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  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” She kept her voice low, her body language neutral. No need to give the whole bar a show.

  He rolled the drawings together and turned to face her. “I think it means exactly what I just said, ma’am. Think about what makes you happy. What makes you smile.” He looked at her lips. “You know what?” He winked at her. “I’ve never seen you smile.” He strolled toward the back door of the bar, disappearing into the darkness.

  She did so smile. Didn’t she? She tried it, tried moving her lips, showing some teeth.

  “You gonna snarl somebody to death with that face.” Dolby stood next to her, bending to scrape the piles of tickets into one of the boxes.

  “I smile, don’t I?” She tried it again.

  He just shook his head. “Smiles come from in here.” He tapped his chest over his heart. “And in here.” He tapped his temple. “You can’t force them, child.” He picked up the boxes and walked away.

  He hadn’t called her “child” in a long while. She strolled to the bar, opened a beer, and leaned back, drinking half of it in one pull.

  “CJ, I think it’s a fittin’ tribute to your father.” A grizzled biker leaned on the other side of the bar. He’d been around a long time. Had known Harry back when he was just starting out in Deadwood. “We all miss him. We…some of us…visit him regularly.”

  She nodded. She’d seen the names in the guest book in her dad’s room. “I appreciate that.” She’d never thanked any of them. Had never talked to any of them about her dad. “Let me buy you a beer.”

  With two fresh brews between them, CJ took a scary step. No, a leap. “So, how long have you known Harry?”

  Chapter Nine

  Pete rolled into Williston as the sun rose. He’d thought about stopping for the night, but he’d been too keyed up to sleep. When he stepped into his apartment, he was surprised to see Dax laying on the couch.

  “Shouldn’t you be working?” Pete kicked off his boots and set them neatly on the rug inside the door.

  “Shouldn’t you?” Dax’s voice came out weak.

  “I’m working the afternoon shift. Need to get a few hours’ sleep. What’s up?” He plopped down on a recliner and shoved back, lifting his feet and laying nearly flat.

  “I thought I had a chance with her.” Dax rolled onto his side.

  “Another rejection?”

  “Yes, and it’s getting old.” Dax wrote songs. Country songs. More than half of them for women to sing. He took a lot of grief from his friends, but he’d do just about anything to break into Nashville.

  “You can’t give up.” Pete yawned and let his eyes drift shut. “Get out and sing. Play your guitar and show off your talent.”

  “I may have to. I think I’ve hit every agent in the listings.” He puffed out a breath. “How’d it go last night?” Dax knew Pete was going to confront CJ about the drawing.

  “Bad. Then good. Then bad. Then good. I think.”

  Dax laughed. “You sure about that?”

  Pete sat up. “We talked. We yelled and let off steam, then bam, we were having sex.” He scrunched up his nose. “I don’t even know how it happened.”

  Dax sat up, his black eyes widening. “No shit?” His straight black hair stuck up in a hundred directions.

  “Yeah. I think she started it.” He shook his head to clear it. “I don’t know. But it was so fucking good, man.” He heaved out a breath.

  “That was the good part, right? Then what went wrong?”

  “She’s tough and independent. Doesn’t want to get tied down. Especially with a poor ranch kid like me.”

  Dax snorted. “She doesn’t know about your pot of gold?”

  “Nope. And I’m not gonna tell her, either.” He wasn’t looking for a woman who wanted to marry a millionaire. He was looking for a woman who wanted to marry for love.

  “You know, sex that hot and explosive might burn out quickly.”

  Pete had considered that. “I want to see, though. She’s something…I don’t know. Special. Amazing.”

  Dax whistled as he stood. “Somebody’s got a hook in his mouth.” He walked into his bedroom and closed the door.

  Pete stared out the window as the sun rose over the Bakken. Did he have any chance at hooking CJ? Or was she just stubborn enough to ignore what he offered?

  Friday night, Pete set down his airbrush and looked at the fender he’d gotten a good start on. He yawned and pulled off his mask. He’d set up a plastic enclosure with an exhaust system going directly out the window. The room didn’t stink too badly.

