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  CJ’s brain finally got in gear and she stalked over to the fighter who stood weaving from side to side. “It’s that or a night in jail, friend.” She held out her hand in front of him.

  He grumbled and eventually put a stack of twenties in her palm.

  She glanced out the front door. Pete stood talking to the man and woman. Who knew he had those kind of moves?

  Dolby came back in, closing the door behind him. Pete must have gone around to the garage. Dolby nodded to her, showing the stack of bills in his hand, and went back to his office.

  While the other bartender cleaned up the mess, CJ poured drinks and ruminated on Pete Gonally. Farm boy, graphic artist…and bouncer? Would he ever stop surprising her?

  Over the next half-hour, the remaining bar crowd dwindled. A fight did that, sometimes. Sobered people up and made them long for their beds. CJ popped a big frozen pizza in one of the ovens the pizza company provided them with, and opened a to-go box. She grabbed four cold longnecks from the cooler and put them in a bucket of ice.

  Mr. Pete Gonally deserved a hero’s reward.

  ****

  Pete wandered around the motorcycle, sketching out another new idea on his pad. The garage space was perfect for the job. He’d need to construct a work table, bring in a chair, set up a painting booth. He penned a shopping list on the corner of the drawing.

  Beeps sounded just before the door swung open, and CJ walked in, carrying a pizza box and a bucket of beer. “Hungry?”

  He took the box from her. “Starved, thanks.”

  She braced the door open with the bucket. “Hang on.” She jogged away, then came back with two folding lawn chairs. “Stole them from the smoking patio.” She set them up and placed the bucket on the floor between them, letting the door slam shut. “Nothing fancy.” Reaching behind her, she pulled a stack of napkins from her back pocket.

  He smiled. “It’s good for me. Thanks.” They sat, balancing the pizza box between them on the chair arms, and made it through almost the whole large pie, barely saying a word through all the munching.

  On his second beer, Pete pointed to the classic cycle in the corner. “What’s the story behind that old girl?”

  Her face turned solemn. “My dad’s.”

  “Harry?”

  “Yes. He named the bar after himself, the old kook.” That barely-there smile reappeared. She really was beautiful. Soft and curvy in the right places, long and lean most everywhere. Just her demeanor—gruff and unapproachable—made her less appealing. But he’d work on that. See how far under her suit of armor he could get.

  “I could paint it, too.” He hadn’t meant to blurt that out and sound like a kid with a crush. “While I’m here, I mean. There are some rust spots, and I could fix it up. You know, if you wanted to surprise him.”

  She let out a long breath. “He wouldn’t appreciate it.” She glanced at him, then stood. “But I appreciate the offer.”

  He got up, too. “Sure. If you change your mind…”

  “Thanks for what you did in the bar tonight. It was brave, but stupid.” She shook her head. “I didn’t mean to say that…” She dragged a hand down her face. “I mean, you could have been hurt, so don’t do that again, okay?”

  “Sure.” He’d gone a little crazy, imagining CJ in danger, and had jumped in without thinking.

  “Where’d you learn to do that?” She tipped her head, and her blonde curls bobbed.

  “Dad’s a retired Marine. He showed me and my brother…and my mother…how to defend ourselves.”

  “You did really good. I’ll give you a call when Dolby retires.”

  He laughed. “No, thanks. Like you said, it was a moment of extreme stupidity.”

  “Yes, I said that. Things come out of my piehole that…well… You got a place to stay tonight?” In the cold, white lights, her green eyes sparkled.

  “Yeah, a friend’s expecting me. He lives out closer to Lead.”

  She nodded and turned to go.

  “CJ?”

  Turning, she cocked one hip. Those same hips she’d been swinging before, when they’d walked toward the bar. Hips he wanted to have pressed against him, swaying, rubbing, tilting back and forth. “Yes, Pete Gonally?”

  “Uh.” Shit, he’d been staring. At her hips. And his manhood was rising to greet the sight of her feminine curves. What had he needed to ask her? “Oh, when can I use this building? Any specific hours?”

