a broom and sweep up this place. It’s a wreck, and a good shop is a clean shop. Keeps dust and junk from getting into the parts.”
He thought the kid was going to balk at manual labor. Billy didn’t nag. He went back to organizing his tools and waited for the kid to make up his mind.
Less than forty seconds later, the boy was sweeping.
Billy smiled to himself. “You do a good job and keep at it, maybe we’ll get you on a bike.”
“Really?” The kid grinned. Then it faded. “My mom won’t like that.”
Yeah, he knew that, too. His own mother had never been a fan of some of the things Billy did. Most of them, actually.
“Aw, hell. What your mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“You don’t know my mom very well.” The boy kept sweeping. A moment later, he added, “I got a friend who’s got a bike, but she won’t let me near it. Says she doesn’t want me to get hurt.” He made a noise that sounded like teenager-speak for “can you believe that?” “It’s not as cool a bike as yours, though.”
Maybe half of Billy’s childhood had been spent on the back of a bike, often directly against his mother’s stated wishes. His father had loved his mother dearly, but they rarely saw eye to eye on basic parenting questions, such as which activities were fun versus life-threatening. And Billy had survived just fine.
Well, mostly fine.
“I’ll make a deal with you. You keep your grades up and help me out in the shop, I’ll get you on a bike.” He leveled a finger at the huge smile on the kid’s face. “But you do what I say, when I say it, no questions asked. I don’t need some pissant kid jerking around my shop. I’ll throw your ass out of here the moment you screw up. Got it?”
The sudden gasp that came from the doorway told him that someone had screwed up, all right.
Him.
* * *
Jenny waved goodbye to the last of the girls from her Teen and Parents—TAPS—meeting and checked the multipurpose room for Seth. Seth hated the TAPS meetings and put as much distance as possible between him and the pregnant girls—most of whom he’d grown up playing with. Jenny supposed she should be thrilled that Seth hadn’t hit the age where he thought of girls in a sexual way, but would it have killed the boy to have a bit of compassion? After all, Jenny had been one of those girls once.
Seth wasn’t in the multipurpose room. The guitar was still in its case. Where was that boy?
Oh, no. The shop. Billy Bolton.
That man, Jenny thought as she ran down the hall. Yup, his bike was still parked in her spot. The door to the shop was open, and she heard voices inside. There was no missing Billy’s deep rumble—she wasn’t sure she could forget the way that voice hummed through her body. Even now, she got goose bumps. She also heard the softer voice of her son.
Oh, Lord, Seth was talking with Billy—and, from the tone of it, Billy was yelling at her boy. Running faster, the first words she caught were “...need some pissant kid jerking around my shop. I’ll throw your ass out of here the moment you screw up. Got it?”
She gasped as she flew into the shop. “What did you say to my son?”
Seth jumped six inches off the floor, but Billy—sitting behind a table with a massive tool-thing in his hands—didn’t even move. At least this time he wasn’t wearing glasses. Jenny wasn’t sure that helped, though, because now she could see the way his light brown eyes bore into her, like heat-seeking missiles.
No one else was in the building. She’d gotten here just in time. Billy stared at her, something that looked like contempt on his face. Seth looked six kinds of miserable all at once. God only knew what Billy had been saying to her baby boy to make him look like he was on the verge of crying.
She intended to find out, by God. She stalked over to the table and slammed her hands down on the top. The tools rattled and Seth warned, “Mom,” behind her, but she had had it with this man.
“I asked you a question, and don’t you dare pull that silent crud on me. I heard you—I know you can talk. What do you think you’re doing, speaking to my son using that kind of language?” When she didn’t get an immediate response, she shouted back over her shoulder, “Seth, get your things.”
“But, Mom,” he whined again.
Then Billy stood up—all God-only-knew how many inches and pounds of him rose to his feet, slow and steady and not the least bit intimidated by her.
Jenny swallowed, refusing to allow herself to be intimidated by him, either. Even though he could pick her up and throw her over his shoulder like some big, gorgeous caveman, if he wanted to.
“Calm down.”
Of all the nerve—was he actually going to try to talk his way out of this? “I will do no such thing. If I have my way, you won’t be back on this reservation tomorrow. What is wrong with you? Stripping in front of a bunch of school children? Picking up my car? Threatening Seth? Are you insane?”
As she spoke, Billy walked around the table. He wasn’t moving at tackling speeds, but his destination was unmistakable. She took one step backward, then another as Billy advanced on her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Another step toward her. When he saw the effect he was having on her, one of his eyebrows notched up, which made him look almost amused. “Talking. To you.” Another step. “You still sweeping?”
“What?”
It was only when Seth said, “Yes, sir,” that she realized he hadn’t been talking to her.
One more step.
“This is talking? You’re trying to frighten me, but it won’t work,” she said as he boxed her into a corner, an intense look on his face. She should be terrified—maybe she was—but that didn’t explain the goose bumps that were all over her. Everything about her was tuned in to him—the way his muscles coiled and uncoiled with each step, the way he was...smiling? Was that possible?
Then, unexpectedly, Billy stopped while still a good four feet from her and looked over his shoulder. She was almost in a corner, but if she broke to the left fast enough, she could probably make it out the door. But if she did that, she’d leave Seth in here with this man, and she didn’t want to do that.
This was a clear example of the devil you know versus the devil you don’t. Except that in both cases, Billy Bolton was the devil.
When he faced her again, one corner of his mouth was unmistakably curved into a smile. “No, this is talking.”
The sight of Billy Bolton grinning—at her—threw whatever Jenny had been planning to say right out the window.
Oh, my. Somewhere, underneath that beard and the dark glares was a very handsome man with surprisingly kind eyes. Her mind flashed back to the expanse of muscle she’d seen earlier that afternoon. Muscles and more muscles, covered in tattoos that should have scared the stuffing out of her, but all she’d thought of doing was tracing the lines on his
