In this Bolton Brothers novel, Sarah M. Anderson shows how one single mom at a bachelor auction can bring home the wildest ride of her life!

Jenny Wawasuck knows that “Wild” Billy Bolton is all wrong for a good girl like her. But then she sees the bond Billy forms with her son—and feels how Billy’s touch burns her skin, how his kiss ignites desires she’s long ignored. So she brings him home from the charity bachelor auction.

Now Billy has one night to stake his claim. But in a world filled with blackmailers and gold diggers, can a millionaire bad boy and a sweet single mom turn one chance into forever?

This was the reason why he didn’t want women in the shop. Too distracting.

When Billy managed to step away from Jenny, he saw that she’d tucked her lower lip under her teeth with enough pressure that the flesh was bleaching white. What had been, up to that moment, a mere irritating attraction shifted right over to desire.

He wanted the pretty little schoolteacher in a way that had nothing to do with civility. He wanted to kiss the color back into her lip, to find out how hard she was capable of biting.

Then she looked up at him through thick lashes, and he saw his own desire mirrored in her eyes. She wasn’t scared of him, nor was she mad at him.

As difficult as it was to believe, she wanted him, too.

Dear Reader,

Welcome back to Crazy Horse Choppers, the family business run by The Bolton Brothers: Billy (the creative one), Ben (the numbers guy) and Bobby (the salesman). They live fast, ride hard and love fiercely.

Billy Bolton doesn’t like his life very much right now. After a wild youth that included jail time, he’d settled down into the life of a workaholic—he eats, breathes and lives building bikes. His dedication has paid off—the family company is becoming the name in custom-built motorcycles.

But success came with a price—in this case, his little brother Bobby filming him for “webisodes.” Now Billy is semifamous, which is a real pain. Worse, his brother Ben arranged for him to build a bike for his wife, Josey’s, school and Bobby’s going to film him the whole time.

Billy knows he really shouldn’t be around students—he’s grumpy, he cusses, he’s got too many tattoos, he occasionally throws things. And kids make him nervous. But then he meets Jenny Wawasuck, a teacher at the school—and a single mother to a teenager. Something about the petite woman grabs hold of Billy’s attention and refuses to let go.

Billy knows he’s not the kind of man any sane woman would be interested in. But Jenny’s not afraid of him, and he finds himself doing something he never thought he’d do—chasing a woman.

Bringing Home the Bachelor is a sensual story about becoming the person you were always meant to be. It’s also my twist on cowboys and Indians—bikers and Indians! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! Be sure to stop by www.sarahmanderson.com and join me for the latest on The Bolton Brothers!

Sarah

Bringing Home the Bachelor

Sarah M. Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Award-winning author SARAH M. ANDERSON may live east of the Mississippi River, but her heart lies out West on the Great Plains. With a lifelong love of horses and two history teachers for parents, she had plenty of encouragement to learn everything she could about the tribes of the Great Plains.

When she started writing, it wasn’t long before her characters found themselves out in South Dakota among the Lakota Sioux. She loves to put people from two different worlds into new situations and to see how their backgrounds and cultures take them someplace they never thought they’d go.

One of Sarah’s books, A Man of Privilege, won the RT Book Reviews 2013 Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Awards Series: Desire.

When not helping out at her son’s school or walking her rescue dogs, Sarah spends her days having conversations with imaginary cowboys and American Indians, all of which is surprisingly well-tolerated by her wonderful husband. Readers can find out more about Sarah’s love of cowboys and Indians at www.sarahmanderson.com.

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To Mary, the most responsible oldest sibling I’ve ever met! You’ve been with me for every step of the way and I truly couldn’t do it without you. We may not be sisters, but we’re friends and for that I’m forever grateful.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Excerpt

One

In the middle of the argument—the same argument Jenny had with her teenage son every morning—she found herself lost in a daydream. Just once, she wanted someone to take care of her. Just once, she wanted to feel pampered. Just once, she thought with a sigh, she wanted to know what it was like to have the world at her feet, instead of having everyone walk all over her.

“Why can’t I go with Tige after school?” her son, Seth, whined from the passenger seat. Not that a fourteen-year-old boy would cop to whining. “He got a new motorcycle, said I could ride it. Better than wasting time waiting on you to get done with your stupid meeting.”

“No motorcycles,” Jenny said in the tone she used for attempting to reason with her first and second graders when her patience was thin. Hopefully, she and Seth would make it to school before she lost her temper. Only a few miles to go. She drove faster.

“Why not? Josey rides hers all over the place, and you know she wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t safe.”

“Josey is a grown woman,” Jenny said through gritted teeth. This was the difference between fourteen-year-old Seth and eight-year-old Seth. The boy had always been able to tell when he shouldn’t press his luck. “Josey’s husband taught her how to ride, she’s never had an accident, and you know good and well that she hasn’t been on a bike since she got pregnant.” Seth shuddered in immature horror. “May I remind you that Tige is a seventeen-year-old boy who drives too fast, doesn’t own a helmet and has already crashed his bike twice? No. Motorcycles.”

“Aw, Mom. You’re not being fair.”

“Life isn’t fair. Get used to it.” Seth rolled his eyes so hard she heard it in the dark.

“If my dad were still here, he’d let me ride.”

Before she could come up with a coherent response to Seth’s newest favorite guilt trip, she rounded the last curve before the Pine Ridge Charter School, where she taught two grades in one classroom. Trucks and cars were parked everywhere, with massive, stadium-style lights ripping through the soft dawn light.

Shoot, Jenny thought as Seth leaned forward to stare at the three-ring circus. The battle with Seth had made her forget that today was the first day of filming at the school.

