Driving Whiskey Wild

by Melissa Foster

  Finlay wrinkled her nose. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” She handed her a bag of cookies.

  “Mom’s too far away to kiss, but I do lots of dirty things with my mouth.” She stuck out her tongue and wiggled it. Their mother had moved to Montana two years ago and had since remarried.

  “Ew! Pen!”

  Penny peeked into the bag and inhaled. “Ah, sugary goodness. I am so glad you’re back.”

  “You run an ice cream store. You can have sugar anytime you want.”

  Penny bumped her with her hip and said, “But not cookies made with love by my favorite sister. Now, about getting laid…”

  “Not happening. I’m just happy, that’s all.”

  “Because…?”

  Finlay didn’t know exactly what Bullet meant by her needing him on Friday, but she knew if she said anything to Penny she’d push her to explore, so instead she said, “Even though it freaks me out, it’s easier knowing that he knows I have thought about him as more than just some pushy guy.”

  “You always did love open communication. You get that from Dad. Remember what he used to say when we’d go out and give him vague answers about where we were going?”

  “‘How can I keep you safe if I don’t know where you’re going?’” they both said in unison.

  “I miss him,” Penny said. “I think he’d like knowing we are both here in Peaceful Harbor, and doing well.”

  “He knows.” Finlay hugged her. She’d always believed that her father was watching over them. They’d been close to their parents, and when their mother had moved away because the memories of their father made it too hard for her in Peaceful Harbor, she and Penny had understood. And when she fell in love with another man, they were happy for her. Though neither believed their mother would ever love anyone the way she had their father. He’d been funny, loving, and he worked hard to support their family. He was one of the hardest workers at the power plant.

  “I’ve got to go. I have a lot to do today,” Finlay said, and headed for the door. “I have to start menu planning!”

  “Fun, fun. Just make sure there’s room on your menu for dessert.” Penny winked. As Finlay walked out the door, she called after her, “That means sex!”

  Finlay spun around, mortified that the woman walking by had heard what her sister had said. “Penelope Anne!” She glared at Penny.

  Penny thrust her hips forward while pulling her arms back and made a face like she was in the throes of an orgasm.

  Great. Now she was thinking about Bullet and sex.

  As she drove toward the bar, she couldn’t help wondering what Bullet, who was all power and forward motion, would be like in bed. He’s a Bullet train. Her stomach fluttered, and her pulse quickened. No, no, no. She tried to think about work, cookies, the cars on the road. Anything other than Bullet. But his seductive, demanding eyes plagued her. And now, thanks to Penny, so did the rest of his body.

  I want to see you without your shirt on…I know I want to see you nake—

  Shivers tickled up her spine.

  This cannot be happening.

  Bullet’s raspy voice slithered through her mind. Don’t fight it, Finlay. You know you want to take me for a ride.

  She shoved her hand beneath the wrapping that covered the cookies, grabbed one of the motorcycle cookies, and shoved it into her mouth. Three hundred pounds, here I come.

  BULLET SLID A glass of beer across the bar to Lance “Crow” Burke, one of the Dark Knights. His family owned Mid-Harbor Housing Supply and Renovation, and Bullet had known him since they were kids. He had pitch-black hair and angular features, almost too angular, like a model—hence his road name, Crow. Asking him to come in and talk had been a double-edged sword for Bullet, as Crow had a reputation for being a womanizer, and he’d always had a thing for Dixie. Both Dixie and their mother, Red, were waitressing tonight, which Crow was enjoying far too much.

  “About that project I mentioned,” Bullet said to get his attention off his sister. He’d hoped Finlay would show up at some point, but either he’d pissed her off or she was sleeping off a hangover, because he hadn’t heard a peep from her. But that didn’t stop him from thinking about her every damn minute of the day.

  “The kitchen, right?” He took a swig of his beer. “Dixie mentioned it a few weeks ago.” He glanced over his shoulder at Dixie again, then turned back to Bullet. “She said y’all are doing some renovations in the kitchen, but she wasn’t sure what you’d need. She also said not to do anything unless I spoke to her.”

