Unbeloved (Undeniable #4)(3)
“Poor kid,” Joey muttered, handing me my change. “Sick and forced to hang with Mary, Mary, quite contrary.”
“You gave me the wrong change,” I said, handing him back my receipt. “You still owe me three dollars, look—”
The shop’s doorbell jingled loudly, and I glanced over my shoulder half expecting to see Marty, the town drunk, stumble inside to beg for his morning freebies.
Instead, a young man dressed in military fatigues stepped inside the small shop. Carrying a large green duffel bag, he paused upon entering and pulled his kepi off his head as he did a visual sweep of the store. When his gaze reached me, my breath caught in my throat.
He was gorgeous. His eyes were a deep, brilliant shade of blue, his dirty-blond hair was cropped close to his head, and his features were hard and chiseled, tanned to a perfect golden hue. His figure tapered nicely from broad shoulders to trim hips. The man was absolutely gorgeous, and I was stunned.
Furthermore, I didn’t recognize him, and this was Miles City, Montana, a small town where everyone knew everyone. As far as I knew, we didn’t have any new arrivals.
“Bathroom?” He raised his eyebrows.
In answer, Joey pointed toward the back of the shop, and we both watched as he shouldered his duffel bag and started through the store.
“Stop droolin’, D.” Joey’s voice was pinched, as though he was trying not to laugh. “You’re lookin’ like a bug-eyed leprechaun. And it ain’t a good look for ya.”
My cheeks burning, I shook my head. “I was just wondering who he was, is all.”
“He’s one of Deuce’s. Transplant from the Wyoming Horsemen chapter, or so I heard. Name’s Jason Brady, and accordin’ to some of Deuce’s boys who work at the auto shop in town, he’s in the Marine reserves.”
Deuce’s boys.
Deuce, the president of our town’s local motorcycle club, was one of the most frightening yet intriguing men I’d ever met. And I used the term “met” very loosely; I’d had very little contact with the leader of the Hell’s Horsemen, only minor encounters here and there around town. Deuce was a very private person, but as far as I knew, he was a decent enough man.
Unlike his father, Reaper, the former club president, Deuce took take care of Miles City. He’d taken control of several failing businesses around town and brought them back from near bankruptcy, he constantly donated money to the public schools and library, and a few years back, when my parents’ neighbor had lost his wife to cancer and was about to lose his farm due to her exorbitant medical bills, it was Deuce who had picked up the tab.
Even so, there were rumors that Deuce was involved with business that danced around the law, but Deuce and his boys were good to us, so other than the rumors and the idle chitchat between the gossipmongers, usually no one gave it a second thought.
“Sell smokes here?”
Jason Brady emerged from the bathroom no longer looking like an American hero. Dressed in leather boots, leather pants, a tight black T-shirt, and his leather Hell’s Horsemen cut, he now looked like one of Deuce’s boys. Except he was hands down the most clean-cut biker I’d ever seen. And he appeared to smell good too.
But that was pure assumption on my part. Or maybe wishful thinking. Because for some reason, I really wanted to get close enough to give him a sniff.
“Name’s Brady,” he said, smiling over my head in Joey’s direction. “Jase Brady.”
“Joe Weaver.” Pointing at me, Joey said, “And this here’s little Dorothy Kelley Matthews, resident ginger midget.”
Jase’s friendly gaze dropped down to where I stood and he looked me over, an embarrassingly slow and thorough perusal of all five foot nothing of me, from my head to my toes and back up again.
I felt my face heat. Not only were my holey jeans and plain tee covered in the remnants from a full morning of cleaning, but my hair was piled on top of my head in a messy bun, and I was sweating from the midday heat.
“Nice meetin’ you, baby,” he said, his lips curving. The tip of his tongue appeared and he very deliberately ran it across his full bottom lip.
Then it wasn’t just my face overheating but my entire body. Feeling suddenly drugged and my thoughts muddled, I pressed my hand over my stomach and swallowed hard.
“You . . . too,” I whispered.
“You got a nickname, little Dorothy Kelley Matthews?” he asked. “’Cause that’s a f*ckin’ mouthful right there.”
My breath shuddered from my lungs in small spurts of air. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I speak? Or move?
Jase’s lips split into a grin. “Not that I mind a mouthful of pretty girl . . .”
Oh dear God. How did one respond to that?
From behind me, Joey let out a loud and amused-sounding cough, startling me back to reality. Back to Jase and his knowing grin, fully aware of the effect he had on me.
“Excuse me,” I muttered. Snatching my purchases off the counter, I hurried quickly toward the door and pushed blindly through it.
What was wrong with me? I’d been flirting! And with a total stranger!
And worse, I was married. It might not be a love match between Pete and me, and he might be on the road more than he was home, but we had a daughter together and he took care of us financially. I should respect that, and yet here I was acting like a teenager with a crush, entertaining thoughts that I had no business thinking. I shook my head in dismay and let out a large pent-up breath that did nothing to calm my rapidly beating heart.