The Pine Ridge Charter School was the only school for grades one through eight within a two-hour drive. The school had been funded and built by her cousin Josey White Plume and her aunt, Sandra White Plume. They’d finished it before the first day of school last fall, mostly thanks to the donations of Crazy Horse Choppers, which was run by Ben Bolton and his brothers, Billy and Bobby. The Bolton boys made money hand over fist with their high-end, very expensive motorcycles. Josey had wound up marrying Ben Bolton—and was now pregnant with their first baby.

If that were all there was to it, it would be weird enough. But the crazy didn’t stop there. Oh, no. Bobby Bolton had been filming “webisodes”—which Jenny didn’t even think was a real word—of Billy Bolton building motorcycles at the Crazy Horse shop and posting the videos on the internet. Apparently, they were getting hundreds of thousands of hits, mostly because Billy cussed like a drunken sailor and occasionally threw tools at people. Jenny didn’t have an internet connection, so she hadn’t seen the show herself. She didn’t want to. It sounded like entertainment aimed at the lowest common denominator.

But now the whole production had moved to her school. Billy Bolton was supposed to build a bike on site, teach the students how to use the tools and then the Boltons were going to auction the bike off and give the proceeds to the school. Bobby was going to film the whole thing.

Jenny didn’t know which part of this plan she liked the least. Ben wasn’t so bad. He was focused, intense and looked good on a bike, but he was a little too elite for Jenny’s taste. He made Josey happy, though, so that made Jenny happy.

Bobby, the youngest of the Bolton brothers, talked to her only when he wanted something. He was handsome and charming and fabulously rich and she supposed that was more than enough for most women, but she didn’t trust him.

She trusted Billy, the oldest, even less. He was—well, she didn’t know if he was an actual Hell’s Angel, but she wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised to know he was in some sort of semicriminal biker gang. He was a massive man who everyone seemed mildly-to-severely afraid of. When she’d been introduced to him at Josey’s wedding, he’d given off a vibe that had been something between quiet, dangerous and sexy. The combination had been thrilling—or would have been if she’d let herself be thrilled. He’d been a sight to behold, with his brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, a neatly trimmed beard and a tuxedo that fit him like a glove.

Like the other two Bolton brothers, Billy was gorgeous in his rough way and richer than sin—but of the three of them, he had waved his wealth around the least. Ben wasn’t showy, but everything he owned was the best. Bobby let everyone know how rich and popular he was. But Billy? It was almost as if the family money pissed him off. Jenny had been struck mute by the way he’d glared down at her. She’d barely been able to squeak out a “pleased to meet you.”

And now that man was going to have the run of her school and interact with her students.

It was one thing for that man to make her nervous while she was wearing a frilly dress at a wedding that cost more than her house and car put together. It was a whole different thing if that man looked at one of her students with that glare. She would not tolerate a whiff of improper, indecent or dangerous behavior from any Bolton, no matter how muscled he was. One step out of line, and Billy Bolton would find out exactly what kind of woman she was.

She pulled into her regular parking spot, and Seth was already out the door, gawking as a small group of people scurried around. Jenny was usually the first person at the school. She liked easing into the morning before a bunch of six-, seven-and eight-year-olds descended on her classroom. She made some tea, made sure she had all of her supplies ready and got herself mentally prepared for the day. And since Seth usually hung out in the multipurpose room practicing guitar, it was as close to Zen as Jenny got.

But today? No Zen for her. Instead, a woman yelled, “We have a problem—car in the shot,” into a walkie-talkie as she brushed past Jenny while a man adjusted the lights—and managed to blind her with the beam.

Before she could shade her eyes, a figure spoke from beside her. “Jennifer? Hi, Bobby Bolton. We met at the wedding. Great to see you again. So glad to be out here, doing something good for the school. You do good work out here, and we’re thrilled to be a part of it, but we’re going to need you to move your car.”

Jennifer. The hackles went up on the back of Jenny’s neck. Yes, he’d been trying to compliment her, but her name was not Jennifer. It never had been. She had the legal documents to prove it. She was Jenny Marie Wawasuck.

She swung around slowly—slow enough that she heard Seth make a noise that sounded like snerk. Even a teenaged boy knew better than to call her Jennifer.

“Excuse me?” was the most polite thing Jenny could come up with.

Bobby had on a headset, and despite looking like the kind of guy who rarely got up before noon, he was as good-looking as ever. “As I’m sure you know, Jennifer, we’re doing the shoot this morning. We’re going to need you to move your car.”

It was awfully early to have her last nerve snap, but it did. “Why?”

Bobby gave her the kind of smile that made her want to punch him in the stomach. “We’re setting up a shot of Billy riding in, and we need the space.” Bobby’s voice was less complimentary now, more a direct order. “Move your car.”

Of all the arrogant...Jenny paused—a trick she’d learned long ago worked on children of all ages to command attention. She drew herself up to her full height of five foot five inches, but she was still a good eight inches shorter than Bobby. She hated craning her neck, but she didn’t have a stepstool handy.

“No. This is my spot. I always park here.” Part of her knew she was being a tad irrational—it’s not like moving the car was a huge deal—but she didn’t want Bobby Bolton to think he could steamroll her whenever he felt like it.

Too often, too many people thought they could flatten her. They thought she wouldn’t put up a fight because she was a nice girl or because she taught little kids or because she had nothing—especially that. Nothing but a parking spot.

Bobby’s smile disappeared and he suddenly looked tired. “I know this is your spot, but I’d think a grown woman could handle parking somewhere else for one day. Thanks so much. Vicky?” he said into his headset. “Can we get Jennifer some coffee? Thanks.” He turned his gaze back to her, and his fake-happy smile was back. “I know it’s early, but once you move your car and have your coffee, I’m sure you’ll feel better, Jennifer.”

