Something About a Bounty Hunter Page 3

  Wes had to get the DNA analyzed, but his guess was Sundance was as much his father as Donald Trump. He was no further in his search than when he’d begun.

  It shouldn’t matter so damn much, should it? He’d been raised well, as one of the Roshannons. His cousins Judd and Aiden were like his brothers. His aunt couldn’t have treated him more like a son. And Uncle Matthias… well, he was a hard rancher who didn’t show much emotion, but he was always good to Wes.

  His mind wandered back to the Bighorns and the way the gorgeous woman had flashed a look at him that in any other situation, would have had him on his feet, talking to her.

  She was probably about the same age his mother had been while here. Young, full of life and promise, and possessing a beauty that would lure in any man with a pair of eyes and a cock.

  The road stretched before him. Where it would take him now, he had no friggin’ idea.

  But there were always fugitives to hunt. For now, it had to be enough.

  * * * * *

  Stormy sat at the computer, working on the next event flyer for the club. There was always something going on, and she welcomed the work.

  The Bighorns had to look like a nonprofit, but that wasn’t too difficult. They were always holding some fundraiser. She did the bookkeeping, recording where every dime went. From buying gas cards for guys who had to travel back and forth to the VA hospital for chemo to someone who couldn’t make his mortgage payment.

  These things made Stormy proud to be part of the club. It was the other shit that went on—the stuff her father didn’t want her knowing—that had her questioning what a life away from the bikers would be like.

  She had an itchy feeling that Alexander was involved in the dirtier goings-on and that was the reason he’d been sent away.

  Dirtier.

  Dirty.

  That man had some guts coming to the club that way. She couldn’t help but admire his strength and determination to get info about his momma. Family meant a lot to Stormy, and his mission was admirable.

  Who was she kidding? She liked the way he looked.

  As big as her daddy but thickly muscled, his shoulders so huge that a woman could shelter beneath them. And those eyes. They’d been dark all right—steel gray, nearly black. And the way he’d looked at her…

  She wrapped her arms around her middle, holding in those quivery feelings she hadn’t felt in too long. With her father around and only the same old biker family to look at day in and day out, she didn’t have any romantic opportunities. She was protected from the worst of the world, which she could appreciate. But when she thought of what she wanted out of life, she couldn’t picture herself here with a Bighorn, having his babies and looking after him forever.

  She loved the club—the members were her family, but there was something else out there for her.

  She leaned back in her chair to examine the flyer she’d made. The raffle tickets would be sold for $100 each and the winner received the latest model motorcycle. Happy with her work, she sent the document to the printer.

  When the sheet flew off the printer, she plucked it up and walked out of the small room serving as her office. All events had to be approved through Sundance, and where he’d be at this time of day was anybody’s guess.

  Popping her head into the kitchen, she saw DeeDee wiping down counters. The woman was a permanent fixture here, a mother to all, the best of friends to her and so many other women who lived or passed through the club.

  DeeDee looked up from cleaning. “What’s up, pretty?”

  “You seen Sundance?”

  “Garage.”

  Stormy threw her a cross-eyed look, which had DeeDee chuckling, and breezed out, flyer in hand.

  She didn’t take two steps out the front door when she set eyes on him. Dirty.

  God, the man lived up to that name. Her mind exploded with at least twenty dirty thoughts about him and what she could do to him. That big, muscled body would be good for taking for a ride.

  She bit her lower lip, wondering if she could approach him without her father’s radar going off and him running interference. Dirty stood near his bike. It gleamed in the sun like a beacon.

  Without thought, she moved toward him.

  At her approach, he glanced her way. Then angled his body to face her. The way he hooked his thumb in his jeans pocket sent a shiver through her.

  As she closed the gap between them, her insides heated. Just seeing the man up close did things to her body she had no idea happened between a man and woman. The couples who hooked up at the club seemed to do so less out of chemistry and more out of raw need. And she was never part of that. Even if she wanted to, her daddy wouldn’t allow anyone near her.