  “No. It’s all yours.” She gestured with one hand. “Heck, you can move in here, if you want.” She winked, turned, then was gone.

  Pete took some deep breaths to clear the fog that’d worked its way into his brain. “CJ. Bossy. But all woman.” She would be one serious lover, if he could get himself invited home with her.

  The next morning, Pete stopped at a lumberyard on his way to Dirty Harry’s. He kept the receipt, carefully folding it into his wallet for the audit she was sure to insist on.

  He unloaded his pickup, eating handfuls of the trail mix he’d grabbed in the checkout line at the store, and drank the complimentary cup of coffee they’d provided. Once he had the plywood sheets set up on sawhorses, he brought out his sketch pad. He’d woken during the night with fresh ideas, and sketched them quickly, and now took the time to formalize the drawing.

  Walking around the bike, he detoured to the corner, and ran his finger over the old motorcycle’s gas tank, pulling back a digit thick with dust. How long had her father been unable to ride? And why? He was still alive, Pete knew that from the bar’s website and from the way CJ spoke of him in the present tense.

  He put a pair of coveralls on, over his plain white T-shirt and worn jeans, and started disassembling the bike.

  Around noon, CJ walked in. “What are you doing?” Her brows drew down.

  The light blue sundress she wore surprised him. It was different than anything he’d seen her wear so far.

  Looking down at herself, she snorted, but her cheeks turned pink. “Yeah, I know. Frilly is not me. I was visiting my dad, and he seems to like it when I wear…” She shook her head. “Whatever.” She hitched her thumb over her shoulder. “I’m going to change, and cook up a burger. You want one?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He lifted the gas tank, held it up for her to see. “I decided to paint it off the frame. Works better for this type of job.”

  Holding her hands up in surrender, she widened her eyes. “You’re the expert. Meet me in the bar in about a half hour.”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  She disappeared, but the vision of her all “frilly” wouldn’t leave his mind. Her white, strappy sandals showed toenails that had been painted to match that dress. His mouth watered. And it wasn’t for a burger.

  Chapter Four

  CJ checked the clock again. It’d been exactly twenty-eight minutes since she’d told Pete to meet her in the bar. She’d changed out of her dress, and into a purple T-shirt and black shorts. But she put on a cook’s apron over them, just in case.

  On the griddle, three thick burgers sizzled next to six pieces of bacon and the fluffy buns, open-side-down, were getting nice and crisp along the edges.

  “Hello.” Pete’s voice called.

  “In the kitchen.” She ripped off the apron, not knowing why, just following the panicked instinct that told her to look as un-grungy as possible. “You like cheese?”

  He stepped into the kitchen and leaned on the counter, sexy as hell without those baggy coveralls on. “Sure do. Can I help?”

  “No. I got this.”

  The deep-fryer beeped and she lifted the basket of perfectly done French fries, hooking it over the oil to drain.

  “Wow. You can cook.” He grinned.

  She set thick slices of cheddar on the burgers, topped them with bacon, then scooped them into buns, and set them in three baskets. As if she did it often. She poured a huge load of fries into each basket without losing one potato.

  “Is someone joining us?” He stepped forward and plucked a fry, blowing on it with tho
se sensual lips.

  “Hm?” She swallowed and looked away from the belly-jittering sight. “No. I saw the way you inhaled that pizza last night. This morning, actually. I figured you were a big eater.” She picked up two baskets and handed them to him.

  “Ketchup?” He finally ate that fry and took the baskets.

  “It’s upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?” He looked toward the ceiling.

  “Come on.” She walked outside, carrying one basket. Closing the door behind them, she double-checked it to be sure it was locked. She pressed a code on a tall wooden gate, and pushed it open. Starting up the steps that led to her apartment on the second floor, she could almost feel Pete’s eyes on her legs and her butt, and it warmed her in places that hadn’t felt another human touch in far too long.

  His boots clomped along behind her, then stopped on the first landing. “What is this? An apartment?” He looked in the big kitchen window next to the heavy door.

  CJ headed up the next flight of stairs. “Yes, that’s where I live. Born and raised there.”

