Last of the Red-Hot Riders (11 page)

“It's a great town to live in,” Steel said cheerfully. “If you don't mind an occasional setback.”

This was more than a setback. She literally didn't know what she was going to do. Her stomach tightened.

“Aw, it'll all work out,” Steel said. “That big ol' cowboy won't always have his head up his butt.”

“Yes, he will. I had talked myself into overlooking it.” Which was a mistake.

“I've known Saint for a long time. He's a good man.”

“I know that.” She sighed when he handed her a tissue. “I'm not going to cry, but thank you.”

“Yeah, you'll probably cry. I cried when my best hunting boots got stolen last year.”

“No, you didn't, but thanks for trying to make me feel better.” An unwilling smile crept onto Cameron's face. “Did you get them back?”

“No. I realized Eli was wearing them, figured he needed them more. Thing is, I haven't seen him wearing them since.” Steel laughed. “I can't figure out what Eli does with all the stuff he gathers up.”

She blew her nose. “Well, he didn't borrow my tires.”

“Nope.”

They rolled on in companionable silence until they got to the bungalow. “You're sure you're ready to go to the academy and do all this? It'll mean giving up your dream of bullfighting. And for the record, I do realize what I'm asking of you. Maybe you need time to think about it.”

It was giving up a dream, but taking on a new one. Strangely, she didn't need time to think about it. Somewhere in her heart she'd known, the moment Steel had mentioned law enforcement being the career for her, that she'd finally found the thing she'd be imminently good at. “I'm sure. Definitely.” Cameron nodded. “I'll be a kick-ass cop.”

“There you go. That's what we need in this town. A woman who knows what she wants.”

That reminded her of Judy's plight and the fact that the sheriff was all alone now. “Are you okay? Have enough food in the house?”

He shrugged. “It's funny how little I feel like eating without that six-foot blonde around firing up my temper. I never realized how hungry she made me with all the busybodying and drama she can cook up. Damn, it's quiet around my house without her.”

Cameron smiled. “If there's anything you need, let me know.”

“I think you're the one who needs something right now.” Steel smiled. “Tires, and maybe a man who knows how to apologize.”

That wasn't going to happen. Saint wasn't the kind of man to back off in any situation. “Good night, Sheriff.”

“I'll get you the papers for the training you'll need tomorrow.”

“Thanks.” She closed the door and went inside the bungalow, surprised to find Harper on the sofa with Michael.

“Why are you two still up?”

“Michael had a bad dream.” Harper smiled at her son, who was in his blue Superman pajamas. “He thought there was a monster in his room.”

Cameron idly wondered who Michael's father was—Harper didn't talk about that much. Ever, actually. But she was doing a great job of parenting Michael. Cameron admired her friend's ability to handle everything she had on her plate.

“I had monsters in my room when I was a kid,” Cameron said, and Michael looked up at her with interest. “But you know, it turned out that they were actually friendly monsters, like in
Monsters, Inc.
Have you seen that movie?”

Michael nodded eagerly.

“Well, then you know that most monsters are friendly. They don't want to hurt you. Then again, I'm pretty sure they only exist in storybooks and movies.” Cameron smiled kindly. Michael looked relieved, then went to select a coloring book and crayons from the coffee table.

Cameron looked at Harper, sank down on the sofa. “I might have been visited by a m-o-n-s-t-e-r tonight.”

Harper smiled. “I don't think you can call Saint that. Maybe a little opinionated, but nothing scary.”

Cameron wasn't so sure—her heart certainly wasn't sure. “Someone took my truck tires.”

“What?” Harper's big eyes went even wider. “When?”

“After you and Declan left.” Her shoulders slumped. “All four of them. Left my truck sitting on its axles.”

Harper gasped. “Right in Saint's driveway?”

She shrugged. “We were out back. Didn't hear a thing.”

“I am so sorry. That's awful!”

“It kind of is.” Cameron took a deep breath. “On the other hand, it gave me a great reason to finally take Steel up on his offer to enter the academy and start my training.”

Harper's gaze was admiring. “There's no knocking you down for long, is there?”

“I feel knocked down.” In fact, she felt pretty flattened. But those emotions weren't going to solve her problem—not the truck, and not the problem of Saint.

“I bet Saint was pissed!”

“He was when he heard me tell Steel I was willing to go into law enforcement training.”