Jenny bristled under his patronizing tone, but before she could tell him that she didn’t drink coffee, much less restate her position about not moving her darned car, a shadow loomed behind her, blocking out the spotlight.

A shiver raced up her arms and across her neck as a deep, powerful voice said, “Her name isn’t Jennifer.” As if to emphasize this point, a massive fist swung out from the shadows and hit Bobby in the arm so hard that he had to take a few steps back to keep his balance. “It’s Jenny. Stop being a jerk.”

Jenny swallowed as Billy Bolton brushed past her and stood next to his brother. She was not afraid of this man, she reminded herself. So what if he was a foot taller than she was, wearing really expensive-looking leather chaps over a pair of jeans and a tight-fitting black T-shirt that didn’t look like the kind that cost seven dollars at Walmart? So what if he had on sunglasses and the sun hadn’t even broken through the horizon? So what if he looked like some sort of bad-biker-boy fantasy come true?

He was on her territory, by God. She would not cower, and that was that.

So she squared her shoulders, put on her don’t-mess-with-me glare and stood her ground. Then she realized what Billy had said.

He knew her name.

Weird goose bumps spread from her neck down her back. She would have been willing to bet that he wouldn’t have been able to pick her out of a lineup, but here he was, punching Bobby because he’d called her the wrong name.

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.

He did his best thinking on his bikes. Usually, that meant solving the latest design problem or figuring out how to work around his dad or brothers. But today, riding up and down the same mile of territory that hardly qualified as a road, the problem he found himself thinking about was Jenny.

She’d smelled of baby powder, a soft scent that matched the woman he’d met at the wedding but seemed out of place on the woman who’d threatened him. Not a hint of coffee, and he knew Josey preferred tea when she was on the rez. The guess hadn’t been a huge leap, but the way Jenny’s eyes had widened when he’d been right? Worth it.

He still couldn’t get over how she’d promised it wasn’t over. Maybe he was getting soft in his thirties, but he found himself hoping she was right.

Finally, after an hour of rolling up and down the same mile, Bobby decided they had the footage he wanted. By that time, the school was overflowing. All the kids were there, and a fair number of their parents had come to watch, too.

Back when he’d earned his reputation the hard way, people had been in awe of him. Some had wanted to be on his good side, some had tried to prove they were bigger or badder. People’s reactions had only gotten worse since this whole webisode thing started. People were watching him, expecting him to be funny or crude or what, he didn’t know. All he knew was they were here for Wild Bill Bolton. And he hated it.

His brother Ben’s wife, Josey, came up to him as he parked his bike next to the shop where they were going to be building the bike. “Morning, Billy,” she said. “Everything go okay so far?”

Right. No doubt Jenny had had a little powwow with her cousin. “Bobby’s still an ass—”

“Language! There are children present!”

It was going to be such a long day. “Twit. Bobby’s still a twit.”

Josey sighed. “Billy, remember the rules.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know—language, attitude, no throwing things.”

Josey patted him on the arm. “It’s just three weeks.”

Sure, it was only three weeks at the school, but he was stuck with Bobby running his life for the foreseeable future. He’d only agreed to do this show because Ben said this was a good way to justify the cost of new equipment for the shop, and Billy loved new equipment. Hell, testing out a new tool was half the fun of building a bike. Plus, he’d thought it was a good way to keep the peace in the family. Now he wasn’t so sure.

Sure, Billy guessed it was nice that people recognized him now, and yeah, it was probably good for his ego that someone had started a Facebook page called The Wild Bill Bolton Fan Club. But most of him wanted “Real American Bikers,” which was what Bobby called the webisodes, to fail and fail big. That way, he could go back to doing what he did best—building custom motorcycles. No more cameras, no more groupies, no more being famous.

Back to building his bikes in peace and quiet.

Although that didn’t look like it was going to happen anytime soon. “Real American Bikers” was getting a healthy number of hits on YouTube, where Bobby was hosting a channel for it—whatever the hell that meant. Billy hadn’t actually watched more than about two minutes of the show. It was too painful. Too much of a reminder that he could never really leave his Wild Bill reputation behind him.

“Oh, here comes Don Two Eagles,” Josey was saying as she waved an older guy over. “Don, this is—”

“Billy Bolton. You look like your old man,” Don said. Didn’t sound like a compliment, and Billy sure as hell didn’t take it as one.

Ben had told Billy all about Don. “You’re the guy who broke Dad’s jaw back at Sturgis in the eighties, right?”

“Damn straight,” Don said.

“Language!” Josey snipped as she checked to see if any kids had been listening.

“I put your old man down, and I ain’t afraid to do the same to you, so you best behave, hear?”

“Don,” Josey said under her breath. Billy got the feeling that this was a conversation they’d had before. Then she turned on the charm. “Now, the kids are going to come out and line up. Bobby thinks it’ll be a nice shot if we introduce some of the older students to you personally and you shake their hands, so we’ll start filing them past you. Can you handle that?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be watching you,” Don said before being called away by the production crew.

“Heavens, can you believe Bobby actually wants to bring your father out here and let him and Don go at it?” Josey’s voice dropped down to a whisper. “Sometimes I don’t know about that brother of yours.”

“Makes two of us.”

This was why he liked Josey. She understood how the Bolton family worked and was committed to keeping it from imploding. Ben had picked well.

Then he heard himself ask, “Will Jenny be bringing her class out?”

Josey gave him an odd look. “No, the first and second graders aren’t allowed in the shop.”

“I wasn’t trying to break her car,” he added.

“I know. Just solving a problem. That’s what you do best, Billy.” She patted him on the arm again—she had that whole mothering thing down.

Billy was about to rub the dust off his tires when Vicky, the production assistant, came up to him. “We need to get you miked, Billy.”

