Lori Wilde - Night Driving

“You sure know how to wound a man, Duvall.”

“I’m not in the military. You can call me Tara.”

“Okay, then let the men I hired do the heavy lifting…Tara.”

The sarcastic way he muttered her name didn’t get to her. She knew he was a big softy underneath all the gruffness. She’d seen Boone tenderly cradle their neighbor’s new baby when Mrs. Winspree had brought her infant over to show him off. She’d seen him struggle not to shed a tear at his father’s funeral. Had watched him drive his friends away because he was too proud to admit he needed help. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, she was the one person who kept him from disappearing into himself completely, even though he did his best to keep her at arm’s length. What would happen to him once she was gone? Probably turn into a hermit and holler at kids for walking across his lawn.

Tara smiled sweetly and gently bumped Boone with a playful hip as she walked past him on her way to the house for another load of boxes. It was her way of telling him everything was going to be okay, but she wasn’t prepared for the blast of pure heat that shot through her at the contact or the low, throaty masculine sound of alarm that he made in response.

Quickly she sprinted off, her heart bounding erratically. She was in such a rush that she ran headlong into one of the movers. Reflexively, the guy wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Slow down there, sweetcheeks.” The man possessed a chest like a brick wall, a Tom Selleck mustache and a red bandana wrapped around his bald dome. “Is there a fire someone didn’t tell me about?”

“We’re on a tight time schedule,” she said. “Have to get a move on.”

“Let me just check my magic watch.” He pretended to consult an imaginary wristwatch.

“What?”

“It’s telling me that you don’t have any panties on.”

“Yes I do,” she blurted, then belatedly realized it was some stupid pickup line. Duh, how could she be so gullible?

His grin widened and he made a big show of shaking his imaginary wristwatch and holding it up to his ear. “Damn, it must be ten minutes fast.”

Ha-ha. She got it. He was suggesting that in ten minutes he’d have her panties off.

“Dude.” Tara fake chuckled, rolled her eyes and pushed back against his embrace. She was about to tell him he needed a course in how and where to pick up women, but she never got a chance.

Boone was there, clamping a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Let go of her,” he said in a voice as ruthless as the sound of a .45 Magnum round being chambered.

Instantly, Bandana Head released her, stepped back and raised his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Chill, man. Just a little harmless flirting. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Get out!” Boone commanded and pointed toward the door, his expression deadly.

“I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t know she was your woman. I swear.”

“She’s not my woman, but that still doesn’t give you the right to manhandle her.” Boone’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Boone was big, but the bald guy was bigger and Boone had a bum knee.

The guy puffed out his chest. “She ran into me.”

“Look, look.” Tara winnowed her way between the two men. To Boone she said, “I did run into him. It was my fault.” Then to the bald guy she said, “Dude, cheesiest pickup line ever and borderline offensive.”

“Borderline!” Boone snorted.

“Okay, it was offensive, but I’m sure…” She waved a hand. “What’s your name?”

“Rodney.”

“That Rodney meant nothing by it.”

“Didn’t mean a thing.” Rodney raked a lascivious glance over her body and Tara regretted her snug-fitting T-shirt. She’d worn it for Boone’s sake, knowing that it clung to her curves. She never thought twice about being too provocative for the moving men.

“Out.” Boone pointed toward the door. He plucked his wallet from his back pocket, peeled off two onehundred-dollar bills and a fifty and thrust them at the man.

“Hey, the deal was for five hundred dollars.”

“That was before you insulted Miss Duvall. You’ve only done half the job, that’s all I’m paying for.”

Rodney looked like he was going to protest, but then he shrugged. “Suit yourself. You’re gonna have fun loading up that van with your gimp leg.” He turned, hollered to his partner who was in the back room packing up Tara’s home office, “C’mon, Joe, we’re outta here.”

“Wow,” Tara said to Boone as the front door slammed behind Rodney and Joe. “That’s one of the best jobs of shooting yourself in the foot that I’ve seen in a long time.”

“What? I was supposed to stand by and just let him grope you?”

“He didn’t grope me.”

“He was inappropriate.”

“He was, but it’s not your place to defend me, Boone. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

He snorted, folding those steely arms over his chest, blocking her out.

“What’s that noise supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going there.” He limped over to the kitchen counter where boxes were stacked, half-filled with the dishes Rodney had been packing up.

Tara wasn’t going to let him get away with that. She scurried after him. “Where aren’t you going?”

He turned to face her. His dark eyes flashed a warning. “You can take care of yourself, huh?”

She squared her shoulders, drew herself up to her full five foot four. “Absolutely.”

“Your faucet leaks.”

“So what?”

“At the end of the month you’re chronically low on cash from helping out your free-loading friends and you’re forced to subsist on ramen noodles and food sample giveaways at the grocery store.”

Tara cringed. It was true. “Times are tough. I can’t turn my back on people in need.”

“Not even when you’re one of those people? I know that worthless boyfriend of yours cleaned out your savings before he left town.”

A sick feeling settled in her stomach. “How do you know that?”

A rueful expression softened his angular mouth. “Mrs. Levison likes to gossip.”

“It’s not really any of your business.”

“And yet you’re always trying to meddle in mine. Face it, Duvall, you’re too generous for your own good.”

She notched her chin up. “I consider generosity a positive trait to have.”

“Not at the expense of your own welfare. Do you know how hard it is to sit across the street watching you making the same mistakes over and over?”

“No. How hard is it?” she asked impishly, hoping to get him off her case by embarrassing him. Humor was her weapon of choice.

It worked. Boone’s face flushed. “Time’s wasting,” he mumbled.

“And you just made things worse by running off the movers.”

“Hell, if you hadn’t been so flirty, I wouldn’t have had to run them off.”

Oh no, he didn’t just say that! Outrage shoved a cold barb down her spine. Chuffing out her breath, she sank her hands on her hips. It took a lot to piss her off, but seriously? He was making this her fault? “Excuse me?”

“You know what your problem is, Duvall?” he asked.

“You mean, besides being too generous?” Her tone was as cold and brittle as a Montana winter.

“You have no boundaries.”

His criticism stung, but it wasn’t the first time she’d heard something similar. Well, fudge crackers. She was who she was and if he didn’t like her, he could kiss her derriere.

Her mind flashed to an image of Boone’s lips planted on her bare backside and she instantly grew hot all over. See? No boundaries. The man made a good point. Damn him.

“You dress too provocatively. No wonder the mover was eyeing you like chocolate candy. Your shorts are too darn short.”