Billy noticed her anyway, his heart rate picking up an extra few RPMs. She shouldn’t look sexy to him—but she did. Underneath that schoolmarm appearance was a hot-blooded woman with a smart mouth who wasn’t afraid of him. The combination was heady.
She stood on the steps, hands on hips that couldn’t be hidden by her boring skirt, and glared at him. Normally, Billy would either stare her down—he did that all the time—or turn away and pretend he hadn’t seen the disapproval in her eyes.
Instead—and this was insane—he gave her a mock salute, just to make her mad all over again. He couldn’t help himself. What had she thought of all the tattoos? Did they scare her, or had she liked them for the art they were?
“We need you inside,” Bobby said, once again stepping between Billy and Jenny. Over Bobby’s shoulder, Billy saw Jenny make a motion with her hands that perfectly conveyed both her disgust and also her fury before she turned and went back inside.
No, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Three
Billy needed a drink.
Not that he drank much anymore, but still. A day of having to watch his temper around kids who kept picking up his tools and putting them down in the wrong places. A whole day of Bobby making him say the same thing over and over in different positions. A long day of not building a bike.
Better be a stiff drink.
It was almost over. The kids had, by and large, gone home. Only that one kid, the one he’d met at Josey’s wedding, was still in the shop. Billy had been allowed to take his mike off, and while Bobby and his production crew were still doing things, none of them required Billy to smile for a camera.
What was that kid’s name? Billy thought hard, but he drew a blank. “You’re still here.”
“Yeah, my mom stays late to talk with the pregnant girls.”
Suddenly, the feeling that Billy should remember this kid’s name got a lot stronger. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” The boy looked at his feet and scuffed his toe on the floor. “I’m sorry about the way she blew up at you this morning. She gets like that sometimes.”
Wait—wait a damn minute. Was this kid saying that Jenny was his mom?
No way—not possible. This kid was a teenager. Jenny couldn’t be that old.
Unless…unless she’d been young. The familiar guilt tried to kick open the heavy steel door Billy kept it trapped behind. This kid could only be Jenny’s son if she’d been a teenager. And she’d kept him.
Damn. Fate had a freakin’ funny sense of humor sometimes.
The next question had to be whether or not she was married, because there was no way in hell that Billy was going to keep entertaining thoughts of a married woman. Bolton men were loyal for life. Whatever problems they might have as a family—and Lord knew there were a lot of them—they respected the family, which meant they respected other families, too.
“So where’s your dad?” That probably wasn’t the best way to ask the question, but Billy had never been known for his tact.
The kid shrugged. “Dunno. Gone before I was born, I guess. Mom says we’re better off without him, anyway.”
Two thoughts crossed his mind quick. First, Jenny was available, so he could keep right on thinking about how she looked at him with that passion—okay, passionate fury—in her eyes. Second, though, was that a boy needed a man in his life. Especially a boy on the verge of becoming a man.
“You kids aren’t really going to help me build the bike, you know.”
As if to illustrate this point, Vicky called over, “Okay, wave at the camera, Billy.”
Feeling stupid, Billy waved to the camera that had been installed overhead. He was going to work nights and weekends to build the bike himself, hours of which would be compressed into two-to four-minute segments on the show. The rest would be staged shots with kids.
The rest of the crew went out to the truck, probably to review the footage. Bobby liked to check the tapes. Although Billy would never admit this to the little twit, he thought Bobby was impressively focused on making the show as good as it could be.
“Yeah, I know.” The boy sounded positively depressed. Then he perked up. “I can still help. Mom always stays late for her after-school program, so I’m here a lot.”
Billy worked alone. Even in his shop, he did his own thing while his guys did the assembly stuff. But something about this boy—and his mother—kept his mouth shut.
Billy wasn’t looking to be a father. That ship had sailed seventeen years ago, and it wasn’t going to make a return voyage. But a shop teacher could still make a big difference. Billy’s shop teacher in high school, Cal Horton, had saved Billy’s life on at least three occasions and kept him out of prison twice, which was more than his own father, Bruce Bolton, had ever done.
Yeah, he didn’t have to be this kid’s father. But Cal would expect him to pay it forward.
“You want to help?” The kid nodded eagerly, his eyes bright. “I could use an assistant. Find a broom and sweep up this place. It’s a wreck, and a good shop is a clean shop. Keeps dust and junk from getting into the parts.”
He thought the kid was going to balk at manual labor. Billy didn’t nag. He went back to organizing his tools and waited for the kid to make up his mind.
Less than forty seconds later, the boy was sweeping.
Billy smiled to himself. “You do a good job and keep at it, maybe we’ll get you on a bike.”
“Really?” The kid grinned. Then it faded. “My mom won’t like that.”
Yeah, he knew that, too. His own mother had never been a fan of some of the things Billy did. Most of them, actually.
“Aw, hell. What your mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“You don’t know my mom very well.” The boy kept sweeping. A moment later, he added, “I got a friend who’s got a bike, but she won’t let me near it. Says she doesn’t want me to get hurt.” He made a noise that sounded like teenager-speak for “can you believe that?” “It’s not as cool a bike as yours, though.”
