Savage: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  The door to Maverick’s dings and my mood immediately darkens. My little brother, Ronnie, strolls in like he owns the place. He’s got one thumb tucked in his belt and the other hand is busy making a show of taking off his cowboy hat, even though the little shit wouldn’t know which end of a cow makes milk or how to ride a horse, he sure as hell enjoys dressing like he does.

  He spots me and sidles over, taking his time as he looks at everyone he passes with a cocky cast of his eyes. He’s got the same dark hair as me and some of the strong facial features that run in the Tate family, but he’s a few inches shorter than me and his little brown eyes always reminded me of a weasel.

  Ronnie slides into the seat across from me and spreads himself out, setting his hat on the table. “Thought I’d find you here,” he says.

  “Some detective,” I grumble, taking a swig of my coffee.

  Ronnie leans forward, clasping his hands in front of him. “Can’t we just fucking talk?” he asks. “Does it have to be this stand-off shit every fucking time?”

  “Depends,” I say. “Are you still a shit-stain?”

  He licks his lips. I can already see he’s struggling to hold back his temper. But there’s one thing I know about Ronnie. The only way to get him to say what he’s really thinking is to piss him off. If I let him keep his cool, he could sell a hamburger to a fucking vegan.

  “I just wanna talk,” Ronnie says with measured calm.

  “Yeah, no shit. You wanna talk me into signing the ranch over to you so you can strip it and sell it off.”

  His jaw twitches, but he still manages to keep the calm in his voice. “I want to do what’s best for our family.”

  “Our family of two,” I add.

  “It’s just a ranch. You could buy three thousand just like it for the money they’ll pay us for that land, Lucas. Think about it. What’s so fucking special about it?”

  “It’s ours. It has been in the family for hundreds of years, and I’m not about to sell it. I have all the money I need already. What the hell do I need with vacation homes? You know what my vacation is? Every time I step out into the sun and put in an honest day’s work. When I slide into my bed at night and my whole body aches and it feels like I could barely take another step if I wanted to. That’s my vacation. Hard work. You want to go get soft on a beach somewhere? That’s your business, but leave me out of it.”

  Ronnie slams his fist down on the table, finally losing the last shred of his patience. “Know what? Enjoy the ranch, Lucas. Enjoy every second of it, because you never know how long you’ve got left. Right?”

  “You threatening me?” I ask, getting out of the booth and standing so I loom over my little brother.

  He stands too but has to crane his neck a little to look up at me.

  The din of conversation in the small diner dies out as everyone watches. My fingers dig into my palms and it’s all I can do to keep from punching him in the mouth. If he wasn’t family, I would’ve already decked him, that’s for fucking sure.

  “Nah,” he says, relaxing his posture a little and taking a step back. “Just saying to keep an eye out is all.”

  I sit back down, grinding my teeth as I clutch my coffee so hard I might shatter the mug. “Cancel my burger,” I shout to Harriet, who nods, but looks concerned.

  Maverick’s is so quiet every step I take toward the door rings out loud and clear. I shove the door open and step outside, still fuming. I can’t believe he had the nerve to threaten me. My own little brother.

  “Lucas!” calls a voice I recognize all too well.

  I turn, looking down the sidewalk. Cynthia Styles is walking toward me with her arms open like she’s about to go for a big hug.

  I grimace, briefly considering just turning and walking the other direction, but I know her well enough to understand pissing off Cynthia will just make my life even more miserable than having to talk to her.

  I let her wrap her spindly little arms around me and pat her back once, using my shoulder to drive her a respectable distance from me. Truth is, just touching her feels wrong. She hasn’t made any secret of the fact that she wants to get back together, so I’m trying to be extra careful to avoid giving her the wrong message.

  “It’s so good to see you,” she says.

  I nod, only managing to find the willpower to quirk the corner of my mouth up just a touch--only enough to avoid being a total asshole.

  Cynthia pauses awkwardly, looking down and bringing her hand up to touch her earring. She yanks her hand back a split-second later and then looks back at me, smiling unnaturally wide.

  “All right then,” I say stiffly, turning to leave.

  “Wait!” she calls, half-jogging to catch up to me. “I just wanted to see if we could grab coffee sometime. I…” she pauses, getting that strange look in her eyes again. “I know I’ve been difficult to put up with and I just wanted to clear the air.”

  I start to shake my head.

  “Lucas. Please. I’m not going to try anything. It’s just coffee. Tonight maybe? Your place?”

  Even though the last thing I want is coffee with Cynthia, I know from past experience that once she digs her teeth in, she’s like a bulldog who won’t let go. If I don’t let this happen and let her see we’re about as compatible as oil and water, she’s not going to let up until I do. Dealing with Cynthia is like dealing with a bandaid that keeps showing up on my fucking leg. Yank it off quick and get it done. Taking it slow just makes it worse.

  “Fine,” I say.

  Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Great. I’ll be there at seven.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “Great.”

  65

  Mila

  I breathe out a sigh of relief from my room at the bed and breakfast. She has a date, but that’s the easy part. I listen to the rustle of the mic against Cynthia’s shirt as she walks back toward the street to her car, which she parked outside specifically to wait for him to leave and catch him ‘by surprise’ on his way out.