Vicky definitely fell into the category of women who were afraid of him. Her production company, Villainy Productions, sounded far tougher than she was. Miking Billy usually involved taping a mike to Billy’s chest, and she didn’t seem to think his tattoos were impressive.

“Well,” she said, surveying the fitted T-shirt Billy wore. “I guess...you’re going to have to take the shirt off?”

Billy grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, but before he could peel it off, the doors to the school burst open and about fifty kids came pouring out. Almost immediately, Josey was next to him, a hand on his arm. “Can we do this somewhere else?”

Vicky swallowed. She worked real hard on not being alone with him. Which was funny—Bobby was the much bigger threat to the female race. Billy hadn’t even been with a woman in...

Damn. That turned into a depressing train of thought. The fact was, it’d been a long time since he’d gotten tired of going home with the kind of woman who looked like she was auditioning for a heavy-metal music video and waking up alone. Years.

Since then, he’d thrown himself into building bikes. Which wasn’t such a bad thing—it kept him out of trouble. He was good at it, which had made him a boatload of money—also not a bad thing. However, with the money had come a different kind of woman—older, richer, more mercenary, if that were possible. Billy had no interest in those women. None. The one time he’d dated a woman out of his league, he’d gotten his heart run over like roadkill. It was easier just to build more bikes.

But now building bikes was making him famous. Hell, half the time he was afraid to leave his house in the morning. A few groupies had showed up at the Crazy Horse shop and tried to treat him like a rock star, screaming and even throwing a pair of panties. Which Bobby had filmed—if he hadn’t set the whole thing up in the first place. No way, no how was Billy falling into that trap. He’d rather be alone than be with a woman who was only interested in using him.

Which meant he was alone.

“Go around the side of the school. We can’t have him stripping out here in front of the students,” Josey said before hurrying over to help explain the rules to the kids.

Not that it was stripping, but yeah, even he saw the wrong in taking off his shirt in front of kids. He had tattoos—lots of them. The kind that scared small children and little old ladies.

So he trudged around to the side of the building with Vicky following at a safe distance and whipped off his shirt. Vicky clipped the battery pack to his jeans, ducked under his upraised arm, and handed him the mike while she ripped off a piece of medical tape. They’d learned after the first show that clipping the mike to the collar of Billy’s shirt didn’t work—too much static from the machines ruined the audio feed. Now they taped the mike to his chest and let the shirt filter out the extra noise.

Vicky handed him the tape, and he put the mike on above the rose and thorns—above where Jenny had touched him.

As the thought of the sassy little teacher crossed his mind again, his ears developed a weird burning sensation, as if someone were talking about him. He glanced around and saw that—much to his chagrin—an entire class of undersized tykes was crowded around the windows, staring at him.

And behind them stood a shocked Jenny Wawasuck.

Her eyes were as wide as hubcaps and her mouth had dropped open as she looked at his exposed torso. Billy froze—he was pretty sure this violated someone’s rule.

If he were Ben, he would probably figure out some calm, cool way to exit the situation and mitigate the damage. If he were Bobby, he would flex and pose for the pretty little teacher. He wasn’t either of them. And as such, he had no idea what to do besides brazen it out. So he stood there and stared back at her, almost daring her to come out and turn him into coyote food.

She said something sharply to the kids, who all scrambled back from the windows as if she’d poked them with a cattle prod. Then she shot him the meanest look he’d ever seen a woman give him—which was saying something—then pulled the blinds.

The whole thing took less than a minute.

Damn. He was screwed. The only question was, how badly? Would she kick him off this rez? Would Don Two Eagles do the kicking?

He sighed. This was how things went. He wasn’t trying to stir up trouble, but it always found him anyway. All he could do now—since he’d promised to watch his language and not throw things—was wait for Jenny to storm out of the building and tear him a new one.

It’d be easier if it were Don. Billy knew men like Don, knew how they thought, knew what to expect. But a woman like Jenny was something else, someone he didn’t know and couldn’t anticipate. A sweet little first-grade teacher—with one hell of an edge to her.

Given the way his thoughts kept turning back to when she’d touched him this morning, he was going to be spending a lot more time trying to anticipate her.

Resigned to his fate, Billy slid his shirt back on and went out to his assigned position. He’d never understood why he had to be the one on camera—other than the fact that he was the one who built the bikes. Ben didn’t have to be on camera at all. Bobby was the one who had the Hollywood thing going on, from the way he wore a tie every day to the way he talked circles around everyone. Times like this, Billy wished he could be as smooth as Bobby. The man was good with people—well, people who weren’t Jenny Wawasuck.

Billy stood there, keeping an eye on the door as the smaller kids were introduced to him in a group. Where was Jenny? Surely she wouldn’t let such an offensive act as taking off his shirt in front of a bunch of first and second graders pass. Flashing a lifetime of ink at a bunch of little kids didn’t seem like something Jenny Wawasuck would let stand.

As he started shaking the hands of the bigger kids, the ones who’d be “helping” him build the bike for charity, Billy realized two things. One, Jenny wasn’t going to come out and pick another fight with him, and two—he was disappointed.

One of the kids shook his hand and said, “Hi again, Mr. Bolton.” Billy’s attention snapped back to the present.

The kid looked familiar. Billy didn’t have a head for names and faces, but he knew he’d met him before. “I know you, right?”

“We met at Josey’s wedding,” the boy said with a stammer. “I was an usher.”

“Yeah.” Billy shook his hand again. Probably some sort of nephew or cousin or something. “See you in the shop.”

The kid’s face brightened up. He couldn’t be much more than thirteen. Billy remembered being that age once—although he tried not to think about it too much.

