One
In the middle of the argument—the same argument
Jenny had with her teenage son every morning—she
found herself lost in a daydream. Just once, she wanted
someone to take care of her. Just once, she wanted to feel
pampered. Just once, she thought with a sigh, she wanted to
know what it was like to have the world at her feet,
instead of having everyone walk all over her.
"Why can't I go with Tige after school?" her son
Seth whined from the passenger seat. Not that a
fourteen–year–old boy would cop to whining. "He
got a new motorcycle, said I could ride it. Better than
wasting time waiting on you to get done with your stupid
meeting."
"No motorcycles," Jenny said in the tone she used
for attempting to reason with her first– and
second–graders when her patience was thin. Hopefully,
she and Seth would make it to school before she lost her
temper. Only a few miles to go. She drove faster.
"Why not? Josey rides hers all over the place, and
you know she wouldn't do it if it wasn't safe."
"Josey is a grown woman," Jenny said through
gritted teeth. This was the difference between a
fourteen–year–old Seth and an
eight–year–old Seth. The boy had always been
able to tell when he shouldn't press his luck. "Josey's
husband taught her how to ride, she's never had an
accident, and you know good and well that she hasn't been
on a bike since she got pregnant." Seth shuddered in
immature horror. "May I remind you that Tige is a
seventeen–year–old boy who drives too fast,
doesn't own a helmet, and has already crashed his bike
twice? No. Motorcycles."
"Aw, Mom. You're not being fair."
"Life isn't fair. Get used to it." Seth rolled his
eyes so hard she heard it in the dark.
"If my dad were still here, he'd let me ride."
Before she could come up with a coherent response to
Seth's newest favorite guilt trip, she rounded the last
curve before the Pine Ridge Charter School where she taught
two grades in one classroom. Trucks and cars were parked
everywhere, with massive, stadium–style lights
ripping through the soft dawn light.
Shoot, Jenny thought as Seth leaned forward to
stare at the three–ring circus. The battle with Seth
had made her forget that today was the first day of filming
at the school.
The Pine Ridge Charter School was the only school
for grades one through eight within a two–hour drive.
The school had been funded and built by her cousin Josey
White Plume and her aunt, Sandra White Plume. They'd
finished it before the first day of school last fall,
mostly thanks to the donations of Crazy Horse Choppers,
which was run by Ben Bolton and his brothers, Billy and
Bobby. The Bolton boys made money
hand–over–fist with their high–end, very
expensive motorcycles. Josey had wound up marrying Ben
Bolton—and was now pregnant with their first baby.
If that were all there was to it, it would be weird
enough. But the crazy didn't stop there. Oh, no. Bobby
Bolton had been filming ‘webisodes'—which Jenny
didn't even think was a real word—of Billy Bolton
building motorcycles at the Crazy Horse shop and posting
the videos on the Internet. Apparently, they were getting
hundreds of thousands of hits, mostly because Billy cussed
like a drunken sailor and occasionally threw tools at
people. Jenny didn't have an Internet connection, so she
hadn't seen the show herself. She didn't want to. It
sounded like entertainment aimed at the lowest common
denominator.
But now the whole production had moved to her school.
Billy Bolton was supposed to build a bike on–site,
teach the students how to use the tools, and then the
Boltons were going to auction the bike off and give the
proceeds to the school. Bobby was going to film the whole
thing.
Jenny didn't know which part of this plan she liked
the least. Ben wasn't so bad. He was focused, intense and
looked good on a bike, but he was a little too elite for
Jenny's taste. He made Josey happy, though, so that made
Jenny happy.
Bobby, the youngest of the Bolton brothers, only talked
to her when he wanted something. He was handsome and
charming and fabulously rich and she supposed that was more
than enough for most women, but she didn't trust him.
She trusted Billy, the oldest, even less. He
was—well, she didn't know if he was an actual Hell's
Angel, but she wouldn't have been the least bit surprised
to know he was in some sort of semi–criminal biker
gang. He was a massive man who everyone seemed
mildly–to–severely afraid of. When she'd been
introduced to him at Josey's wedding, he'd given off a vibe
that had been something between quiet, dangerous and sexy.
The combination had been thrilling—or would have been
if she'd let herself be thrilled. He'd been a sight to
behold, with his brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, a
neatly trimmed beard and a tuxedo that fit him like a
glove.
Like the other two Bolton brothers, Billy was gorgeous
in his rough way and richer than sin—but of the three
of them, he had waved his wealth around the least. Ben
wasn't showy, but everything he owned was the best. Bobby
let everyone know how rich and popular he was. But Billy?
It was almost as if the family money pissed him off. Jenny
had been struck mute by the way he'd glared down at her.
She'd barely been able to squeak out a ‘pleased to meet
you.'
And now that man was going to have the run of her school
and interact with her students.
