Bad Boy Heroes Boxed Set

by Patricia Ryan

  So did he. “What time should I come?”

  “About seven?”

  “Fine.”

  They walked toward the door. She opened it, but turned back. She had flats on and he was a good foot taller than she. He looked big, but breakable. And she realized she truly didn’t fear him anymore. “So, I’ll see you later.”

  He nodded. She could tell he was still overcome with emotion. Her own throat felt tight. Staring into his world-weary face, she gave him a small smile.

  He returned it.

  Then, in a gesture as natural as summer rain, she reached up and encircled his neck with her arms. He froze for a minute, then gently wrapped his arms around her, and as he’d done so many times, lifted her into his embrace.

  Somehow it felt right. Like a new beginning.

  Just what the minister ordered.

  EPILOGUE

  *

  UNDER A CANOPY of clear blue September sky, punctuated by fluffy white clouds that looked like cotton candy, Ron leaned over into the shiny new car and tightened the strap on Tucker’s safety harness. Hordes of people buzzed in the stands, waiting for the much-publicized September Exhibition Race to begin. Race driver legends that hadn’t come to compete were in the crowd—even The King, Richard Petty.

  Grinning, Tucker ruffled Ron’s hair. “The harness is tight, kid.”

  “Just wanna make sure.” Ron ducked his head out and looked at the track where his father had died. He tried not to let on that he was worried. At almost eighteen, he knew today was different from ten years before. It was just that sometimes, he did fear losing his new dad.

  “See you in the pit,” The Menace said cockily.

  “Ah, no, you won’t.”

  Tucker nodded to Ron’s red and white jumpsuit, which matched his own. “You’re part of my crew, Ronny.”

  Shaking his head, Ron shrugged. “I’m gonna go sit with Mom during the race.”

  Through his safety glasses and chin strap, Tucker smiled. “Good idea, son.” He reached up and grasped Ron’s wrist with his gloved hand. “Tell her not to worry. I’m gonna be fine.” He leaned over conspiratorially. “I plan on seein’ that little brother or sister we’re gonna give you in seven months or so.”

  Ron sputtered and Tucker laughed. This was the first Ron had heard about a new little tyke in the family. As Tucker drove off to the starting lane, Ron shook his head, his heart squeezing tightly in his chest. He was gonna have a kid brother or sister. One he could watch over and keep safe, away from the trouble he’d gotten into. “Now, don’t that beat all,” he mumbled as he watched Tucker maneuver into place.

  “Geez, kid, you even sound like them Southern boys.”

  Ron turned around and smiled at Margo. Dressed in a long Menace T-shirt—Doc and Tucker had gotten them for the whole family—Ron cast a glance at the name written on the front. “Yeah, well, Mary Margaret, I could do worse.”

  Margo smiled radiantly and wrapped her just-beginning-to-bulge belly with her arms. Now her he’d known about.

  “The twins givin’ you trouble today?” he asked.

  “I tossed my cookies again this morning. They’re already hell-on-wheels, I tell you.”

  As they walked to the edge of the pit, Ron shook his head. “You got names picked out?”

  “Of course. We’re calling them Frank and Jesse James.”

  “Well, if you’d take your husband’s name like you’re supposed to…”

  “Never see the day, kid.”

  When Linc and Margo got married that summer—just after his mom and Tucker—they didn’t want to rush anything. She’d kept her place in New York and did some consulting in computer design but had spent more than half her time in Glen Oaks. When she was here, she ran the racing video game business she’d set up with Doc.

  They were just about to head for the stands when someone tugged them back.

  Ron pivoted.

  Doc’s complexion was rosy and his eyes sparkled with energy; given that everybody was watching out for his diet and exercise these days, he was the picture of health. “Tell your mama Tuck’s gonna be all right, boy.”

  “I will, Doc.” Ron glanced over to the pit. “Where’s Gerty?”

  “She went up to sit with your grandparents.”

  “No shit, are they here?”

  “Yep. She’s tryin’ to coax ’em down to sit with the rest of the family.”