  It took more convincing than I would’ve thought to keep her from just barging into the diner and taking a spot as his table.

  “I’ve got to give it to you,” Cynthia says into her mic once she’s in the privacy of her car. “I’ve got a date. That’s more than I managed last time I tried.”

  “In the future, try to look more natural when you’re listening to me.” I squeeze as much cheeriness into my voice as I can manage, even though I want to reach through the microphone and strangle her. “Judging by the way Lucas was responding to you, you must have been doing something suspicious.”

  “Noted,” she says with a touch of annoyance. “How do I turn all this off? I have to go to the bathroom when I get home and don’t want you listening.”

  “That makes two of us. Use the button on the back of your earring.”

  I hear ruffling against the mic, then the background noise cuts off. I set my headphones down and lean back in my chair with a frustrated sigh. Normally I’d be thrilled right now, but something in Lucas’ voice bothered me. He sounded familiar, but it could’ve just been the low quality audio I was getting through Cynthia’s mic. That, and he didn’t sound excited about their date.

  This is exactly why I don’t normally set women up with guys they already know. I have no idea how their history played into that conversation. It’s an unknown.

  I think back to the folder Cynthia tossed by my bed last night. I’ve never believed in rooting through a man’s past to help make a match. As far as I see it, if I can’t make a relationship work without digging up a man’s secrets and using them to manipulate events, then it’s not a match worth making. I have to admit feeling a vague temptation now though. I don’t even know what this guy looks like for starters, and I’m starting to think his past with Cynthia could be full of landmines I’d rather not step on.

  Still… It’s a line I’m not ready to cross. Yet. The folder is staying closed for now.

  If I land Lucas for my client, I’ll have everything I eve
r wanted. I’ll have a booming business, and… And I’ll still be alone, still trying to convince myself that I can be happy even if I never find the right guy. I’ll just spend the rest of my youth helping other people find the men of their dreams.

  I clear my throat and push away from my desk. Yeah, I’m not bitter at all.

  Thankfully, the smell of sizzling beef distracts me from the mental downward spiral. Frank and Martha run a bed and breakfast, but I was informed this morning that it’s more of a bed, breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I want it to be. So my eyes light up when I spot the hamburgers sizzling on the little portable grill Frank has on the counter.

  “Good timing!” he says cheerily.

  “You say that like it’s a coincidence,” says Amy, who’s lounging on the couch in the living room and playing on her phone. “Mila could smell it if they were cooking hotdogs on a jumbo jet flying at altitude. From her bedroom,” she adds with a grin.

  “Shut up,” I say, but there’s no anger in my tone.

  Amy just shrugs. “Hard truths. That’s why you keep me around.”

  “I actually keep you around because you can’t take a hint. I think I’ve already fired you four times.”

  “Three,” says Amy. “And one of those hardly even counts. You were just being emotional.”

  “About the fact that you forgot to tell me you were going out of town for four days, until you got back… Four days later? Yeah, I was a little emotional.”

  “Sounds like nothing a good burger can’t fix,” Frank says, plating me up a burger with coleslaw and fries on the side. “Careful with these fries,” he warns when he hands me the plate. “I used to have a six pack before I found these at the store. Just a couple minutes in the oven and--” he kisses his fingers and splays them out. “Delicious.”

  “The only six pack Frank ever had was in the fridge,” says Martha from the other room.

  I lean back on a bench just outside a public park near the center of town. The sun is on my face and I close my eyes, drinking it all in. The small-town life really isn’t so bad. Somewhere in the distance I hear a group of three elderly men having an animated conversation that bounces between raucous laughter and intense arguments. Two young girls are playing a game of tag around the playground just in front of me, and their mothers are chatting up a storm on the bench to my side.

  Everything feels perfect, or at least it would if I could get the image of the cowboy out of my mind. I can still see those piercing eyes digging into me, undressing me in a way that wasn’t altogether unpleasant.

  “You sure do close your eyes in public a lot, darlin’,” says a familiar, deep voice.

  I open my eyes and see Country standing in front of me--fully clothed this time--but looking sinfully good in a white t-shirt that hugs his muscular frame in all the right places and blue jeans that grip his lean legs like they don’t want to let go. God. Why does he have to be so obnoxiously gorgeous?

  “You sure do sneak up on people with their eyes closed a lot,” I say a little less testily than I planned.

  “Just can’t help myself,” he says. There’s a pause, just long enough for me to know he means exactly what he says next. “Not around you, at least.”

  My chest tightens. “Look. I don’t know what your game is. One minute you’re telling me to get out of your town and the next you’re flirting with me. Maybe I don’t want to waste my time with a man who can’t make up his mind.”

  The smirk that spreads Country’s lips is deadly serious. He plants his strong hands on either side of where I still sit on the bench, leaning forward until his face is only inches from mine, until a breath is all that stands between us and kissing.