Harper laughed. “He told Declan you scare the hell out of him. That he didn't need a woman who scared the—” She stopped, noticing her son looking up at her. “Michael, do you want me to make you some cocoa?”

He nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”

Harper went into the kitchen. Cameron got on the floor next to Michael, chose one of his books, and picked up a crayon. “May I color one?”

“Sure. That one.” He pointed to a drawing of a horse jumping over a thick hedge, and Cameron decided to color the horse to look like Harper's chestnut mare, Trixie. She knew Michael would like that.

Harper came back into the main room a few minutes later with a small cup of cocoa for Michael. “I made extra, if you want some.”

Cameron shook her head. “I'm going to finish coloring and then go to bed.” She needed to think. Today had not been her day.

But it had almost been wonderful. Those few moments in Saint's arms had been exciting and breathtaking, sexy and tantalizing.

Then everything changed.

And she didn't think it could ever be the same.

“You knew that a woman like Cameron wasn't going to put up with all that hot air, Saint. Come on, now,” Steel said, his boots propped up on his desk. Trace and Declan sprawled in wooden chairs nearby, laughing at his dilemma. Saint didn't think it was funny, not one bit.

He had a feeling Steel was enjoying stirring up trouble.

Judy needed to get back in town, fast. Without her, Steel was at loose ends, had more time on his hands to wreak havoc. He was definitely wreaking havoc in Saint's life. He looked around the homey jail office, illuminated by a lamp and a bowl of potpourri underneath it. Four wooden chairs surrounded the wide desk, Steel's kingdom when he wasn't in his cruiser. “Damn it, Steel, we don't need women to be the face of Hell. Not in law enforcement, anyway. Frick and Frack are just fine.”

His buddies laughed, enjoying watching him stew.

“If you weren't so afraid of Cameron, you wouldn't be so twisted up,” Declan said.

“Hard up,” Trace said.

“Messed up,” Steel agreed.

“I'm not afraid of Cameron.” He sighed. “Much.”

“That's bad.” Declan studied him. “You know that's bad, right?”

“I know I'm not too worried about your opinion.” He deserved the ribbing. Cameron was a great girl. He'd had her in his arms last night, and it had been crazy-wild-awesome. Wildly hot in some way he couldn't define but which made him crave more.

“You realize there are things to do with your mouth that a woman likes much better than telling her what she can and can't do?” Trace asked, and his friends snickered. “Take it from a happily married man, all you need to say to achieve complete happiness is, ‘Yes, babe. Whatever makes you happy, babe.' ” Trace looked pleased with himself. “Those words are the magic key.”

“The key to what?” Declan asked.

“Sex. Love. Rock 'n' roll. Whatever you want, basically. But if you want to be the boss, you're going to sleep alone,” Trace said.

“I feel what I feel. She wants to bullfight, kiss other men, and arrest criminals.” He pointed a finger at Trace. “Don't act like you had this much trouble with Ava. Ava was a kitten compared to Cameron.” He massaged the area over his heart, which had tightened up on him like crazy. Just thinking about Cameron being in danger all the time was going to give him a cardiac event.

Declan laughed. “You've got yourself in such a knot you don't know which end is your head and which is your ass. Why don't you just get over trying to save her from herself? She's going to do what she wants to do.”

“I've figured that much out.” He relaxed in his chair, forcing his muscles to loosen up a bit. It wasn't easy—Cameron did have him in a pretty good knot.

“Most women like it if a fellow is just nice to them,” Steel said, and they burst out laughing at his expense again.

Saint grunted. “I'm nice to her, but it's not that simple. You're nice to Judy, but Judy chaps you constantly, and she's not even trying to get herself killed like Cameron is.”

The instant he said it, he wished he hadn't. His friends sat enjoying his misery.

“Oh, hell, don't mind me,” Saint said. “I'm going through a short-term phase with a woman who's pretty fearless about life, and it's making me a little nervous. There's no cause for concern here. It'll blow over.”

He wasn't sure it would, but there was no point in admitting that to this crowd. They sent one another knowing looks and wry smiles, clearly believing that they knew him better than he knew himself, that he was deluding himself.

After being
this close
to making love to Cameron—he knew himself, and knew what he wanted. And he wanted Cameron, in the worst way.

She was driving him insane. And this lot knew it.

