Sweet Trouble (2 page)

Bailey

I shouldn’t be here. I’m not old enough to be in a dancehall or bar or whatever this place is. Warning bells clang inside my head as I watch Sydney slip a flask from her purse and unscrew the top. She snickers and gives me a devious look. Looking around the bar, I’m praying no one sees. We’re in a dark corner, because the neon beer sign above our booth is burned out. Still, I worry about being caught. The sign at the entrance clearly states: No Outside Booze.

The bar, Fulton Country Store, is seedy and rough. I imagine a big, wide bouncer catching us with our outside booze, and he’d be none too pleased. And if he finds out we’re both underage, it will be far worse. I can’t wait to turn twenty-one and not have this headache.

I spent the afternoon at Sydney’s apartment, trying to straighten my hair and get my make-up right so I don’t look like I’m fourteen. My face makes me look younger than I am, I know that. But at least my body is the right age. And that’s what all these guys are looking at anyway.

Sydney promised me that if I let her dress me, the guys would notice. I’m wearing a snug, fuzzy sweater a mini-skirt, and cowboy boots. I feel a little over-dressed, because every woman here is dressed in ripped jeans and spaghetti-strap tank tops

Problem is I’m freezing. It’s raining outside, pouring cats and dogs. The other women were smart to wear jeans, but why the tight, tiny tops on such a cold night? Free drinks, that’s why.

Sydney waves her flask. “A little something for your diet soda?”

“Maybe just a splash. Shit! Do it under the table, Syd. I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“Don’t be such a worry wort,” she chides. Ignoring me completely she pours a shot into my glass right there on the table.

I don’t drink much, almost never, and I sure don’t want to order anything in this dive. My friends always tell me I do weird things in my sleep when I drink. Apparently I sleep walk. I think they’re pulling my leg. Alcohol does give me weird dreams though. That’s for sure.

My roommate, Susanna, was supposed to come with us tonight. This was going to be a night to help her get her groove back after getting dumped last month, but she said she was too depressed to join us and wanted to just call an old friend and get caught up. She’s probably sitting on the couch, half-way through a carton of cookie dough ice cream.

Sydney takes a sip of her drink and wrinkles her nose. “Not bad. The guy at the liquor store by the hospital recommended it. I wanted us to celebrate having four days in a row off, at the same time. What are the odds?”

She raises her glass and I offer mine. Sydney and I went through nursing school together, a two-year RN program. Aside from my roommate, she is the only person I know in town. Syd’s a little wild, but always lands on her feet. Like a cat.

My mom mentioned that I used to have family in Fulton, but they’ve all passed away. She implied that was a good thing, that I didn’t want to tangle with any of the Voss side of the family. But mom’s a recluse, so I’m not sure she’s giving me the full story.

“When do you think the band will start up? I want to learn the two-step,” I say, scanning the crowd.

“Have a little more of this and it will make you lighter on your feet.”

“I’m pretty sure it would have the opposite effect on…” My words trail off. Sitting at the bar is the man I stitched up last week. He looks scruffy. He hasn’t shaved because of the stitches I suppose. Now he’s not only gorgeous, but with a side of danger too. Something about him scares me and I should look away before he notices me, but I can’t tear my eyes from him.

“What’s the matter?” Sydney asks, peering the direction of the bar. “Oh! What do we have here?”

I turn away and a shudder rolls down my spine. “His name is Nicholas McKinley. He came into the ER for a chin laceration. I did something to piss him off. The whole time I was trying to stitch him up, I felt like he was seething. Like he was about to jump on me.”

Sydney’s eyeing him, a small smile playing on her lips. “Really?”

“Really.”

My description clearly sparks her interest. She’s not afraid of anything and I’m sure she’d face the challenge of Nicholas McKinley head-on, not get worried and panicky like me. Sydney’s fearless.

She arches a brow and looks away, fixing her gaze on me. I practically can see the bossy lecture poised on the tip of her tongue.

“Yup, Bailey. That one looks like trouble, all right. I’d say that bad boy’s too much for you to handle.”

“For sure,” I agree without hesitation.

Any other woman saying that to me would make me think she was trying to hurt my feelings. Not Sydney. She knows all about my dating history, which is not much, granted, but she knows it all. And she has a lot of experience… a LOT. So I listen when she gives advice.

She’s got this martial arts analogy she likes to use. She says everyone has their own colored belt, and that your best chance to succeed is to go into the ring with someone wearing the same color as you. She says I need to find another white belt to spar with and then work my way up. After a few drinks, she’ll start to pull together all sorts of strange parallels that only make sense to her, and she’ll proudly proclaim her status as a red belt.