  “Darlin’, I don’t flirt. I want and I don’t want. That’s it. Do I want you city girls to stop coming down here and gawking at us all like we’re some tourist attraction? You can bet that pretty little ass of yours I do. But would I mind tossing you down in the hay and teaching you how we do it out in the country? Who knows? Stick around and maybe you’ll find out.”

  “You can’t talk to me like that,” I say.

  He mocks me by looking around with raised eyebrows, as if waiting for someone to stop him. “What? Don’t like dirty talk? Darlin’, if you’re going to survive out here, the first thing you need to learn is how to get dirty.”

  “I really don’t see your point,” I say, feeling genuine annoyance now.

  “Enough words then. You’re coming with me.”

  “I’m definitely not. I have a job. I can’t just go running off with--hey! Put me down!”

  Country sweeps me into his big arms as easily as if I was a child, carrying me toward the blue truck he used to splash me with dirt just yesterday. I struggle against him, but it’s useless. His arms might as well be an iron cage around me, and whether I like to admit it or not, my will to fight is quickly melting away from the heat of his touch and that cocky grin he’s wearing.

  He sets me in his passenger seat and closes the door for me. With a deliberate and taunting slowness, he presses down the manual door lock, even though I could easily climb out the open window or just yank the stupid thing up myself.

  “I’m going, alright? Just make it fast so I can get back in time for work.”

  He hops in the driver’s seat and raises an eyebrow at me. “That easy? Damn. I took you for more of a fighter.”

  “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment,” I say, unable to stop myself from smiling a little as the spontaneity of the moment sinks in.

  “So she does smile.”

  “It might not shock you so much if you weren’t trying so hard to be an asshole.”

  He chuckles as he shifts into gear and starts to drive. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

  “Why does that sound so ominous?”

  “Nah, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that you don’t seem to plan on leaving, so I thought maybe you oughta see what the country has to offer.”

  “The country?” I ask. “Are you talking in third person here, or are you talking about the country.”

  He flashes an amused smile. “I’m talking about the country. As in the hills and lakes.”

  My cheeks redden a little bit. “How did you get such a stupid nickname, anyway?”

  The late afternoon sun filters through the windshield, lighting the satisfying lines of his profile in a blazing orange. He squints toward the road with a small, reminiscent smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It’s stupid, really. But I lived with my mom until I was five. My brother lived out here with my dad. It was an ugly split. They had just found out my dad’s land had a shit load of oil on it around the time I was born. Mom wanted to sell the ranch and move to some fancy place in the city. Dad wanted to say fuck ‘em and keep living like they had.

  “So,” he continues. “When my mom decided she didn’t even want to have me around anymore because I reminded her of dad, she shipped me back here.” He laughs a little sadly, not taking his eyes from the road. “She sent me back here on a bus. Didn’t even carve out the time to make the drive.”

  I frown. “I’m sorry… That must have been so hard.”

  He shrugs. “It’s the hard shit that matters. That’s the stuff that sticks. But I’m over it. I’m over her. Fuck, I don’t even know where she is now or if she’s still alive. Don’t even care.”

  “Really? You’re not even a little curious?”

  He presses his lips together and shakes his head, pausing a moment before continuing. “So when I got here I had been living in the city my whole life. Dad said I showed up wearing sandals,” he chuckles. “So they called me Country as a joke at the time. But the irony is lost a little now, because working on the ranch since I was five has made me pretty damn country.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, you’re very country.”

  He turns his head to me, narrowing his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I shrink back a little, suddenly unsure of what I even mean
t. “Well, there’s the hat. For starters,” I say quietly.

  “Any idiot can wear a cowboy hat. Just look at my brother. Judging by his clothes he’s a real big time cowboy, but that little shit never cared about anything except money. Sometimes I wonder how things would’ve turned out if dad had kept me and sent my brother to live with my mom instead.”

  “Why didn’t he--keep custody of you, I mean?”

  “Guess I reminded him of her,” he says.

  I watch him grip the wheel, muscles in his tanned forearms tensing and standing out proudly. I wouldn’t have imagined it from my first impression of him, but I can see something more fragile inside this man who seems like he’s made of steel. Beneath his hard exterior, there’s still a boy in there who was rejected by both his parents.

  I put my hand on his thigh as an innocent gesture of comfort, but when I feel the hard muscle of his leg beneath his jeans it suddenly feels a lot less innocent. I snatch my hand back, holding it in my lap and not daring to look at him.

  “Did you ever make amends with your dad?” I ask.

  “In some ways, maybe,” he says. “Sounds stupid to say it out loud, but I think part of why I always busted my ass was to prove he was wrong. Wrong about me. Wrong about passing me off to my mom. Wrong about choosing my brother instead. But then he went and died. Guess I’ll never really get to settle things now.”

  He shakes his head and laughs, suddenly his usual, confident self again. “Fuck me. You sure you’re a reporter and not a shrink or something? You got me telling my life story over here and I barely know anything about you.”

  “What do you want to know?” I ask.

  I lost track of time and even sense of where we were driving while I listened to him, but I see now he’s bringing the car to a stop at the top of a rocky cliffside speckled with trees.