  His footsteps started again. “That’s… Yeah, okay.”

  She smiled a little. It had been a unique life. Growing up, none of her friends were ever allowed to spend the night. Some weren’t even allowed to visit her home. “Pretty much the opposite from where you grew up, right?”

  “Yeah. Family’s got a little ranch up in Lemmon.”

  She knew that, but liked to hear him talk. He had a sexy, slow voice. They reached the next landing. “This is storage.” The windows had the same bars on them that the garage had.

  Pete looked in a window. “Break-ins here, too?”

  She snorted and climbed the last set of steps. “Not lately. Word’s gotten around about our security system. And Dolby.”

  “Yeah, I bet. He’s a force to be reckoned with…wow!” His head had just cleared the roofline.

  A sturdy spindle railing ran the entire perimeter of the roof. A big table stood in the middle, surrounded by six chairs with bright floral cushions. She set down her basket and opened the sun umbrella.

  Putting down his baskets, he wandered around. Cushioned chaise lounge chairs sat in the bright sun. She spent too many hours laying there, reading and soaking in the warmth. Toward the front of the building, an outdoor kitchen boasted a short refrigerator, grill, sink, and dishwasher. When her dad had made her the bar manager, she’d had it built as a concession to all the hours she spent working.

  Of course, now she was manager, owner, accountant, advertising expert, bartender, relief cook, and substitute cleaning crew when her service didn’t show up at noon. CJ sat on a chair in the sun, picking at her fries while enjoying the play of sunlight on Pete’s hair. Wild, curly, and blond, just like hers, but with more gold in it, she’d been tempted to run her fingers through it more than once.

  He bent to open the fridge, and his jeans cupped his sweet butt just right.

  She cleared her throat. “Help yourself to whatever, and bring me a coke, please.”

  He came back with two cans of cola and a bottle of ketchup, and set them on the table. He lowered himself into the chair next to hers and looked out over the railing. “This is really cool.”

  Buttes and mountains filled the horizon.

  CJ munched on a fry. “I spend my free time up here. Wondering what’s beyond…” She stopped herself. He wasn’t interested in her daydreams.

  Pete watched her. “You sound like you need a vacation.”

  “Never been.” She let out a long breath and picked up her burger. “We never had time. There was no one to run the place, and Dad wouldn’t think of shutting down for even a day.” Biting into her meal, she let out a soft moan.

  He froze, his burger halfway to his mouth. His eyes narrowed. Then he took a bite, and let out a soft groan of his own.

  CJ almost laughed. Food was just about all they had in common. She wanted to sell the bar, once Dad was gone… She couldn’t even think of that sad day. Sell the bar, travel the country. Maybe the world. The place had been valued at nearly a million, including equipment and current stock. She’d drive away over those mountains and never look back.

  “What’re you thinking?” Pete had devoured his first burger and was dipping fries in ketchup and chomping them down.

  She searched for a topic. “Thinking of my ideas for the bike.”

  He froze. “Oh yeah?” He sat back, his food forgotten. “What are they?”

  CJ probably should have mentioned this earlier, but she had spent some time imagining what the bike should look like. “I see mountains, maybe an eagle soaring. Grasslands, a buffalo or two. Rattlers and buttes. Real local feeling.”

  Pete let out a half-cough, half-laugh. “Add in a wolf, maybe a burro?”

  CJ tilted her head, feeling her temper bubble up a bit. “You poking fun at me?” She’d checked out bikes parked in front of Harry’s. Some of them had animals on them.

  “No, not at all.” He waved a hand, then went back to eating. “I’ll see if I can incorporate those ideas.” He winked at her.

  She wasn’t sure what his problem was with natural scenery, but as long as he had some of her ideas on the drawing, she’d be okay with it. None of the nude women that appeared on a lot of bikes, though. That’d be too hard to swallow.

  When he’d polished off the second burger and half the fries, he leaned back again, patting his stomach. “Good chow, CJ. You’re a good cook.”

  “Thanks.” She relaxed back into the chair, letting out a loud sigh. “I use the kitchen in the bar more than I use my own kitchen.”