  “She’s busy,” Bullet said. He had agreed to let Dixie manage the renovations, hiring, the whole shebang, but after seeing Finlay measuring and moving so quickly, he wanted to make sure things got done without holding up her plans.

  “Still, Bullet. You’re a force to be reckoned with, but that one?” He glanced at Dixie again and whistled. “I’m not dumb enough to go against the fire in her belly.”

  Bullet flattened both hands on top of the bar and leaned across it, bringing them eye-to-eye. “Don’t think about her body parts, got it?”

  Crow laughed and took another drink.

  Dixie stalked over to the bar. “B, I need two whiskey sours, one Heiny, and one Coors.” She set her hand on her hip, and her features softened as she faced Crow. “Hey there. Have you given any thought to the renovations I mentioned?”

  Crow’s appreciative smile practically slapped Bullet in the face. “You know I always give thought to your propositions.”

  Dixie rolled her eyes.

  “Cut it out, Crow,” Bullet warned.

  Crow pulled something out of his back pocket and handed it to Dixie. “It’s all there, babe. Everything you asked for. Prices, timelines.” As he lifted the beer to his lips, he eyed Bullet, as if to say, Calm down. I’m riding a fine line and you have no reason to pound the shit out of me.

  Bullet leveled the smirk on his face with a dark stare before turning his attention to filling Dixie’s drink order. He wanted to see that damn list, but the truth was, this was Dixie’s area to manage. He didn’t need to piss her off any more than he already had.

  “Jesus, you two. Cut the shit,” Dixie said, and stalked off to help another customer.

  It was a constant job keeping his family safe, but it was one Bullet was good at, even if it ruffled their feathers. He couldn’t do anything about the way Dixie dressed in skinny jeans, Daisy Dukes, miniskirts, half or tight shirts, and boots, all the things guys got off on, but he could yank the men’s leashes when they needed reining in.

  He filled several drink orders, talked with his usual customers, and shot the shit with Crow, all the while keeping one eye on the front door in case Finlay showed up.

  “I hear Penny’s sister is helping y’all get the kitchen up and running,” Crow said. “What’s she like?”

  As if beckoned by the stars, Finlay backed into the bar in one of her sexy short dresses, carrying some sort of tray in each arm and with a big bag over her shoulder.

  “Who is that?” Crow’s gaze flamed as he drank her in.

  “Eyes back in your head. It’s Finlay.” Bullet came out from behind the bar as she practically twirled, her dress whisking around her thighs. She almost ran right into him. He grabbed the trays to keep them from falling out of her hands.

  Every eye in the frigging place was watching her, including his.

  “Whoa!” She smiled up at Bullet. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

  Her eyes sparkled with happiness, and he felt himself falling into them. He focused on the trays to keep from making a fool of himself. “What’s all this?”

  “Cookies,” she said cheerfully as she walked around him and took a tray from his hands. She set it on the bar, then turned back for the other, setting it beside the first. She plopped her bag on a barstool beside Crow and began taking things out of it—pink napkins and plates that read FINLAY’S in swirly white letters, and at least a dozen tiny pink notepads with the same logo at the top.

  “
What’s going on, lollipop?” Bullet asked as she untied a pink ribbon from around one of the trays.

  She stepped in close, surprising him, and motioned for him to lean down. The scent of warm vanilla and sugar seeped beneath his skin, and it wasn’t from the cookies.

  “I know I need to feel comfortable here, and I also need to get to know your customer base so I can figure out the best menus for them. Cookies are a great ice breaker.” She grabbed something wrapped in pink tissue paper from a tray and handed it to him. “This one is yours. I hope you love it! But if you don’t, it’s okay. I have thick skin.”

  She spun on her sexy-as-sin boot heels and walked around to each table, delivering her goodies.

  There was nothing thick about Finlay Wilson. The muscles in Bullet’s neck knotted up as she flitted from table to table, smiling and chatting, touching the arms and shoulders of each customer as she leaned in close to catch every word they said. The men ate up her attention. The quiet ones became motormouths, the dicks shamefully leered, and she made fast friends with the women. His fingers curled into fists, stopping short of crushing the gift she’d given him.