Maybe half of Billy’s childhood had been spent on the back of a bike, often directly against his mother’s stated wishes. His father had loved his mother dearly, but they rarely saw eye to eye on basic parenting questions, such as which activities were fun versus life-threatening. And Billy had survived just fine.
Well, mostly fine.
“I’ll make a deal with you. You keep your grades up and help me out in the shop, I’ll get you on a bike.” He leveled a finger at the huge smile on the kid’s face. “But you do what I say, when I say it, no questions asked. I don’t need some pissant kid jerking around my shop. I’ll throw your ass out of here the moment you screw up. Got it?”
The sudden gasp that came from the doorway told him that someone had screwed up, all right.
Him.
*
Jenny waved goodbye to the last of the girls from her Teen and Parents—TAPS—meeting and checked the multipurpose room for Seth. Seth hated the TAPS meetings and put as much distance as possible between him and the pregnant girls—most of whom he’d grown up playing with. Jenny supposed she should be thrilled that Seth hadn’t hit the age where he thought of girls in a sexual way, but would it have killed the boy to have a bit of compassion? After all, Jenny had been one of those girls once.
Seth wasn’t in the multipurpose room. The guitar was still in its case. Where was that boy?
Oh, no. The shop. Billy Bolton.
That man, Jenny thought as she ran down the hall. Yup, his bike was still parked in her spot. The door to the shop was open, and she heard voices inside. There was no missing Billy’s deep rumble—she wasn’t sure she could forget the way that voice hummed through her body. Even now, she got goose bumps. She also heard the softer voice of her son.
Oh, Lord, Seth was talking with Billy—and, from the tone of it, Billy was yelling at her boy. Running faster, the first words she caught were “…need some pissant kid jerking around my shop. I’ll throw your ass out of here the moment
you screw up. Got it?”
She gasped as she flew into the shop. “What did you say to my son?”
Seth jumped six inches off the floor, but Billy—sitting behind a table with a massive tool-thing in his hands—didn’t even move. At least this time he wasn’t wearing glasses. Jenny wasn’t sure that helped, though, because now she could see the way his light brown eyes bore into her, like heat-seeking missiles.
No one else was in the building. She’d gotten here just in time. Billy stared at her, something that looked like contempt on his face. Seth looked six kinds of miserable all at once. God only knew what Billy had been saying to her baby boy to make him look like he was on the verge of crying.
She intended to find out, by God. She stalked over to the table and slammed her hands down on the top. The tools rattled and Seth warned, “Mom,” behind her, but she had had it with this man.
“I asked you a question, and don’t you dare pull that silent crud on me. I heard you—I know you can talk. What do you think you’re doing, speaking to my son using that kind of language?” When she didn’t get an immediate response, she shouted back over her shoulder, “Seth, get your things.”
“But, Mom,” he whined again.
Then Billy stood up—all God-only-knew how many inches and pounds of him rose to his feet, slow and steady and not the least bit intimidated by her.
Jenny swallowed, refusing to allow herself to be intimidated by him, either. Even though he could pick her up and throw her over his shoulder like some big, gorgeous caveman, if he wanted to.
“Calm down.”
Of all the nerve—was he actually going to try to talk his way out of this? “I will do no such thing. If I have my way, you won’t be back on this reservation tomorrow. What is wrong with you? Stripping in front of a bunch of school children? Picking up my car? Threatening Seth? Are you insane?”
As she spoke, Billy walked around the table. He wasn’t moving at tackling speeds, but his destination was unmistakable. She took one step backward, then another as Billy advanced on her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Another step toward her. When he saw the effect he was having on her, one of his eyebrows notched up, which made him look almost amused. “Talking. To you.” Another step. “You still sweeping?”
“What?”
It was only when Seth said, “Yes, sir,” that she realized he hadn’t been talking to her.
One more step.
“This is talking? You’re trying to frighten me, but it won’t work,” she said as he boxed her into a corner, an intense look on his face. She should be terrified—maybe she was—but that didn’t explain the goose bumps that were all over her. Everything about her was tuned in to him—the way his muscles coiled and uncoiled with each step, the way he was…smiling? Was that possible?
Then, unexpectedly, Billy stopped while still a good four feet from her and looked over his shoulder. She was almost in a corner, but if she broke to the left fast enough, she could probably make it out the door. But if she did that, she’d leave Seth in here with this man, and she didn’t want to do that.
This was a clear example of the devil you know versus the devil you don’t. Except that in both cases, Billy Bolton was the devil.
When he faced her again, one corner of his mouth was unmistakably curved into a smile. “No, this is talking.”
The sight of Billy Bolton grinning—at her—threw whatever Jenny had been planning to say right out the window.
Oh, my. Somewhere, underneath that beard and the dark glares was a very handsome man with surprisingly kind eyes. Her mind flashed back to the expanse of muscle she’d seen earlier that afternoon. Muscles and more muscles, covered in tattoos that should have scared the stuffing out of her, but all she’d thought of doing was tracing the lines on his skin and reading the story he’d written there.