  “Hey.” Dirty’s voice was deep, gritty and melted a woman’s ovaries. She felt them throb with the primal need to have a man like him. Strong, tough and fucking hot as hell.

  When their gazes locked, she forgot how to speak.

  “I saw you the other day. What’s your name?” A hint of a smile toyed around the corner of his lips as if he knew exactly what effect he had on her. He probably saw it all the time with women. Hell, even men.

  “Stormy.”

  He grinned. “Fits you.”

  She eyed him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You look like the kind of woman who can upset the universe.”

  She didn’t know whether to be flattered or insulted. The way Dirty was looking at her, though, had her leaning toward the compliment.

  He did that sexy chin nod thing a lot of Bighorns did. But from him, it was… so… much… hotter. “What’s that in your hand?”

  She remembered the flyer she still clutched. “Oh. It’s a new event.” She held it out for him to read and he nodded.

  “I’ll be there to support the cause. Can I get a ticket now?”

  “Oh. Not yet. I need to run this by Sundance first.” She should ask where the president of the club was, but she didn’t want to quit talking to Dirty.

  “Okay, well, I’ll find you to buy a ticket when I’m able to.”

  Hot stuff, you can find me for any reason at all.

  She let her gaze roam over his rugged features. Tanned skin and small creases around each eye from squinting into the sun as he navigated all that power between his legs.

  She squeezed her thighs together and he dipped his gaze over her body. Her stomach dropped along with it.

  “So Stormy, what do you do outside the club?”

  She blinked. “I, um, spend most of my time here.”

  His expression darkened. “Are you with one of the guys?”

  “Oh. No, Druid’s my dad.”

  Dirty swung his gaze to the garage where all the guys were most likely congregated, talking club business, which was why Dirty wasn’t allowed in. He wasn’t a member. “Druid’s your father?”

  She nodded.

  “Damn,” he said quietly.

  The sound of the curse shouldn’t make her nipples harden, but it did.

  Dirty landed his stare on her, pinning her firmly. “You wanna get out of here for a while?”

  Her jaw dropped. “Take a ride? With you?”

  He nodded. “What do you say?”

  Her father would kill her. No, he’d kill Dirty. But she could talk sense to him before he broke both of Dirty’s legs. And the opportunity was too good.

  She dropped the flyer and reached for his helmet dangling off the handlebar.

  He flashed her a grin and arched a brow as if tempting her to do more than try his helmet on for size. He slipped his leg over the bike and flipped the kickstand. She fastened the helmet and climbed on behind him, arms around his thick middle and thighs braced around his muscled hips.

  He threw her a look over his shoulder that made her ovaries finally explode. “Hold on, baby.”

  She was in deep shit, and not only because her father was going to kill Dirty and lock her in her room. But oh yeah, it was worth it.

  * * * * *

/>   Having a woman’s arms around him and her legs locked tight onto his thighs as Wes took the curves heading out of the foothills was the reason men loved bikes, he was convinced. He was far too aware he had precious cargo on board, and not only because of who Stormy’s father was to the Bighorns.

  Wes would sooner destroy a champion stallion than let any harm come to her.

  She fit against him like a piece of a puzzle. Her soft breasts plastered to his back, her parted thighs—

  He couldn’t think on it long. She already had his balls aching and bluer than the Wyoming sky.

  “Faster,” she said into his ear.

  A thrill hit his stomach that had little to do with the heat of her breath on his skin. She liked it fast, just as he did. He didn’t know much about this woman, but he was damn well going to find out more—whether her father approved or not.

  He was already on the guy’s radar for looking at Stormy. Once Druid discovered he’d taken her on the back of his bike, he’d better have his wits about him and be prepared to duck Druid’s fists.

  Right now, with the open road stretching before them and a beautiful woman with her thighs spread for him, he didn’t give a damn what he’d be facing once he returned her to the club. He couldn’t even pretend he hadn’t returned to the Bighorns to see more of her. Something about her pulled at him.