  Ron looked all the way back to the stands. Sometimes, if you had enough faith, and trust, the pieces just fell into place. When he reached the box seats, he found his mother sitting on the bench. She wore shades, and the sun beat down on her hair, which was getting longer. Like she used to wear it. She had on her Menace T-shirt, with Mary Elizabeth etched on the top left. Uncle Linc was next to her, in his racing shirt, too. God, they all looked like the freakin’ Brady Bunch.

  And it felt damn good.

  Margo climbed over his mother and plunked down in Linc’s lap, giving him a big smooch right on the mouth.

  “Have you no shame, woman?” Linc asked, coming up for air.

  “None.”

  “I’ve got my reputation to think of.” His protest was weakened by the fact that he was nuzzling her neck.

  “Screw your reputation.” She kissed him again.

  He whispered something in her ear that Ron was glad he couldn’t hear. Sex between adults boggled his mind; despite that, seeing Margo and Linc together made him feel warm right down to his toes.

  Flanking his mother on the other side, he put his arm around her. “Tucker’s fine, Mom. He said to tell you he’s gonna be all right.”

  “I know he is. Nothing’s going to take him away from me now, Ronny.”

  “Away from us,” Ron corrected. Then, with a glint in his eye, he added, “All three of us.”

  Beth grinned. “He told you?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “Feel about what?” Linc had settled Margo next to him and held her hand like some teenager.

  With pretended disgust, Ron snorted. “We got a regular baby boom happenin’ around here.”

  Linc’s eyes lit up. He grabbed his sister and hugged her. “Oh, Bethy, I’m so glad.”

  Margo reached around Linc for an embrace of her own. “Way to go, girl. Now ours’ll have playmates.” Her eyes twinkled. “Just like us.”

  “Oh, Lord,” Linc said. “Imagine the trouble they’ll get into.”

  Ron shook his head. “I’ll keep all three of them in line.” He rolled his eyes. “And if Lily can tear herself away from that college she went to, she can help me with them.”

  Who would have thought—Lily Hanson enrolled in SUNY Brockport to become a Math teacher. Mr. Johnson was really proud.

  There was a rustle in the stands as a group made its way up to them. Now there was a posse if Ron ever saw one. Matt Murphy and Tommy DeMartino, wearing The Menace shirts, too, clomped alongside their two little sisters. Ron used to be jealous of their family. Now, he was gonna have a sibling of his own—and cousins to boot. Behind them, Rosa DeMartino followed, trailed by Annie and Joe. The kids sat a few rows up, and the adults took the seats behind his mom.

  There was a round of warm hellos.

  Annie and Joe looked good in their Menace shirts, too; Annie’s sported Mary Anne, her full name, like Mom’s and Margo’s. Studying them, Ron didn’t think he’d ever seen Annie happier, or Joe more relaxed. He didn’t know why they’d split, but he’d been thinking all summer they were heading back together.

  Joe reached out, took Annie’s hand and just held it. It was almost a reverent gesture.

  Annie squeezed his back, then nodded to the track. “So, how much longer?”

  “Any minute now,” Beth told her.

  Annie touched his mother’s shoulder.

  “I’m okay,” Beth responded to the silent query.

  Just then, a loud voice came over the speaker for the spectators to stand to sing the national anthem. Rising, Ron
looked out at the packed bleachers, at the newly refurbished track where he’d spent a lot of the last summer with Doc and Tucker. He smiled. He had his own secret, which he’d keep to himself awhile. Mr. Johnson was helping him apply to design schools. Though he loved the race, Doc’s side of it was more interesting. He stared at the fourth turn where his father had crashed. And designing was safer. Now, he knew how important that was.

  The introductions over, the announcer spoke the most famous words in racing lore. “Gentlemen, start your engines!”

  Ron grasped his mother’s hand as Tucker took his place on the pole and led the other cars out onto the track.

  Two hours later, when the checkered flag came down right behind number thirty-one, Ron was still holding her hand.

  The Menace had won the exhibition race, but Ron knew he was the luckiest person at Glen Oaks Race Track that day.

