Last of the Red-Hot Heroes Page 7

  Hell, he didn’t care what they drank, just so long as he drank it with her.

  “Back to Judy’s opinions,” Harper prompted.

  He set a couple of glasses on the table, uncorked the wine. “She doesn’t think you can handle your team.”

  “Judy would know a lot about not being able to handle a team.” Harper poured the wine, pulled out a couple of nice-sized plastic dishes that were so piping hot, steam still fogged the lids.

  Declan sighed with appreciation at the tempting aromas managing to sneak out. “That’s really all she wanted to talk about. I get the sense she’d like her team back.”

  They sat on the plank seats across from each other. Harper waved a fork in his direction. “I’m positive you backed me as the manager of the team.”

  “I certainly feel that you’re more capable than Judy.” Declan wondered if he dared reveal more. Harper seemed like she’d allowed the first layer of frost to fall from her, and he was eager to get past the icy outer shell and find out what the warm, soft woman was all about.

  But no guts, no glory.

  “She also thinks you’re running away from your destiny, which is to be a bullfighter.” Declan pulled the top off the food, reveling in the beauty of the food revealed. “What made you go to Hattie’s instead of Stephen’s?”

  “I didn’t want to be seen at Redfeather’s with takeout.”

  “Ah. You’re avoiding gossip about the two of us, and why you’re bringing me dinner. Which, by the way, I like.” If the truth were known, he could get very used to this whole dinner-with-Harper scenario. He glanced around his kitchen, at the dark wood cabinets and the faded paint, the dodgy copper chandelier, pondering a future with Harper in his kitchen.

  And his bedroom.

  Oh, hell. That’s a pretty big dream, even for a big-thinker like me.

  “I’m not avoiding gossip. I’m just not starting it unnecessarily.” Harper dug into the food, sighing blissfully. “Hattie’s is the only reason a tourist ever comes down our highway into Hell.”

  “I’d prefer to stay on the topic of why you really gave up your dream of bullfighting.” He dug into a pile of mashed potatoes so fluffy he felt like he was eating gourmet food straight from the kitchen of a chef. But he never took his eyes off of Harper—and the second he asked the question, he knew she was hiding something. It was in the way she shifted those beautiful eyes away from him, over to the dodgy chandelier, and then down to her plate. “Go ahead, beautiful. You can tell me.”

  “You’re no more trustworthy than anyone else in Hell,” she said, “but I’ll tell you, anyway. I think the girls I’ve brought on will make far better bullfighters than we ever could. I think they’ve got the right stuff. And I think you’re the perfect person to show them the ropes.”

  Chapter Seven

  Take on a whole team of wild child riders, who’d already proven themselves to be something beyond the bounds of his comfort level? “No,” Declan told Harper.

  “Winter, Cassidy, and Micaela have everything that Ava, Cameron, and I didn’t have.”

  “No. There’s no way in Hell I’m going to do that.” He sighed. “Ask me for something else.”

  “Declan, I’m not asking you for something. I don’t need you for anything.”

  He wished she did need him, the way he wanted her to need him.

  “I’m only saying that you and I could make Judy’s dream happen.”

  “We could, except that I don’t care about Judy’s dream.”

  Harper stared at him. “Growing Hell doesn’t matter to you? Bringing families here, starting up good schools, and enriching the community?”

  He went back to eating. “Nope. That’s Judy’s dream. I’m fine with what Hell is.” He looked up, saw that she was truly stunned. “Look, beautiful, the idea of one day having a community center for the elderly folk and maybe a cultural arts center doesn’t get me excited.”

  “You’re saying you prefer Ivy’s plan for Hell? Keeping it the wild, wild west?”

  Declan snorted. “Don’t buy into Judy’s nonsense.”

  “Maybe I don’t consider what she’s trying to do nonsense.”

  He regarded the sexy woman across from him. She wasn’t going to like what he had to say, which was a shame. He wished she’d like him for any reason that might get her into his arms, but she had Judy goading her toward a mission. Women on a mission could be a serious pain in the ass—especially if they wanted to involve him in their plans. “Where are the girls tonight?”