He got to the end of the line and mercifully, Bobby didn’t make them do the whole meet-and-greet thing all over again. Don and Josey began herding the kids into the shop to set up the next shot—Billy explaining how the kids were going to help him—when it happened.

The back door of the school swung open and out stepped Jenny. Billy’s temperature spiked, which didn’t make a damn bit of sense. Now that he could see her in the full light of the morning, he noticed she had her long hair pulled back into a boring bun-thing at the base of her neck. She wore a white-collared shirt under a pale blue cardigan, all of which was over an exceptionally plain khaki skirt. The whole effect was of someone trying not to be noticed.

Billy noticed her anyway, his heart rate picking up an extra few RPMs. She shouldn’t look sexy to him—but she did. Underneath that schoolmarm appearance was a hot-blooded woman with a smart mouth who wasn’t afraid of him. The combination was heady.

She stood on the steps, hands on hips that couldn’t be hidden by her boring skirt, and glared at him. Normally, Billy would either stare her down—he did that all the time—or turn away and pretend he hadn’t seen the disapproval in her eyes.

Instead—and this was insane—he gave her a mock salute, just to make her mad all over again. He couldn’t help himself. What had she thought of all the tattoos? Did they scare her, or had she liked them for the art they were?

“We need you inside,” Bobby said, once again stepping between Billy and Jenny. Over Bobby’s shoulder, Billy saw Jenny make a motion with her hands that perfectly conveyed both her disgust and also her fury before she turned and went back inside.

No, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

Three

Billy needed a drink.

Not that he drank much anymore, but still. A day of having to watch his temper around kids who kept picking up his tools and putting them down in the wrong places. A whole day of Bobby making him say the same thing over and over in different positions. A long day of not building a bike.

Better be a stiff drink.

It was almost over. The kids had, by and large, gone home. Only that one kid, the one he’d met at Josey’s wedding, was still in the shop. Billy had been allowed to take his mike off, and while Bobby and his production crew were still doing things, none of them required Billy to smile for a camera.

What was that kid’s name? Billy thought hard, but he drew a blank. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah, my mom stays late to talk with the pregnant girls.”

Suddenly, the feeling that Billy should remember this kid’s name got a lot stronger. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” The boy looked at his feet and scuffed his toe on the floor. “I’m sorry about the way she blew up at you this morning. She gets like that sometimes.”

Wait—wait a damn minute. Was this kid saying that Jenny was his mom?

No way—not possible. This kid was a teenager. Jenny couldn’t be that old.

Unless...unless she’d been young. The familiar guilt tried to kick open the heavy steel door Billy kept it trapped behind. This kid could only be Jenny’s son if she’d been a teenager. And she’d kept him.

Damn. Fate had a freakin’ funny sense of humor sometimes.

The next question had to be whether or not she was married, because there was no way in hell that Billy was going to keep entertaining thoughts of a married woman. Bolton men were loyal for life. Whatever problems they might have as a family—and Lord knew there were a lot of them—they respected the family, which meant they respected other families, too.

“So where’s your dad?” That probably wasn’t the best way to ask the question, but Billy had never been known for his tact.

The kid shrugged. “Dunno. Gone before I was born, I guess. Mom says we’re better off without him, anyway.”

Two thoughts crossed his mind quick. First, Jenny was available, so he could keep right on thinking about how she looked at him with that passion—okay, passionate fury—in her eyes. Second, though, was that a boy needed a man in his life. Especially a boy on the verge of becoming a man.

“You kids aren’t really going to help me build the bike, you know.”

As if to illustrate this point, Vicky called over, “Okay, wave at the camera, Billy.”

Feeling stupid, Billy waved to the camera that had been installed overhead. He was going to work nights and weekends to build the bike himself, hours of which would be compressed into two-to four-minute segments on the show. The rest would be staged shots with kids.

The rest of the crew went out to the truck, probably to review the footage. Bobby liked to check the tapes. Although Billy would never admit this to the little twit, he thought Bobby was impressively focused on making the show as good as it could be.

“Yeah, I know.” The boy sounded positively depressed. Then he perked up. “I can still help. Mom always stays late for her after-school program, so I’m here a lot.”

Billy worked alone. Even in his shop, he did his own thing while his guys did the assembly stuff. But something about this boy—and his mother—kept his mouth shut.

Billy wasn’t looking to be a father. That ship had sailed seventeen years ago, and it wasn’t going to make a return voyage. But a shop teacher could still make a big difference. Billy’s shop teacher in high school, Cal Horton, had saved Billy’s life on at least three occasions and kept him out of prison twice, which was more than his own father, Bruce Bolton, had ever done.

Yeah, he didn’t have to be this kid’s father. But Cal would expect him to pay it forward.

“You want to help?” The kid nodded eagerly, his eyes bright. “I could use an assistant. Find 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 skin and reading the story he’d written there.

Those vicious goose bumps ran rough all over her body, but this time, heat flashed behind them, leaving her skin quivering. Heck, her whole body quivered. Including parts of her that hadn’t quivered in years.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, and was mortified to hear her voice come out somewhat lower and huskier than normal.

His eyes—a silky brown—darkened, and for a flash of a second, his gaze darted down to her lips. Her body, acting of its own volition, responded by darting her tongue out and licking her lips.

It was like they were doing a dance, one with tiny, complex steps. The air sharpened between them, and she felt her head tip back. He responded by sucking in air, and she felt her body do the same thing. Two bodies moving in time together, creating a rhythm all their own.

It had been a long time since she’d danced. A long time since she’d wanted to dance.

And she wanted to dance with Billy Bolton, of all the wildly inappropriate people.

She had to get control of this situation before something terrible happened, like Billy pinning her to the wall, pressing all those muscles against her and kissing the heck out of her.