  -The End—

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  If you enjoyed Trust in Me, be sure to check out Kathryn Shay’s other books:

  Better than Before

  Promises to Keep

  Serenity House Trilogy

  Hidden Cover Firefighters series

  BREAKING THE RULES

  *

  By Barbara Samuel

  To Jaye Manus, a.k.a. Sherrill Lynn, with many thanks for plotting help, hand-holding and utterly unshakable good sense. And to the good Dr. House, dentist extraordinaire, who made it possible for me to finish this book on time.

  Prologue

  *

  SHE DROVE ALL night. Fast and hard through the emptiness of the Kansas plains, dotted with silos and water towers silhouetted against the clear, starry sky. In Emporia, she clutched her coat around herself and bought a cup of coffee and filled the gas tank.

  By morning, she reached Pueblo. Leaving the technically stolen car in the parking lot of a huge discount store where it would eventually attract notice, she fastened her coat around her again and went inside the store. She bought a pair of soft desert boots, jeans and a handful of Tshirts, trying to ignore the collection of stares she received over her wild and incongruous appearance.

  From the discount store, she crossed the street on foot to a convenience store that sold gas and food. In the bathroom there, she ripped the tags off the new things and threw her tattered dress in the waste bin. For a moment, she stared at the royal blue taffeta, bloodstained on the side and at the hem. A wave of dizzy nausea washed through her.

  Once changed, she assessed herself in the flyspecked mirror. This was the hard part. With trembling hands, she braided her hip-length hair, secured it at the top and bottom, then lifted the shears she’d bought with the jeans.

  “Do it, Mattie,” she said to the white-faced woman in the mirror. She did, but resolve and necessity didn’t keep her from weeping as she did so. Her pride and joy. Her hair.

  When it was done, she held the three-foot braid in her hand, then looked at herself. The cut was ragged, but not bad, considering. With surprise, she touched her neck and shoulders.

  Taking a deep breath, she coiled the braid and nestled it into her bag. No one would recognize her now. No one.

  She left the car with its Kansas plates in the sprawling parking lot and hopped on a city bus that took her downtown. At the Greyhound station, she scanned the lists of destinations and impulsively bought a ticket for a little town she’d never heard of because she liked the name.

  Kismet, Arizona.

  They would never find her there.

  Chapter 1

  *

  IN THE MIDDLE of the morning bustle, with country music playing in the kitchen of the café, and coffee perking and the noise of a dozen men buzzing around the room, Mattie realized that somehow or other, the job she’d taken out of desperation three weeks before was one she had learned to like. No, love.

  “Order up!” called the cook. Mattie grabbed the thick porcelain plates filled with greasy eggs and strips of bacon and good white toast. Piling them on her arms, she hurried toward the table of road workers who would gulp the food down and tip her a dollar, no matter how well or poorly she did her job, as long as she kept their coffee cups filled. Bustling back toward the counter, she grabbed the coffeepot and swung through in a circle, touching up every cup along the route, except Joe Harriday’s, who liked to get all the way to the bottom before he started again.

  There was a buzz in her muscles and heat in her chest. Her hair fell in her eyes and she brushed it back, feeling the pleasant grime of hard work on her skin.

  Loved it.

  As the breakfast crowd thinned, leaving behind only a single pair of tourists who’d wandered in off the highway, Mattie made a fresh pot of coffee, mainly for the crew to drink as they cleaned up breakfast and got ready for lunch.

  “A woman after my own heart,” said Roxanne, the other waitress, breathing deeply of the scented steam rising from the pot. “You want to take a break first?”

  “Go ahead, Roxanne. I can wait awhile.”

  “Thanks.” She touched her stomach. “I’m starving.”

  The low, precise grumbling of a motorcycle cut through the post-rush quiet. Mattie turned to watch a bike roar up in front of the café. Through the plate-glass windows, the waitresses watched as a man parked a sleek, midnight blue machine. Chrome shone all over it. The man driving settled it easily and limberly dismounted.

  Mattie stared, a prickling in her nerves.

  For a minute, he stood beside the bike, looking out toward the canyon. She’d learned the hard way to be careful about men, careful about even looking too hard at one for fear she might start to want again what she couldn’t have.