  He checked his watch. It was Saturday morning already. The bar would be closing soon. Shrugging out of his coveralls, he rubbed his full stomach. The cook, Marco, had come knocking at around ten with a double-burger basket for him, asking to see the progress on the bike.

  When Pete had asked about CJ, Marco shook his head. “She’s been mean as a rattler since Wednesday.”

  Pete smiled. At least he was breaking through to her, even if it was negative emotion seeping from the cracks. He toed off his boots, turned off the lights, and sat on the air mattress he’d set up under a window with a fan pulling outside air in. With the amount of work he had to do, he didn’t want to waste time driving to Lead, or even to a hotel. He’d sleep a few hours, work some, and get as much done as he could this weekend.

  Flat on his back, he stacked his hands under his head. She was in there now, working the bar. What would she do if he strolled in, took her hand, and pulled her upstairs to her apartment? While his body flared to life at the thought, reality came with a vision of her kneeing him and leaving him writhing on the saloon floor. He shut his eyes and directed his dream to the first option.

  Pete jerked awake with a start. A sound? He looked around and saw the door opening. He sat up, feeling for his phone. If this was someone…or more than one coming to steal the motorcycle…

  The lights snapped on and CJ rushed in, closing the door behind her, and walking halfway across the garage to disarm the alarm. She stopped halfway, jamming her fists onto her hips. “I fucking told him to turn on the alarm when he left.” Cute. She was talking to herself. And she hadn’t seen him.

  He should say something so she didn’t think he was lurking in the corner watching her, but that was exactly what he was doing.

  Pulling aside one flap of the hanging plastic, she gasped as she bent to look at the fender in the stand where he’d left it on the particle board table.

  Her blue shorts left her legs bare down to a pair of black-and-white striped tennis shoes. Her top was red and white. She looked like a teenager.

  “Look good from there?” He got to his feet.

  She spun around and let out a squeal.

  “’Cause it sure looks good from here.” Pete strolled toward her in his stocking feet.

  “What are you doing here?” Her breath still came fast.

  He nodded toward his airbed. “You said I could move in. So I did.”

  CJ gave a disgusted huff and shook her head. “If it’s money, I’ll pay for your hotel room.” She looked away quickly, probably realizing she’d gouged his pride.

  “It’s not the money. I wanted to be close so I could paint when ideas came.” He stood next to her, looking at the fender. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

  She stared at her feet. “Okay.” She walked halfway across the room then turned back. “You know…” A wrinkle formed between her eyes. She puffed a breath and headed toward the door again. “Good night.” She stopped and rubbed her face with both palms.

  He waited. Some fierce internal battle went on inside that head of hers. Did it have something to do with wanting to sleep with him again?

  Turning toward him, she held out both hands. “Okay. It’s a room. That’s all.”

  Again, he waited, but nothing else came from her pink lips. “What’s a room, CJ?”

  “I have a guest bedroom.” She said it like a forced apology.

  He knew it was guilt or
common courtesy making the offer. “I’m fine here. Thanks.” He put the sheeting back in place and walked back toward his corner.

  “You.” She crushed her hand into a fist, making a frustrated face. “You’re not sleeping in the garage.”

  “It’s not a problem. I’ve slept out under the stars on cattle drives, in a barn during calving season, in the back of my pickup truck when I partied too hard.” He wagged his brows at her. “This is like a five-star hotel compared to—”

  She grabbed his duffle bag, then his boots, and opened the door.

  “Hey!” He stalked toward her, his stockinged feet making no sound.

  “Boss lady says you’re staying in the guest room.” She stepped out the door. “Turn on the alarm and come on.”

  “What the hell.” He couldn’t read this woman at all. So many sides to her personality…

  “Move it, hayseed.” Her shout carried through the open window.

  He hesitated for a moment. Did he stand his ground and stay in the garage, asserting his dominance? Or give in to her…again…and take the opportunity to seduce her, subtly, steadily, and surely? After shutting the windows, he set the alarm and rushed to the door. “Seduction. No question.”