Yes. That would be terrible, indeed. Awful. Possibly the worst thing that could ever happen to her.

So why did she want so badly for him to do exactly that?

“Nothing you don’t want me to.”

And he stopped. No more steps toward her, no more hungry looks. No more dancing.

Jenny forced away all thoughts of her body moving in time with Billy’s. They didn’t go very far, just to the back of her mind, but far enough that she could think. “I will not have you threaten my son with such language.” Her voice was still sultry. “Nor will I have you putting on such an indecent display in front of the children.”

“Josey told me to go around the side of the school to get miked up so I wasn’t in front of the other kids. I didn’t know your classroom was there.” Almost imperceptibly, he leaned in. The distance between them felt so sharp she thought it might cut her.

She could see Josey doing that. She’d assumed he’d been acting like his brother Bobby—showing off, making a scene—but she could see him trying to do the right thing. Maybe. “You were threatening Seth.”

“With kicking him out of the shop if he doesn’t pull his weight. Are you going to feed me to the coyotes for that?”

He tilted his head and looked her over again. Anytime she wanted to stop quivering would be great.

“You moved my car.”

“You want me to move it back?” Then he flexed. It wasn’t an exaggerated thing, but his chest and arms tightened under the shirt, then released.

Jenny’s breath caught. Apparently, she’d lost her mind at some point in the past few minutes, because she wanted to tell him to do just that—but only if he took his shirt off.

“No.”

“How old are you?”

Heat flooded her cheeks. “You can’t ask me that.”

Billy jerked his chin over his shoulder. “How old is he?”

Much more heat and she was going to start sweating. “That is none of your business!” And before she could stop herself, she asked, “How old are you?”

He didn’t even hesitate. Men. “Thirty-four.”

Five years older than she was.

“Mr. Bolton? I swept the floor.”

The sound of Seth’s voice snapped Jenny out of her man-induced insanity. “You what?”

“He swept up.” Billy swung around and surveyed the shop. “Not bad, kid.”

“He what?” Jenny looked at the now-clean shop floor. “Seth cleaned something? Because you threatened him?”

Billy looked back over his shoulder at her—only a quick glance, but Jenny felt the disapproval of his gaze. Then he walked around the shop, studying the floor. “Not bad at all,” he said to Seth, and Jenny couldn’t miss the way Seth’s face lit up at the compliment.

What the heck? She and Seth fought over chores all the time, but Billy Bolton had him looking happy to clean?

When had she lost all control over the situation?

Oh, yeah—the moment she’d gotten out of her car this morning.

“So, did I do a good enough job? Can I help you in the morning?”

Jenny shook her head, trying to remember the last time she’d seen Seth look this excited about something.

“Depends on what your mother says.”

That was the last thing she expected to come out of Billy’s mouth.

“What?” That was how many whats in the past five minutes? She was starting to sound clueless—a feeling she hated.

Billy motioned toward the far corner of the shop. “You signed a release for him to appear on the show, but if he’s going to be helping me out in the shop, he’ll be filmed the whole time.”

Jenny stepped forward and looked. She hadn’t noticed the small camera with the red light before, but she saw it now. “What’s that for?”

“They’ll film me the whole time I’m building, then speed up the footage. If the kid helps, he’ll be on film a lot more.” He leaned to the side, and Jenny realized that they were less than two feet apart. “It’s your call.” Then Billy turned to Seth, “You’ve got to pull your weight. I hear that you’re not helping your mom at home or your grades drop, you’re out of here. I don’t tolerate slackers.”

Seth’s gaze darted between her and Billy. Clearly, he was waiting for her to blow up like she had that morning. And she was still mad about the language Billy had used around her son.

The only thing was, she liked everything Billy had said.

She couldn’t believe that she was on the verge of agreeing to let Seth spend more time with Billy Bolton, but what could she do? Seth wasn’t a little boy anymore, and something told her that he’d be safer with Billy than he would be if he were running around with Tige or any of his thuggish friends.

Billy turned and looked at her, one eyebrow raised in silent challenge.

“Can I, Mom? Please?”

This was a rock, and Billy Bolton was a hard place. The way his chest had not moved when she pushed it? A very hard place.

“We’ll see how tomorrow goes.”

“Was that a yes?” Seth hopped from foot to foot, a ball of nervous energy. “That was a yes, right? Yes!”

“Hey,” Billy thundered. “Settle. Your mom told you to go get your things, so get moving.”

Seth was gone before the broom hit the ground. She turned to Billy to lay down the law on the probationary day, but he beat her to the punch. “I won’t make any promises about cussing—too set in my ways. I’d bet you dimes to dollars that he’s heard it all, anyway. He’s safer with me than he is with any of those hotshot troublemakers he calls friends.”

Had Seth told him about Tige? Or was he that good at guessing?

He leaned in closer—less than a foot separated them now, and she thought he was going to kiss her. Different parts of her brain screamed out “No!” and “Yes!” at the same time, paralyzing her. She couldn’t lean in, and she couldn’t pull away.

But he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he took another one of those savoring breaths. “Yeah, tea,” he said in a low voice that set off another round of quivering she could only pray he didn’t notice. “You should know something about me, Jenny. I keep my promises, or I don’t make them.”

The air stopped moving into or out of her lungs. Heck, everything stopped as he looked down into her eyes, so focused that she wasn’t sure she’d ever move again.

“Mom? I got my stuff.” Seth’s head popped back into the room as Billy straightened up and put a respectable distance between the two of them. “I’ll do my homework when I get home, okay? And you’ll be here in the morning, right, Mr. Bolton? And I can help?” He sounded so excited that she wouldn’t have been surprised to see him start spinning in circles like he used to do when he was four.