“He looks like he’s in his thirties… early thirties.”

I rap my knuckles on the table to pull her back to reality. “Can you please stop staring?”

She waves her hand dismissively. “He’s already seen you. I’ve caught him looking at you at least three times. You did something to make him mad.”

“Tell me about it.”

Music starts playing, and it’s so loud we can hardly converse anymore. I’m trying to decide how long I have to stay without making it seem like I’m bailing on her. I just want to get out of here. He didn’t look at me, but something tells me he knows I’m here, and he’s just biding his time. The guy is scary.

My imagination stirs with disturbing ideas that have bothered me since I met him, but there are other ideas too. Where his big, rough hands skim over my breasts, cupping them and teasing my nipples. I’m horrified by how fast I get aroused when I think of lying beneath his powerful body. I’m sure it would be rough and devastating.

Black belt sex. Not a good idea, not for me anyway. If Sydney could see what I was thinking she would point out that beginners have no business trying to tackle the advanced belts.

Some cowboy ambles over and asks Sydney to dance and she gives me an apologetic look.

“I’m fine,” I say, waving her away.

A couple of guys come to ask me to dance and I shake my head, telling them I’m waiting on a friend. Why they’re asking me I can’t figure out. Pressed into the furthest corner of the booth, I’m doing my best to give off a “leave me alone” vibe.

Outside the storm rages. Flashes of lightning illuminate the parking lot. It’s full of pick-up trucks. Thunder shakes the building and I wonder how long this storm is going to last. I finally have time off and
now
the weather has to start storming?

Sydney comes back to the table with her cowboy. He’s tall and handsome and Sydney seems to be pretty into him. Before long the two of them are staring into each other’s eyes. Good. This is perfect.

“I need to run to the lady’s room,” I say.

“Okay, fine,” Sydney says.

Which is code for ‘I like this guy’. If she’d said she wanted to come with me, it would have meant the guy was a no-go.

Crossing the bar, I head the toward the restrooms. At this point, I don’t care if Mr. McKinley sees me because I’m going to be leaving in five minutes, even if I have to drive home through this torrential wrath of God. I’ll be home in ten minutes, fifteen tops. If I’m lucky, Susanna saved me some ice cream.

Nick

Blue Eyes looks a tad different out of her scrubs. Her honey blonde hair almost reaches her ass. I hadn’t noticed that the other day because she had her hair pulled back in a ponytail.

Two mother-fuckers asked her to dance already. I’m not happy there’s a Voss back in town, but I don’t want her dancing with one of these pricks. The girl’s twenty. I remember her saying that, just like I remember everything about her. She’s not even old enough to be in this bar, much less mess around with any of the shitheads in this place.

Eddy the bartender brings me my second beer and follows my gaze. “That right there looks like trouble.”

Drying a glass with a tattered bar towel he keeps his gaze on her.

“Why don’t you quit your fucking staring,” I say.

He gives me a look of bemusement. “You planning on tapping that?”

“Not a chance. She’s a Voss.”

Giving a low whistle he turns away to look at her again. “Damn she’s pretty. I think I heard about her. She’s David Voss’s niece.”

Fulton is a small town. I’d asked around about Bailey and a few people told me the same thing. She’s not from around here but happened to end up working in Fulton. Part of some traveling nurse job she has. Everyone probably wonders if my feud with the family will extend to the niece, a girl who probably knows nothing about David Voss’s sick interests.

A growl rumbles in my chest because I see guys checking her out. I want to ram my fist through something. It’s been a long time since I brawled but that’s what I feel like right now.

Fighting.

I want to fuck too but that’s completely out of the question, because the only woman I want is the blue-eyed woman who’s been messing with my head for the last week. Plenty of women here would be happy to come home and spend the evening perched on my cock. I don’t want any of them. How fucked is that?

Why did I even come to the bar? I hate this shit. But, I had a feeling she might be here tonight, Friday night. It wasn’t too hard to figure out. There are not a lot of options for night life in Fulton. I knew she’d show up just like I knew I had to see her again.

She gets up from her table and strolls past the dance floor, five paces from me. She has to know I’m here, but she hasn’t looked at me yet. With each step of her fussy, embroidered cowboy boots, the tips of her hair brush the small of her back.

One of the cowboys who was sniffing around her saunters off the direction of the bathrooms, following her. I’m off my barstool in a heartbeat. I see the way he smirks at his buddies as he heads down the dim hallway. Sure thing, asshole. Way to be subtle.

This was exactly what I imagined would happen. A sweet-faced girl like Bailey’s going to draw men like flies to honey and she can see whomever she wants. I don’t care. At all. But this guy’s not getting the chance to even talk to her because I don’t like his looks. Shifty bastard.

