Sarah Anderson - Bringing Home the Bachelor

My school, my rez, she repeated to herself as she cleared her throat. “Right. Well, have fun making your little movie, gentlemen.” She turned to walk into the building at a slow, deliberate pace, but Bobby circled around.

“We haven’t solved our problem.”

“Problem?” Billy asked. Jenny felt his voice rumble through her. She remembered now that he’d invoked that same sort of physical response in her the other time they’d met, too.

“Jennif—Jenny’s car is in the shot.” Bobby quickly corrected himself before Billy took another swing at him. “We need to get you on the bike riding up to the school with the sunrise, and her car will be in the way. I’ve asked her to move it—for the day,” he added, giving her another sexy smile, “but because it’s early and she hasn’t had her coffee, she hasn’t yet seen the value of temporarily relocating her vehicle.”

What a load of hooey dressed up in double-talk. Did he think he could confuse her with a bunch of fancy language and the kind of smile that probably melted the average woman?

“Just because Josey gave you permission to film at this school does not mean I’m going to let you and your ‘crew’ disrupt my students’ educations,” she said through a forced smile.

Then something strange happened. Billy looked at her, leaned forward, took a deep breath—and appeared to be savoring it. “She doesn’t drink coffee,” he said as the woman Jenny had seen earlier walked up with a steaming mug of the stuff.

Okay, Billy Bolton was officially freaking her out. Jenny had been more or less invisible to the male race for—well, how old was Seth? Fourteen? Yes, fourteen years. No one wanted to mess with a single mother, and a mostly broke Indian one at that.

But Billy? He was not just paying attention to her name, or what she smelled like. He was paying attention to her. She had no idea if she should be flattered or terrified.

“You’re not going to move your car?” he asked.

“No.”

She couldn’t see his eyes behind his glasses, but she got the feeling he was giving her the once-over. Then, with a curt nod, he turned around, walked to the front bumper of her car and picked up the whole dang thing. With his bare hands. True, it was a crappy little compact car that was about twenty years old, but still—he picked it up as if it didn’t weigh much more than a laundry basket. If she wasn’t so mad right now, she’d be tempted to do something ridiculous, like swoon at the sight of all his muscles in action. He was like every bad-boy fantasy she’d ever had rolled into one body.

“Hey—hey!” Jenny yelled as he rolled her car about thirty feet away and dropped it in the grass with a thud. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?”

“Solving a problem.” Billy dusted his hands off on his chaps and turned to face her, as if he regularly moved vehicles with his bare hands. “You.”

That absolutely, totally did it. It was bad enough she had to take a constant stream of attitude from her son. She’d tried being nice and polite—like the good girl she was—but what had that gotten her? Nothing but grief.

“You listen to me, you—you—you.” Before she knew what she was doing, she’d reached out and shoved—actually shoved—Billy Bolton.

Not that he moved or anything. Pushing his chest was like pushing against a solid wall of stone. And all those stupid goose bumps set off again. She ignored them.

“I am not here for you or your brother or his film crew to treat like garbage. I am a teacher. This is my school. Got that?”

She thought she saw Billy’s mouth curve up into something that might have been a grin. Was he laughing at her?

She reached up to shove him again—not that it would hurt him, but she had this irrational thought that something physical might be the only thing a man like him understood.

This time, Billy captured her hand with his massive fingers and held it. In an instant, all those goose bumps were erased by a licking flame of heat that ran roughshod over her body.

With effort, she held on to her anger and wrenched her hand away from his. “You listen to me—I don’t care how big or scary or rich or famous you are—you’re at my school, on my rez, mister. You make one mistake—touch one student, say something inappropriate—I’ll personally grind you up into hamburger and feed you to the coyotes. Do I make myself clear?”

Billy didn’t say a thing. He looked at her from behind his dark shades. The only reaction she could see was the possible curve of his lips behind his beard, but she couldn’t even be sure about that.

“Mom,” Seth said from behind her.

“We need to get filming, Jenny,” Bobby added. He stepped between her and Billy and tried to herd her away.

She leaned around Bobby and leveled her meanest glare at Billy. “We aren’t done here.” Then she turned around and stomped off.

As she went, she swore she heard Billy say behind her, “No, I don’t think we are.”

Two

Billy stood there, thinking that his day had taken a turn for the better.

Had that pretty little cousin of Josey’s really threatened to feed him to the coyotes? Man, no one threatened him anymore—except for his brothers. Everyone else either knew about his Wild Bill reputation—even though all that stuff had happened more than ten years ago—or they knew he had enough money to sue them back into the Dark Ages.

Hell, the pretty little woman named Jenny probably knew both of those facts—and she had threatened him anyway. He ran his fingers over the spot on his chest where she’d amusingly tried to shove him—right where he had a rose wrapped in thorns tattooed. He could still feel the warmth from her touch. How long had it been since a woman had touched him?

He’d always had terrible taste in women. He had the scars to prove it. He’d had other offers since the biker babes who used to hit on him—high-class women who were more interested in his newly made money than him. But Billy wasn’t interested in having his heart ripped out again. And he usually threw off enough stay-away vibes to scare most women away.

In fact, if memory served, he had been sure that Jenny Wawasuck had been afraid of him when they’d met at Ben and Josey’s wedding. He supposed he hadn’t helped put her at ease.

Josey had asked him to wear a tux to her wedding in such a sweet way that he’d dug deep into his closet to find the one he’d had custom-made a few years ago when Bobby had insisted on dragging him to some sort of posh party in Hollywood. Even though it was his own suit, and fit well, the bow tie hadn’t done anything to improve his mood. Seeing how happy his brother had looked getting married had been just another reminder of what Billy didn’t have.

Jenny had been this cute little thing—nothing like the kind of woman he’d taken home back when he’d hit the bars as Wild Bill. And nothing like the vacuous, high-maintenance women he’d run into when Bobby forced him into those high-society parties. Her long hair had been curled but not teased, and her bare shoulders had been free of any kind of ink. She’d looked beautiful that day. She’d obviously been the kind of sweet, good-natured woman who avoided the likes of him. And the fact that he hadn’t come up with a single decent thing to say to her?

Damn. The memory still made him burn.

Of course, she wasn’t his type—and her type never went for guys like him. Easier to let it go at that.

Now, he turned to Bobby and let his brother shoo him onto his bike and instruct him to drive up and down the gravel road to school until the film crew told him to stop. Bobby had this irritating habit of wanting twenty takes for every ten seconds of footage. Normally, it drove Billy nuts, but today he was glad to have the chance to think.