  “You don’t cook when your dad comes to visit?” He shifted, as if he wanted to take back that question. “I mean, my momma cooks these big Sunday dinners for the family.”

  “My dad doesn’t come to visit.” She couldn’t remember the last day he’d been in their home. A flood of sadness came over her so quickly, she had to blink away tears.

  ****

  Shit. Why’d he have to ask that? Pete wanted to smack himself upside the head until time went backward and he could bite his tongue before asking about her father. He was curious, though. What had happened to the guy?

  Then, the light bulb in his brain went full bright. She visited her dad, he hadn’t ridden his motorcycle in probably months, maybe a year or more. And the raffle was to benefit Alzheimer’s. “CJ, I’m sorry. I’m thick as cornmeal sometimes. Your dad has Alzheimer’s, doesn’t he.”

  She nodded, her lips tightening. Swallowing a few times, she opened her eyes wide, staring off into the distance.

  Pete saw the sheen of moisture in her beautiful eyes. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

  When she just shook her head, he got that panicked feeling, not knowing if he should leave or stay.

  “Harry raised me for most of my life.” The words came softly from her lips. “He met my mother in Louisiana when he was stationed there, and brought her back here with him. They got the bar going, lived upstairs, actually left the place sometimes on the bike, took vacations. I guess everything was good until…I came along.”

  Pete just sat. Waited.

  “She liked riding on the back of Dad’s bike, seeing the sights, camping out at bike rallies, having fun. I was like an anchor around her neck. They couldn’t take me along on the bike.”

  He thought of his mom, Daisy, a woman who’d be in the running for World’s Best Mom if there was actually a contest.

  CJ glanced at him, then looked down at the table. “When I was three, she got on the back of some guy’s motorcycle, and we never heard from her again.”

  “Shit.” The word popped out of his mouth before his gentleman filter could stop it. “Your dad never looked for her?”

  “Nope. Neither did I. Fuck her.” Her lips almost curled up into a smile.

  They sat for long moments, silent, listening to the rumble of loud motorcycle tailpipes heading past the saloon.

  “Dad was diagnosed fourteen months ago. He’s been in a special unit for about
eleven of them. Things are going downhill fast.” Her hand gripped her armrest.

  He hesitated, then went for it. Placing his palm over her hand, he squeezed softly. “I’m sorry.”

  Her gaze dropped to his hand, then shot to his eyes. She looked almost…lost.

  Sliding her hand out from under his, she stood and walked to the little kitchen, grabbing a bag from under the sink. When she padded back to the table, she tossed everything but the plastic baskets into the bag. “I’m not sorry. It made me strong. Dad was good to me, but he never wanted to leave the place after she left.”

  That was the longing he saw in her eyes as she stared out over the horizon. She wanted to get away from here. “And you do want to leave?”

  CJ shrugged one shoulder. “Someday.” She set the bag on the rooftop. “You know, I’ve never been further than Wyoming and North Dakota. And those were business trips.” She wandered to the edge of the roof and leaned her hands on the railing.

  He got up and followed her. Standing next to her, he crossed his arms. “I’d like to meet your dad.” He had an idea for the bike, and he’d like to meet Harry face-to-face.

  Her head turned so fast, something snicked in her neck. “Why?”

  He looked down at her. “Any man who would raise a daughter on his own…and have her turn out as well as you did…I’d like to know him.”

  Sorrow welled in her eyes. “He’s not the same man. He’s totally different. He doesn’t recognize me sometimes. Most of the time, actually.”

  Pete dropped his arms and turned. “I know. And I can’t imagine how hard that must be.” He debated for a few seconds, then put his hand on her arm.

  She dropped her head and leaned a little closer.

  His arm went around her shoulder as if they’d done this a thousand times. Tipping his head, he sucked in the scent of spices and flowers floating from her hair. That was CJ. A mix of sugar and pepper.

  Touching her this way did spicy things to his machismo, but it rode softly in his heart, too. She seemed so alone, so independent. Too hard-working, maybe in too hard of a shell for him to crack. But damn, he’d like to give it a try.