Christine Rimmer - Bravo Unwrapped

“No, Bowie,” the brunette cried. “No, no, no!” She peered through the crook in Chastity’s left elbow, gripping hunks of Chastity’s chunky sweater in either hand, using Buck’s mother as a human shield against the strapping, shaggy-haired mountain-man type over by the window.

“Your brother?” B.J. asked Buck out of the corner of her mouth, tipping her head toward the mountain man.

“’Fraid so,” said Buck, sounding midway between amused and resigned.

Even without Buck’s confirmation, B.J. would have pegged the guy as a Bravo. Beneath a couple of days’ worth of beard, he had that telltale cleft in his chin—not to mention that beautifully shaped, way-too-sexy mouth. “Glory,” Bowie said, his tone gentle and careful—the look in his eyes anything but. “Come on, honey…” He took a step toward his mother and the little brunette who cowered behind her.

Not wise.

The brunette let out another wake-the-dead shriek.

“Glory,” groaned Chastity, putting a hand to her left ear—the one nearest Glory’s wide-open mouth. “Cut that out. You’re breaking my eardrums.”

“Well, I can’t help it,” Glory wailed. “I just can’t.” She spoke to Buck’s brother again. “Get it through that thick head of yours. I will not marry you. Ever. You don’t love me. You only say you do because you think you have to.”

“No, damn it. That’s not true. I do love—”

“You don’t.” The brunette bit her trembling lip and shook her head. “Oh, Bowie. You’d make a terrible husband.” She edged out from behind Chastity. “We both have to face it. You’re wild and irresponsible and…and you can’t keep a job.” With that, she burst into tears and buried her head in her hands.

Bowie, looking about a mile out of his depth and sinking fast, tried again. “Honey. I do love you. And I’ll get a damn job.”

Glory threw back her head and screamed some more.

B.J. winced at the piercing sound. She slid another glance at Buck. “What’s this about?”

“Hey. Don’t ask me. I just got here myself.”

“I don’t care who knows,” Glory wailed. “I don’t care that the whole town’ll be talking. It’s nothing to me what anyone says. I said no. I meant no—and I will never change my mind!”

“That’s it,” said Bowie. “Damn it, I’ve had it.”

Whimpering, Glory scooted back behind Chastity. “Don’t you dare come near me, you big lunk.”

Bowie made a sound like an injured moose. Then he pointed a threatening finger at the sobbing brunette. “You will marry me, Glory. By God, I’ll get a ring on that finger of yours if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“No, you—”

“Enough!” shouted Chastity, so loudly that both Bowie and Glory actually shut up. Into the lovely moment of silence, she commanded, “Bowie. Get out.”

“But Ma, she—”

“Out. Now.”

“Ma, she’s gotta—”

“I said, out.”

Mother and son glared at each other. Bowie blinked first. Chastity swept out a hand toward the front door. “Now.”

Muttering very bad words under his breath and shaking his big golden head, Bowie turned for the foyer. Buck, B.J. and Lupe were blocking the door. In unison, they each took a sliding step to the right, into the room—and out of Bowie’s way.

About then, Bowie noticed his brother. He paused in midstride. “Hey. Buck.” His dark look brightened. “How the hell you been?”

“Good to see you, little brother.”

“Bowie,” Chastity warned on a rising inflection.

Bowie scowled again. “Awright, awright.” He clapped Buck on the shoulder. “Good to have you home.” And he trudged on by and out the front door—slamming it good and hard behind him.

Chastity clucked her tongue. “That boy. He’ll be the death of me, I swear.” She turned to Glory. “You okay, honey?”

“Oh, Mrs. B.” Glory burst into a fresh flood of weeping.

Chastity gathered the girl into her capable arms and spoke over her head to Buck and the two women flanking him. “If we could have a few minutes…”

Buck nodded. “B.J. and I were heading out, anyway.”

Lupe cast a nervous glance at the still-sobbing Glory. “I’m going with you—wait. I want to grab a camera…”

B.J. spoke up before Buck could argue. “Good idea.” She beamed Lupe a big smile—and sent a defiant look in Buck’s direction. “We’ll be out on the porch.” Lupe took off up the stairs and B.J. followed Buck out.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” Buck warned, as they waited on the steps for Lupe to join them.

“Probably not.” B.J. wrapped her jacket tighter against the late-afternoon chill. “But I’m giving it my best shot.”

“We have to talk.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“If you’d taken just one of my damn calls—”

She waved a hand. “I know, I know. Maybe you wouldn’t have found it necessary to manipulate me into coming here.”

“I didn’t manipulate you.”

“Hah.”

“I had a story you wanted. To get it, you paid the price I set.”

“As I said, you manipulated me into coming here.”

“You could have turned down the story…” He sent her one of those looks—intimate, dangerous. “Or maybe not. Maybe you couldn’t turn it down. After all, anything for Alpha, right?”

As if she’d deny it. “That’s right. Anything. Even a week in the sticks with you.”

“A week?” His breath plumed on the air. “I don’t know. This job is likely to take a lot more than a week….”

More than a week? To cover her dismay, she stuck her hands in her pockets and laid on the sarcasm. “Now you’ve really got me scared.”

He moved in closer—too close, really. But she had her pride. Damned if he’d make her step back. He asked, “Did you notice?”

“What?”

“You’re actually talking to me.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He loomed closer still, close enough that she could feel his breath across her cheek, marvel at the thickness of his lashes over those damn night-dark eyes of his. “You’re not scaring me off.” He spoke the threat tenderly. “Not this time.”

She held her ground. “Watch me.”

“I am. I do.”

The door behind them opened and Lupe appeared, a black pea coat flung over her black jeans and short-sleeved black sweater. Her bangles jingled as she held up a Nikon. “Ready.”

B.J., deeply grateful for the photographer’s timely appearance, flashed her a blinding smile.

Buck muttered, “Fine. Let’s go.” He led the way across the bridge to Main Street.

As they strolled along the town’s major street, Buck played tour guide. He pointed out landmarks: the post office, the school on a rise one street over, the hardware emporium, the town hall, the firehouse. Three gift stores, a beauty shop, two restaurants. He showed them the bars, of which there were also two—one on either side of the street. And the Catholic church on the hill behind the school. Lupe got several shots of the white clapboard building sporting one central spire and nestled so prettily in a copse of autumn-orange maple trees. There was also a Methodist church, Buck told them, farther up Commerce Lane from Chastity’s B & B.

Everybody seemed to know him. It was “Buck, how you been?” and “Buck, nice to have you home again,” and “Great to see you back in town.” Some had even read his book.

One grizzle-haired old fellow perched on a bench outside the grocery store asked him when he was going to write a book about “the Flat,” as the locals called it. “Now, there’s a book that needs writin’.” The old character winked at B.J.

“One of these days, Tony,” Buck promised.