  “Micaela, Cassidy, and Winter said they needed to do some extra work with their horses.”

  He heard the emphasis on Harper’s team’s names, and recognized she didn’t appreciate him referring to her team as “girls.” “All right, I get it. Your team is serious business. And you’re on fire with Judy’s mission.”

  “I think we can make a difference, yes. My team is strong, they’re determined. They can do what we weren’t so good at.”

  Declan knew this was all true. But what Beautiful didn’t get was that he’d served all the missions he’d planned to. He’d come home from war to wind down, focus, raise a few horses and mostly stare at his yard ornaments. “I contributed to saving the planet, Harper. Now I sit on my duff and am happy just staring at the beauty of God’s green earth.” He raised his glass to her. “And eating Hattie’s good homecooking. That’s another pleasure I missed like hell.” He sighed. “Let’s call a truce before all this debating ruins the digestion of a perfectly good meal.”

  “You’re not worried about your digestion. You’re worried about yourself.”

  “Too true.” He considered her. “I’m about all I can handle.”

  Harper carried her plate to the sink. “I have to be going.”

  “Before dessert? We haven’t had dessert.”

  She turned to look at him. “I didn’t bring dessert.”

  “I’m making an awkward pass at you. With a little humor on it, just to keep things light.”

  “Oh, my. That was awkward.” Harper loaded her dishes into the dishwasher.

  “That’s a no, I take it?” he said, grinning. She was cute when she was flustered.

  “It’s a no. On more levels than you can imagine.” She picked up her purse. “We’ll just have to agree to disagree on what we’d like from each other.”

  “Well, sex isn’t all I’d like—“

  “Declan, I’ll have sex with you when you and I find ourselves at an altar. How does that sound?”

  The smile flew off his face. “Altar?”

  “Altar.” She went to the front door.

  “Doesn’t that seem drastic?” He’d followed, curious as to why she’d mentioned an altar. Harper didn’t like him, not in the marriage sense, not even in the boyfriend sense, or friends-with-benefits sense. He’d been teasing her, throwing out a wild idea—because to be honest, sex with her would be close to the pinnacle of his existence—and she’d pulled a Judy on him. Changed the rules and pulled the rug from under him.

  “About as drastic as you taking on my team. Goodnight, Declan.”

  She went to her truck, and he watched her go. Damn, she was just as fine from the back as the front, and the thought came to him that an altar wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened to him if he got to sleep with Harper every night.

  It was too bad he wasn’t a genie. He’d make himself into a world-class trainer, and he’d train that team of hers into the vision Harper had for them.

  Unfortunately, he couldn’t train her team, not for any prize, not even for her.

  After everything he’d ever done that required bravery, even looking enemy combatants in the eye, there was one thing that had changed for him: He was scared shitless of bulls.

  * * *

  Winter, Cassidy, and Micaela sneaked out of the Honeysuckle Bungalow under cover of a very dark night, lit only by a sliver of pale moon. “Harper’s truck isn’t here,” Winter whispered.

  They jumped into her black truck, an
d Winter situated herself so she wouldn’t wrinkle her brand-new dress. It was made of a soft white chamois suede, and she’d fallen in love with it the moment she’d seen it in the window in Dallas. New tan-colored cowboy boots completed her look. It felt sexy to be out of jeans for a change.

  “Where do you think she is?” Micaela said, checking her cherry-colored lip gloss in the mirror.

  “Where she always is. Chasing that hot cowboy.” Cassidy rolled down the window to toss out the remains of a beer. “Which is lucky for us, because she’s not around to poke her nose in our business.”

  The road to the Honky-tonk was winding out in the county, until you got to the two-lane highway that ran in front of it. Winter negotiated the curves slowly so Micaela could get her lip gloss on perfectly. “Why doesn’t she just sleep with him if she likes him so much?”

  “Because she’s an old southern lady. She’s playing the game by making him wait,” Cassidy piped in from the back seat. “Anyway, what do we care as long as Declan keeps her out of our hair?”

  “She’s not old,” Winter said. “I think she’s like twenty-five or something.”

