Last of the Red-Hot Riders (16 page)

But in truth, she'd made a big error, and that was Saint. She knew as well as he did that you couldn't build a relationship solely on sex. There were a lot of ways to lose your way in the world, and sometimes it was out of your control.

But she'd had control, and she'd known better than to fall for a man who was just this side of bad-boy. Dix women weren't known for making wise choices in mates—look at her mother. As much as Cameron loved her father, Howard Arthur Dix was a rascal. He was the main reason the family was disorganized and rampant with crisis. You never knew whether he'd be home or off looking for the next big thing that was going to make him a million dollars.

All he'd done over the years was drive them further into debt, with his drinking, gambling, whoring. Cameron had been determined not to be like her father; she'd be steady, reliable, a planner.

She hadn't planned on falling for Saint.

She'd
seduced
him.
Thrown herself into his arms. Showed up at his door every night, and loved every hot, sexy minute of it.

He was the complete opposite of what she'd known in her life: He didn't gamble, whore, or drink often to excess. He had a stable job, friends, and his feet were firmly on the ground. Except for the occasional dust-up with the Horsemen, Saint was everything she dreamed of. And she was in love with him, head over heels in love with him.

If he knew that the Dix family crazy train had rolled into town, he'd want to help her. That was the way Saint was.

She didn't want that. She couldn't know so much magic, and romance, and then expose the worst parts of herself to him. The painful realization came to her that she'd never opened up to Saint, never told him anything about herself, or her life before Hell. Never shared her emotions—not trusting him to want her, to stick around if he knew more about her than what they shared in bed.

And the problem was, she wasn't sure how to fix what she'd done. Saint deserved honesty, and she hadn't been honest. Just like her father.

But emotionally distant wasn't going to cut it anymore—not if she wanted what she and Saint had to grow. And she did, more than anything.

It was scary—but it was also time.

Anna moved into the Honeysuckle Bungalow with Cameron and Harper, since Judy wasn't there to veto it. Michael slept on a cot in his mother's room for now, while he made the adjustment to his new way of life. That left Ava's old room, which was ideal for Anna.

She'd worry about Judy's permission when Judy returned. In the meantime, she had a precocious teen on her hands. Anna bounced on the bed, her shiny red curls flailing at her shoulders.

“Mom says you're supposed to talk some sense into me.” Her rosy cheeks plumped up with her smile. “She says you're the only person in the family with any sense.”

“I can't talk sense into you. You're going to have to figure life out on your own.” Cameron made sure the drawers were cleaned out, checked the bathroom for towels and toilet paper. “And you're going to have to get a job. You can't just sit around all day. You can work until you have the baby.”

“Oh, I'm not pregnant.” Anna blew a huge pink bubble, popped it. “And I'm not staying here, either.”

“What do you mean, you're not pregnant?” Cameron demanded, astonished.

“I thought I was, but I'm not. I got my period yesterday.”

“Did you tell Mom?”

Anna shook her head. “No way. She wouldn't have let me come here if she knew.”

Cameron frowned. “Mom's frantic!”

“Mom's a child herself. You know that. She gave up being able to handle being a mother a long time ago.” Anna shrugged, blew another bubble. “You got out. I'm getting out too.”

Cameron silently berated her mother for jumping ship on this one and dumping it in her lap. On the other hand, Anna was a handful, and Edith had few emotional resources left after having raised seven kids. Cameron had long been the family rock whom everyone relied on.

It was the main reason she'd been so determined to get away. It was also the reason she was determined to make a go of Judy's team.

There was a tiny problem with that, though—Judy hadn't paid her team in the last month. No doubt paying her team was the last thing on Judy's mind right now, but Cameron was already driving a borrowed truck. She wasn't certain how long Steel could continue loaning it out to her.

And she had little money to deal with this new problem. She narrowed her gaze on her baby sister, who seemed to have grown a fiercely and unattractively manipulative side while Cameron was away.

“I'm a lot older than you, Anna. I didn't ‘get out.' It was time for me to leave the nest, so to speak. Stand on my own two feet.”

Anna shrugged. “When you left, things pretty much cratered around the house.”

Cameron winced. Her rational side told her that everybody had to make their own way in life; that she couldn't be expected to give up her dreams just to keep the ship from going down in Houston. But her sentimental side recognized that this was family, and family was the dream she held fast in her heart: that they were a normal, functioning, happy family. You had to believe that about your family, didn't you? What was the alternative? Sinking into an abyss of dysfunction?

No. You fought that every step of the way, reaching for normalcy and believing that one day, everything would work out for everyone.

Damn it. It hadn't.

