Last of the Red-Hot Riders Page 5

  “Judy should have saved you a trip,” Ivy said. “But as she chose to use you as her pawns, let me tell you what Judy really wants, to save you from coming back out here disguised as a charity mission.”

  Cameron looked at Ivy. “We’re listening.”

  “Judy and I are first cousins. Neither of us has children. You are her children, I suppose.”

  Cameron raised a brow. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how she sees us.”

  “We’ll see.” Ivy put a delicate hand on the folder. “Judy and I own a considerable amount of real estate and land together.”

  Now, this was a surprise. “How? You two don’t get along,” Cameron said.

  “And neither did our mothers. But these properties have been in our family for years. This establishment, for example, is partly owned by Judy.”

  Cameron and Harper gasped. “That can’t be. Judy thinks this place is a blot on Hell,” Cameron said.

  Ivy laughed. “She may, but that’s jealousy talking. I get far more customers than she’ll ever get with her silly parade, and my Honky-tonk brings far more revenue into Hell than any establishment on the right side of the highway.” She smiled. “I should say that the combined establishments of Hell don’t bring in the money that I do.”

  Cameron thought Ivy was probably telling the truth. With a total citizenry of about two hundred, there weren’t all that many super-profitable businesses in town. In fact, there weren’t any hopping businesses, now that she thought about it. There was Stephen Redfeather’s place, but they all ate there out of habit and loyalty. Even the most hapless tourist quickly figured out that Hattie’s had the more refined atmosphere and the better food. Madame Chen sold flowers, which couldn’t bring in all that much. But the Honky-tonk was packed to the rafters every single night.

  “So you’re saying that Judy wants you to participate because she owns part of this place?” Cameron asked.

  “Well, she’s been trying to put me out of business for years.” Ivy leaned back in her chair, but she didn’t look relaxed. “Now she’s just trying another tack.”

  “If this is true, why wouldn’t Judy just sell her portion of the real estate you two own?” Saint asked.

  “Because she can’t. Neither of us can. By our mothers’ wills, it has to be passed down to the next generation. It was this way from our great-grandmother’s days. But Judy and I were only children, and neither of us will have children. Life is so strange that way, isn’t it?”

  Cameron looked at the sexy woman. “What will happen to everything if neither of you have heirs?”

  “Well,” Ivy said, leaning forward at her desk as if she were taking them into her confidence, “my guess is that Judy’s hoping to outlive me. Wouldn’t you think? And then she could give all of our parcels to any Hell charity she wanted. Knowing Judy the way I do, that’s what I think she has on her mind.”

  “You don’t know that, though,” Cameron said, but she thought Ivy’s guess might be on target. Judy was very civic-minded, Hell’s greatest cheerleader.

  “I do know that,” Ivy said, winking at Saint, who stood protectively behind Cameron. “Judy’s just waiting me out. This place would come down, and no doubt a hospital would be put here. Or a junior high school, or a day care, or anything that would bring families to Hell.” Ivy smiled, her beautiful lips curving sexily. “But Fate has dealt us an interesting twist recently. Not that she’d want you to know, since she indicated she would appreciate my keeping her confidence, but my dear cousin has just discovered she has breast cancer.”

  Harper and Cameron stared, stunned. Cameron wanted to deny it, wanted to reach across the desk and slap Ivy for being such an evil bitch—there was no reason to play so hard-core. But then she remembered how tired and pale Judy had been at dinner last night—and she knew Ivy was telling the truth.

  “How would you know that?” Declan demanded.

  “Because she told me.” Ivy held up the sheaf of papers. “When you own a lot of real estate together, you’re sort of tied together for life. She had to tell me. So you go on back to Judy, and you tell her that all the do-gooding in the world isn’t going to convince me to give any of my time or my girls’ time to her latest scheme to make Hell the place where the best families in Texas dream of raising their kids. We won’t be opening Babyville or anything like that. As far as I’m concerned, I’m the Queen of Hell, and I like it just the way it is. Nice and hot.”