  “She has a child. That makes her old,” Micaela said.

  “It makes her not want to get burned again by sleeping with a guy she’s not sure of,” Cassidy said.

  “Fallon says she’s the one with the talent for bullfighting, but that she wussed out.” Winter would never wuss out. None of the girls in this truck would. “Anybody that can trick ride the way she does is mentally tough enough to handle the challenge of bullfighting.”

  “Maybe her heart’s not in it because of Michael. He’s an awfully cute little boy,” Micaela said, her voice a little dreamy, and Winter looked at her sharply.

  “Don’t even think about listening to your biological clock. We decided long ago we didn’t have those kind of alarms. What we have is freedom, which is what we’ve worked our asses off for,” Winter reminded her. She parked around back of the Honky-tonk where Sheriff Squealer and his deputy doorknobs were less likely to see her truck if they decided to scope the place out. Plus it was closer to the gypsies, who had moved their huge portable tent and horse trailers around back of the Honky-tonk, to keep themselves safe from overt surveillance. “One of these days, I’m going in to talk to that Griselda chick and find out what voodoo she’s peddling.”

  “Don’t say voodoo.” Cassidy shivered. “Remember those peddlers we came across once in Argentin—“

  “Shit! There’s the sheriff!” Micaela slumped down in the seat. “Get down!”

  They slumped as low as they could, hoping he wouldn’t stop by the truck if he didn’t spy them.

  “Why are we hiding?” Winter asked, knowing full well it was to keep themselves safe from being on Harper’s bad side. Harper seemed like a soft touch at first glance, but she was strict and hardcore about training.

  “Because it’s how we keep this gig.” Cassidy giggled and lightly kicked Winter’s seat. “Because we all agreed that this job was too sweet to pass up. We keep it for a few months, grab some pay, and move on.”

  Winter thought that was true. Build their resume, learn a few things, stay under the radar of their parents, who never gave up on any of them going back home. They were old enough to be on their own, but that didn’t mean their families were cool with what they were doing. Feeding their horses and the upkeep and everything that went along with the horse world cost money. Lots of money. Even a horse throwing a shoe could set you back serious cash—especially when you were terminally under-employed, as they were. Getting out of reform school had meant they could go back home—they’d probably only been sprung because their parents had forked over dough or bribed someone. They’d gone to a reservation instead, and then on to Brazil, then Argentina, picking up serious riding skills along the way. And found lots of fun, and trouble. It had been a crazy ride.

  But then they’d seen the advertisement for this job, and it was like gold falling from the sky. Harper said she’d interviewed lots of riders, but none had the skills they did.

  It had been all about the trick riding, as far as Harper was concerned. Once they’d gotten to Hell, they’d learned from Mayor Judy that the real goal, the biggest goal of all, the one that would earn them the most money and the chance at real notoriety—at least from Judy’s point of view—was becoming the first allgirls’ bullfighting team.

  An idea to which Harper was firmly opposed.

  “Is he gone?” Winter asked.

  Cassidy shuffled around in the back seat to peer out the window. “Yeah. Even his cruiser’s gone.”

  “Good. Let’s get this party started,” Micaela said, scrambling out of the truck.

  Winter was up for that. The one thing Judy and Harper did agree on was that the team needed to stay away from Ivy’s Honky-tonk and Dive Bar. Both women were adamantly opposed to the girls hanging out at the only place in town that was any fun at all.

  Which was so not going to happen.

  But the three of them were pros at not getting caught. Usually. The problem with Hell was that everybody seemed to have eight sets of eyes. It was kind of creepy, in Winter’s opinion.

  A long wolf whistle of admiration was aimed in their direction as they left the truck and hurried across the gravel. “I love Hell,” Micaela said, and they snickered, walking faster. They couldn’t stay long or they’d be missed, so not a moment could be wasted.

  “I’m going to dance my ass off,” Cassidy said. “Hope there’s lots of hot guys around!”

  “We never seem to have trouble finding some.” Winter stopped, looking in the direction of the huge, dun-colored tent. People streamed in and out of the tent, alternating visiting the so-called gypsies and the Honky-tonk. Personally, Winter thought the whole thing was an elaborate crock set up by crafty Ivy to make more money. “Look at all the people!”

