by Nina Croft
“Yes. I might have dropped by.”
When she didn’t offer anything else, Emily frowned. “Why?”
“Why what, darling?”
“Why did you drop by the O’Connor’s shop?”
Mimi wandered away, picked up the bridle she’d been working on, and hung it from one of the hooks around the room.
“What have you done?” Emily asked.
Mimi gave a small shrug of her shoulders. “I bought a hog.”
A pig? “You’re a vegetarian.”
“Not that sort of hog. And really, I’d hardly buy a pig from the O’Connor’s Motorcycle shop. A Harley Davidson.”
“A Harley? A bike? You’ve bought a motorcycle?”
“It’s a present to myself. I turn seventy next month and—”
“And that’s just one reason why you shouldn’t have bought a motorcycle. Seventy-year-old women do not ride Harleys.”
“Says who?”
“Anyone. Everyone.”
“Anyone sensible, you mean.”
Low blow. “I don’t believe this. You actually bought it.”
“I handed over my check—which reminds me—I must talk to the bank tomorrow. Transfer some money. Hogs do not come cheap.”
“How much?” Not that it mattered. The bike was going back.
“Twenty-five thousand.”
“What?” The word came out as a shriek.
“I have the money, darling. It’s just sitting in the bank. I might as well get some fun out of it.”
Fun? She’d kill herself. Despite her height, Mimi weighed about a hundred and ten pounds. She’d never manage to handle a bike that size.
What sort of jackass would sell a seventy-year-old woman—who didn’t even have a motorcycle license!—a Harley Davidson?
“Of course, I haven’t got it yet. But that nice young man, Tanner O’Connor, told me he would order it tomorrow. Then another week or so for his brother to customize it for me. Pink with a black stallion on the fuel tank. I thought that would be nice.”
Emily had stopped listening at the point when Mimi had mentioned Tanner O’Connor. The jackass had a name.
How dare he?
Most of the town reckoned he was bad to the bone, and maybe they were right. But even he wouldn’t be that unethical. She turned on her heel and marched out of the barn. She was almost back at her car when Mimi called out.
“Where are you going?”
“To get that ‘nice young man’ to tear up your check.”
Chapter Three
Tanner was in the workshop. The rest of the guys had gone home for the night, and he had the place to himself and was tuning up Aiden’s bike. His little brother was racing on the weekends and making quite a name for himself. It was good for business.
He heard the ding of the door to the showroom opening. Maybe it was that crazy old woman coming back for her check. He’d given her until tomorrow to come to her senses, but maybe he’d overestimated her.
He grinned. She was something, that was for sure. More sass than most women half her age. He was almost tempted to sell her the hog, but lynching aside, he wouldn’t have that on his conscience. Hell, he was pretty sure she’d never even been on a bike before. All the same, he had a reputation to uphold, so he’d prefer it to come from her. He couldn’t be seen doing the honorable thing. That wasn’t who he was, and the good folk of Saddler Cove would probably die of shock.
And good riddance to them.
He’d known exactly who she was. Saddler Cove was a small town, and everyone knew everyone. Mrs. Miriam Delaney. She owned that ranch down Creek Road. Did some sort of therapy work for veterans with PTSD. Getting them to ride horses or some such crap.
She was also Emily Towson’s grandmother. Sweet Emily Towson, whom he’d spent two years inside jerking off to. Better not tell her grandmother that piece of information. But she’d kept him sane. One good, clean thing to think about amid all the crap and the horror of his surroundings.
He’d come across her swimming in the creek in her bra and panties shortly before his life had gone to shit. And it was fair to say, she’d made an impression. He’d never noticed her before, she was too good for him, too quiet, and serious, and studious. But hell, he hadn’t known what she was hiding beneath those sensible sweaters. A tiny waist and full breasts, slim legs. An ass to die for. She’d been all blond curls and dimples. She still was. After that, he’d often spotted her around town—okay, if he was honest, he might have gone looking once or twice—but he’d kept his distance. She was pretty and sweet, and he so did not do pretty and sweet. Some fantasies were best kept that way.