Seth eager to do his homework? A man flirting with her? Jenny looked around the shop, wondering if she’d woken up in an alternate dimension that morning.

Billy huffed as if he were insulted. “Mr. Bolton is my grandpa. My name is Billy.”

“Yes, sir, Billy!” Then Seth spun and all-out ran for the car.

Billy turned back to her. She needed to say something fast—she couldn’t let him dominate this interaction—or whatever it was. She was still in control of things, by God. But her brain was still muddled up, so the best thing she came up with was, “Are we done here?”

He smiled—a full-on, melt-in-her-mouth smile, the likes of which she had never seen before. “No,” he said, moving toward his workbench. “We’re not.”

Four

Seth was up and dressed before Jenny’s alarm clock went off. He rushed her through her oatmeal. They arrived at the school a good twenty minutes earlier than normal.

Billy was already there. Light shined through the shop’s open door, despite the chill of the October morning. “Bye” was all she heard as Seth threw the door open. Then he was gone.

Jenny fought the urge to follow him. He wasn’t a baby anymore, she kept reminding herself. And she had no desire to see Billy Bolton first thing in the morning.

Unfortunately, her mind took that image and threw some sheets and pillows into the mix, and suddenly, she had a great desire to see Billy first thing in the morning.

Just because Billy was treating her son well and paying attention to her didn’t mean she should develop a crush on him. It didn’t matter if he had a melt-in-her-mouth smile, more muscles than God and money to burn. He was still a hard-core biker with a foul mouth. Heaven only knew what he did for a good time, but Jenny was willing to bet that it was something she would not approve of.

So she went inside and reviewed her lesson plans. When she was done, she still had half an hour before the students showed up.

She stood in front of her electric teakettle, at war with herself. Should she go out there and check on the shop? Or was that being too overbearing?

Oh, to heck with it. Just because Billy had said all those things about promises in that serious manner didn’t mean he was honorable. Wanting to visit the shop had nothing to do with how he looked with or without his shirt on. Nothing at all.

She made two cups of tea and walked out to the shop. For some reason, her stomach was turning. What the heck did she have to be nervous about?

That question was answered the moment she set foot inside. Blinking through the bright lights, she saw that devastating smile on Billy’s face.

Maybe she was dreaming, but if she didn’t know any better, she’d say that smile was for her.

It wasn’t possible. Men didn’t look at her with interest—with need. Men looked at her shabby clothes and her rusty car and her smart-mouthed teenager and kept right on walking. If they looked at her at all.

Except for yesterday. And, as Billy rose from his stool and made his way over to her, possibly also today. Seth hadn’t given her a lot of time to apply makeup this morning, which she barely wore anyway, but she was suddenly quite glad she’d managed to brush on a little blush and hit her lids with some eyeliner.

“That for me?” Billy asked, looking down at the mugs in her hands.

“Yes.”

She offered a mug up to him. His hand was so large that there was no way to avoid touching him unless she threw the tea at him.

So she had to stand there and not react as his fingertips skimmed over the backs of hers so lightly that she found herself shivering. The touch was much gentler than she would have given a man of his size credit for. Immediately, her mind took off in crazy directions, although she tried to slam the door on those thoughts. She was not lusting after, crushing on or, God forbid, even liking Billy Bolton.

Then the mug was in his hand and the contact was over. They stood there for a second, looking at each other. Had he felt the same shock she had? Of course not, she tried to tell herself. She was being as silly as the girls in her TAPS meetings, falling head over heels because of a grin and a touch. She had one job here, and that was to make sure Seth was doing okay. No attraction, no flirting. Just mothering.

“How’s it going?”

Billy held her gaze for a beat longer. She could almost hear him reminding her they weren’t done here, but instead he said, “Got him sorting out fasteners. They got all mixed up when we unloaded.” He pointed with his chin to where Seth was sitting at a table, staring at a pile of nuts and bolts with a look of intense concentration on his face.

“I can’t tell if this is a one-half or a nine-sixteenths.” Jenny could hear the frustration in Seth’s voice.

“Here, let me see—”

She had taken two steps when Billy grabbed her shoulder, holding her in place. He boomed, “Figure it out, kid. It ain’t rocket science. You can’t size a bolt, you can’t build a bike.”

She froze, waiting for the fit Seth would pitch. It didn’t happen. Seth screwed up his face, scratched his head and then Jenny almost saw the lightbulb go on. He looked around, grabbed a wrench and started measuring.

“Good job,” Billy said, and his hand squeezed Jenny’s shoulder. Not tight, just a gentle pressure. It sent shock waves down her back that almost buckled her knees. He was so strong, but the sensation straddled the line between tender and erotic.

Then he let go, trailing his fingers down her arm. That—that was purely erotic. If she weren’t so determined not to let this man have an impact on her, her knees would have given way.

“Thanks for the tea,” he said, low and quiet as he walked past her.

She stood there, wondering what the heck she was supposed to do with that. Billy was flirting with her, she was sure of it. Pretty sure, anyway. She was so out of practice that even if she wanted to flirt back, she wouldn’t know how. Maybe that was the problem.

Billy settled back onto his stool, his gaze on her. “See you later?”

Was she being dismissed? That didn’t match with everything he’d just made her feel. Maybe she’d read him wrong.

“What?”

He shot her one of those intimidating glares, and for a second she knew she was being dismissed. But then he turned, pointedly looking over his shoulder—right at the small camera with the steady red light. Then he stared at her again, and she realized he’d asked her a question, not given her an order.

“I’ll, uh, stop by after my meeting?”

“Yeah, okay, Mom,” Seth said, clearly preoccupied. “Bye.”

But Billy? He favored her with one of those half-hidden smiles that told her loud and clear that was the answer he was looking for.

