Leanne Banks - For the Love of Sin

“Maybe Troy Pendleton isn’t all bad.”

“Maybe not,” she murmured. “But he’s bad enough.” Her feelings about Troy were constantly changing. When he informed her that he lived two doors down from her, she could have cheerfully dumped another pitcher of beer on him. When he helped her with her neighbor, she’d almost liked him. And when he fed her the chocolate truffle, she’d felt a surprising shot of sexual attraction. Very surprising. Since her diagnosis she’d felt frozen, at least as far as her femininity was concerned.

Now she didn’t. Senada wasn’t sure she liked the source of the change.

“Have you called your father yet?” Helen asked.

“Not yet. I’m still trying to decide how to do it.”

Helen arched her eyebrow at the excuse but let it pass. “And have you thought about attending a meeting of the local support group?”

Senada shifted. “I’m thinking about that too.”

“You can’t stay in a holding pattern forever,” she said gently.

Senada nodded. “I know.” She deliberately changed the subject. “But about those chocolates?”

Helen rolled her eyes. “Put them in the freezer. They’ll last longer that way. One a day,” she said, lifting her index finger for emphasis, “with a meal.”

Senada smiled. “You don’t know how happy you’ve made me.”

They had a full house on Friday evening, and Senada was busier than ever. Several customers casually asked her about Troy. She acted as if she didn’t know what they were talking about, but the back of her neck prickled with irritation. In the short time that he’d been there, he’d made a place for himself. The men greeted him; the waitresses flirted with him. At this very moment, he was in the back because the cook had asked him to take a look at the ice maker.

“Here you go,” she said, placing two pitchers of beer and four frosty mugs on a table. She shot a quick glance at the men dressed in denims and sporting cowboy hats. “Welcome to Padre’s. Are you new to town? I haven’t seen you before.”

One man gave her a long considering look. “We’re from the Circle K. I’m Chris Grant, the foreman.”

Circle K. Her father’s ranch. The room began to swim. Senada blinked, then took a careful breath and smiled. “Bet that job keeps you busy. I hear it’s a pretty big operation.”

He shrugged. “Busy enough, but Calhoun lets me off to come into town every now and then. Maybe I could show you the spread sometime. What’s your name?”

Senada paused. She considered conjuring up an alias and immediately felt impatient with her cowardice. So what if her father learned she was there. Maybe it was time. “Senada,” she said, and gave the group of men a half grin as she left. “If you need anything, yell.”

Her mind spinning, she slapped the door to the back room so hard, it hit the wall as she rushed through it.

Straight into Troy.

“Whoa!” He grabbed her shoulders.

“Sorry,” she muttered, still shaken.

He frowned, studying her. “What’s wrong? You look like somebody hit you.”

“Nobody hit me,” she told him. “Not really.”

He cocked his head to one side. “Hit on you?”

The tray she held separated her chest from his, but his hands felt warm and reassuring. His gaze was strong but gentle, and the combination sent a tumbling sensation in her stomach. For a moment, she considered dropping the tray and putting her arms around him.

She shook her head and immediately backed away. Where did that thought come from? She rolled her eyes. “They all order beer, and they all hit on me. It’s part of the program.” She looked past him. “What have you done to my ice maker?”

“Fixed it.” He pushed her hair behind one shoulder. “How are you gonna compensate me?”

He touched her as if it were no big deal, and it shouldn’t have been, but Senada felt her heart race. She swallowed an oath. Maybe she needed to check her blood sugar. “Your beer’s on the house. I’ll even throw in a burger if you want.”

“You’re all heart,” he said wryly.

“That’s me, sweet as—”

“—Tabasco sauce.”

She flicked her gaze back up to him. “Go home.”

He gave a slow, terrible, wicked grin and leaned close to her. “Not until I get what I came for.”

“Troy,” she said, throwing his innuendo right back, “you wouldn’t know what to do with it once you got it.”

Troy’s eyes lit with challenge, and he leaned dangerously close.

“You little thief!” The cook’s voice rang out. “What are you doing with those hamburgers? Six of them. I oughta—”

Senada broke away and rounded the corner to find a little boy, terrified and defiant, holding burgers in his hands. “It was only five! Pig!” he yelled back at the cook. “You’re a stupid pig!”

Pete’s face turned purple. “Why, you little—”

Senada’s heart twisted. “Hold on, Pete,” she said to the cook, then quickly assessed the boy. His clothes were worn, his cheek was smeared with dirt and he wasn’t wearing any shoes. “Are you hungry?”

The boy jutted out his chin. “So what if I am?”

She walked closer. “For starters, you could ask before taking the burgers. How old are you, anyway?”

“Twelve.”

“More like nine,” Troy muttered from behind her. “You gonna eat all those yourself?”

The kid looked at Troy warily, clearly intimidated by his size. “Maybe. What’s it to you?”

Troy shrugged and leaned against the counter. “Nothing. Go ahead. I’d just hate to see you get sick.”

“Sick?”

“Five burgers is a lot to eat.”

“It was six,” Pete insisted. “Six of my burgers.”

“I’ll cover it,” Senada said, finding the situation disturbing. “You can cook some more.” Pete grumbled as he made his way to the refrigerator.

“I wasn’t gonna eat them all,” the boy said.

Troy nodded. “You got a name?”

“Rocky.”

“You got a family?”

Rocky’s brown eyes glittered with defiance again. “Yeah. So what?”

“Where do you live?”

The boy made a quick dash for the door, but Troy was quicker. He caught the boy by the arm.

“Lemme go!”

“Where do you live?”

Rocky glared at Troy. “We ain’t got no house. It’s my mom, my sister and me. My dad’s in jail. My mom cleans rooms at the hotel, and we ain’t got no house.”

It hit Senada hard. She couldn’t exactly say why. Maybe she was still reeling from meeting someone from her father’s ranch. Maybe Helen’s words about how she should get involved with other people had finally taken hold. Either way, Senada felt as if someone had hit her in the stomach. Wake up. Things could be worse. There are other people in this world in far worse circumstances than yours.

Her eyes met Troy’s, and the steadiness of his gaze calmed her. She cleared her throat. “You didn’t say where you live,” she finally said very quietly.

Rocky lifted his thin shoulders. “For the last two weeks we’ve slept in a warehouse.”

Troy took a deep breath. He knew what he was going to have to do. “How would you like a real roof over your head for a change?”

“I don’t want social services.”

Troy gave a wry laugh. “Do I look like social services? I have access to a two-bedroom garage apartment. You think your mom would like that?”

“Maybe.”

“Yeah, well, how about I walk with you to your mom’s, and we can ask her.”

“Can I keep the burgers?”

Senada blinked, spurred into action. “Yes. Just a minute, and I’ll give you some soda.” She filled some cups, gave them to Troy. “And here are some nachos. If you want more,” she told Rocky, “let me know, and I’ll get them for you. Okay?”