Bounty (Hunted Love Book 2)

by Aden Lowe

  She looked up with a bright smile. "Hi Sugar, what can I do for ya?" Her soft southern drawl blended with a touch of something else.

  His spine tightened slightly in response, providing yet another reminder how long he'd held to the self-imposed celibacy that followed his now ex-wife's betrayal. Falon gave himself a mental shake, refusing to sink back into that quicksand of misery. "You still serving dinner?"

  The woman glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen, and turned back. "You're in luck. The kitchen girls are running a little behind tonight, so as long as you don't mind eating at the bar, you've still got a little time."

  Falon ordered the country-fried steak and fries the woman recommended and took a seat at the end of the bar to wait for his food. The steaming plate came out more quickly than he expected, along with an icy glass of sweet tea. He pacified his guilt over all the deep fried carbs by asking for a small side salad.

  Either he was starving or the food was of excellent quality, because Falon found it delicious even if it wasn't something he would normally choose. After the first few bites, he slowed down to relish every morsel.

  The staff bustling around to clean tables and chairs only drew a portion of his attention. When the band started warming up, he actually noticed. Most of the tables and chairs had been moved aside to leave a large area of the floor cleared.

  Where had the woman with the black hair gone? He really should ask her—there she was. Falon caught her eye and lifted a hand.

  With a broad smile, she glided over to him, all T and A, and graceful movement, enough to make his mouth water. "What can I do for ya, Sugar?" She stopped close to him and leaned one elbow against the bar so she tilted her head back to smile up at him.

  Powerless to resist, he grudgingly allowed his gaze to travel downward from her face, taking in the generous breasts and willowy waist. Full hips, designed to cradle a man just so, made him grit his teeth a little. He forced his eyes back to her face. "If a guy wanted to rent a room and put up at a motel for a couple of weeks, where would he find such a place around here?"

  She licked her lower lip in what was probably an unconscious gesture, instinctively recognizing a man on the prowl. "Aw, Sugar, there's nothing like that to be had around here. We don't get much call for rooms to rent. Everybody just crashes over with relatives. Now, that said, I do happen to have an old camper on the back lot that I sometimes rent out for a couple weeks at a time. Every once in a while some lady will leave her old man and need a place to lay low for a bit while he cools down. It ain't nothing fancy, but it's clean, if you're interested."

  "Can I see it?" Damn, there was a lot he'd like to see.

  Another smile and she flicked a runaway lock of hair back before answering. "Sugar, all you got to do is ask, and you could see just about anything you wanted to." She gave him a long slow look that said she'd intended the remark to be as all-inclusive as it sounded. "Give me ten minutes to get everything squared away for the evening crowd, and I'll be glad to show you the camper." At his nod of agreement, she moved away, tantalizing him with the sway of her hips.

  His appetite for food withered away, leaving him with a raging hard-on that resisted all attempts to take his mind off the black-haired woman's shape. The thought of casual sex, especially with no kind of connection or relationship, turned his stomach. It showed the utmost lack of respect for both himself and the woman, in his opinion. But when a woman like that one showed up on his radar, principles became seriously difficult to hold himself to.

  Even with the reminder to himself, Falon continued to watch her as she moved around the big room, straightening this or that, pausing to speak with a staff member occasionally, and just looking around to make sure it all met her requirements. Falon had the impression she was very specific about what she wanted, and nothing less would do.

  The band continued warming up and arranging their equipment to fit the small stage. Falon wouldn't even have realized the twelve-foot-square dais was actually a stage if he hadn't seen the band on it. Apparently during the day, they used it as an exclusive dining area, with a pair of tables situated for a good view of the rest of the dining room. But with the tables removed and the backdrop lowered, it was definitely a stage, even if it was a small one. And the band moved into a passable rendition of Lynyrd Skynyrd's Gimme Three Steps.