Which meant they were already putting the popcorn in the microwave to sit back and watch the movie of him simmering and flailing through the agony of falling in love with a Hell's Belle—just as Trace had.

Which I expressly told myself would never happen to me.

Still, it had.

Oh, those soft, sweet lips of
Cameron's…Well,
he could only imagine how soft and sweet the rest of her was. And the thing was, until he got to find out, he was a doomed man.

“You can't be a male chauvinist and get the girl, dude,” Declan said, appointing himself chief romance adviser while, as far as Saint could see, he had no woman of his own; not exactly a ringing endorsement for his advice. “You're going to have to let Cameron be Cameron. She's just more woman than you're probably capable of handling.”

“I reckon it's hard to have a woman whose life is more dangerous than your own, currently. She'd be wearing the pants in the relationship, from Saint's perspective,” Steel said.

Saint leaned back in the chair, shook his head. “That isn't my perspective. I'm not worried about Cameron wearing the pants.”

“You're worried about getting her pants off,” Trace said. “Take it from me, that's not going to happen unless you change your ways.”

“So I should give in? Train her to bullfight? Watch a bunch of horny guys line up to kiss her?” They hooted at him, but he went on. “Someone sabotaged her truck last night, and I'm supposed to feel good about her becoming a cop and further putting herself out where she'll be in danger?”

“So what do you want to do?” Declan asked. “Stick her in your house where you can keep her safe and make her your love slave?”

“Yes! Is that too much to ask?” Saint said, and his friends burst into raucous laughter.

“Doesn't work that way,” Steel said. “Take it from me, you're going to have to toughen up.”

Saint looked at the sheriff. Trace and Declan did too. If any man knew something about falling for a woman who was bound to drive you mad, it was Steel. They'd always chuckled about Steel, saying he was a bit whipped by Judy.

But they'd also known Judy was just as crazy about Steel. She just had the bigger personality. Steel was steady, true blue, while Judy was more hot pinks and neons. She was steady as well, someone you could always count on—but she was dramatic and flamboyant. Steel and Judy balanced each other, Saint realized.

“Am I the opposite of Cameron? Do I balance her?” Saint asked, not realizing he'd spoken aloud.

“Of course not,” Declan said. “Don't be an idiot. That's the problem. You're trying to settle down into a life outside the Navy, and the kind of work we did. But you're sort of forcing it. Of all of us, you're the least ready to give up the adrenaline rush. That's why you're attracted to Cameron.”

“She's pure adrenaline,” Trace agreed. “Judy knows it, and you know it.”

“But you're a little scared of it, too. Remember the first time you detonated an IED?” Declan asked. “Pure adrenaline, right?”

Oh, shit. They were right. “So I'm fucked, is what you're saying.”

“Well, not yet,” Trace said, and Saint's three tormentors all snickered again. “Until you get a few things straight in your head, you're not getting anywhere near Cameron's bed. She's way too independent to put up with a guy who's attracted to her because she's dangerous, and yet wants to detonate exactly what makes her
her
.”

Declan looked at him. “Sorry, brother. I don't know how you can fix this. She kind of has a right to be pissed.”

“Yeah.” Steel nodded. “You may be caught between a rock and a hard place. Your head ‘the rock,' and ‘the hard place' your groin.”

All this brotherly love was going to kill him. Suddenly his friends were all minstrels of the heart, plucking their harp strings and trying to outdo each other with sonnets to his suffering heart. He wasn't miserable—not entirely. He rose. “I'm going over to Redfeather's.”

“Little early for a beer, isn't it?” Steel asked.

“It's five o'clock somewhere. See you lot later, hopefully not too soon.”

He loped across the street to Stephen's place, sighing with relief as the dimness of the bar and grill enveloped him. This was what he needed: darkness and a beer. A place to think. Some of his best thinking happened in this old cracked black leather booth.

Fallon O'Rourke, Declan's evil twin, and Jake Masters slid into the circular booth, grinning at him. Shit-eating grins, like they knew something he didn't. And damn it, they probably did. “What ill wind blows you into my booth?”

“You know, funny thing about this booth. We always hear how it's the Outlaws' special resting place for you assholes to sit on your righteous duffs, but we don't see a name on it,” Fallon said.

“Penis envy or simply brotherly envy?” Saint asked Fallon.

“Not funny.” Fallon glared at him. “I'm not envious of my twin at all.”