He wanted to see her later.

Jenny all but floated back to her classroom.

* * *

Billy couldn’t say how he knew that Jenny had walked into the shop. He sure as hell didn’t see or hear her. He had his welding mask on and was holding down one end of a pipe as Seth tried his hand at cutting it with a miter saw. Don Two Eagles stood on the other side. Billy was watching Seth’s hands; Don was watching Billy. He couldn’t hear anything over the whine of metal against metal.

He knew Jenny had come in, all the same. And he didn’t like it.

The shop—any shop—had always been a place apart from femininity. Josey didn’t come to the shop very often, and when she did, she wasn’t there very long. Even Cass, the receptionist at the Crazy Horse Choppers headquarters—who was as tough as a woman could be—stayed off the shop floor. Billy liked it that way. Nothing and no one to distract him from the choppers.

Except it didn’t work like that here.

Seth finished cutting the pipe without also cutting off a finger or thumb. He even remembered to turn the blade off before doing anything else. Then he peeled off the welder’s mask Billy had made him wear. “That was so awesome!”

Billy took his mask off, too. Damned if that woman wasn’t sitting on his stool at his table, two cups of tea in front of her and a small smile on her face.

Double damned if he wasn’t thrilled to see her there.

“How’s it going?” Her gaze danced between the three men and their protective gear.

“Billy’s letting me cut a pipe!” Seth grabbed the pipe and took it over to Jenny.

She regarded the rough, angular cut with suspicion. “How...nice, sweetie.”

“Mom,” Seth whined as Billy choked back a laugh.

“It’s part of the frame,” he explained, wondering if the tea was for him, the kid or Don.

Jenny’s eyes got a little wide.

“What?” Billy asked, mentally slapping himself when it came out as defensive.

“You really are building this from scratch?”

“Women,” Don muttered under his breath as he stripped off his shop apron and checked his watch. “Gotta get home. You guys going to be okay here?” He directed the question to Jenny, but he kept a wary eye on Billy.

For some reason, Billy thought about decking the old man. Who was he to suggest that Jenny and her kid weren’t safe with Billy? He had been nothing but a gentleman so far. Except for the part where he’d moved her car. Oh, yeah, and stripped off his shirt. But other than that, he’d been a paragon of virtue.

“I’m not my old man,” he muttered.

Don didn’t back down. “It ain’t a matter of if the apple falls from the tree. It’s a matter of how far it fell.”

The two men stared at each other.

“Don, we’ll be fine.” Jenny’s voice was calm and surprisingly unconcerned with the standoff going on in front of her.

Don shot Billy a hell of a mean look, but said, “See you all tomorrow,” and left.

Billy turned back to Jenny and Seth. The kid was holding his length of pipe against the plans, trying to figure out how to put a puzzle together with only one piece. Jenny, however, was still sitting on his stool, her lips hidden behind her cup of tea. She looked as if she were waiting for something. What, he didn’t know.

This was why he didn’t like women in the shop. The only expectations he was comfortable with were design specs and delivery dates, not rules of civility.

“He doesn’t like you.”

Seth snorted in amusement as he studied the design. “Yeah, but Don doesn’t like any wasicu.”

Jenny’s eyes flew open as she slammed her cup back on the table. Tea sloshed everywhere. “Seth!”

“A what?”

The kid went red. “White...man,” Jenny replied without meeting his gaze.

Yeah, right. Billy had been called enough names in his lifetime to know an insult when he heard one. He leveled one of his meaner looks at the kid, who physically shrank right before him. “Yeah, well, I’m not like any whatever he’s ever met. Now suit up. We’ve got more pipe to cut.”

Billy had never seen a kid move as fast as Seth did. Billy walked over to Jenny and held out a pair of earplugs. “Don’t look at the saw without goggles,” he told her as she stared at the plugs.

“It wasn’t that loud when I came in. Do I really need these?”

If Billy had let her son get anywhere near a power tool without all the proper precautions, she’d probably have thrown a fit. But when it came to her own well-being?

She was the kind of woman who put herself last, he realized. Even when she didn’t have to.

So he didn’t bother telling her that the saw was always loudest at the beginning of the cut. Instead, he leaned forward, smoothed the few strands of hair that had come loose from her schoolmarm bun and tucked the plugs into her ears for her.

Her skin, from her cheeks to the back of her neck, flushed a beautiful pink as he pressed the plugs into place. Then, because he doubted that she wouldn’t watch him and the kid work the saw, he snagged a pair of goggles from the table. He stretched the elastic back so that it wouldn’t tangle on her hair and settled the plastic on the bridge of her nose. It wasn’t his fault that this required him to lean over her so that he could smell the scent of her—baby powder and tea and chalk.

He inhaled, his nose coming within inches of her forehead. This was the reason why he didn’t want women in the shop. Too distracting, and being distracted led to injuries.

When he managed to step away from her, he saw that she’d tucked her lower lip under her teeth with enough pressure that the flesh was bleaching white. What had been, up to that moment, a mere irritating attraction shifted right over to desire. He wanted the pretty little schoolteacher in a way that had nothing to do with civility. He wanted to kiss the color back into her lip, to find out how hard she was capable of biting.

Then she looked up at him through thick lashes, and he saw his own desire mirrored in her eyes. She wasn’t scared of him, nor was she mad at him. As difficult as it was to believe, she wanted him, too.

Either that, or the goggles were distorting her eyes. Just like that, Billy felt the way he had when he’d been introduced to her at Ben and Josey’s wedding—tongue-tied, unsure of what to do next.

Uncertainty was not a feeling he was comfortable with, especially not when it was stomping on some good old-fashioned temptation. So he forced himself to turn away from her and do the one thing he was always comfortable doing.

He got back to work.

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