But when he went into the showroom, it wasn’t Miriam Delaney, but the one man in all of Saddler Cove he’d prefer not to see: Sawyer Dean. He had his back to Tanner, staring at the motorcycle on the podium in the center of the room.
Oh hell no.
He thought about backing out, locking the door to the workshop behind him, and hoping his once-upon-a-time best friend would get the hint and fuck off. But Sawyer was already turning around. He wore a gray suit, a white shirt, and a dark red tie. His hair was immaculately cut. At first glance, he appeared the successful businessman he was supposed to be. Sawyer sold real estate and was good at it—he’d always been a smooth-talking bastard. Rumor had it that his father-in-law had set him up in business. Lanie, Sawyer’s wife, had always been a spoiled brat.
But a closer look and the perfect image unraveled just a little. The tie was loosened, Sawyer’s collar open, there was a slackness to his face, and he’d put on weight around his middle. He was twenty-six, the same age as Tanner, but looked older. And as Sawyer took a step closer, he swayed.
Shit. He was drunk.
Nothing new. When sober, Tanner presumed, the other man had way too much common sense to come near him.
He so did not need this. A few times over the years since Tanner had come back to Saddler Cove, Sawyer had come around, tried to talk as if they were still friends. Usually when he was drunk. Tanner reckoned Sawyer was looking for some sort of redemption, but he wasn’t getting it here.
Never going to happen.
Sawyer came to a halt in front of him. “My old friend, Tanner.”
“What do you want, Sawyer?”
“Maybe I want to buy a bike?” He waved a hand at the Harley on the podium behind him. “Maybe I want to do a little business with my old friend, Tanner. Hey, you remember that bike we did up together when we were fifteen.”
“No.” Of course he did. That had been a great summer. They’d gotten the bike for next to nothing, probably because it didn’t work. They’d scrounged and stolen the parts. Taken it apart, put it back together. Got it working. It had been the start of a lifelong love affair for Tanner. Sawyer had always preferred cars, flashy sports cars. He hadn’t been able to resist them. It had got him into trouble more than once when they were kids.
It had got Tanner into trouble as well, but he wasn’t going there tonight.
“I thought we might go for a beer. For old time’s sake.”
He had to be kidding. Tanner took a step closer. He was a couple of inches taller than Sawyer, and he stared down, keeping his face expressionless. In the early years after he’d gotten out, he’d thought that maybe beating the shit out of Sawyer might make him feel a little better. At first, he hadn’t because that would probably have been in violation of his parole, and he’d made a vow to himself that he was never going back to prison. Certainly not on account of a pathetic asshole like Sawyer. Later he hadn’t done it because he had an inkling that was what Sawyer really wanted. The man was riddled with guilt, and maybe he knew he deserved to have the crap beaten out of him. Then he might get over his guilt, feel he’d paid for what he had done to Tanner. But they’d never be square. Tanner had paid with two years of his life. Two years that had changed him indelibly.
Before he went to prison, he’d believed he was tough. That first night, as the cell doors had clanged shut around him, he�
�d known he wasn’t tough enough.
He’d been lucky. He had a cell mate who was one of the best people Tanner had ever met. Without Josh, he might not have survived those two years. All the same, he’d come out a different person. And not in a good way—you didn’t survive prison by being good. He knew what the people of the town thought about him. And they were probably right.
So, no, he wasn’t going to give Sawyer the satisfaction of getting over his guilt. Though Tanner’s fists balled at his sides with the urge to punch him in the face. Break a few of those perfect teeth.
Sawyer blinked at him, didn’t move, just stood there waiting.
Hell no.
Tanner was better than this. He breathed deeply and forced his muscles to relax. He hadn’t been in a fight since he got out of prison, and he wasn’t going to start now.
“Get the fuck out of my shop, Sawyer.”