  While Falon sipped his sweet tea and observed the transformation, Rita's Rattlesnake transformed into a small bar with live entertainment. The contrast with its day job as a family friendly restaurant was surprising. The staff put the final touches on the metamorphosis and a few patron began to filter in. It looked as though the owner had found a killer marketing strategy that kept the place packed from open to close. Smart.

  A half dozen men entered together, catching Falon's attention with the wariness of their movements. They wore rough clothing, probably selected specifically for the number of weapons they could conceal within each item. Most notable, though, were the leather vests with embroidered patches proclaiming status and rank. On the back, a large central patch depicted a grinning death head over a background of flames. Block lettering on the upper rocker declared they were the Hell Raiders.

  The man in front, clearly the leader, kept his face in shadow with the brim of a baseball cap. The others followed warily, making no secret of their station as guards for the leader. At a vague gesture from him the men dropped into chairs around two different tables, watching as he continued on toward the black-haired woman.

  Glancing up from whatever she was doing, the woman froze when she became aware of the man approaching her. Her pale face went even whiter and blue eyes darkened with what could only be fear. After the initial show of apprehension, she squared her shoulders and frowned, turning to face the man full on.

  A cold smile crossed the man's face as he shook his head. "Rita, you aren't dressed yet. I told you to be ready."

  "And I told you, I'm not going anywhere with you."

  The man lifted his hat with one hand to comb long brown hair straight back over his head, then replaced the cap. It was only a brief moment, but long enough for Falon to confirm the man hassling the black-haired woman was his quarry, Kellen.

  "And I told you there's no choice in the matter. You're my old lady now. I don't take no for an answer." He reached for her arm, catching her elbow in a hard-looking grip, and jerked her toward him.

  Falon's heart pounded with the need to act. He couldn't betray his mission, but he also couldn't allow a woman to be molested by the likes of Kellen. The man was known for his brutal treatment of women.

  Falon stood, ready to intercede, but before he could, the unmistakable sound of a shotgun's pump action echoed through the suddenly silent room. Falon swung carefully, keeping his hands visible, toward the other end of the bar where a slim young blonde held a double barrel twelve gauge comfortably at hip level.

  Kellen's men rose but the muzzle of the gun swung to cover them.

  "You dogs stay put." The low feminine tone declared no argument would be tolerated. "I will mow you fuckers down like the pigs you are."

  "Kellen, you release her and step back, or I take your head off your shoulders." The barrel of a high-powered hunting rifle peeked over the edge of a small square balcony suspended in one corner by the stage. The cover provided by huge old-fashioned speakers ensured the female speaker's safety against any but the most determined barrage.

  Falon had to contain his half smile of admiration. These women had it going on. They certainly weren't as vulnerable as implied by the absence of male staff members.

  The black-haired woman snatched her arm away from Kellen's grip and stepped back. "You aren't welcome here, Kellen. Now take your crew and get out. And don't come back. I'd hate to have to call the Butcher in, but I won't hesitate if I see you again."

  "You bitches will pay dearly for this." Kellen stared pointedly at the blonde with the shotgun. "I will track you down and make you wish you'd stayed home tonight." He turned back to the black-haired
woman. "You belong to me, and I will have what's mine." He spun and stalked away, his men following.

  Falon didn't miss the concealed gesture one of Kellen's men made to a slender young female patron who had entered after the men. Unless Falon missed his guess, she had just been directed to watch whoever came down from that balcony and get their name. Her barely perceptible nod declared the message had been received.

  He sat back on his stool. It looked like he was about to step squarely into a very nasty local hornet nest. And yet, if he were going to do his job, he couldn't avoid it. And Kellen clearly needed to be taken down. Hard. The temptation to follow Kellen and his men and immediately take the outlaw into custody was hard to resist. But he didn't care for the seven-to-one odds. Besides, if he showed his hand too early, Kellen would just move on temporarily like he always did. So Falon would wait.

  In the cautious bustle of activity that followed Kellen's departure, the black-haired woman approached Falon with a wry smile. "By the way, I'm Rita James, proprietress." She held her hand out. "Look, I saw you start to interfere. It's a good thing you didn't. Kellen and his crew are serious bad news. You don't want to cross them."