I round the corner just in time to see him step into the mother-fucking lady’s room. Is this the type of shit guys do now? Try to corner a lady in the bathroom?

I kick the door open and the guy’s standing by the sink, waiting. His expression darkens when he sees me.

“You took a wrong turn buddy,” I tell him.

“Jesus,” I hear Bailey say. The toilet flushes and she steps out of the stall. Her gaze zeroes in on the cowboy by the sink. She’s about to lay into him but then sees me. She retreats a few steps, slamming into the stall door. Panic washes over her features.

“This asshole came in here looking for you,” I tell her.

“You Mount McKinley?” the guy asks.

“That’s right.”

The guy puts his hands up and slides past me, muttering something about not wanting trouble.

Bailey watches him leave and then returns her frightened gaze to me. Behind me, a couple of women stagger in, giggling, arm-in-arm with another woman. When they catch sight of me, they stop laughing. They’re eyes widen and they back out, scrambling to get away and yelling something about getting a room.

I wait to see if anyone else is coming in. Nobody does and I turn my attention back to Bailey, who hasn’t moved a step. She’s holding her purse in front of her, shielding herself, as if it’s made of steel and not pink leather. Her eyes blaze and she looks like she’d take me on if she could. Her small hands wrap around her purse. I imagine she’d throw a punch if I got close.

She’s twenty. The same age Olivia was when David Voss attacked her. My sister was never the same and couldn’t ever have children for reasons she refused to tell me. I should have spent five years in prison for the beating I gave David Voss. Attempted Murder, that was the charge. But then David Voss surprised us all. He left a note confessing to the assault along with six more. I was let out after nine months. The release was early but the label of felon remains.

I don’t like this girl. How can I? She’s a fucking Voss. That night, when I’d finished beating the crap out of David Voss, I told him I’d come back for him and the rest of his family. But prison sidetracked me, and by the time I was back, he and his grown sons were dead.

Voss or not, Bailey should not be here. She’s sweet, and beautiful, and the drunks in this place will hit on her all night long. She won’t believe a word I say but I can still offer a little protection.

“We’re dancing,” I tell her.

“You w-want to dance with me?” she stammers.

“No, I don’t. But if you go out there with me, the other men in the bar will leave you alone.”

Her hand flutters to her chest like she’s trying to settle her heartbeat. I’m sorry I’m scaring her, but Fulton has some rough elements, especially on Friday nights when the oil men come to party.

“I don’t need men to leave me alone.”

Her words piss me off even more. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs. “I’m leaving. Going home.”

Good. Go home, little girl. You don’t belong here. I should be pleased but if she comes back here, she’ll have the same problems with men hounding her. If I dance with her a time or two, dicks like the guy just in here will leave her alone.

She walks past me, goes to the sink to wash her hands. Looking in the mirror, she eyes me like she wonders what my next move is.

I shake my head. “You’re not going home until you dance with me.”

Setting her hands on her hips she gives me a dirty look. “Who the hell do you think you are, Mr. McKinley? You think you can just order me around? Force me onto the dance floor? Are you some kind of…cave man?”

Her eyes flash with anger, the blue darkening and her face turning a lovely pink as she lets me have it.

“Cave man? We’re all cave men. I’m just one of the more civilized ones. I need to ask you… Who do you think
you
are, coming to a bar when you’re only twenty. You know that’s illegal, right?”

Her jaw drops and a flicker of fear passes behind her eyes. I’ve got her now. It might not get her arrested, but as a nurse she wouldn’t want any sort of trouble like allegations of underage drinking.

“I don’t know how to dance,” she says softly.

Her gentle tone flows over me in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

“It’s not hard. C’mon.”

She purses her lips as she mulls it over. “I’ll step on your toes. I mean…it’s not just that I don’t know how, but I’m very bad at it. Two left feet.”

“I’ll suffer through it. Now let’s go. One dance. That’s all.”

Her gaze wanders to the door that’s hanging a little crooked now and back to me. She’s studying me, probably realizing I don’t take no for an answer. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She leads the way back to the dance floor, giving me a fabulous view of her ass. At the edge of the dance floor she looks over her shoulder at me, a look that is part amused and part worried. Her brow is creased but her lips still have that mischievous smile. “Hope you’re wearing your steel-toed boots there, cowboy.”

The girl’s got a smart mouth. As she turns away, her skirt swishes over her ass. I’d like to flip that little scrap of material up and give her a few sharp swats. Fuck. Not a good thought to have just as I’m about to take her into my arms and dance with her.