Sawyer’s shoulders sagged. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are. You’re just not fucking sorry enough. Now piss off and stay out of my way.”
Sawyer opened his mouth and then closed it again. He gave a brief nod, turned, and walked away. Tanner stood for a minute after he’d gone, then crossed to the door and locked it, slid across the closed sign. He didn’t want any more interruptions tonight. Sawyer had soured his mood.
He’d had anger management therapy in the joint. That first year he’d been bordering on crazy. Furious with Sawyer for betraying him. Furious with the town that was so quick to believe the worst of him. Furious with himself for allowing it all to happen. Though it wasn’t as though he’d been in any position to change things. But underneath all his anger had been guilt. Dwain had been the best of them, and Dwain was dead, and Tanner was at least partly to blame for that. So maybe he deserved everything that came his way.
Fuck Sawyer for bringing the past back.
He headed to the workshop. He’d get a few more hours in on Aiden’s bike. He always found working soothed him. That and some music. He grabbed his earbuds and flipped through his tracks. A nice soothing Brahms piano concerto. He grinned as the first lyrical notes flowed into his head.
He’d never hear the end of it if Aiden or Reese knew what he listened to. They were more heavy-rock types themselves. But this was something else he’d picked up in prison—maybe the only good thing to come out of his time. A love of classical music. They’d taught him to play the piano as part of the anger management thing, and apparently he was a natural. Whatever. He’d loved the music, found it did indeed offer an outlet for all the anger and pain and sorrow swirling around in his gut. He still played whenever he got the chance, but never when someone he knew might hear him. He had that reputation to uphold.
…
Emily pulled over to the side of the road and jabbed her foot on the brake. Her hands were tight on the wheel. In the ten-minute drive back into town, she’d managed to work herself up into a temper.
Which was just as well, because without the temper she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have the nerve to face down Tanner O’Connor and tell him exactly what she thought of a man who would sell a seventy-year-old woman, with zero experience on a bike, what was the next best thing to a coffin on wheels.
Despite living in the same small town all their lives, she had never actually had a conversation with Tanner. Usually, she just gazed pathetically at him from afar. And the one time he’d actually said words to her, she’d clammed up and turned puce.
It didn’t help that any face-to-face meeting with Tanner was always going to be colored by the fact that she had seen him naked. Of course, only in her dreams, but all the same, it was bound to make the meeting a little uncomfortable. She’d never admit to anyone that she fantasized about sex with Tanner O’Connor. Hot sex. Hot, dirty sex, and lots of it. And maybe if she was entirely honest with herself, her response to Ryan’s proposal tonight was probably due in a large part to the fact that Ryan wasn’t Tanner O’Connor. Not that she wanted to marry Tanner or anything. Certainly not. He wasn’t marriage material. He was hot, greasy—no doubt kinky—sex material. And she’d known that if she married Ryan, then she really could not in good conscience go on fantasizing about sex with another man. It was almost adultery. And the sad thing was she wasn’t ready to give up her dream lover.
And then Ryan had called her sensible. And she’d felt stupid, because she was being as far from sensible as it was possible to be. She was saying no to a man who was perfect marriage material, so she could go on fantasizing about sex with a man who didn’t even know she was alive.
She’d never slept with Ryan. He hadn’t pushed the issue, and the one time she’d gotten up her nerve to ask him if he wanted to, he’d said he respected her too much. Ugh. She banged her forehead against the steering wheel. She’d bet Tanner wouldn’t respect her. At all.
She wasn’t a virgin. She’d had a boyfriend in college, but no one since she’d moved back to Saddler Cove and started work. Maybe she was just frustrated. Maybe tomorrow she’d go see Ryan and suggest they have sex.
First, she needed to confront the man who had sold her grandmother a hog. Tell him what she thought about him—well, not everything she thought about him. Certainly not the naked thing. But she would make him tear up Mimi’s check.