  Falon took her hand and returned the smile. "Falon Harris. And how do you know I'm not even worse news than they are?"

  She left her hand in his a little longer. "Because you're a nice guy. I can tell by the eyes. Windows to the soul or some shit like that." The smile turned mischievous. "Now, would you like to see that trailer before the rush hits and I'm slammed for the evening?"

  That smile and the light it brought to her blue eyes made it impossible not to respond in kind. Falon chuckled a little. "I would like that a lot."

  ***

  Chapter Three

  Her brain must be on vacation. That was the only explanation because, normally, Rita would never lead a strange man out to the little trailer after dark. Not by herself, at least. She should have grabbed one of the girls to go along, of course, for safety's sake, but she'd been reluctant to give up the adventure of time spent alone with the man.

  Something about Falon Harris said she had no need to fear him. All she had to worry about was what she would allow him to do, if he asked. Even just walking through the back of the Rattlesnake ahead of him, she had to fight the urge to put just a little extra sway to her hips. Ridiculous. Last thing she needed was more attention from any man, let alone from a stranger just moving through on his way to something better.

  Maybe if she could get Kellen to leave her alone, she might be able to look elsewhere. For the millionth time, she asked herself why she'd done something so stupid. As always, no suitable answer presented itself. She gave herself a little mental shake. No sense thinking that way. The past couldn't be changed, and she would simply have to deal with the consequences of her decisions, both good and bad.

  She should say something. Yes. "How long you planning to be here, Mr. Harris?"

  He chuckled a little and leaned around her to hold the back door for her. The movement brought him right up close and personal, making Rita very aware of him. "That depends, Miss James." He smiled a little, drawing her attention to the small scar at the edge of his lower lip.

  Rita started walking again, partly to gain a little distance from all that overwhelming maleness. "You're here for work then?" Of course he was. No one came to Stags Leap for pleasure.

  He fell into step beside her with a half shrug. "Not really. I don't usually stay any one place long enough for work." He shortened his long strides noticeably to accommodate her.

  The reply seemed to discourage further questioning, so Rita walked on in silence for a moment. She felt tiny walking next to Falon; he must be well over six feet to make her feel that way at five-foot-nine. Time to say something else and get her mind off his size. That line of thought could lead to dangerous places. "The rent is fifty a week. That includes an extension cord plugged in back there by the door, and use of the water spigot. Propane's on you. Toilet works as long as you keep the outside water tank filled from the hose. You'll have to make do with the shower in the staff restroom inside."

  They reached the door to the old camper and Falon checked around the exterior while Rita opened the padlock that secured the door and went inside. She clicked on the antiquated shop light suspended by the door just as Falon came up the rickety metal stairs and ducked through the door. Right away the camper became doll-house sized as he seemed to occupy all the available space.

  All that maleness overwhelmed her even more in the confined space. A faint hint of his cologne, something spicy and warm, tantalized her and she caught herself moving a little closer and inhaling a little deeper. Downright pitiful. Anybody would think she'd never had a man, the way that smooth tanned skin showing in the vee of his shirt tempted her fingers to touch.

  He cleared his throat a little, drawing her startled gaze upward to catch a half-smile playing across his mouth. "Anything else I should know?" The hint of mischief in his voice sent a little flutter of surprise through her chest.

  Heat flushed across her cheeks as she fumbled with the keys for a second then held out the ones for the trailer's locks. "Rent is due in advance. No drugs or other illegal activity, nothing that will disturb my staff or patrons, you pay for anything you damage, and you clean it up when you're ready to leave." Rita fought the impulse to cringe. He knew she'd wanted to touch him, and he'd been amused. At least he hadn't caught her staring at the front of his jeans. The mere thought threatened to drag her gaze downward and she barely avoided the overwhelming urge.

  Falon's fingers brushed hers with a warm tingle when he took the keys. "I vow to be a model tenant."

