Seducing the Bachelor (The Bachelor Auction Returns Book 3)

by Sinclair Jayne

He took them, stared at them. He’d thought to never have his truck back. And here it was. Looking just as beautiful as the day he had dropped it off at his ranger buddy’s extra garage.

  “I’ve kept up with the maintenance. The oil changes and tire rotation,” she said. “I’m sorry I was using it. When my car died, Mr. Meizner said…”

  “Stop apologizing.” The last thing he wanted to hear was anything his uncle had said or thought. “It looks fantastic.”

  He could see her shoulders relax and that bothered him, that she’d felt tense or worried, but why the hell should he care? He had his truck back.

  “When I heard that pissed off bastard got his hands on my truck I figured he’d sell it. Torch it. Chop it up for parts. Drive it off a cliff just for laughs.”

  Talon stared up at him. He knew he was ranting, but his surprise, his pleasure at seeing one of the few things he’d purchased still in one piece made him giddy. He shook his head and walked around it once again.

  “Never occurred to me it would still fucking be here. In one piece.”

  “Why…” She licked her lip and the sight of her pink tongue peeking out for just a second made the truck fade away. “Why wouldn’t he keep it for you?”

  He noticed her shivering so he shrugged out of his leather biker jacket and draped it around her shoulders. He’d forgotten how the cold air could still swirl down from the mountains, chilling even the spring nights.

  Her eyes widened and her slim fingers caught the leather before it fell. “You’ll be cold.” She reached out to place her hand on his forearm as if that alone could ward off the cold and, who knew, after tonight, after surviving the dreaded bachelor auction, having his date possibly be shaping up into something promising and learning that his truck was still on four wheels, anything could happen.

  “Not ruining the night dredging up that swamp.”

  She nodded. “Still, Colt, he was your…uncle? And I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “I didn’t lose anything,” he said. “I’d dance on his grave if I knew how to dance or where it is.”

  “But he was family.” She breathed. “Not everyone has a chance for that. Families don’t always get along, but…”

  Oh, hell. She’d been a foster. She probably thought him an ungrateful ass, but he couldn’t think of his childhood with that man without hating him all over again.

  She sighed heavily. “Sorry.”

  “Stop apologizing.”

  And they stood there facing each other. She was uncertain. The earlier sex-charged mood had been broken and he was edgy, wanting to get the hell away, but he felt bound by his promise to Coach and something less definitive.

  “Get in,” he said, opening the passenger door. “I’ll take you both home.”

  “Colt, I’m sorry you two weren’t close, but he is dead. He was so sick at the end. So weak and alone.”

  He barely bit back “Good. Hope he rots in hell.” Because, obviously, she either cared about his uncle, which he didn’t deserve, or she was just a kind and loving person whose compassion was misplaced.

  “I helped him the last six months when he was too sick to take care of himself because he wanted to stay in his house, and the hospice nurse could only come twice a week.”

  Something burned hot and sick in his gut, and it took all his effort to not react. Yell. Hit something. That cold, critical, vicious monster that claimed to be a man had had help in the end. A soothing voice. Morphine. When so many good men, who’d done their best and believed in honor and country, had their last moment screaming in blood and death and writhing pain and fear far from home, hope, and help, Sam Meizner had had someone to soothe his way through the gates of hell.

  She must have sensed his turmoil but misunderstood because when he turned on the ignition, her hand covered his. Sympathy swam in her strangely colored eyes. Maybe they were contacts, but she didn’t seem like the type of woman who’d use artifice as she didn’t seem to be wearing makeup.

  “I want you to know his end was….”

  “Protracted and agonizing I hope.”

  She caught her breath. Her eyes searched his. “You don’t mean that.”

  Not a question.

  “I never say anything I don’t mean.”

  “I heard your relationship might be… difficult,” she began.

  So that was the word she’d chosen. Way too mild and innocent for what he’d endured living with that sadistic, unpredictable drunk for almost ten years.

