Crazy for the Competition (Hope Springs)

by Cindi Madsen

  Hello?! Are you guys alive? It’s not cool to tell me you’re cornered by a deadly snake and then not let me know if you’re ok. Of course I haven’t had service until now, but that means I should definitely have a text letting me know.

  Quinn’s answer popped onto his screen.

  Sorry, Mom. I know how you worry :P Since Heath did save me from the snake, I’m only a little mad at you for sending him when I told you not to. We’re actually hiking now, safe and sound, and we just agreed to a truce as well, so your side mission also succeeded. Try not to let it go to your head.

  “Side mission?” Heath asked.

  “For you and me to get to know each other enough that we don’t kill each other,” Quinn said, like he was a little slow for not already figuring that out. “Sadie can’t handle people being upset or not liking each other, and this has Parent Trap written all over it.”

  “Parent trap?” The more she talked, the less sense she made.

  “You know, getting the two people trapped together, so they see there’s…” Quinn blinked at him. “So they see they should be friends.”

  “Oh-kay.”

  Quinn stood and brushed the dirt from the seat of her shorts. “I’m almost dry from our impromptu swim—”

  “Next time we should choose a deeper spot.”

  “I’m down.”

  And we should wear a lot less clothing, too. He shook his head. Bad idea. Good thing he hadn’t said that one out loud.

  “Anyway, I’m starving and I need to check in with Patsy Higgins so I can get to work being her lackey for a few weeks,” Quinn said.

  “They want us in the garage at seven to work on floats—she’s reminded me every time I’ve seen her this week, and she came by the shop today for good measure, just in case I managed to forget since yesterday.”

  “Then I really better get some food in me, because I’m guessing it’s going to be a several-hour gig.”

  They made their way back down the hill, and when they reached the stream, he offered her a hand. She stared at it for a moment before slapping her palm in his. Even after they reached the bank on the other side, he didn’t see any reason to let go, so he didn’t. She didn’t say anything about it, so they walked hand in hand back to his motorcycle.

  She climbed on behind him and wrapped her arms tightly around him. His pulse thrummed through his veins as he felt her warm body press against his back. He could get used to this.

  Only he couldn’t—not really. Regardless of their goodwill talk, he knew that bitter feelings would arise as they exhausted themselves working on the festival preparations, especially whenever they thought of the other person getting the property. At the end, there’d be resentment that’d leave little chance of the possibility of remaining on friendly terms.

  Even if the circumstances were different, it wasn’t like he was looking for a relationship anyway. Between the lodge and the band, he didn’t have time, and he wasn’t going to half ass one the way Dad always had—he’d seen how damaging it could be to everyone involved.

  Still, he couldn’t help taking advantage of the current situation. He wrapped his hand around her bare knee and glanced over his shoulder. “Ready?”

  “This time, don’t be such a grandma. I wanna go fast.”

  A thrill shot through his gut. Oh, he’d show her fast.

  Chapter Seven

  Okay, Quinn. No falling for the sexy country boy’s charms. Flirting and joking around were fine, but for her, guys like that were more addictive than nicotine. She’d think she could handle just one puff, and then suddenly she’d be shaking without the whole pack.

  The whole six-pack… She curled her hand into a fist and dug her fingernails into her palm. No. Bad thoughts. Get it together up there.

  Quinn stepped into the enormous school garage where people worked on floats for the Frontier Days parade. The place smelled like dust and stale air, and the fluorescent lights emitted a droning buzz.

  Her gaze skipped from face to face and locked on the sexy country boy in question. Then she was thinking of his strong muscles against her body as they flew down the hill and across Mountain Ridge. She’d told him to go fast, but she’d never expected him to go quite that fast.

  She’d loved every second of it, too. The wind whipping her hair behind her and the buzz of the motorcycle. The way the guy driving moved with the bike, like he’d become an extension of it.

  Be cool, be cool. She walked up to him. “He-i.” So much for cool. She’d gone to say hey and then decided on hi and ended up with a word that wasn’t quite either.