  ****

  CJ wrote the codes for the gate and her apartment on a paper and handed them to Pete as they walked into her living room. Dolby had come up earlier to check her place, and he’d left on some lights. The dining room table stood in its regular place, and she ignored it and its hot memories just as she had all week, as she led Pete down the hall to the guest room.

  She walked into the room turned and on the table lamp. “Bathroom’s across the hall.”

  He stepped inside and set down his bag and boots, which he’d taken from her before they’d climbed the stairs, and glanced around. “Thanks. I appreciate it.” He took a step toward her.

  She skittered out the door. “No problem.” Her jaw worked. “About that bet we talked about Wednesday, you know, the bikini thing?”

  A smile tried to force its way onto his face. “As I recall, the bet was made. And was won.”

  “I don’t remember it that way.” She stopped fidgeting and stood her ground.

  He advanced on her. “You wouldn’t be thinking of backing out, would you?”

  Something about those long feet of his in socks made her all gooey. “How can I back out of something that never was—”

  He reached up and touched her cheek.

  Her eyes shuttered at the warmth, the smell of paint and rugged man.

  “Just a little…” Lightly scraping with his nail, he pulled back his hand. “Paint on your cheek, boss lady.” He smirked and cocked his hip, standing far too close for anyone’s comfort.

  “Uh huh. Right.” She turned to head down the hall to her bedroom.

  “Might want to try on your bikini, CJ. A couple more weeks to get into modeling shape.”

  “What?” She turned, her brain conjuring up all kinds of nastiness for him.

  He leaned out the door and caught her full on the lips with a fast, smacking kiss. “Thanks for the room.” Pete closed the door. And locked it.

  She lifted her foot to stamp it, but wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d whipped her up into a froth. “Welcome, hayseed.” The singsong words echoed down the hallway, and she followed them to her bedroom. Tempted to slam the door, she just closed it quietly.

  The bottom drawer of her dresser stood open, her swimsuits spilling out in a messy heap. She’d tried on every one of them just in case he was serious about making her go through with the bet. Nothing looked sexy enough for a photo shoot. She kicked the drawer, stubbing her big toe on the heavy wood. She’d have to run to Rapid City to buy a new one. Or…

  She sat on her bed, petting the old, plush Mount Rushmore blanket her dad had bought for her on their vacation when she was ten. Could she seduce Pete into giving up the idea of her posing for that picture? Was she that underhanded? Desperate? Horny? Yep, horny as hell for him, and this would just be her excuse to go back on her vow to stay away from him. How pathetic.

  Having Pete down the hall was a temptation she would need to fight to resist. Looking out the window at the lights of Deadwood, she made a new vow. She’d play “boss lady” like she was going for an Academy Award.

  The next morning, CJ smelled coffee. Her clock said ten-fifteen, but it felt like she’d only slept an hour. Too many thoughts of Pete being in much too close proximity.

  She rolled out of bed and shrugged into her old pink robe. Shuffling down the hallway, she heard humming. Male humming. A country song she’d heard blasting from the juke box. Rounding the corner, she spotted him at the stove.

  Pete turned with a frying pan in his hand. “Morning. Eggs?” He scraped some onto a plate on the high counter.

  She shook her head. “I don’t eat eggs.” She sat on a stool on the other side. “I don’t even buy eggs.”

  He shrugged and dumped the rest of the eggs onto his plate. “I know. I had to run to the grocery store. I bought enough to feed myself this weekend.” He grabbed a mug and poured coffee. “Plenty for you, too.” Setting the mug in front of her, he looked into her eyes.

  A flare of lust burned through her, centering in her belly. Damn. Just a look from him could turn her horny.

  “Sugar?” He gave her a crooked smile that sent jitters racing through her core.

  “What?” No man had ever called her sugar, but coming from him…

  “Milk or sugar for your coffee?” He stuck his fork into the pile of eggs and ate a mouthful.

  The microwave beeped.

  He pulled out a plate of bacon.

  The scent made her mouth water, and when he set the plate down, she picked up a piece. “I drink it black.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” His hands were smeared with paint.