  “Leave it.” His voice was hard, and he didn’t try to soften it this time.

  She swallowed, beautiful eyes still trying to read his soul probably. Women always wanted to understand him. Save him. Halleflippinluiah. As if he had a soul in the offing.

  “I’m not really sure what to do next,” she said after fidgeting with his jacket a bit.

  “Nothing.” He started the engine, felt the rumble all the way to his bones, and pulled out on Main Street. “Which way?

  Talon was quiet after getting him on the highway north out of town. He’d wanted that. Silence. But now it seemed to roar and snarl and judge. He drove for twenty minutes, his lips twisted. He was getting close to his uncle’s ranch. He wondered if he’d tried to keep any of the animals or had auctioned them all off. He’d received two letters in the last year from Meizner. He hadn’t opened them. The third letter had been from an attorney. He’d been tempted to burn it as well, but his CO had ordered him to deal with his business.

  That was partially the reason he was back to town. To deal with his business, but he didn’t know if he would. Why bother? Nothing that man could say from beyond his grave would wheedle out one ounce of forgiveness. And he’d never step foot on that property or that junk of a house again.

  “Close that chapter of your life.” His CO had ordered like he’d just returned from some inspirational lecture. “Deal with your shit and move on. Slay your demons or they’ll slay you.”

  Amen.

  He glared at the mile marker. Too close.

  Talon looked back at Parker a few times and twisted her fingers together.

  “I’m not mad at you. I won’t hurt you.” He couldn’t stand her fear.

  “Why would I think you’d hurt me?” She sounded astonished. “I can just tell that you still have some unresolved issues with your uncle and I don’t want to cause you anymore pain.”

  “How are you going to cause me pain?”

  It wasn’t like they were going to start dating or anything. Make any promises and then, when he redeployed, she could play around on him. This, if there were a this, was going to be the usual one-off fuck. He was so busy telling himself there was no way she could ever hurt him, that he nearly missed her quiet voice.

  “Turn here.”

  Chapter Five

  He stopped in the middle of the road and looked left at the twisted gravel turnoff that bumped up and around a rolling hill. Even the turn looked evil. Everything inside him rebelled. His stomach cramped and his skin felt way too tight and cold and painful to stretch over his bones. But his face was expressionless.

  “You’re shitting me.”

  She glanced back quickly at the sleeping kid. Parker. He gripped the steering wheel hard, truck idling like a powerful beast ready to escape to the open road.

  “You live here.”

  “Yes, temporarily.”

  “He’s been dead almost three months.”

  “Yes.”

  “How long?”

  “A little less than a year and a half. Since I came to Marietta.”

  “With Parker.”

  “Yes.”

  She’d come to this place with a kid about the same age he’d been. He sucked in a deep breath, thinking about her here alone with Meizner and her kid. Miles from town. Miles from other neighbors.

  “Colt.” She touched his shoulder, but he shook it off.

  He’d never thought of that, another kid being subjected to abuse. The rages that came out of nowhere. Colt had kept his head do
wn and survived. Never shown his fear or his bruises. He’d never thought his silence, his running, would have endangered another child. And then something else occurred to him that knocked the sexual interest right out of him.

  “Were you and my uncle…” Disgust curdled the words in his throat.

  “No.” She sat straight up and jammed her fisted hands between her delectable thighs, her mouth pinched, eyes sparking. “Nothing like that.”

  And he could breathe again.

  “He was sick.”

  “And you took care of him.”

  Something in his voice set her off because she pushed opened the truck door with surprising strength and quickness. She ripped off his jacket, threw it at him and slammed the door shut. By the time she was pulling on the back passenger side door, he was eating up the ground around the truck.

  “Open the door.”

  She jerked on it again, and glared at him.

  Colt caught her arms. “Calm down,” he said softly. “You’ll wake him up.”

  “Fine. He needs to get up. Thanks for the ride. I’ll take it from here.”

