Page 43 of Bronco

“Hey, it’s for the kids!” he yells after me. I have to admit, he does look pretty fetching in that apron.

“Sure, you keep telling yourself that!”

For the first time in a long time, the butterflies spin in my stomach.

This isBronco, I remind my internal chatter. He’s not someone I can crush over. Things are good right now, and I for one don’t want that to change.

Still, the man bought me so-called spicy vanilla books. The spicy scene I read from the first book I started certainlyisn’tany kind of vanilla I’m aware of. Not if I ever want to eat a cucumber ever again that is. Then again, I’m sure he didn’t read through the entire collection when he was selecting them off Amazon.

This is just like him, and that’s why he’s so very, very dangerous.

9

BRONCO

I’d never seenAmber in a dress since the night she hopped on my motorcycle and the material ripped. She’d be pretty in a paper bag, there’s no denying that, but my little bad ass looks like she just stepped out of a movie set forAnne of Green Gables. Okay, that’s probably a little dramatic, but the pastel green floral number that clings to her body and brings out the hazel in her eyes is making me see stars. Beautiful doesn’t even begin to cut it. She has her hair out in long waves; I’m used to seeing her with a long ponytail most of the time, so this is something new. Then there’s Olive. She’s a cute kid with manners; not something you see very often these days. She also looks like Amber with the same colored hair and eyes, and a timid smile.

Before I approached, I couldn’t help but notice the slight bit of panic I saw in Amber’s face as she whispered something to Olive.

Why would she be afraid of me meeting her niece? Or is it being here with lots of other people?

I like kids. Well, most of them. I try my best to make them feel at ease, and I hope I did that with Olive because I know how hard it is when you move as a kid, and have to fit in all over againsomewhere else. Been there, done that. Still, there’s something about them that doesn’t sit right with me. Call it gut instinct, I’m not sure, but Amber hasn’t told me the whole truth about her family or even her ex. She keeps that part of her life close to her chest. I never want to pry, believing that she will tell me something in her own time if she wants to, but this may be the one exception where I have to prod a little.

The party goes off without a hitch, and all the kids are running around while the moms with the babies sit in the shade, drinking iced tea and unwrapping presents. I’m not purposely spying on them, but all the guys bailed and Manny needed help with the food. Someone also had to make sure nothing ran out. I was the only man left standing, aside from Harlem who’s in charge of the entertainment, but I really didn’t mind. Anything to make sure that a good time is had by all.

I smell Amber’s floral perfume before I see her. I’m sitting on the edge of the garden, nursing a cold beer until Manny calls me for his next errand. I can count on one hand the times I’ve sat in such a peaceful setting with all the roses surrounding us. Even the kids chasing each other around screaming with water guns doesn’t annoy me.

“You’re still here?” Amber pokes me in the arm.

I turn to look at her as she sits down next to me. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No. I just meant, poor you. I heard Manny roped you in because all the guys bailed once Caprice’s cake was served and the games started, aside from Harlem, he’s lurking around here somewhere.”

I thumb behind me. “He’s makin’ sure all the entertainers are who they say they are. There has to be one responsible male here, after all.”

She nudges me with her shoulder. “There is Manny, too.”

“Very funny.”

“I got a little reading time in before I came here,” she says, making me grin.

“Uh huh, and did I do a good job?”

“Yes, so far so good. The current book I’m reading by Helena Hunting is fantastic. How did you know I like hockey romance?”

I give her a withering look. “Please.” I tap the tips of my ears with my pointer fingers. “These aren’t painted on. I pay attention.”

She giggles. “It’s just, men don’t usually listen.”

“I was brought up with a strong working mom, remember? The one thing she taught my brother and me was respect, and that listening is an art form.”

“I think I like your mom a whole lot.”

“She’s a fiery little thing. We have Greek heritage and she blames that for her temper. My mom came here when she was about Olive’s age as an immigrant, then she met my dad pretty young.”

“Wow, have you ever been to Greece?”

“Nope, but someday I’d like to, it looks pretty cool.”

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