  Fresh air scented with pine and growing things was spiced with a deeper hint of woman. Sweet, delicious woman. He had no doubt that if he pulled her hair aside and buried his nose against her throat that he’d find more reasons to stick around the club.

  He planned on doing both.

  Keeping his eyes peeled for a pull-off, he noted the way she adjusted herself to his every movement. Just as she’d done with her father to hide from him, but she seemed to be trying to get closer to Wes.

  When he spied the grassy area off the road, he throttled down and eased to a stop. She leaned closer, shooting pangs of pure desire to his cock.

  “What are we doing?” she asked.

  “I thought we could talk.”

  She nodded and moved. He felt her arms stretch upward so she could remove the helmet. Then her long hair brushed his arm.

  He wanted to get off the bike and talk face to face, but it was a bad idea. He wasn’t the type of guy to hold back when he wanted something, and Stormy roused his deeper instincts.

  He twisted his neck to look at her over his shoulder. “What do you do around the club?”

  “Well, I work with the ladies, making sure everyone’s fed and comfortable. And I’m sort of a Sundance’s personal assistant.”

  Wes felt a flip of jealousy and bit back a growl. The word personal better not mean what he thought it did.

  “You’re not with anyone, right? Nobody’s going to come after me for putting you on my bike, are they?”

  “You didn’t ‘put me’ on your bike. I climbed on myself. And no, I’m nobody’s old lady.”

  Silence filled his ears as he just took in the moment. She leaned forward to look at his face and they shared a look that got his cock fully hard. One flash of her eyes and he was a goner—he couldn’t be responsible for carrying her to a spot of shade and having his way with her.

  Trouble was, once he claimed her, he wouldn’t give her up. He didn’t think she was prepared for that.

  “What do you do when you’re not hanging around bike clubs, Dirty?”

  He felt the words on his tongue and didn’t hold back from speaking. “I grew up on a ranch an hour or so from here.”

  “Horses?” She sounded like an excited girl.

  He nodded. “My uncle’s got a big herd of Angus too.”

  She whistled. “That’s worth some bucks.”

  “He does well. I go there as often as I can to help him. You mentioned horses. Do you ride?”

  “I haven’t since I was a kid, but I used to love it.”

  “Then I’ll take you there.”

  She looked at him, her lips inches away. He could kiss her but then he’d never stop.

  “I’d like that, Dirty,” she said almost breathlessly.

  At the sound of a motorcycle engine—no, engines—she stiffened against him. “They’re coming for me.”

  “It’s more likely they’re coming for me,” he responded and set wheels to the road again, going more slowly this time so the Bighorns could catch up. They surrounded them, with Druid riding right alongside, giving Dirty a look that could kill a lesser man. But Dirty wasn’t backing down from this guy’s intimidation tactics. There was far too much chemistry between him and Stormy to give up to an angry papa.

  With a dozen bikers circling him, he had no choice but to head their direction back to the club. After he pulled in and cut the engine, Druid barked at Stormy. “Get off that bike.”

  “Dad, don’t treat me like a child. We just went for a ride.”

  The man dismounted from his ride and crossed to where Wes was parked, fists clenched. He didn’t look at his daughter when he spoke but glared at Wes.

  “I said get off that bike, Stormy.”

  “Not if you’re going to give Dirty trouble.” She tightened her hold on him.

  Wes had to defuse the situation. He rested a hand over hers where it clung to his middle. “It’s okay, Stormy.”

  “Don’t fucking talk to her like she belongs to you,” Druid bit off.

  Wes swung his leg over his bike and stood to face the man. “She doesn’t belong to anyone, far as I see. She made the choice to come with me and I’ve returned her safe.”

  “Without my permission,” Druid growled, getting in Wes’s face.

  Damn, what he wouldn’t give to lay hands on the man right now. Wes hated being challenged—it went back to his days of being bullied as a skinny, weak kid. He ground his molars and stared Druid down.

  “If you’re smart you’ll drive out of here while you still have the use of all your limbs.” Druid’s threat raised a gasp from Stormy.