  “It’s two miles to the house.”

  “Yeah, so? I can walk.”

  “This is stupid. Get in the truck.”

  “You think I took advantage of him don’t you?” She challenged. “That I used him. That I didn’t pay my way.”

  God, he was so dumb with women. Good at one thing with them. Everything else, disaster.

  “No.” He struggled to find the words that would explain. “I think you were better than he deserved in the end.” His words were choppy with frustration.

  She stood beside the truck, breathing heavily, but looking as if the fight were slowly leaking out of her. She held out her hand to keep him away, as if that would stop him if he were intent on doing what? Jesus, had his uncle hurt her or Parker? He couldn’t imagine her standing by and letting that happen, but he hadn’t fought back until he’d been a teenager.

  “Get in the truck, Talon. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  It’s better that way.

  The road had never seemed so long or curvy. The truck bounced over the ruts, and it seemed like every curve jostled her body closer to his despite the large cab and the seatbelt. He could smell the scent of her shampoo, something tropical like jasmine and coconut. True to his word he didn’t say another word and, at first, that was soothing, but then it was grating because so many words pulsed and snarled between them.

  “You have poker face down to a high art form,” she said.

  He pulled into the clearing where the house was cheerily lit up in the front and kitchen. That was different. Usually the house was dark. Sometimes even with them in it.

  “Colt.” She finally spoke into the silence while his eyes took in everything but the house. “I’d like to explain.”

  “Don’t have to.”

  “I want to. I need to.”

  He blew out a breath.

  “Besides I need help getting Parker inside.”

  He got out of the truck, heart heavy with dread. He had to go inside that house. The darkness of it. The grime. The cigarette smoke. The fist coming at him for something, always different, like forgetting to wrap up the hose, or wash out a dish, because he hadn’t wanted to miss the school bus. The memories pressed down on him. Shoulders squared, he opened the rear cab door, unbuckled the kid, and swung him into his arms. He walked toward the porch. It was a mission like any other mission. He kept his mind blank. Counted the steps to the porch. The five steps up it. The twenty wide, worn oak planks to the front door. Waited for her to put in the key. Counted the breaths it took to turn it, swing wide the door.

  She hurried down the hall and up the stairs. He laid Parker down in a twin bed that was army themed. He briefly wondered why. Talon pulled up the comforter. He turned on a nightlight. He avoided looking around to see if there was anything of him left though he’d escaped long ago. He’d made a new life. Useless to look back. He should have reenlisted before flying to Montana.

  He walked down the hall quietly, not wanting to notice that instead of dingy white walls they were a soft yellow. At the bottom of the stairs, he stopped short. The worn, faded brown carpet that had had huge stains even when he’d been a kid was gone from the main room. Instead wide-planked wood shone. And the big recliner where his uncle had always sat was gone. Instead there was a yellow couch with a lot of pillows scattered on it.

  The room had always filled him with terror. It was where he had to stand in front of his uncle each day while his chores had been checked off as well as his homework. And even though he had always tried his best and rechecked his work, many days he fell short, usually through some expectation that seemed made up at the time.

  But the chair was gone. And there was no smell of smoke. Instead the most delicious smells wafted from the kitchen. He followed the smell and saw Talon stirring something in a slow cooker. She eyed him warily and then backed up to the door and pressed her back against it.

  “You’re not leaving here until you have something to eat.” She crossed her arms. “I made stew since it was Saturday, or Ryan, who was volunteering as chef tonight made some to-go boxes from the kitchen.”

  She looked so fierce, but his eyes were fixated on her mouth. He advanced across the floor and stopped in front of her, close enough to inhale her light, floral fragrance and something fruity, probably all the drinks at the bar. He had an image of him licking her skin, getting drunk off the feel and taste and scent of her.

  “How are you going to make me eat?”

  He reached behind her and tugged at the elastic around her hair. He let the band roll over his hand to his wrist.