  But it was impossible not to stare. Standing there against the backdrop of rough red sandstone cliffs and thick ponderosa pine, he looked like one of the outlaws that had hidden in the canyon long ago. Or maybe, Mattie thought, he was more like the eagles she sometimes saw on her dawn trips to the canyon—there was in his stance the same wary alertness; in his size she felt the same sense of leashed power.

  He wore a plain white cotton shirt, the long sleeves rolled to the elbows, tucked at the narrow waist into a pair of jeans. His hair, the color of coffee and tangled from his ride in the wind, was long. Very long. Casually, he finger-combed it away from his face and headed for the restaurant.

  Roxanne made a low, approving sound in her throat.

  The bell rang over the door and the man came in, his walk graceful and controlled. He glanced around the room, making a clean sweep, and Mattie was sure those eyes missed nothing. After the initial scope, the pale gaze swiveled back and settled on Mattie.

  Mattie told herself she ought to do something with the bar towel in her hand, and managed to swipe it nervously over the counter, but she found it nearly impossible not to look up again—as if he carried with him some secret magnetic force. Even the old lady in the corner had paused with her hand on the sugar bowl, to stare.

  The face was hard, made of planes carved into high, sharp arches of cheekbone, a powerful nose and harsh, clean jaw. The eyes—maybe it was his eyes—were a pale green, like water in the forest, and the color was all the more startling in contrast to the deeply suntanned skin.

  When Mattie finally realized she was gaping like a child in the presence of a star quarterback, she realized he was staring at her. No smile or softness of expression marred the implacable planes of that face. Mattie shifted, but found it hard to look away.

  “Hey, Zeke,” Roxanne said with a purr. “Don’t stand there letting the flies in. Come on in.”

  He settled on a stool. “Hi,” he said to Mattie. “Don’t believe I’ve seen you around here before.”

  The voice matched the face, for it was deep and rough as a midnight canyon, the words drawl-thickened with the sound of the South. Louisiana, at least—maybe even Mississippi.

  She gathered her breath and her defenses. “No, you haven’t,” she said, and was please
d at the cool, even sound of her voice.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Mary.” She shifted uncomfortably and crossed her arms.

  His gaze moved over her face, lingered on her mouth, slipped up to her eyes again.

  “Who’s gonna wait on me this morning?”

  Roxanne nudged Mattie with a sideways grin. “He thinks we’re going to fight over the privilege.” To the man, she said, “Mary’ll take care of you. I’m going on break.”

  The wary expression on his face eased ever so slightly as he winked at Roxanne. “My heart is broken, baby.”

  Mattie quelled an impulse to roll her eyes. It was obvious he thought he was the Lord’s gift to women—and while that same Lord had done a fine job of packaging, she wouldn’t argue with that—arrogant men of this sort were not her style. “Don’t let me interfere,” she said wryly. “I’ll take my break.”

  Roxanne shook her head. “He won’t bite,” she said, scribbling on a ticket for her breakfast order. “And I’m famished.” She ducked into the kitchen. Mattie heard her call out her order to the cook.

  The man at the counter lazily pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

  “What can I get you?”

  “Coffee. Please.”

  Mattie could feel his gaze as she took a heavy white mug from the rack, settled it before him and poured coffee. “Would you like cream?” she asked formally.

  He shook his head.

  Lifting the pot, she inclined her head. “You know, in most places, it’s considered rude to stare.”

  He moistened his lips and drew on the cigarette. “Is that right?”

  She lowered her eyes. In the brief pause, she felt within her a strange psychic disturbance. A warning, like the shriek of a blue jay when a cat wanders by: Danger! Danger! Danger!

  “Where you from, Mary?” he asked.

  Mattie turned to precisely place the coffeepot on the burner. “Here and there,” she said with a shrug. Nervously, she smoothed a wisp of hair from her face. “Do you want to look at a menu?”

  He took his time pouring sugar into his cup. “No, I know what I want.” Slowly, he stirred. Even such a small act rippled the rounds of muscle in his arms, and at the collar of his shirt she could see the chest, too, was powerfully muscled.