  He turned eyes that couldn’t decide if they were blue or green on her, and the corners crinkled as a smile spread across his face. “Hey, speed demon.”

  “I’ll take it over squirt.”

  “Good to know, squirt.”

  She shoved him, and he laughed. For all her goals about not inhaling and getting hooked, she caught a whiff of a soapy-fresh scent mixed with musky cologne and couldn’t help sucking it into her lungs. Puff.

  Then Patsy Higgins stepped in front of them, a clipboard tucked under her arm—at least she hadn’t brought the gavel. “You guys are already behind, so there’s no time for horseplay.”

  Quinn had never gotten that expression. There’d been no neighing or running on all fours. How did messing around equal horseplay?

  “…plans drawn up and the materials you need,” Patsy Higgins continued, and Quinn forced herself to listen. This was important. She and Heath might have formed a treaty of sorts, but Patsy Higgins would take her out with a cold stare if she screwed up. Then she’d never get her B and B. “The Morrises drew up plans and ordered supplies before they had to step down. You two simply need to execute it.”

  Quinn looked from the woman with the head of gray curls to Heath—quite the contrast, by the way. “Heath and I are working on a float together?”

  “Is that a problem?” Patsy Higgins asked, peering down at her through the round, thick glasses that magnified the exasperation in her eyes.

  “No. It’s just that I…”

  Heath’s eyebrows drew together and if she wasn’t mistaken, a hint of mistrust pinched his features.

  “I’m a beginner-level float builder. Now, I’m a fast learner, and I’m sure Heath is, too, but it’s a really big project and I just want to ensure it gets done right.” She turned to him, working up a glimmer of hope. “Or maybe you’ve built floats before?”

  Heath gave a small shake of his head. “Thanks, Patsy.” He took the sketch and supply list from the top of her clipboard. “Quinn and I are happy to help—we won’t let you down.”

  “I’ll be around here and there, but I’m a very busy woman, so you do what you can, and if you need help, I’ll try to find you someone.” The way Patsy said it made it clear that if they needed help, she’d be deducting points and offering no gold stars.

  Heath put his hand on Quinn’s back, and the touch combined with the bomb that they were going to have to pull this off even though neither of them knew what they were doing made the butterflies going through her stomach turn into clumsy drunks that stumbled into one another.

  “I thought you were going to slam me after your goodwill talk there for a second,” Heath said.

  “I wouldn’t do that. And I’m sure you’ll be more fun to work with than anyone else, but look at this!” She tore the plans that showed how the float was supposed to turn out from Heath’s hand and then looked to the sad flat trailer bed in front of them. Cardboard had been attached, but that was it. She glanced back at the colorful drawing with the title “Spread Your Wings and Fly” across the top. “Where are the giant butterflies going to come from?”

  Heath opened one of the boxes atop the cardboard, and a sea of colorful materials she had no idea what to do with greeted them. “We’ll figure it out. How hard could it be to build a butterfly?”

  “That’s not going to stand on its own,” Heath said.

  “Yes, it is,” Quinn said, wadding
the thick squishy purple paper into a wing-shaped blob.

  “You’re going to mess up the paper, and we don’t have an endless supply of materials.”

  Quinn fought the urge to throw the makeshift wing at his head to show him exactly how heavy it was. Clearly, they’d never agree, regardless of their truce. They seriously thought the opposite about every single thing.

  Wielding the giant stapler—we’re talking industrial size and weighing enough that she’d definitely have sore arms tomorrow—she walked back to the float and stapled the purple paper to the base of the baby butterfly.

  The wing and base slowly flopped over, and she could feel Heath behind her, an I-told-you-so superiority radiating from him. They’d been at it for two and a half hours, and she was ready to chuck the stapler and scream. But she’d done enough denting objects for one day, so she set everything on top of the float and slowly spun around.

  Heath must’ve noticed the simmering tension and decided not to say anything. But his smug eyebrow twitch was enough.

  “You think you can do better?” she challenged.

  “I think that according to the laws of physics, we need something to get it up and keep it that way.”

