Playing for Hearts

by Debra Kayn

  He threw back his head and laughed. “Only you would turn sex into a competition.”

  “You like what I do, honey.” She smiled up at him as they walked to the front door. “I have to feed my competitive side somewhere now that I’m settling down.”

  He stopped before she could walk inside. “Anytime, anywhere, sweetheart.”

  She followed him into the house, sure that everyone knew why she was smiling, and not caring if they did. She had everything she’d ever wanted, including her best friend.

  More from This Author

  (From Breathing His Air by Debra Kayn)

  The deep, rich scent of Colombian bean filled the eight-by-six shed on wheels. Tori Baldwin pulled the grape lollipop out of her mouth, tossed it in the garbage, and flipped the switch for the florescent green Open sign. Let’s make some money.

  She slid the window open and leaned outside. “Welcome to the Coffee Shack. What can I get you this morning?”

  An over-happy mother in an SUV with two kids sitting in the back seat held out a five-dollar bill. “I’d like a small latte, no whipped cream, please.”

  “Coming right up.” Tori stuck the small cup under the dispenser and turned to the woman. “Love advice is free with any order.”

  “Excuse me?” said the woman.

  “If you have a question or problem with your love life, I’ll give you advice on how to get back on track and smiling.” She slipped a drinking lid onto the cup and passed it through the window, taking the woman’s money. “Anything at all. I’m here to help.”

  “No, thanks. With kids and a husband I don’t have time to even think about a love life.” The woman laughed and waved off the change. “Keep it.”

  “Thank you.” She shrugged and waved to the next customer to pull forward.

  A German shepherd leaped over the lap of the driver and barked at her. She stepped away from the window, grabbed a dog biscuit from under the counter, and set the treat on the ledge. “What can I get you today?”

  “Straight, black coffee. Large.” A husky man with a dirty baseball cap pushed the dog down and followed it up with a pat. “Stay, Sergeant.”

  “Beautiful dog you have.” She poured the drink, added the lid, and handed it through the window. “Love advice is free with every purchase. Is there anything I can help you with today?”

  “Love?” He chuckled. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, you look like a guy some woman would be happy to meet.” She handed over the doggy treat. “Ask me anything at all.”

  His brows rose and he kept one hand on the dog. “Okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

  “Dude … you won’t regret it.” She grinned.

  “Where’s the best place to pick up women in this town?” He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Try to answer that one, ’cause I’m not having any luck. I’m a long-haul trucker, so I’m not around much but when I’m home, I’d like to have a little company. Maybe a home-cooked meal if you know what I’m saying.”

  “Gotcha.” She flipped her hair behind her shoulder and leaned forward. “Saturday night at Cactus Cove, there’s a waitress by the name of Ginger. She’s tired of normal pickup lines, so be blunt and upfront. Oh, and she has a cocker spaniel, so she loves dogs.”

  “Heh.” He removed his hat, ran his hand over his forehead. “Maybe I’ll stop in there. What can I lose, right?”

  “Not a penny. Ginger has brown hair down to her shoulders. About — she held her hand a few inches above her head — this tall. A real sweetie. Tell you what I’ll do. Give me your name. I’ll drop a few hints about you tonight when I go there for dinner.”

  He studied her, shook his head, and the laugh lines around his mouth deepened. “I can’t believe I’m doing this … ”

  “Your name?”

  “Dwayne,” he said.

  She handed him the change. “Great. Here you go, Dwayne, and good luck with Ginger.”

  “Uh, thanks.” He glanced back at her as he drove away, shaking his head in amusement.

  Tori hadn’t been joking. Ginger was looking for a steady man in her life.

  For the next four hours, customers came and went. Tori refilled the machines and prepared for the next wave to arrive when the line emptied. Only working the morning hours would be enough to finance her stay in the quiet, off-the-main-road town of Pitnam, Oregon, and put away a little cash each week for her next trip. Once she locked up for the day, she’d have enough time to check out the town and do her own thing.

  She wiped down the counters, sealed the containers of coffee, and closed the blinds. Pitnam offered her enough entertainment for a while and was big enough she wouldn’t have to form any lasting relationships.

  For a brief time, she’d allow herself to fit in. She’d pretend she had what everyone else did. Then when the newness wore off and people started growing too close, she’d move on and reinvent herself somewhere else.

  She never regretted her nomad life. Not a single second thought happened during the day. But when she laid her head on the pillow to go to sleep, her dreams consumed her. When those wishes became too hard to control, she ran. A new location, new customers, and a new start.

  Hearing chest-thumping noise that rattled the mobile shack and sent the paper cups to falling on the counter, she glanced out the screen door. A group of men on motorcycles cruised around on the gravel, riding in a circle and stirring up dust.

  Well, they’d have to come back tomorrow for coffee. She was done for the day.

  After locking the Coffee Shack’s door, she walked around and double-checked the lock on the hitch. Unable to afford insurance, she devised a barrier to keep anyone from hooking onto the trailer and stealing her only source of income.