  —

  Saint didn’t think his truck had ever been so silent with two people in it. He didn’t dare turn on any music to break the silence, and he didn’t know what to say. He was shocked into absolute frozen pain. Any moment he expected Cameron to burst into tears, and while he wasn’t a guy for emotions, he’d be glad when the dam finally burst.

  He was planning to sneakily wipe his own eyes when, a couple hundred feet from his house, she finally spoke.

  “Ivy’s more poison than ivy,” Cameron said, sounding mad as hell. “Why didn’t I reach across that desk and slap her into the next county!”

  It wasn’t a question, more a determination that next time, she’d take a crack at Ivy. Saint cleared his throat, pretended to mop his forehead while taking a fast pass over his eyes. How could Judy not have told them she had a major health issue?

  “Next time,” Cameron said, her voice practically shaking with rage, and Saint cleared his throat again as he parked the truck in his drive. “Take me to town, please.”

  “You want to go to the Honeysuckle Bungalow?” Maybe she wanted to go meet up with Harper, though he had a funny feeling that Declan might not be taking her home anytime soon. Judy and Steel were babysitting Harper’s son, so picking up Michael would mean seeing Judy. Harper probably wasn’t ready to face her yet.

  He wasn’t ready to face Judy yet.

  They needed a plan. But first, he had to catch his breath.

  “I want to go to Hattie’s,” Cameron said.

  Hattie and Judy were best friends, and Hattie had more common sense than anyone else in town. “I doubt Hattie knows, and we can’t let the cat out of the bag. Not until we have a plan.”

  Cameron looked at him. “Plans are good. Mine got shot all to hell back there. Let’s hear yours.”

  “Okay. First, I’m getting out of this truck, and I’m going inside my house. I’m going to have a good strong whiskey. If you’re not comfortable being alone with me—”

  “I’m fine.” Cameron got out of the truck. “Besides, I could use a glass of wine.”

  He couldn’t remember the last woman who’d crossed his threshold. He reminded himself that Cameron was off-limits and vowed not to do anything to spoil the just-friends comfort level they’d gotten to. It wasn’t enough—but it was better than awkward. Getting out of the truck, he let out a startled yell as Eli Larson jumped down from the truck bed.

  “Damn it, Eli! You’ve got to stop doing that!”

  The bedraggled man stared at him, his eyes not quite focused. His hair hadn’t seen a brush in a long time, although he would get a cut at the barbershop soon enough, courtesy of the town’s fund for the hometown veteran.

  “Oh, look. A puppy!” Cameron exclaimed, coming around the truck bed to examine what Eli was holding.

  Eli handed the puppy to Saint and loped off down the road.

  “Eli!” Saint yelled. “I don’t want this animal! Holy crap.” The occasional stray managed to wander through Hell, which was usually a lucky thing for a stray because Dr. Jack always fixed them up and found them homes. So far Saint had managed to avoid taking on one of Dr. Jack’s special causes. He looked at Cameron’s delighted face, studying the animal with eye-to-eye concentration as he held it. “Oh, shit. I’m going to want this animal, aren’t I?”

  “Of course you do!” She frowned at him. “And you want to give him a bath right now and then make an appointment with Dr. Jack.”

  “That’s just what I was planning to do tonight,” he said gloomily, following Cameron to his front door and letting the
m in. It was some comfort that Cameron was actually with him and in his house, but this smelly cur was going to put a real damper on any further exploration of her lips he might have been fortunate enough to pursue.

  Oh, who am I kidding? That was a one-shot deal.

  “I can’t believe Ivy,” Cameron fumed. “How dare she sit there and smirk about poor Judy! I don’t care how much they hate each other, she ought to be sympathetic about Judy’s health. Cancer! Oh, my God. Poor Judy!” She went into the kitchen like she lived there, got out two glasses while he held the smelly dog. “Over here?” she asked, pointing to the stock of whiskey he kept on top of his bar for what he called medicinal paybacks.

