested.”
“Gross.” She looked over her shoulder. “Have you been through these boxes?”
Humor flashed in his eyes and tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re safe.”
That crooked smile was beyond sexy. A full smile might prove orgasmic. Tempering racy thoughts, Bella turned back to the overflowing and wonderful collection. “I could sort these. Create a filing system.”
“That’s what I was hoping for.”
“It’s essentially like organizing a library collection.”
“Is this something the library might be interested in? A photographic compilation of local history?”
“It’s too massive for our small facility, although maybe one scrapbook. Something for patrons to browse in-house. What about the Nowhere Historical Museum? I’m thinking this is right up their alley. I could ask my friend Emma. She works at the museum. Rootin’ Tootin’ Funland was a pretty big deal around here for a very long time.”
“I know.”
Bella saw her chance and took it. “Have you considered renovating the park?” she asked casually.
“No.”
“Would you consider—”
“No.”
She turned to face him, confused by the sudden frost in the air. “Why not? It could be a source of income for you and beneficial to the community. A family-friendly attraction that would entice tourists to Nowhere. As for the local kids�
�”
“Drop it, Bella.”
His tone was calm, yet the man crackled with tension. She dropped it. Not because she was intimidated, but because she sensed the subject caused Savage distress. Maybe it was a sore spot because Funland had been a joy and obsession for Mike. Had uncle and nephew shared a tight bond? Was Savage still mourning Mike’s death? More questions. Questions to be saved for another time.
“Right. Well, it would take a lot of work,” she said. “And you are launching your custom airbrushing business so, bad timing and all that. Meanwhile, I should start sorting. Since you work with paint, I don’t suppose you have a pair of disposable gloves? Not that I’m worried about mouse poop, but these photos are old and I don’t want to risk…”
He turned his back, reached into a cabinet then presented her with a box of multi-purpose, disposable latex gloves. “You ramble when you’re nervous.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yeah. You do.”
Her cheeks burned. “Annoying, huh?”
“Not really.” He helped her pull on the gloves then caressed her face. “There are things I can’t talk about, won’t talk about. I need you to be okay with that.”
She figured she’d agree to about anything when he looked at her all troubled and dark-eyed. In that moment Bella did what she’d been aching to do since their first showdown. She hugged Joe Savage.
Chapter Ten
“You did what?”
“I asked him if he’d consider a boarder.” It had taken Bella two hours of sorting through Funland boxes—while Savage repaired the damage to her bike and worked on his sketches—to work up the nerve to voice her proposition. Worried that he might feel stalked, she’d kept her romantic and professional aspirations out of it, focusing on her personal dilemma instead. She’d described her lodging situation and why she thought it best not to stay on with her dad. She’d swallowed her pride and shared her financial restrictions. She’d explained why she preferred not to impose on her girlfriends and that renting a room from him would only be temporary while she searched for the perfect apartment.
His answer still rang in her ears. “Not just, no. Hell, no.”
Bella bristled, noting that Savage had looked almost as horrified by the concept as her friends did now. Because they’d connected through Party-Line, a social networking site that also offered video chats, she could see every Inseparable on screen, except for their long distance friend, Sinjun, who’d yet to sign on, and Angel who was physically sitting next to Bella. Her trepidation was up close and live.
“Before you panic,” Angel told the crew, “he answered, no.”
“Thank God,” Georgie said.
“What’s going on with you?” Emma asked. “First you agree to a mystery date with biker dude then you seduce him in the barn—”
“I didn’t seduce him,” Bella corrected. “I asked for a kiss.”
“Which is still aggressive. For you,” Chrissy said, “and totally out of character.”
“You only broke off with Carson three weeks ago, right?” Georgie asked. “Are you sure you’re ready to hook up with another guy so soon?”
“Carson and I were history long before I made it official,” Bella said. “As for Savage, no, I don’t think it’s too soon. Although I wanted to be sure, so that’s why I kissed him. I needed proof.”
“Not following,” Emma said.
“Tell them about ID-dot-com,” Angel said.
Just then Party-Line blipped with an incoming call and suddenly Sinjun Ashe was on screen. As always, her mousey blond hair was pulled off of her makeup free face and her clothes were prim and earth-toned. Sinjun had always been quietly pretty and painfully shy. Amazingly, she’d grown even more subdued with age. She was also scary smart and freakishly intuitive. “Sorry I’m late, gang. Just saw the notice for the impromptu meeting. I’m holed up in the office, putting in a late night. Can you see me okay?”
Although she was in the shadows, everyone answered yes. Bella smiled marveling over the wonders of the Internet. Sinjun had grown up in Nowhere and had been a founding member of the Inseparables. At thirteen her mom had packed up and moved to the east coast, taking Sinjun with her. Their friend had promised to stay in touch, but after a few emails she’d broken ties and soon after had fallen off the map. Then a couple of months ago she’d reconnected with everyone through social media. Sinjun wasn’t in daily contact, but she did check in every now and then. Although she was extremely private—giving up very little about her adult life—her presence and input always brought comfort and a dose of wisdom.
“Someone catch me up,” Sinjun said, and before Bella could speak, everyone else relayed her developing saga with the Bad Boy of Nowhere. “You kissed a stranger?” she asked Bella with a hint of a smile. “So how was it?”