She shook her head at Anna as someone knocked on her door. “You stay right there. This conversation isn't over.”

Anna followed her to the door, in direct disobedience to her wishes. Cameron's breath caught at the sight of Saint, standing big-shouldered and sexy, on her porch.

Well, this was a first.

“Hello, Saint.”

He nodded. Waited for an invitation to come in.

She didn't want him to. Didn't want to reveal to him the depths of dysfunction from which she hailed.

“You should invite your friend in, Cameron,” Anna said.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked Saint, telling herself that she was setting ground rules immediately for Anna once Saint left.

“No, thanks.” He was clearly waiting for an introduction to Anna. Cameron sighed.

“Saint, this is my baby sister, Anna. Anna, this is Saint Markham, my bullfighting instructor.”

Anna's eyes were huge in her face. “Wow. I thought you'd be some old gray-haired dude with bowlegs or something.”

Saint grinned. “Thanks.”

“Why are you here?” Cameron asked, not wanting Anna to glimpse deeper than she should into the relationship between her and her instructor. Anna was quicker than Cameron thought she should be, given her age.

“To let you know that the parade was a huge success. The receipts have been counted, and Hattie wanted me to tell you that we doubled last year.” He smiled, and her heart sort of sank in on itself, guarding itself from all the sexy firepower she couldn't have in her life right now.

“That's great news. Everybody in Hell did a wonderful job.”

The goal had been to raise as much money as possible toward a new elementary school. Beating the Horsemen and Ivy's team would have been icing on the cake. But since Ivy and her team of bad girls and boys hadn't shown up—a bone of contention Cameron intended to pick with the beautiful Honky-tonk owner later—it hardly mattered now. “It was all in the spirit of fun.”

He laughed, the sound rich and sexy. “Everything's a competition in Hell. We live, eat, and breathe it.”

“No wonder you like it here,” Anna said. “You were always really competitive. First one into the bathroom in the morning, had to be first to the breakfast table, first to school, and we all had to make the best grades in the class or Cameron barked at us,” she told Saint. “She was also first to get a bra. I remember that because Mom said that she was going to have to be careful because the boys would—”

“Anna,” Cameron said, and Anna shrugged, grinning.

“Steel wanted me to bring you this as a way of saying thank you for your hard work.” Saint pulled the door open. Cameron realized her truck was outside, sporting a brand-new set of tires. Her gaze shot to Saint's.

“Tires seem like an awfully expensive gift.”

“Committee pass-the-hat.” He shrugged. “And Cotton Carmichael, who owns the garage, gave us a great deal.”

“Thank you.” She was stunned, didn't know what to say. Her old tires hadn't been that awesome to start with. “I really appreciate it.”

“Well, we needed to make sure you got your wheels back. After all, it happened in Hell. We owed it to you.”

She was incredibly touched. “Best news I've had in a while,” she said, glancing toward her sister. Anna merely blew a frosted pink bubble at her, eavesdropping without shame.

“I'll see you later.” Saint tipped his hat to Anna, handed the keys to her truck to Cameron. “I can tell attitude is something your family has in abundance.”

Cameron shook her head, closed the door.

“That cowboy likes you,” Anna announced.

“Now you're Madame Know-It-All?” She couldn't wait to drive her truck again. It had been a long few weeks without her vehicle. “Saint doesn't ‘like' anybody. He's sort of a renegade.”

“He
likes
you,” Anna insisted. “He couldn't take his eyes off you. If I hadn't been in the room chaperoning, he would have kissed you. I could tell he wanted to really badly.”

“
You
were chaperoning
me
?” Cameron thought that was quite the statement coming from a baby sister who'd been sent here to get bailed out of trouble.

“Clearly somebody's got to. Otherwise, that wolf that was just at your door is going to figure out a way to get inside. Men are sneaky that way,” she said, trying to sound wise beyond her years.

Too late.
The wolf had been inside the door—and she liked him.

Saint hadn't really expected Cameron to show up at his house last night, not with little sister in town—a little sister who was clearly a handful. He wasn't surprised, but he was disappointed.

His bed just wasn't the same. Even Lucky seemed sad. He held the dog to his chest. “I hope little sister's visit is short, or you and I are going to be in a world of hurt.”

He could gut it out a few days.

But when she sent a text thirty minutes before their morning lesson that she couldn't make it, Saint growled. Training was sacrosanct. She couldn't flake out just because baby sister was throwing dirt in her gears.

By the time he realized Cameron had shown up at the training center just long enough to check on Charlie, give him a fast ride, and put him out to pasture, Saint began to figure out that everything was changing. And not in a good way.

