Kim Mckade - That Kind Of Girl

“I see the Aloma gossip mill is still in business.” He didn’t bother to look up. “Everybody’s already worried what that degenerate Bonner is up to now.”

She pursed her lips and moved closer to the porch. She should have known Colt would be angry. She hadn’t seen him in over twelve years, but she remembered enough to know that anger was his first line of defense. She wasn’t put off by it any more now than she had been when she was ten.

She stepped onto the porch and leaned against the rail, crossing her ankles. “Yes, the entire town was peeking through their curtains when you drove past the city limits sign. We held a town meeting this morning to decide how we’re going to run you out. Someone suggested calling in the National Guard. But me? I prefer a good old-fashioned stoning any day.” She smiled and raised her eyebrows at him.

Colt sat back on his haunches, his forearms across his knees, and gave her a rueful half-smile. Her heart did a slow flip.

“Okay, your point is made. I guess you could say I’m not exactly glad to be back in Aloma County.”

“I can’t say I blame you, considering everything that happened before you left.” She folded her arms across her middle, careful to make sure the Santa Fe Sand she wore on her perfectly manicured fingertips—which were probably still a little wet, anyway—didn’t smudge against the teal of her power suit. She was doing a pretty good job, she thought, pretending the sight of him didn’t make her breath come short and her heart pound. “And considering what’s brought you back. I’m sorry about Doff, Colt.”

Colt’s eyes narrowed, and he waved away that consideration with his hand. “Don’t be. He brought it on himself.”

She raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything. There was no love lost between Colt and his father; everyone knew that. She’d grown up a hundred yards from Doff Bonner’s violent temper. She knew what the man was capable of, including turning his own son against him. As Colt said, he brought it on himself.

Colt stood and walked across the porch, his boots clopping softly on the wooden boards. She watched him until she realized with a jolt that he was moving toward her, his eyes dark with intent.

Her mouth went dry. The memory of the last night she’d seen Colt came to her in excruciatingly vivid staccato flashes. Kissing him, holding on to him for dear life. The feel of him beneath her as she sat on his lap; feeling closer to him in that moment than she’d ever felt to anyone, before or since.

Her ridiculous offer of a dozen years ago hung foremost in her mind, and she realized with mortification that he was probably remembering it, too, more clearly than she.

His eyes were steady on hers, brooding. He meant to kiss her again. She could see it in the way he honed in on her. She regained enough presence of mind to close her mouth.

He moved toward her with a tangible sense of purpose, his jaw set with determination. His gaze held hers with an intensity that had her heart stuttering. He stopped inches from her. She could smell the scent of hard work. In a delicious panic, her eyelids fluttered closed.

He was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat. “’Scuse me, Becca. You’re leaning on my shirt.”

She opened her eyes a fraction, to see him watching her with barely disguised amusement. She willed the porch to open up and swallow her whole. When it didn’t, she sighed and moved aside.

Once again, she’d made a colossal fool of herself in front of Colt Bonner.

He picked up the shirt from the porch rail and slipped his arms into it, leaving the buttons undone. Then he moved to the opposite rail and leaned against it, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “So, what do you think I need?”

She blinked rapidly a few times. “What?” Her voice quavered.

He ducked his head, but she saw his grin, anyway. Oh, well. If she couldn’t be cool and sophisticated, she could console herself with the knowledge that she was amusing.

“You said you came by to see if I needed anything. What did you have in mind?”

Since her vivid imagination had deserted her, she told him the truth. “Dinner,” she said. “I didn’t know if the electricity was turned on yet, and I didn’t think you would want to eat at the Dairy Queen your first night back in town.”

“Electricity got turned on this morning.”

“Oh. Okay.” She walked slowly around the porch, deciding that she couldn’t have made a bigger failure of this visit if she’d tried. She’d wanted to comfort him over the loss of his father, which he obviously didn’t need. She’d wanted to show him that she wasn’t that same mousy, shy wallflower, and instead she’d proved conclusively that she was a nut. He didn’t even want her dinner.

“Okay, then. I need to be going. I have papers to grade and—”

She heard his shout of warning at the same time the porch decided to finally open up and swallow her. Not whole, though. Just her left shin.

Jagged wood bit into her leg as she pitched forward, and she slammed her hand against the wall to regain her balance. Cold air under the porch brushed against her skin, and her foot thudded against solid ground.

Colt leapt across the porch and grabbed her before she fell on her face. His hands under her elbows, he brought her against him.

Becca pulled frantically on her leg. It was stuck.

“Stop, Becca!” Colt said sharply. “You keep pulling like that and you’re going to make it worse.”

She stopped. Colt leaned over the splintered wood, one hand cupping her leg behind her knee. Becca bit her lip and looked down at his dark head bent over her leg. Physical pain began to seep past her hurt pride.

Colt cursed, then tilted his head to offer her a curt apology. “This place is a disaster. I should just pay to have the place bulldozed and sell the land. It’s going to take a month or more to get it livable again.” He muttered something under his breath and sat back on his heels. “Don’t move. I’m going to have to get the hammer and pry some of this loose before you can pull your leg out.”

She stood there, lopsided, while he picked up the hammer and fit the claw end into the hole beside her leg. “I hope this doesn’t hurt,” he said as he gave it a mighty tug. The muscles of his shoulders flexed as he worked the wood free. The entire board popped up with a screeching groan.

It did hurt, a little. She asked through gritted teeth, “You’re going to remodel the house?”

He shrugged and put his hand on her calf, helping her out of the hole. “I’m going to try— How does it feel? It looks pretty scraped up.”

The Silky Sheer Precious Ivory panty hose she’d bought early that morning before school were ruined, of course. A big ugly hole opened around the scrape, and three different runs inched from the hole toward her skirt. She managed to nod, as he ran his fingers down the abrasion.

“It’s fine, really.” She drew her leg away from his fingers. “You’re not staying, are you?”

“I’m going to get the house livable again, and sell it as quick as I can. Right now, it ought to be condemned.” He cursed and shook his head.

“Damn old drunk, I’m surprised he didn’t break his neck in this dump.” He knelt in front of her and looked up, grim faced. “Do you want to see a doctor?”

She shook her head and smiled. “Of course not. It’s just a little red.” It stung mightily, and her shinbone ached. She resisted the urge to bend over and blow on it. “A little soap and water, and it will be fine.”

Colt stood and took her hand, leading her away from the hole. “Lazy, worthless drunk. I can’t believe he let the place go like this.” He scowled at the piles of junk in the yard, the tangles of weeds and dried grass, the gray weathered wood that had once been painted white.