“Of course you're not. Why would you be?” He raised his beer to them in a silent, mocking salute. “That would require brains, and maybe some self-examination of the psychological variety.”

“One of these days, Markham, you're going to wish you hadn't opened up that fat yap of yours,” Fallon said.

“Anyway,” Saint said, “as you're taking up space in my booth, what is on your peabrains?”

Jake looked like he wanted to take the bait and start up a fight, decided against it. “Somebody stole the tires off Ivy's truck last night.”

Saint looked at Jake, his attention caught. “Why are you telling me? Steel or Frick and Frack need to file a report for you.”

“Because you and your crowd are the only ones who would pull a stunt like that,” Fallon said.

“Really.” Saint sucked on his beer. “Anyway, I can't help you, boys. Steel is in his office, so you two head over there. I've got my own fish to fry.”

“You're obviously not surprised about the theft,” Jake said.

“Nothing surprises me in Hell. That's not an admission of guilt.” Saint was more surprised than he was letting on, but there was no point in revealing that Cameron's tires had been taken too. He wanted to play this out a little more, see what else the Horsemen had on their tiny, dented minds.

Stephen came over to the booth. He looked at Saint, long and steady, silently inquiring as to whether he should serve the Horsemen. Saint shrugged. He didn't give a damn if they sat in his booth or across the room. Them posturing in his booth, breathing fire, actually kept his mind almost all the way off Cameron—which he appreciated.

Of course that was pretty pitiful now that he thought about it, that he was so wrapped up in her that it took these two sad sacks to give his mind a break from thinking about her. Jake and Fallon ordered beers identical to his, and Saint sighed. They hadn't had an original thought in their entire troublemaking lives.

“Where did you lost souls go so wrong?” Saint asked, studying with some careful admiration the hamburger Stephen had just served him. There was lettuce, a tomato, and a pickle on the plate, so if the burger wasn't edible, the veggies at least might be. This was a marked improvement.

“Actually, we're not as lost as you are,” Jake said. “Word has it that you can't make your woman happy.”

“Well, that ‘word' is pretty interesting, especially since I don't have a woman.” Saint bit into the burger, cautiously trying to catalogue the flavors. So far, so good—which really wasn't like Stephen. He was known to make a decent burger, but the crisp, fresh trimmings were a new thing.

Something was off.

“Cameron Dix is supposedly giving you the runaround like crazy.” Fallon grinned. “I hear about these things from Declan.”

“No you don't.” Saint chewed, somewhat amazed that the burger didn't totally suck. “Declan doesn't talk to you except once a year when you go over the family business.”

Fallon's mouth pinched. “Don't believe everything you hear.”

“And right back at you.” Saint peered disbelievingly at the burger. Cooked to perfection. What the hell was going on back in Stephen's kitchen?

“Excuse me. I'll be right back to continue this scintillating conversation.” He looked at them. “And if you touch my burger, if you mess with my beer like you did Declan's, you'd better make sure it's going to kill me. Because I'm not as nice as Declan, and when I come to, I'll kill you both. That's a promise.”

He sauntered back to the kitchen. “Yeah, that's what I thought.” He stared at Harper, standing over the stove, whipping up plates of food in appetizing arrangements. “What the hell is going on around here? Why are you trying to save Stephen's restaurant when you should be training?”

When Saint couldn't get a satisfactory answer from Harper about the obvious changes to the Hell's Belles' team structure, he went straight to his favorite redhead, finding her at the training center barn. Discovering Harper had taken up part-time work cooking at
Redfeather's—when
everyone in town had grown accustomed over many years to Stephen's questionable fare—meant there was a problem in Hell. Harper had been reluctant to share any details, saying that she would feel disloyal to Mayor Judy.

And that was really all he needed to hear to know that he needed to dig deeper.

“Don't get your chaps stuck in your butt, Saint.” Cameron carried a saddle, barely slowing down as she passed him. “We're going to have to change a few things, change our direction. Judy brought us here, but she didn't think through her plan. Now she's gone, and we can't live off big dreams and promises. That's all.” She looked at him. “How is this your concern?”

She was still steamed with him. She was also head over heels for him, and that was bad, because they were too much alike. He wanted to boss her, and she wanted to be her own boss, and that wasn't going to work. The last thing she needed was a stubborn, sexy cowboy trying to rule her life.