  “And if there’s wine, it’s in the cabinet underneath.” He looked at the dog with some loathing. “Animal, you are an ugly beast. Where did Eli find you?”

  “He’s not ugly!” Cameron was horrified. “Saint Markham, you speak nicely to your fur baby!”

  He gulped, realizing he could find himself in the doghouse permanently if he didn’t get ahold of himself. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That’s better.” She brought him a nice-sized slug of whiskey. “I’m guessing he’s going to be a big best friend. I think I see some German shepherd and maybe some golden retriever.”

  “I’m going to name him Trouble,” he warned her.

  “You do, and you really will have trouble.”

  He gulped again. “Lucky?”

  “That’s better.” She put her drink down and took Lucky from him. “Let’s go find your father’s bathtub for a nice rinse-off, so you’ll look your best for Dr. Jack. No doubt you have all kinds of worms and fleas and other icky things your new dad will need to address.”

  “Thank you,” Saint said.

  “You just sit out there and think about what we’re going to do for poor Judy,” she called over her shoulder.

  He followed the heart-shaped ass back to his bathroom, fascinated that Cameron seemed to be taking over his house. And it wasn’t as horrifying as he’d thought it might be to have a woman in charge.

  For the moment.

  “I’m guessing the only reason Ivy told us was to make trouble.”

  “I agree. She said Judy had wanted her to keep her news a secret. Of course Ivy’s making trouble. She knows we’re going to be upset and that we’d probably go talk to Judy.”

  “First thing I think we do is tell Declan and Harper that this stays between the four of us.”

  She lowered the squiggling puppy into the nice tepid bath she’d drawn. Saint watched, fascinated, as she leaned over the tub to use his Old Spice soap to clean the mangy animal. “Great idea. I’ll wash Lucky, and you call Declan.”

  “On second thought, maybe we should name that ugly beast Rascal. Or Soldier. Something hard-core.”

  “He’s Lucky,” Cameron insisted. “And you are so very lucky Uncle Eli picked you up and gave you to your new dad!” she told the puppy.

  “Great. A guy wants to get lucky, and he gets ‘Lucky,’ ” Saint muttered, and went to call Declan.

  Five minutes later, he returned to find Lucky wrapped in a towel, gazing up at Cameron and licking her chin with adoration. He would have liked to do something similar to her, but that just wasn’t going to happen—ever since she’d kissed him, she’d kept a careful distance.

  “They agree with us. No causing trouble. We’re all going to act like we don’t know a thing until Judy tells us. Declan says Harper’s taking it really hard,” Saint said.

  “I’m sure she is. Harper’s tough, but she’s got such a sweet soul. Usually.”

  He followed her back into the den. “Sometimes?”

  “Well, you don’t raise a child by yourself without being something of a lioness. Don’t be fooled by that quiet, sweet, blonde exterior. Harper’s tougher than any of us.” She settled herself onto his sofa with the puppy in her arms. “We’re going to need dog food and a couple of bowls, Dad.”

  He stopped dead in his tracks. “Dad”? Hellfire, he was the furthest thing from being a dad that anyone could be. Trace was looking for fatherhood; Saint was all about freedom. “Maybe I should give Lucky to Declan.”

  Cameron gave him a disappointed look.

  Smooth move, dumb-ass. “Tell you what. Why don’t I make a run for some dog food and some bowls?”

  She beamed at him.

  “That’s what I thought I’d be doing tonight anyway,” Saint said, grabbing his keys and heading out the door, his whiskey barely touched.

  If it earned him a softer place in Cameron’s heart, he told himself, adopting a dog would be a very small price to pay.

  And that was when Saint knew he’d hit a new low, even for him. What man used a dog to get closer to a woman?

  Then again, it was safer than using bulls, which had been his only other option. And training her in bullfighting was out of the question.

  A dog was so much safer.

  For both of us.