Those vicious goose bumps ran rough all over her body, but this time, heat flashed behind them, leaving her skin quivering. Heck, her whole body quivered. Including parts of her that hadn’t quivered in years.
“What are you going to do?” she asked, and was mortified to hear her voice come out somewhat lower and huskier than normal.
His eyes—a silky brown—darkened, and for a flash of a second, his gaze darted down to her lips. Her body, acting of its own volition, responded by darting her tongue out and licking her lips.
It was like they were doing a dance, one with tiny, complex steps. The air sharpened between them, and she felt her head tip back. He responded by sucking in air, and she felt her body do the same thing. Two bodies moving in time together, creating a rhythm all their own.
It had been a long time since she’d danced. A long time since she’d wanted to dance.
And she wanted to dance with Billy Bolton, of all the wildly inappropriate people.
She had to get control of this situation before something terrible happened, like Billy pinning her to the wall, pressing all those muscles against her and kissing the heck out of her.
Yes. That would be terrible, indeed. Awful. Possibly the worst thing that could ever happen to her.
So why did she want so badly for him to do exactly that?
“Nothing you don’t want me to.”
And he stopped. No more steps toward her, no more hungry looks. No more dancing.
Jenny forced away all thoughts of her body moving in time with Billy’s. They didn’t go very far, just to the back of her mind, but far enough that she could think. “I will not have you threaten my son with such language.” Her voice was still sultry. “Nor will I have you putting on such an indecent display in front of the children.”
“Josey told me to go around the side of the school to get miked up so I wasn’t in front of the other kids. I didn’t know your classroom was there.” Almost imperceptibly, he leaned in. The distance between them felt so sharp she thought it might cut her.
She could see Josey doing that. She’d assumed he’d been acting like his brother Bobby—showing off, making a scene—but she could see him trying to do the right thing. Maybe. “You were threatening Seth.”
“With kicking him out of the shop if he doesn’t pull his weight. Are you going to feed me to the coyotes for that?”
He tilted his head and looked her over again. Anytime she wanted to stop quivering would be great.
“You moved my car.”
“You want me to move it back?” Then he flexed. It wasn’t an exaggerated thing, but his chest and arms tightened under the shirt, then released.
Jenny’s breath caught. Apparently, she’d lost her mind at some point in the past few minutes, because she wanted to tell him to do just that—but only if he took his shirt off.
“No.”
“How old are you?”
Heat flooded her cheeks. “You can’t ask me that.”
Billy jerked his chin over his shoulder. “How old is he?”
Much more heat and she was going to start sweating. “That is none of your business!” And before she could stop herself, she asked, “How old are you?”
He didn’t even hesitate. Men. “Thirty-four.”
Five years older than she was.
“Mr. Bolton? I swept the floor.”
The sound of Seth’s voice snapped Jenny out of her man-induced insanity. “You what?”
“He swept up.” Billy swung around and surveyed the shop. “Not bad, kid.”
“He what?” Jenny looked at the now-clean shop floor. “Seth cleaned something? Because you threatened him?”
Billy looked back over his shoulder at her—only a quick glance, but Jenny felt the disapproval of his gaze. Then he walked around the shop, studying the floor. “Not bad at all,” he said to Seth, and Jenny couldn’t miss the way Seth’s face lit up at the compliment.
What the heck? She and Seth fought over chores all the time, but Billy Bolton had him looking happy to clean?
When had she lost all control over the situation?
Oh, yeah—the
moment she’d gotten out of her car this morning.
“So, did I do a good enough job? Can I help you in the morning?”
Jenny shook her head, trying to remember the last time she’d seen Seth look this excited about something.
“Depends on what your mother says.”
That was the last thing she expected to come out of Billy’s mouth.
“What?” That was how many whats in the past five minutes? She was starting to sound clueless—a feeling she hated.
Billy motioned toward the far corner of the shop. “You signed a release for him to appear on the show, but if he’s going to be helping me out in the shop, he’ll be filmed the whole time.”
Jenny stepped forward and looked. She hadn’t noticed the small camera with the red light before, but she saw it now. “What’s that for?”
“They’ll film me the whole time I’m building, then speed up the footage. If the kid helps, he’ll be on film a lot more.” He leaned to the side, and Jenny realized that they were less than two feet apart. “It’s your call.” Then Billy turned to Seth, “You’ve got to pull your weight. I hear that you’re not helping your mom at home or your grades drop, you’re out of here. I don’t tolerate slackers.”
Seth’s gaze darted between her and Billy. Clearly, he was waiting for her to blow up like she had that morning. And she was still mad about the language Billy had used around her son.
The only thing was, she liked everything Billy had said.
She couldn’t believe that she was on the verge of agreeing to let Seth spend more time with Billy Bolton, but what could she do? Seth wasn’t a little boy anymore, and something told her that he’d be safer with Billy than he would be if he were running around with Tige or any of his thuggish friends.
Billy turned and looked at her, one eyebrow raised in silent challenge.
“Can I, Mom? Please?”
This was a rock, and Billy Bolton was a hard place. The way his chest had not moved when she pushed it? A very hard place.
Bringing Home the Bachelor Page 3