  “Fallon says Ivy has more money than anybody in the town,” Cassidy said.

  “I believe it. She had to have doubled her business by bringing in this circus act,” Micaela said. “That makes her my hero!”

  They’d had to be financially focused for so long that Ivy’s set up was intriguing. Winter tried to think how much start-up capital might be required for a whorehouse and some charlatans under a tent that told fairy tales people wanted to hear. “You know, we could do this, too,” she murmured, thinking.

  “Us? Be fortune tellers?” Cassidy laughed. “Let’s go dance. The party doesn’t start until we get inside!”

  “You go on. I’m going to check this den of thieves out.” Winter headed toward the tent, too curious to ignore the lure of easy money. Fallon said Judy’s team had fallen apart because of funding, though lots of people in town had tried to help with uniforms and lessons. But Judy’s vision required serious cash, and she’d lost her fledgling effort in a coup by Harper. Harper turned the team focus to trick riding, claiming it would be easier to get a team started, since she herself could coach the riders.

  Once again, Winter’s life had come down to money. But what if it never had to? What if Ivy was the one with the real smarts?

  “What are you doing here?” she heard, and Winter jumped.

  “Fallon! You scared the shit out of me!”

  He laughed, delighted to have startled her. “I scared you because you’re not supposed to be here.”

  “So?” She looked away from the cocky, edgy rascal eyeing her. Fallon and Declan might be twins, but she’d never met more different ones than those two. Fallon always wore a black t-shirt, hotter than hot to female eyes who lusted after dark men with dark personas. Declan was rumpled, tough, and sturdy—everything she didn’t want in any life. Steady was so not her thing. “Harper’s going to have to get over the fact that hanging out at Redfeather’s every night is about as much fun as babysitting.”

  He tagged along beside her as she approached the tent. “If you’re looking for a good time, it’s in the ‘tonk. Not under the big top.”

  “I’m just sightseeing. W
ho assigned you my shadow, anyway?” She glared at him, thinking he had very kissable lips for an old fart.

  Of course, he wasn’t really old. She glared at him to let him know she didn’t need a daddy, and went inside. He followed her, and she looked up at him. “Really? You’re going to stay glued to my side all night?”

  “Would that be a problem?”

  She raised a brow.

  He smirked. “You’re quite the little weasel, aren’t you? Declan was right.”

  “Declan called me a weasel?” That was one more thing to hold against his steady-but-sexy-as-hell twin.

  “He said you ladies needed a bit of managing.”

  “You are not the man to do it, Fallon.”

  She heard him chuckle as she pressed on, stunned by how many people were packed inside. It was dimly-lit, with lots of dark lightbulbs casting a mysterious glow and some shadows about. The atmosphere inside the tent was exotic, secretive, and somehow sinful. “Wow. This is insane.”

  “Ivy’s raking it in,” Fallon agreed. “Who would have thought that big city folk would pay so much to gaze into crystal balls?”

  But that wasn’t all that was going on. There was a snake dancer in one area holding a crowd transfixed; Winter shuddered, looking away in a hurry. “That is a big-ass snake.”

  He squeezed her shoulders, mimicking the snake. “Don’t like the idea of something winding itself around you and holding you real tight?”

  “Get away, freak.” She knocked his hands off of her and went further into the crowd. An elderly woman with red hair was levitating, an interested crowd around that exhibit, and in another area, three girls about her age sat with guys that were probably their boyfriends, staring into candle flames as they held a séance. “What a bunch of weirdoes.”

  “Told you. Let’s get to the ‘tonk.”

  “You go on if you want. I’m fascinated by all the ka-ching noise I hear in here.” This place was nothing but an amusement ground for the feeble-minded who had money to burn. Ivy was smart as hell to figure it out and cash in. It was a business model Winter could totally see utilizing in her future. A flame-haired woman came to the front of a small red tent, and stared at Winter so hard she felt like holes were burning into her. “Who’s that woman with the Medusa hair?”