  Chapter 5

  Once Saint left, Cameron began making a comfy dog bed for Lucky. “Your new father may not appreciate me using one of his T-shirts and one of his towels for a nice, soft bed for you, but ask forgiveness later, I always say.” She went into Saint’s closet, amazed by how orderly it was. Everything was on hangers, facing the same direction. No piles of clothes tossed haphazardly into baskets or corners. With the puppy in her arms, she backed out to give his bedroom a better inspection

  A queen-sized bed covered in a blue and maroon paisley pattern gave the room a comfortable feeling. There were two mahogany end tables, each with a brass lamp on top, and a book lay on the side of the bed he clearly slept on, since that pillow was the only one disturbed. A beer can sat beside the book, probably consumed as a sleep inducer. She went to peer at the book.

  “Oh, your father likes Sherlock Holmes. You’re in for some amazing bedtime stories.”

  Lucky licked her chin. Cameron went to the large window to peer out at Saint’s view by night. A birdfeeder was right outside his window, illuminated by a porch light. “And your dad may have a softer heart than he lets on.” She had no idea how big Saint’s property was, but she thought it was a couple of acres.

  Against the opposite wall was a large glass-and-wood case. Peering into it, she saw rodeo buckles, some big, some smaller—but each a sign of his being a winning bull rider. Cameron caught her breath as she looked at all the trophies. Not only had Saint been a brave-as-hell SEAL, but he’d been hell on a bull, too. This was a glimpse into a side of him that he never spoke of. She’d always heard he was a great rider, but now it seemed that whether it was a horse or a bull didn’t matter—he was good at it.

  He could train her in bullfighting, if he wanted. He just didn’t want to and wasn’t about to be talked into it. Like Trace and Declan, Saint wanted no part of putting a woman into an arena and thought Judy’s Hell’s Belles idea was harebrained. The Outlaws claimed no man would feel safe with a woman being in charge of protecting him from a couple tons of annoyed meat trying to gore and stomp him.

  But Judy was smart. She knew she had an angle no other small town had, and had searched high and low to find the women who could help her accomplish her goal.

  Cameron knew Judy hadn’t counted on the Outlaws’ consistent, and persistent, opposition to her team.

  At the moment, she had a wriggly puppy to foist onto Saint. “He’s not happy about you,” she told Lucky, “but he’s the right guy for you. I just know you’ll do him a world of good. It’s time for him to quit being such a solitary, lonely guy, especially now that his buddy Trace is married. I don’t even know where Declan spends his time anymore—mostly at Redfeather’s, probably. You’ll meet Stephen Redfeather one day. He’s probably got a bone or two in his kitchen we can snitch for these puppy teeth of yours to chew on.”

  As she returned to the closet to commandeer a T-shirt, she breathed in the comforting scent of man and clean clothes. Rows of boots sat on a wire riser on the hardwood floor. One side of the closet held T-shirts
with logos, the other side was for long-sleeve shirts and jeans. “I would never have imagined he’d be so orderly, but even the towels in the bathroom were stacked neatly and by color. However, I’m pretty sure we don’t want to borrow one of his T-shirts with logos on them, because men can be real proud of their souvenir shirts.”

  She backed out of the closet and went to the laundry room, hoping to find something in a laundry basket Saint wouldn’t mind her using. A basket of clothes that were waiting to be washed overflowed with an assortment of T-shirts, work shirts, and jeans. “Perfect. You’ll think you’ve landed in doggie heaven.” She pulled out a white T-shirt, grabbed a towel from the bathroom, and made a nice nest on the floor for Lucky. “There you go. See how nice that is?”

  Lucky crawled right back up into her lap. Saint came in, stopping when he saw her on the floor by his bed.

  “He’s sleeping with me?” Saint asked.

  “Of course. He’d be scared without someone with him.” She took the bowls and food from him, smiling. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.” He followed her into the kitchen, where she set Lucky on the floor so she could wash the bowls. The puppy hovered at her feet anxiously. “I guess it’ll win me no points to say that Lucky’s already spent many nights in his young life without sleeping with someone. He could go in the garage.”

  Cameron looked at him, horrified. “Oh, he’d be so sad!”

  “Yeah, I know. Better me than the dog, I guess.”