  He didn’t have time for gifts. He needed to draw some very dark lines in the sand. Fuck, he needed a goddamn backhoe.

  He strode across the floor, eyes locked on Finlay. His Finlay. Yeah, he might not have the right to claim her, but he didn’t care. In his mind she was already his, whether she knew it or not. He stepped around a table and Red came out of nowhere, blocking his path.

  Standing before him in a black Whiskey Bro’s shirt, black jeans, and a smile that said, I love you, but…, she wrapped her hand around his arm and said, “Come on, sweetheart.” His mother never called them by their road names. While she’d chased after four wild kids, it had probably been easier to call them the endearments that still rolled off her tongue so easily—sweetheart, babe, honey. On the rare occasions when she used their given names, she meant business.

  She took a step toward the bar, but Bullet’s boots were rooted to the floor. His gaze darted to Finlay, who was now standing by the pool tables, talking with two guys while holding out a paper plate with cookies on it.

  Fucking cookies.

  His mother sighed, worry settling in her eyes as she patted his arm. “Brandon Whiskey, trust me on this. You do not want to do what you’re dead set on doing.”

  “Red,” he said, knowing when his mother set her mind on something, like the rest of them, there was no dissuading her. They’d called her Red since they were kids, when Bear had heard her friends calling her by her name, Wren, and thought they’d said Red. The name had stuck.

  “Come with me, babe. Let’s have a little chat.”

  He tried to clear his throat, but it came out as a growl, and she laughed.

  “Well, this is new.” She guided him away from the tables, but he kept his eyes trained on Finlay. “Eyes down here, baby boy.”

  He met her amused gaze.

  “I thought your brothers were crazy when they said you had a thing for Finlay at Tru and Gemma’s wedding. Clearly, I was slow on the uptake.”

  “Your point?”

  “My point is”—she lifted his hand holding the tissue-paper-wrapped gift from Finlay—“that sweet little thing over there is not a biker girl. You can’t bully your way into her heart, or scare away every man who looks at her with the hopes that she’ll only see you.”

  “I can try.” He was only half kidding.

  “Yes, and you’ll push her away faster than you can grovel to get her back.”

  He stroked his beard, mulling over what she was saying and hating every word of it. “I’m not walking away from her.”

  “Did I say you should?” She arched a slim red brow. “I’m not sure you could if you wanted to. I’ve waited forever to see that fire in your eyes.”

  “You always say I was born with fire in my eyes.”

  “And you were. The fire you were born with made you the man you are.” She glanced at Finlay, and then his mother’s green eyes found him again. “But this fire will make you the man you’re supposed to be.” She paused, as if she wanted her words to sink in, which they did.

  All the way to his bones.

  She smiled and said, “Don’t go after your sweetheart with your brawn, baby. Go after her with your heart. That’s the biggest and best thing that sets you apart from every other tough guy out there.”

  He watched her stroll away to help another customer, and he wondered why women had to talk in riddles. What the hell did it mean to go after her with his heart? He glanced at Finlay, who was reaching across a table, which gave him a perfect view of her ass. His cock twitched. Calm the hell down. You’re not my fucking heart.

  As he went behind the bar, Jed showed up for his shift and snagged a cookie.

  “These are awesome.” Jed wiped his forearm across his mouth. His thick blond hair flopped over his eyes. It was hard to put him and Crystal together as siblings, with her jet-black hair.

  Jed had a history of theft, but Bullet had recently learned about Jed and Crystal’s painful past, which had led Jed to do what he’d had to in order to help his family, and had led to Crystal’s total transformation.

  Bullet became aware of the gift in his right hand again. “You can take off tonight.”

  “No, man. I’m supposed to work, and it’s busy.”

  “Schedule change. I need you to work Friday night. That cool?” Please fucking say it’s cool.

  “Seriously? I told you I’d work whenever you needed me. I can stay tonight, too, if you want me to.”