  A laugh burst from her lips. “That’s physics, huh? Brings something else to mind.”

  It took him a moment, but then he laughed, too. A deep sexy laugh that took the edge off of her frustration. “I can see where your thoughts are at.”

  Oops. Those kinds of comments only got her in trouble down the line, when she had to explain that while she understood the mechanics, it wasn’t an invitation. She started past Heath, eyes on the blob that—if she was being honest—didn’t come close to resembling a butterfly wing.

  He wrapped his hand around her arm, stopping her midstride and bringing her right in front of him. “I think we need a break. And we need to come up with a better plan, otherwise we’re just wasting our time.”

  Her pulse ratcheted up a couple of notches. The rings on his fingers provided a cool contrast to his warm callused fingers, and her skin hummed under his touch. She wanted to lean against him, wrap her arms around him like she had on the motorcycle, and take the weight off her feet for a while. The fact that it would put her body against his would be a bonus. She’d never liked feeling out of her league on a project—not that she imagined most people did. But not being able to do something as simple as float building dug at the insecure part of her.

  “There’s nothing sturdier in the box of supplies,” she said. “Plan or not.”

  “We’ll think outside of the box, then. Come on.” He slid his hand down to hers and led her out of the garage. The cool night air smelled much better than the stale dust-filled cloud they’d been sharing with a dozen other people who were nearly done with their extravagant floats. One had a five-foot Oscar the Grouch leaping out of a trash can.

  It only made their sad, still mostly cardboard-covered float look more devastating.

  Goose bumps broke out across her skin, and she rubbed her arms in an attempt to ward off the chill. With the sun down, the temperature always plummeted. She should be used to it, but the difference wasn’t as extreme in Cheyenne.

  Heath opened the door to his truck, and, instead of questioning where they were going, she just climbed in. The cab smelled like him, with a hint of grease mixed in. She filled her lungs and held her breath for a moment before letting it go. Any more puffs and I’m likely to get addicted.

  When Heath got in, he reached behind the seat and pulled out a leather jacket. He handed it over to her and then fired up the engine. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and tugged it closed. It was gloriously huge, and she wanted to wear it for the rest of her life. Okay, maybe I’ve tiptoed into addiction territory already.

  But I can quit any time, she mentally added, like any good addict in denial.

  Heath drove toward the older part of town. She’d only been to this side a couple times. The other side had all the shops and the hills and streams. They drove past the low-income housing, and then Heath pulled up in front of a small house that was barely in better repair than the B and B.

  Heath glanced across the cab. “It’s probably for the best if we stay out of the house. But the shed will have what we need.”

  She reached for the door handle. “Okay.”

  Quinn followed him into the wooden building off to the side of the house. Heath flipped on the lights, illuminating dozens of parts and half-built motorcycles. A large workbench sat on one side, and one of those metal toolboxes with several shelves stood out as the shiniest item in the place.

  He lifted an old tire off another small bench, the muscles in his arms popping out as he maneuvered it into the corner. Then he wiped a hand across it. “Sorry, it’s a mess. You can use my jacket to sit on if you want.”

  “That’s okay.” Using the jacket would mean taking if off, and it was warm. Plus she didn’t want to mess it up—her shorts would wash much easier than the leather would. She sat down on the tire and crossed her legs.

  The jacket, checking on her when she’d fallen into the water, holding the door open at the courthouse, even as they’d been arguing…for a bad boy, Heath certainly had a lot of gentlemanly manners.

  He grabbed a yellow legal pad and sat on a small roller chair. She caught sight of a motorcycle sketch before he flipped the page.

  Without thinking, she reached over and lifted the paper so she could get a better look at the image. “Is this…whatever blueprints are for motorcycles? Or do you just like to draw?”

  “I do custom bikes on the side,” he said. “Haven’t been able to build as many since I moved back, but I’m about to start on this one for a guy in Laramie. The projects are usually big and time-consuming, but they pay well, and I like that every time’s different—I tend to get bored easily.”