  Somehow, the trailer had shrunk again. Falon had come closer without moving, and loomed over Rita. The little glint of heat in those blue eyes said he knew exactly how much her fingers wanted to explore. For just a heartbeat, it seemed he would lean down and kiss her, but then his eyelids lowered in a slow blink and the moment fled.

  Rita stamped down the flood of disappointment. Damn, she couldn't take a chance on that sort of entanglement anyway. No matter how nice that tanned skin looked. An awkward need for conversation intervened and she cast about for something meaningful to say. "I'm counting on it. This trailer has always been a safe place for women that needed it. I can't have that reputation compromised." Not really what she'd intended to say, but it had needed to be made clear anyway.

  He nodded, suddenly serious. "Understood and noted. I'll be careful." He looked around at the trailer, sharp gaze missing nothing. "I'm going to check everything out and bring my stuff inside if that's okay." The dismissal came through loud and clear.

  Rita fought down the little sting of disappointment and stepped back and to the door. "If you need anything after you're settled, you know where to find me. I have an apartment up over the Rattlesnake if you need anything after hours. There's a buzzer by the back door that rings up there too." She maneuvered her way down the narrow steps. "Have a good one." Self-conscious that he might be watching, she made her way back across the lot. Finally, at the back door, she gave in to the urge and glanced back.

  Falon stood silhouetted in the door, the narrow slice of light emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the leanness of his waist and hips. Ridiculous to look at him like that. He said himself he was just passing through, and she had absolutely no interest in a quick fling. Nothing but trouble lay in that direction. No, she'd best avoid Falon Harris as much as possible, but of course that would be easier said than done. Already, she would fall into bed with him the moment he showed any interest. Her heart didn't need another mortal wound, no matter what her hormones thought of him.

  Inside the service area behind the kitchen, she paused for a moment, deep in thought. What would it be like? A decent man, a house in the suburbs, an SUV, a kid or two and carpools and PTAs? She hadn't considered the fairy-tale picket-fence life for a long time. Not since before Jeremy. She forced herself to move. That was a memory lane best left abandoned. Bad enough ever
y glance in the mirror reminded her with the faint white scar across her left cheekbone. Even Craig, the only other man she'd had a long-term relationship with, was too painful to remember, though for other reasons.

  Through the fire door and into the kitchen, the band over-powered the sounds of the hoods and fryers, forcing the cook staff to shout orders and updates. Rita paused again. She loved that noise. It meant her business thrived, even though the crappy economic conditions filled every newscast. People would eat out and party whether they could afford it or not. And she just so happened to have the only place in the county where they could do it all. Some of the younger crowd made a habit of stopping in on Friday evenings for a burger and fries, and ended up staying for honkytonk hours.

  Past the kitchen, the bar staff kept a steady stream of alcohol flowing. Out on the floor, the patrons had a nice buzz going and the band kept it all nice and chill with a good mix of classic Southern Rock and their own material. Things at the Rattlesnake only rarely got out of hand and when they did, nearly everyone respected her rule to take all fights to the parking lot. Anyone who happened to forget received a prompt warning from the bartender's sawed-off twelve gauge.

  Pride brought a tear to her eye. The Rattlesnake had done well since she took it over. Craig might have laughed at her wild plans back when he was alive, but he would be proud of her now. He always said she had a head for the business, and now the proof stood right there in front of her. Four lonely years and she'd made it a resounding success.

  "Hey Rita!" The bartender's voice barely carried the twenty feet to Rita through all the noise. When she glanced his way and raised her chin a little, he waved her over. "Sorry to bother you, but there's a guy down there I think needs watching."

  Following the bartender's gaze in the mirror behind the bar, she quickly found the patron in question. Taller than average and with bulging muscles built by a great deal of time in the gym, at first glance, the deeply tanned man looked like a nice prize for some lonely lady. Something in the set of his mouth and the stern expression on his brow prompted closer observation. He certainly didn't have the look of a man hunting a piece of tail.