Still, being patient had worked so far with Cameron. Letting her come to him, define their relationship, had been a working solution. He resolved not to get antsy—though that was going to be easier said than done.

He planted himself in the booth at Redfeather's that night, feeling more forlorn than he should have. Hell, he was starting to act like Steel, all down in the mouth and depressing as hell to be around. He was depressing himself, that was for sure.

He missed Cameron's mouth. Missed kissing her, missed her springy curls exploding in his face when he rolled up against her in the night, reaching for her. Half asleep, she'd murmur something to him like
What took you so long?
when he'd just made love to her a few hours before. He'd kiss her shoulder, cupping her breasts as he lined himself up against her smooth back and glorious curves. She'd spread her legs open just enough to allow him into the tight wetness he craved, groaning as he slid inside the heat. With a gasp, she'd suddenly tighten up on him, and he'd bite her shoulder just a little harder, letting her know that he wanted her wicked bad as he pinched her nipples lightly, holding her hard against him. Just before he'd feel himself heading to the edge, he'd reach down between her legs and find that gentle V, nice and hot, her bud straining for release. He'd tease her, not stroking inside her anymore, just keeping her trapped against him as he whispered how much he needed her to come. She'd beg him to move inside her, bucking against him, trying to take him in deeper, but he wouldn't let her; he'd hold himself back just enough, teasing her, making her beg for him to go deeper. Not until she gave him what he needed most from her, a desperate, shuddering climax that made her—

“Saint. What the hell, man?”

He fell out of the hot fantasy with a sickening crash. “Jesus, Steel! You scared the shit out of me!”

“I can tell. You were a million miles away. Your eyeballs were practically rolling back in your head.”

Saint shook his head, willing his erection to die in a hurry. It was going to take a few minutes. He'd really gotten himself steamed up. God, how he missed Cameron.

Declan and Trace slid into the booth.

“Why's your face scary?” Declan demanded.

“ ‘Scary'?” Saint looked at Steel and Trace.

“Yeah. You've got a bit of that gargoyle thing going on,” Trace said. “Like your face froze. What's biting you?”

Holy Christmas, was it Razz Saint Night? He gritted his teeth, glad when Stephen finally brought over the nightly libation. He drained his glass in an instant.

“Whoa,” Declan said. “Girl problems, buddy?”

“Of course he has girl problems. No man looks like he's been turned to stone unless he has issues that are driven by a female.” Trace grinned. “Glad to see you in agony finally, brother. Join my club.”

Saint waved at Stephen for a second splash, something he never did. The booth was for socializing, not dulling one's pain.

Tonight he didn't care.

“Cameron's gone out to the Honky-tonk,” Steel said, and they all stared at him. Saint's gut shriveled a bit, never mind the hard-on he'd had just a moment ago. Nothing cleared out his good feelings faster than hearing about Cameron being at the Honky-tonk.

“Why?” he demanded. “She's supposed to be with her wound-up little sister.”

“Harper's babysitting.” Steel raised his glass.

“So Cameron went out there by herself? And you let her?” Saint couldn't believe it. “Why are you sitting here?”

“My deputies are following her,” Steel said. “Don't worry. She's well-protected, even if she doesn't know it.”

His brows shot up. “Frick and Frack aren't protection, Steel. You know that!”

“Relax,” Declan said. “Your face is all red. You must be doing crazy shit with your blood pressure. Cool down before you have an infarction.”

He couldn't cool down. Hell, no. He glared at his friends, and when Stephen set down the nightly offering, Saint forced himself to focus on the food. Reminded himself he couldn't go tearing after her. The plan was to stay loose, give her space. She'd at least told the sheriff she was going.

“Possum pie?” Declan guessed, staring at his plate.

“Hmm. Maybe.” Trace eyed his closely, forking around inside the flaky crust. “But from the texture, I'm going with hedgehog loaf.”

“I heard,” Steel said, “that Stephen came across a couple of boars on his property the other night. Could be boar cordon bleu.”

They all looked at the sheriff.

“What the hell is your deal with cordon bleu everything?” Saint demanded.

“I just like the sound of it,” Steel said. “You know, you would think that with the ‘bleu' in the title, it would be about blue cheese. But actually,” he said, waving his fork, “it's Swiss. Crazy, huh?”

Saint's mind was on Cameron. He didn't care about cheese—blue, Swiss, or otherwise. “What's the plan, Steel?”

“The plan?” Steel dug down into the mystery meal. “The plan is I'm going to eat this. And hope it tastes like chicken.”

“Never does,” Trace said.

“I wonder if Stephen has ever served us chicken, or if hope just springs eternal in our breasts,” Declan mused.