  “Nah. Go have some fun. Just stay out of trouble. And thanks for Friday.”

  Jed pulled on his leather jacket and patted Bullet’s shoulder. “Thanks for tonight. Now I can meet up with Quincy and head down to a bonfire on the beach.” He snagged another cookie from the near-empty tray on his way out.

  Quincy was Truman’s younger brother and Jed’s roommate. He’d also had a shitty upbringing. Unfortunately, he’d followed in his mother’s footsteps down a drug-infested path. But he was clean now, and on a safe and healthy track. And Bullet would do everything within his power to make sure he stayed that way.

  There was an influx of drink orders after Jed left. Bullet set the tissue-paper-wrapped gift on the counter behind him and tended to customers. Finlay was still on her cookie-inspired mission, moving from patron to patron, but now she was passing out little notepads and tiny pink pencils, asking people to write down their favorite bar foods. She set a bowl in the middle of each table for the customers to put their suggestions in. She’d gone from a deer in the headlights to driving the truck in the blink of an eye. Her confidence and determination were as big a turn-on as her innocence and beauty.

  As soon as there was a break in orders, Bullet turned his back to the bar and unwrapped the tissue paper, unveiling a cookie that looked a hell of a lot like him, from his beard and tattoos right down to his black leather boots. While all the other cookies had WHISKEY BRO’S or WB scrawled across them, his cookie read, BULLET TRAIN.

  Chapter Five

  THE NEXT MORNING Finlay let herself into Whiskey Bro’s. The bar didn’t open for a few hours and she knew she’d have time alone to go through the customers’ suggestions from last night before her meeting with Dixie to go over the appliances. She could hardly believe she’d pulled off getting to know so many customers without being a nervous wreck. But Bullet had taken care of that when she’d walked in the door and nearly slammed into him. After blurting out all the secret thoughts she’d been having about him, she’d been most nervous about facing him. And for whatever reason, after she’d nearly bowled him over when she’d arrived, he’d kept his distance for the rest of the evening. When she’d gathered her things to leave for the night, he’d been tied up with customers, and she’d slipped out the front door without a confrontation.

  Now, as she sat at the bar, sifting through customer menu suggestions, her mind traveled back to the night Bullet had carried her in
to her bedroom. He’d never answered her questions about why he was so gruff or why he’d come to get them. Dixie had told her that after dropping all of them off Wednesday night, Bullet had picked up Bear and taken him to get Crystal’s car. She found it curious that he was always willing to drop what he was doing for his family. Didn’t he have a social life? She’d assumed he was out on his bike at all hours, picking up women and doing Lord only knew what. But he’d been stone-cold sober every time she’d seen him, including when she’d met him at the wedding, which was more than she could say for herself in the last forty-eight hours.

  She unfolded a piece of notepaper and read another customer suggestion. More cookies, and buffalo wings. She smiled, pleased at the response. There were several more requests for cookies, along with sandwiches, burgers, salads—which surprised her—and a host of other easy-to-make dishes. She wondered what Bullet had thought of his cookie. Did he notice that it was different from the rest? Did he care? She thought of the note he’d left stuck to today’s date on the calendar. This is when you need me. What did that mean?

  What do I want it to mean?

  She wasn’t ready to answer that question, so she pushed it aside and made her way through more than a hundred suggestions. When Bullet walked through the kitchen door, she was so deep in concentration, she was startled, knocking a handful of the notepapers onto the floor. Her hand flew to her chest, as if that might calm her racing heart.

  “Geez, Bullet. You scared me. How’d you get in the kitchen without me seeing you walk by?”

  He wasn’t wearing his leather vest, and he looked even more commanding without it. His faded black T-shirt stretched tight across his body, defining each and every muscle in his torso. There was a tear on his left shoulder, and the edges of the sleeves were frayed. On anyone else it might look ratty, but on Bullet it looked right. His dark jeans were faded and nearly worn through in the thighs, like a favorite old pair, and his scuffed black leather boots made him look edgy—and hot.