She’d parked outside the O’Connor’s showroom with its big plate-glass window. Now she forced herself to get out and head to the door. It had a closed notice on it. Maybe she should take that as a sign that this was not meant to be and go home. Instead, she peered through the glass. The showroom was large, painted black and red, and only had one bike on show. A huge black monster on a podium in the center. She wouldn’t have thought Saddler Cove was the sort of place to sell many motorcycles, but maybe they got customers from other places.
The business was owned by the three O’Connor brothers, Reese, Tanner, and Aiden. And they all appeared prosperous enough, so she presumed they must be making some money. Reese’s daughter was in her class, a sweet girl, and she’d met Reese at the parents’ evening. He was a single dad, and an ex-Navy SEAL, and as gorgeous as Tanner in his own way. So was Aiden, the younger brother. But neither of them did funny things to her insides the way Tanner did. Something about all that brooding bad-boyness just did it for her.
The rat.
She couldn’t see anyone around, and when she rattled on the door it was definitely locked. Was this a reprieve? But she didn’t want a reprieve. She wanted this out and done with. She knew, deep down, that approaching Tanner O’Connor like this was not the most sensible of moves—she should come back when the shop was open and there would be other people around. But the frustration and anger had been building inside her since Ryan’s comment. She didn’t want to be sensible. Maybe she should let Mimi buy the bike and they could ride together, start up a motorcycle club, sell some drugs or some guns. She’d watched Sons of Anarchy. She’d swap her white sweater sets for black leather and…
She was prevaricating.
Don’t be a wimp.
She banged on the door. When absolutely nothing happened, she stepped back and considered her next move. She looked up at the second floor, searching for any sign of life, but nothing moved. She was aware that Tanner lived above the shop, while his brothers still lived in the old family house across town. She couldn’t see any sign of life up there. Could she shimmy up the drainpipe, peer in the window? Throw stones?
There had to be a way in. An alley ran alongside the building, and she headed down there, her feet slowing. Did she really want to show up on Tanner’s doorstep? Maybe she should wait until morning and visit the shop. Keep everything official.
She’d just take a quick look.
At the end of the alley, there was a gate, which led into a yard. She counted five bikes. She knew they ran a garage, did repairs and customizing jobs as well as sales. This must be the workshop. She tried the gate, expecting—maybe hoping—it to be locked, but it swung open. She licked her lips.
There was probably no one here.
>
She stepped inside, and the gate swung shut behind her with a loud clang that would surely alert someone to her presence—if there was anyone here. Across the yard was an open garage door. A sound from inside made her jump. She stiffened her shoulders and marched forward. Then slowed as she got to the door.
There was still time to back out of this.
If half of the things they said about Tanner were true, then meeting him alone, at night, was not a sensible thing to do. The thought was enough to send her forward the last few steps.
It took a second for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light, and she stood breathing in the pungent odor of oil and petrol. Not unpleasant. The place was big, maybe thirty feet by thirty feet. The walls were blocks and the floor concrete, as though no effort had been made to pretty the place up. She took another few steps in—picking her way across the oil-spotted floor. For a moment, she thought there was no one there. Then something clattered off to the left, and she went totally still. Someone was humming under their breath, something classical, the tune vaguely familiar, but her mind wasn’t functioning sufficiently to identify it. Instead, she inched closer.
Holy moly.
There he was. Tanner O’Connor. At the sight of him, everything inside her clenched up tight. He had his back to her and seemed unaware of her presence. Probably something to do with the earbuds he wore, which gave her the chance to stare. She’d never been this close—or at least she couldn’t remember being this close.
He was doing something with a wrench and a big black bike, leaning over the engine so his faded jeans were pulled tight across his ass. She wasn’t the sort of girl to stare at men’s asses, but she couldn’t drag her gaze away. Maybe she’d start. Get some pin-ups for the teachers’ staff room. Tanner’s was perfect, tight, with lean hips and long legs.
Her skin heated up, and inside her tan dress, her nipples tightened, warmth settling in her belly.
Totally unprecedented.