  Quinn twisted the pad closer and studied the streamlined frame and large handlebars. “Did you build the bike we rode on earlier?”

  He nodded. “From the ground up.”

  “Wow. That’s impressive. And a little scary, considering I rode it without giving it a good once-over.”

  “Hey! I thought you were going to be nice from now on.”

  She laughed. “I agreed to no such thing. Truce and nice don’t mean the same thing.”

  “Yeah, I can see that.”

  Now she was the one who said, “Hey!” as she shoved his knee.

  They shared a laugh and she got a little lost in the sound of his. Most of the guys she’d dated—even the wilder ones—were more on the serious side. Heath had a great sense of humor. Add his passion for his custom bikes, and his attractiveness was only growing more with every minute she spent with him. “It’s cool you know how to do so many things—that you can build something so amazing from scratch. I’m good with making people accept lower bids than they wanted to for commercial buildings. And I’m a pretty good chef. Not sure either of those will help much with our project, unfortunately.”

  “If our butterflies don’t start behaving, you can fry them up,” Heath offered, once again showing off his quick wit.

  “I’ll add them to the snake stew.” With her thoughts returning to how hot she’d found him earlier, she decided it was time to redirect back to float decorations. She flipped the page over so he’d have a blank paper to work with. “Ooh! I’m good with color palettes, so once we figure out how to build a butterfly, I’ll be able to make it look pretty.”

  “Perfect. So, this is what I’m thinking.” On the page, a wire skeleton of a butterfly started taking shape, but Quinn found herself focusing more on Heath’s hands and the way they moved across the paper.

  …

  Heath glanced up from his sketch—if anyone had told him he’d be filling a page with butterfly drawings one day, he would’ve laughed in his or her face. With the leather jacket on, Quinn almost looked like she belonged here. His thoughts had been so focused on figuring out the float mess that he hadn’t had a chance to second-guess his decisio
n to bring Quinn here until he’d noticed her looking at Dad’s house, eyes wide.

  It reminded him that they’d grown up very differently, and the last thing he wanted was for her to see the mess inside or to meet Dad. He’d probably hit on her—in spite of his hard living, he still looked good for a man in his forties, and it’d given him a false sense of how old he was. Or maybe not, considering Ollie’s mom.

  Nope, he wouldn’t be submitting Quinn to his old man’s advances or the mess. Having her in his workspace made him feel exposed enough.

  He cleared his throat. “Thoughts? I’m sure you’ll probably want to build it the exact opposite way.”

  That got a smile out of her. “I’ll reserve my right to argue for when our butterfly can’t get it up.”

  He covered his laugh with a fist and shook his head. “That’s so wrong—I’m never going to look at butterflies the same way again.”

  “Mission achieved, then.” Quinn leaned over the paper, and with her hair up in that ponytail, her neck was fully exposed. He fought the urge to move closer and kiss the skin there. See if it tasted as good as it looked. “So we build the wire thing and then drape the paper over it? How’s it going to stick?”

  “Glue?”

  Quinn dug out her phone—of course she had it in her bra again, which made it impossible not to focus on her cleavage. “I’m going to see if there’re any tips on Google.” She frowned at her phone. “I can call or text, but it looks like internet’s not gonna happen. I’ll have to research it tonight when I get home with my wifi.”

  She stood and walked around, brushing her fingers across stray parts and tools. His jacket looked damn sexy on her. Of course, she could make a potato sack look sexy.

  He tried to think back to high school—how’d he miss a girl like that hitting on him? He’d been so focused on counting the days until he could leave. She was at least three years younger, too, and again, he’d made sure to avoid crossing that line. Cam would’ve already moved out as well, which meant he’d been dealing with Dad’s antics by himself for the first time. Lots of hours working at the shop alone with nights that ended with calls from Seth Sr. He’d ask Heath to come get Dad from the Triple S, because he’d gotten drunk yet again, which almost always led to starting fights. Finally they’d simply banned him from going back, so then he’d sit at home to drink, which left Heath with the privilege of taking the brunt of his moods.