  She grabbed her father’s arm and tried to pull him away. “Stop it. It was just a ride.”

  “It’s okay, Stormy.” Wes swung his gaze to her and fuck, the way she looked at him… All rosy cheeks and plump, bitten lips he hadn’t even gotten a chance to kiss. This wouldn’t be the last she’d see of him. He tried to convey the message in the look they exchanged before getting back on his bike.

  He’d hunt some fugitives while giving Druid time to cool off—the other Bighorns too. But he sure as hell wasn’t giving up that easy, not when he hadn’t felt this good in far too long.

  Chapter Three

  Wes raised a hand and rapped his knuckles on the door of the small house needing major repairs. Hanging out in a dump like this wasn’t Van Atkin’s style. The fugitive was originally wanted on charges of a petty theft for shoplifting DVDs. Since jumping bail, he’d made stealing a part-time job. And evading Wes a full-time one.

  A scuff of a step behind the door had him tensing, on red alert. Van Atkins had fled from him several times—gotten away every damn time too. He was starting to piss Wes off.

  The door opened a crack and he peered at the face framed here. A woman, looking wary of life itself and not just Wes’s presence.

  “Who’re you?” she asked in a drawl that was too Southern to be a Wyoming woman.

  “Old friend of Van’s. He home?”

  She gripped the door harder. “What makes you think he lives here?”

  “Heard from a buddy o’ his by the name of Wilder that he’s here.” Wes shrugged, conjuring his inner actor. He’d learned acting like a buddy with the person’s best interests in mind got him further than marching in, threatening them with the full weight of the law. He acted like their friend, like he was doing them a favor by helping them get before the judge. And he told those harboring the criminals that he wanted the best for them.

  Of course, he did. He wasn’t ruthless, but he was far from soft.

  “You talked to Jack?” the woman asked.

  “Yeah, though he said
his foot’s been paining him. Guess he broke it a few months back?”

  She nodded absently, eyes cutting to the side.

  Wes could shove the door open and probably see his bounty standing there, instructing her about what to do or say.

  He refrained.

  “Can I come in, ma’am?” He tugged on his Stetson.

  Her eyes narrowed. Yeah, she was definitely concealing Atkins from him.

  “No, you can’t. Van’s not here. So I’d ask you kindly to leave.”

  “Doesn’t sound so kindly to me,” Wes responded.

  She moved to shut the door, and he planted a hand on it to keep that from happening. He pushed. She pushed back.

  “Ma’am, this isn’t about you. I have a deal with Van that if he goes before the judge for his hearing that he won’t end up in jail for that particular crime.”

  A smashing sound came from within, and Wes shoved the door inward in time to see his fugitive racing out a back door.

  Wes whirled and ran. Leaping off the dumpy porch steps and hitting the ground at top speed. A big guy like him wasn’t a track star, but he was fast. He gained on his quarry. “Van! Stop right there!”

  The guy ran willy-nilly, as Aunt Winter liked to call it, zigzagging through his neighbor’s yards, trying to throw off Wes.

  A car screeched up on the street, the door flung open. Van dived into the open door and they peeled away, the woman at the wheel.

  “Dammit.” Wes ripped off his hat and shoved his fingers through his hair. His heart was pumping hard but not from the run. He was pissed at himself for losing the guy again. His boss wasn’t going to like hearing it any better than Wes would like saying it.

  He walked back to his truck parked some distance down the street and made the call. Got his ass chewed. His boss asked why the best bounty hunter this side of the Mississippi wasn’t able to bring in a simple shoplifter. But Wes had no excuses and didn’t offer any.

  Finally, he started the engine and drove toward the town where Judd lived and worked as sheriff. As he navigated the country roads, he should be thinking up ways to finally nab his bounty, but his mind was back with the Bighorns… and Stormy.

  The memory of the gorgeous woman clinging to him wasn’t something he’d soon forget, if ever. Her perfume seemed to linger on in his nose and it had been over a week since they’d been together.