Accidental Hero. Loralee Lillibridge

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СКАЧАТЬ make quite a pair, Bo mused, as a twinge of envy snuck past his good sense. The dog had gotten older, but the man hadn’t changed much. The Willie Nelson-style braid that dangled down his back was the same, except the gray hairs were beginning to outnumber the black ones. A few wrinkles creased Shorty’s leathery face, but the denim work shirt and faded jeans looked like the same ones he’d been wearing the day Bo had said goodbye.

      On the backside of fifty, Shorty Packer had always cottoned to the belief that unless something was broken, you kept your hands off of it. Still, he’d give you his last biscuit and tell you he’d just eaten, if he thought you were hungrier than he was. He was generous to a fault if you were his friend, and meaner than a rattlesnake if you were his enemy. But he was fair. Bo respected him for that, and was shamed to the point of disgust, thinking maybe he’d lost the respect of this man who’d done so much for him.

      Deep in thought, Bo didn’t notice the driver get out of the car until the door slammed shut. She stood by the car and looked toward the house. The instant thudding of his heart startled him. Damn. Sweat beaded his upper lip. He swiped at it, his fingers brushing across the raised seam of scars crisscrossing his face.

      Cursing the clumsiness that prevented him from hurrying, he was almost within the safety of his bedroom when the front door opened and Shorty shouted.

      “Bo, you in here?”

      Where else would I be? He kept silent, listening. No other voice accompanied Shorty’s. Was that disappointment he felt? Hell, no. He was glad she hadn’t come inside.

      “I’m here,” he answered.

      When the other man’s footsteps echoed on the planked floor, Bo slowly, carefully, retraced his own. Guilt for taking off with the truck pricked at him unmercifully. Might as well apologize now and get it over with. He was halfway down the hall when he saw her.

      Abby stood behind Shorty, taller only by a few inches, just enough to be visible. Shorty moved farther into the room, giving Bo an unobstructed view of her. His insides dipped on a wild roller-coaster ride.

      There she was, standing in the doorway holding a big yellow bowl. She was totally unaware that the early afternoon brightness illuminated her with a halo of sunshine. Bo half expected a heavenly choir to break into song at any moment.

      Instead, vivid memories flashed before him in living color. The softness of her sun-gilded skin pressed against his and the way it went all hot and damp when they made love; the curve of her rosy smile, the sweetness of her lips and the way her mouth melted beneath his when they kissed; the scent of honeysuckle that always clung to her and the way she glowed, all dewy and golden after he’d thoroughly loved her. Those memories were so intense, the pain of leaving her still crowded his chest. Restricted his breathing.

      “Hello, Bo.” Her husky whisper trailed an erotic path across his skin as if she had physically touched him.

      As soon as she spoke, the familiar tightening in his groin made his head swim. He ought to leave the room before he made a total ass of himself. He turned his head, ducking it slightly to avoid giving her a full view of his face. Damn, he’d gone and left his hat on the porch. He needed to get the hell out of here.

      “Your hearin’ gone bad as well as your manners, boy?” Shorty scowled like an irritated parent. “Abby’s brought you some of IdaJoy’s mighty good chili. Least you could do is say thanks.”

      Bo stared at the plastic-covered container clutched in Abby’s hands. She never gave him a chance to back away. Just marched up to him before he could turn his face. His heart flipped upside down when her unflinching gaze raked him up and down.

      Dark blue eyes flashed undeniable disgust. Her summer-blond hair whipped around her face when she shook her head in apparent disapproval of what—or was it, who—she saw. He didn’t blame her for despising him.

      “You smell like a brewery, Ramsey. Maybe this chili will burn off the excess alcohol. Enjoy.” With one swift move, she shoved the dish into his stomach so hard he had to grab it or end up wearing the contents.

      She ran from the room and out to her car without another word. Bo heard the crunch of gravel as she drove away.

      He turned to Shorty. “What the hell was that all about?”

      Shorty gave him a look sour enough to curdle milk. “You ought to know, boy.”

      Bo carried the dish to the table, wishing he’d never made that phone call asking Shorty for help. He hated being a damn charity case.

      “You shouldn’t have brought her here,” he grumbled. He uncovered the yellow bowl and inhaled deeply. His mouth watered at the tantalizing aroma of fiery spices. He’d always been a sucker for IdaJoy’s chili.

      “Brought her here?” Shorty’s voice rose and two shaggy eyebrows peaked over dead-serious eyes that bored straight through Bo. “The way I see it, she brought me here. You took my truck and left me stranded, remember? And that’s a whole ’nother matter. Who said you were fit to drive yet?”

      “I got back here okay, didn’t I?”

      “Maybe,” Shorty conceded, “but don’t try it again.”

      “Hhmmph.” Bo hated being treated like a ten-year-old. He pulled out the chair to sit down. Before he could blink, Shorty was right there, spoon in one hand and a glass of water in the other. His explanation was typically Shorty—gruff and to the point.

      “Get used to it, boy. From now on, water or milk’s the drink around here. The choice is yours.”

      The older man’s no-nonsense tone drew a tight smile from Bo. It had been a helluva long time since he’d been handed an ultimatum like that. A long time since anyone even cared. Well, he’d deal with Shorty and his rules just as soon as he finished eating. Right now, all he wanted was the chili. He picked up the spoon and dug in.

      A volcano erupted inside his mouth the instant the first bite hit his tongue, lava-hot and scalding a path clear through to his unsuspecting stomach.

      Bo let loose with a bellow and a string of colorful cuss words, sending Ditch scurrying out of the room. His chair toppled backward and his water glass went flying in his haste to reach the kitchen sink. Angling his head under the faucet, mouth wide open and swallowing frantically, he almost cried with relief as the gush of cold water tumbled down his scorched throat.

      When the fire in his gut finally subsided, Bo shook his wet head, spit, sputtered and glared at Shorty through watery eyes. He was helpless to form his question into words. His tongue—shoot, his whole damn mouth—was numb.

      “Oh, yeah,” Shorty said, poker-faced, as he bent to retrieve Bo’s water glass from the floor. “I think Abby might’ve added a few extra chili peppers.”

      Twilight pulled the sun below the horizon, leaving behind a rosy haze that promised another hot night. The air hung like a wet curtain, heavy and unmoving. Mosquitos, buzzing lazily alongside an occasional lightning bug, flitted past the two men sitting on the long, covered porch. The tension between them was as thick as the air.

      Bo slumped back in his chair, a glass of milk, compliments of guess-who, in one hand. Some nightcap. At least, it wasn’t flavored with chili peppers. Granted, he’d never been much of a drinker until the accident.

      For the past two weeks, СКАЧАТЬ