  “You’ve been working already?” She sipped her coffee. Strong and robust. Just like him? She nearly rolled her eyes at her own thoughts.

  “I wanted to finish that fender and get started on the other one.” He stood while he ate fast, drank his coffee scalding hot. “I spent a while looking at your father’s art. It’s really good. He’s got an amazing eye.”

  She nodded, finger-combing her curls as she breathed away her emotion.

  He stared at her, a piece of bacon halfway to his mouth.

  “What?” Did she look that freighting in the bright morning light?

  “Nothin’. You look kind of sexy, half-asleep this way.” He handed her another piece of bacon. “I never got to see you all cozy and morning-soft like this. Wish I had.”

  Her eyelids drooped. She could see it, too, Them, waking up in each other’s arms, the morning sexy, slow and intimate. “Shit.” She slid off the stool and grabbed her coffee. “You wanna stay here, Pete Gonally, you’d best watch your tongue.” The minute she said it, she regretted it.

  He grinned. “My tongue? Oh, you wouldn’t believe what I can do—”

  “Stop.” She trudged down the hallway to her room, closed the door, and locked it. Her hands shook so hard, she had to use them both to set down her cup. She was sliding. Giving Pete openings like that, coming off as interested and available when she should be doing the boss lady thing. “What kind of mouse trap have I gotten myself into?”

  Chapter Ten

  Pete watched her walk down the hall to her room, a little unsteady on her feet, and he hoped it was because of him, not just because she was not a morning person.

  He sat in the chair she’d just vacated and looked out at the view of the buttes. She had a beautiful place here, but it reminded him of a birdcage. The door was open, but she wasn’t ready to fly. He thought of Harry Overton. It was just a matter of time. How would CJ react? He hoped he’d still be around then, to help her through it.

  “First things first, as Mizz Daisy Gonolly always says.” He finished his breakfast and cleaned up, then took a travel mug of coffee with him to the garage. He’d been up before the sun had
even thought of showing up. As he’d come out of the gate at four that morning, he’d run into Dolby who was making his final rounds.

  The man had looked at Pete, looked up at the second floor, then shook his head and walked away. Pete had wanted to say, “guest room,” but that’d seem like too much of a guilty reaction.

  Pete spent the rest of the day painting, working on the two fenders. Marco came out about three o’clock with a pizza for him, but that was the only break Pete took. When the sun set, he was done. Wiped out. Asleep on his feet. He trudged up the stairs and shuffled into CJ’s apartment, right into the bathroom for a shower. After nuking a frozen burrito and washing it down with a beer, he collapsed on the soft guest bed, his eyes closing before he’d turned off the light.

  He woke briefly when a warm quilt covered him, gentle hands brushed back his hair, and the light went out. He smelled her scent, floral but spicy. “Thanks, CJ.”

  “G’night, hayseed.” It was a soft whisper, and sent his dreams off to that old “apron and babies” fantasy of his.

  Sunday morning, he sat painting in the garage and heard CJ pull her car out of the garage attached to the building. Was she going to visit her dad? A few hours later, he heard her come back, but she didn’t stop in. He’d love to run up to her apartment and have lunch with her, but he had hours of work before heading north that night.

  The next weekend played out nearly the same; sleeping within yards of each other, but avoiding any contact. On his part, it wasn’t deliberate. He just had too much to accomplish. On her part—deliberate. She had one of the cooks bring him food, and he took the hint and stayed out of the bar. Even though he left his bedroom door open when he crashed in her guest room, he never heard her when she came in after the bar closed at two.

  Sunday dawned sunny and hot, a blessing in mid-October where the averages were in the forties. He needed to finish the gas tanks today and do more detailing on the fenders so they would dry by the next weekend when he’d clearcoat them.

  Something wasn’t working right, either his head or his hand or the equipment, but he ended up wiping off sections, drips, and bubbles. At around noon, after three hours of total frustration, he set down his airbrush and stood. His foot caught on the hose and the brush clattered to the cement floor.