“Magical.” Bella beamed, clutching her bandaged hands to her pounding heart. Savage had kissed her a second time. A kiss that sizzled through her veins, promising more—sooner or later. Even though he’d nixed the idea of her moving in, he’d made no bones about his amorous intentions.
“By magical,” Emma said, “I assume you mean hot. Why am I not surprised? That man is sex on a stick.”
“Tall, dark, and handsome?” Sinjun asked.
“Gorgeous, dangerous, and jacked,” Georgie said.
“He’s not dangerous,” Bella said. “He’s one of the good guys. Or at least he was.”
“Meaning?” Emma asked.
“He’s an ex-cop,” Chrissy chimed in.
Bella gaped at her cousin. “How do you know that?”
“And why are we just hearing about it?” Emma asked.
“Don’t get bent, Bella,” Chrissy said, “but I reached out to Ryan.”
“I told you not to do that!”
“You told Georgie not to do that.”
“What’s done is done,” Georgie interrupted. “So what did my brother say?”
“Not much,” Chrissy answered, “other than Savage was a detective with the Chicago Police Department for fourteen years and that he recently resigned.”
Although Bella was irritated that her cousin had involved the county sheriff, she listened to what she had to say, hoping to glean more insight. Unfortunately, Ryan hadn’t told Chrissy anything Bella hadn’t already learned from Savage. In fact, she knew more. Chrissy said nothing about Savage working undercover which meant that he’d mingled with mobsters which was a whole different kind of scary. For now, Bella kept that detail to herself. She did, however, add that he was an artist who painted murals and logos on bikes and hot rods.
“So see,” Bella said. “No cause for alarm. He’s not a serial killer or a member of a motorcycle gang. Just a man who walked away from a dangerous job to pursue a gentle career in the arts. Further proof that ID-dot-com was dead on in their recommendation.”
“What the hell is ID-dot-com?” Emma asked.
“An Internet site,” Angel said. Buzzing with the thrill of knowing something her friends didn’t, she leaned closer to the computer screen. “Stands for Impossible Dream. Apparently they’ve been making magic since 1956.”
Everyone stared as Bella took over and relayed specifics.
Chrissy spoke first. “Some matchmaking site declared Joe Savage your Prince Charming and you’re swallowing that bunk hook, line, and sinker?”
“There was more to it than that,” Bella said, trying not to sound defensive. “They also pegged him as my dream partner. Didn’t you hear the part where I said Savage is an artist? I’ve seen his work. It’s stunning. Now if I can just persuade him to draw unicorns and fairies.”
“Sorry,” Georgie said, “but I can’t picture biker dude, an ex-cop no-less, illustrating a children’s fairy tale book.”
“Did you mention Impossible Dream to Savage?” Emma asked.
“Of course not. I don’t want him to think I’m crazy.”
The brows of every Inseparable crept to their hairline.
“I’m not crazy,” Bella said
. “I’ve got…derring-do.”
Those same brows scrunched.
“Don’t rain on my parade just because I have the guts to reach for the seemingly impossible instead of giving up or settling.”
Georgie winced. “Ouch.”
“Derring-do,” Emma said while looking at her phone. “A daring spirit or deed; boldness or bold action. Thank you Free Dictionary.” She glanced back to Bella, looking insulted. “Hey. I’ve got a boatload of derring-do.”
“Not when it comes to setting your sights on what you deserve,” Bella said. “A happily-ever-after with your true love.”
“I’m not sure I believe in true love,” Emma said. “Not in the way you do. Not as in a soul mate.”
“I hate that phrase,” Chrissy said.
“I was lucky enough to have two soul mates,” Angel said. “I can’t believe the universe would bless me with a third.”
More than ever, Bella was determined to make a go of it with Savage, to prove to her friends that love moves in mysterious ways and sometimes the most unlikely person is the perfect person. If her fanciful heart got squashed in the end, she’d live. She’d rather risk it all than be haunted by “what if”.
“Life’s short,” she could hear her mom say.
“You’re being awfully quiet, Sinjun,” Bella said.
“Just feeling proud and inspired by you, my friend.” Sinjun smiled, one of those kind, wise smiles that instilled comfort and confidence. “I can’t think of anything worse than watching the stars float by rather than shooting for them.”
Chapter Eleven
Once upon a Saturday…
Chrissy woke up in a crummy mood. She did that a lot. Mostly because she tossed and turned every night dreaming about the man who’d broken her heart. The man who’d wooed her for a week, seduced her into bed, and pronounced them soul mates the morning they’d returned to their real lives. The man who, two months later, had renounced their baby’s existence threatening to sic his lawyers on her should she contact him again. Actually that letter had been issued by his father and the family lawyer. She’d not only fallen for a liar, but a coward. A man who hid behind his rich and influential daddy. To this day, Chrissy had withheld Mason’s true identity from her family and friends. Her dad and brother would kick his ass if they knew where to find him. She couldn’t risk angering his SOB father. Not that Mason didn’t deserve a good ass-kicking, but she was far more concerned with shielding her loved ones from the wrath of the richest family in Nebraska.