  Satisfied everything was sealed up tight, she walked across the parking lot, gazing over her shoulder, smiling at her turn of good luck. The corner of a parking lot on a busy road was the perfect place to set up business for a while.

  A biker pulled into the lot and veered in front of her. The hot air from the muffler blew across her bare legs, and she jumped away. Then another motorcycle skimmed the back of her knees, forcing her forward. The noise deafening, she tottered as one biker after another threatened to run her over.

  Her over-the-shoulder bag fell to the ground. She bent her arms and covered her breasts, dodging from left foot to right, avoiding the roar of the engines as they rode past her, circled, and came around her again. Heart racing, she stared in horror as they blocked her in.

  Dust from their tires clogged her throat. She coughed and turned in a circle, searching for an opening to escape. Afraid if she blinked, they’d run her over.

  One dude, beard down to the middle of his chest, skullcap tied over his windblown long hair, stopped in front of her. He leered, and a shiver skirted down her spine at seeing the white of his eyes.

  She sidestepped, but another rider moved in closer from behind her, forcing her to move right into Crazy Eyes’ bike. She squeaked and stopped herself from falling onto him by grabbing his arm.

  “Climb on.” Crazy Eyes motioned with his head.

  She shook her head. “No. No, thank you.”

  “I said, climb on.”

  That was a definite clue that she was over her head and in trouble. She sidestepped, but another biker cut off her retreat. “I don’t want to ride your motorcycle. Now move.”

  “Looks like she made her choice, Harry.” The newcomer to the roundup hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “Wrap those legs around me, bitch.”

  “You did not just say that to me.” She glanced in all directions. Shit.

  Four bikers boxed her in. Another row of riders circled them. She had no hope that some sane person would jump to her rescue.

  “Unbelievable,” she muttered, bending over to catcalls to pick up her purse.

  She straightened and glared. “Oh, knock it off. I really don’t want to ride on any of your bikes, so get the hell out of my — ”

  An engine roared, cutting
the rest of her words off. She flinched. This wasn’t going the way she’d hoped. She’d have to try another tactic.

  “I’m Tori, I own the Coffee Shack.” She pointed toward her left at the mobile trailer at the corner of Cactus Cove’s parking lot.

  As if the riders planned it, they revved their bikes in answer. She planted her fists on her hips. “Can you stop that? I was going to say, I’ll give you free — ”

  The noise level increased, until she covered her ears. How did they expect to hear what she had to say if they kept interrupting and setting their bikes off?

  A hand grabbed her around the upper arm. She tugged and fell forward when she broke loose, and landed in Crazy Eyes’ lap. His arm went around her waist, and he hauled her in front of him on the bike. Oh, God.

  She screamed as she desperately tried to peel off his fat fingers, but he only laughed. At least, she thought he was laughing. She couldn’t be sure with all the noise, but his body shook.

  Pain — hot, flashing agony — pricked her calf. She jerked, screaming even louder. Her leg on fire, her heart raced, her throat burned, and she struck out blindly with her eyes squeezed shut.

  Then she was off Crazy Eyes, off the bike, and cradled in the arms of another man. Not any man, but another biker if she went by the long hair, leather under her hands where she held on to his shoulders, and a tattoo of a flame curling around the side of his neck and disappearing under his hair.

  She straightened her legs, trying to remove herself from him. He tightened his hold. “Stop wiggling.”

  That was when she realized all the bikes sat quiet and it wasn’t the roar of the engines thrumming the air, but her heart. “P-please. Let me down.”

  “Be still.”

  “I’d like to go home,” she said.

  “Not now.”

  “But — ”

  “Don’t argue.” He carried her out of the maze of bikes and across the parking lot.

  She gazed over his shoulder at the other bikers, her truck, the Coffee Shack. Nothing moved. “If you could just let me down, I’ll get out of your way. I’ll even pay you. How does free coffee for a week sound?”

  Her capture kicked the front door of Cactus Cove open and carried her through the bar, down a back hallway, and entered another room. The cool air inside made her leg burn even more.

  “I’m going to scream if you don’t let me go,” she said, pushing at his shoulders.

  She couldn’t budge her way out of his arms. She fisted her hand, brought it back, and forgot all about her plan to deck him when he deposited her on top of a desk.

  He pointed to her chest. “Don’t move.”

  Now that she could see all of him, she stared at the black leather vest, no shirt. Prepared to leave the room to find Gladys or Taylor, one of the waitresses she’d met Friday night, she froze with her foot on the floor and her hip still on the desk. On the backside of his vest, he had the word Bantorus scrolled over the expanse of his broad shoulders.

  He stopped in the doorframe without turning around. “I said, don’t move. I’m getting a first aid kit. Your leg needs cleaned. Be here when I come back.”

  “Fine.” She scooted farther away, sitting smack dab on the desk. “You don’t have to act so bossy. You could’ve just said you were helping me.”

  “Trust me, babe. I haven’t helped.” He walked out of sight.

  She frowned. What did he mean by that?