  “You can try to get that later.” He promised and dipped his head low towards her, exalting in the crazy-fast flutter at her neck. He let his lips almost skim her throat while his hand buried in her hair.

  “Colt.” Her voice was an ache and her hand clenched convulsively on his arm. “This is your home. I want to explain.”

  He took a step back. “Never my home. Lived here, but not by choice.”

  He didn’t really have a home. Wherever he was at the time.

  He hated talking about this. He didn’t have to explain. He owed her something, but not his whole sordid past, dragged across the scratched, grimy floor, which, when he looked down, he noted almost in dismay, wasn’t dirty or scratched anymore. Instead, the wood looked darker and gleamed. It was like a different house. Home. Talon or Meizner? He couldn’t imagine that man redecorating.

  “Please.” She placed her palms lightly on his chest. “Let me tell you how I came, what I’ve done, and then you’ll be able to decide.”

  The only decision he was going to make was to get the hell out of here as soon as possible. He hated how the memories kept crashing in on him. Hated how she was getting under his skin. Making him think. Question.

  “You’re not going to run out are you?”

  “No.”

  She relaxed a little.

  “We’ve haven’t had sex yet.”

  She rolled her eyes and pushed off the door. “Note to self”—she held up one finger—“Colt Ewing is not funny.”

  “But I am hungry.”

  Her smile warmed him through.

  Ten minutes later, Colt was sitting at the kitchen table that was not the table from his childhood. Instead, it was round and hand painted a cheery yellow with linked black diamonds. He had coffee and a bowl of delicious stew. He was in heaven in the midst of hell, appreciating the irony of his situation.

  “Ghosts are all gone,” she said.

  She knew. That should have upset him. Instead, he dug into his meal that included one of his favorites—corn bread with honey. And she promised Ryan had packed dessert.

  It was weird to feel comfortable in a place where he’d vowed to never step foot in again. And the last thing he’d wanted after three plane flights back to Texas, a four-day debrief and then another flight to Bozeman where he then had to sit in
a car with Nick and hear all about how Coach Downey wanted to see them all, just a quick get together.

  Sucker.

  He’d ended up as eye candy for a bunch of women and was now playing true confessions with a woman who made him as hot as hell and just as uncomfortable. He liked willing, quick, and uncomplicated. Talon was a yes on one, possibly on the second, and then huge, flashing all caps no.

  She turned a chair around, straddled it facing him. Like he was going to be able to eat now. Concentrate now.

  She took a deep breath. “The first time I came to Marietta, I was seventeen and was with Jenna, who had been here once before. I fell in love with the town. It seemed like a fantasy. Like a place I had always dreamed of living and having a house and raising a family. I felt like anything was possible here.”

  He ate his stew. How could she trust him with this information? Let him in like this. He wanted to warn her. Protect her.

  “I haven’t finished school yet, but I was tired of always waiting, putting everything off until one day that always got further and further away. I wanted Parker to have a hometown now when he was a kid.” She ducked her head. “And I wanted to have a home. So I drove here, and the first day I was at the feed store looking for a job, to see if any farms had a bunkhouse or something in return for work because I wanted to work with animals, I met your uncle. In return for a cabin, I took care of all his errands in town and the goats.”

  “Goats!”

  She smiled. “Parker loved them. We milked them morning and evening. Sometimes Mr. Meizner would sit in the barn and watch and tell Parker about…well it doesn’t matter. But with the milk, we made cheese. Sold it at the farmer’s market. I felt like a pioneer.”

  Her face glowed. “But he got sicker and it didn’t make sense anymore so he sold them. All that’s left is a free range, aloof emu, and a stray dog I can’t catch, but Parker and I sometimes see on our walks.”

  He stared at her. The ranch sounded like something out of a children’s book. And his uncle sounded almost benevolent.

  “When he was really sick, he talked a lot about how his son would come home. Live here. Make the ranch run again. He had to sell off some land to keep up with taxes, but still had enough to turn it into a working ranch again.”