It was one thing for that man to make her nervous while
she was wearing a frilly dress at a wedding that cost more
than her house and car put together. It was a whole
different thing if that man looked at one of her students
with that glare. She would not tolerate a whiff of
improper, indecent or dangerous behavior from any Bolton,
no matter how muscled he was. One step out of line, and
Billy Bolton would find out exactly what kind of woman she
was.
She pulled into her regular parking spot, and Seth was
already out the door, gawking as a small group of people
scurried around. Jenny was usually the first person at the
school. She liked easing into the morning before a bunch of
six–, seven– and eight–year–olds
descended on her classroom. She made some tea, made sure
she had all of her supplies ready, and got herself mentally
prepared for the day. And since Seth usually hung out in
the multipurpose room, practicing guitar, it was as close
to Zen as Jenny got.
But today? No Zen for her. Instead, a woman yelled, "We
have a problem—car in the shot," into a
walkie–talkie as she brushed past Jenny while a man
adjusted the lights—and managed to blind her with the
beam.
Before she could shade her eyes, a figure spoke from
beside her. "Jennifer? Hi, Bobby Bolton. We met at the
wedding. Great to see you again, so glad to be out here,
doing something good for the school. You do good work out
here, and we're thrilled to be a part of it, but we're
going to need you to move your car."
Jennifer. The hackles went up on the back of Jenny's
neck. Yes, he'd been trying to compliment her, but her name
was not Jennifer. It never had been. She had the legal
documents to prove it. She was Jenny Marie Wawasuck.
She swung around slowly—slow enough that she heard
Seth make a noise that sounded like ‘snerk.' Even a
teenaged boy knew better than to call her Jennifer.
"Excuse me?" was the most polite thing Jenny could come
up with.
Bobby had on a headset, and despite looking like the
kind of guy who rarely got up before noon, he was as
good–looking as ever. "As I'm sure you know,
Jennifer, we're doing the shoot this morning. We're going
to need you to move your car."
It was awfully early to have her last nerve snap, but it
did. "Why?"
Bobby gave her the kind of smile that made her want to
punch him in the stomach. "We're setting up a shot of Billy
riding in, and we need the space." Bobby's voice was less
complimentary now, more a direct order. "Move your car."
Of all the arrogant . . . Jenny paused—a trick
she'd learned long ago worked on children of all ages to
command attention. She drew herself up to her full height
of five foot, five inches, but she was still a good eight
inches shorter than Bobby. She hated craning her neck, but
she didn't have a stepstool handy.
"No. This is my spot. I always park here." Part of her
knew she was being a tad irrational—it's not like
moving the car was a huge deal—but she didn't want
Bobby Bolton to think he could steamroll her whenever he
felt like it.
Too often, too many people thought they could flatten
her. They thought she wouldn't put up a fight because she
was a nice girl or because she taught little kids or
because she had nothing—especially that. Nothing but
a parking spot.
Bobby's smile disappeared and he suddenly looked
tired. "I know this is your spot, but I'd think a grown
woman could handle parking somewhere else for one day.
Thanks so much. Vicky?" he said into his headset. "Can we
get Jennifer some coffee? Thanks." He turned his gaze back
to her, and his fake–happy smile was back. "I know
it's early, but once you move your car and have your
coffee, I'm sure you'll feel better, Jennifer."
Jenny bristled under his patronizing tone, but before
she could tell him that she didn't drink coffee, much less
restate her position about not moving her darned car, a
shadow loomed behind her, blocking out the spotlight.
A shiver raced up her arms and across her neck as a
deep, powerful voice said, "Her name isn't Jennifer." As if
to emphasize this point, a massive fist swung out from the
shadows and hit Bobby in the arm so hard that he had to
take a few steps back to keep his balance. "It's Jenny.
Stop being a jerk."
Jenny swallowed as Billy Bolton brushed past her and
stood next to his brother. She was not afraid of this man,
she reminded herself. So what if he was a foot taller than
she was, wearing really expensive–looking leather
chaps over a pair of jeans and a tight–fitting black
t–shirt that didn't look like the kind that cost
seven dollars at Wal–Mart? So what if he had on
sunglasses and the sun hadn't even broken through the
horizon? So what if he looked like some sort of
bad–biker–boy fantasy come true?
He was on her territory, by God. She would not cower,
and that was that.
So she squared her shoulders, put on her
don't–mess–with–me glare and stood her
ground. Then she realized what Billy had said.
He knew her name.
Weird goose bumps spread from her neck down her back.
She would have been willing to bet that he wouldn't have
been able to pick her out of a line–up, but here he
was, punching Bobby because he'd called her the wrong name.
My school, my rez, she repeated to herself as she
cleared her throat. "Right. Well, have fun making your
little movie, gentlemen." She turned to walk into the
building at a slow, deliberate pace, but Bobby circled
around.
"We haven't solved our problem."
"Problem?" Billy asked. Jenny felt his voice rumble
through her. She remembered now that he'd invoked that same
sort of physical response in her the other time they'd met,
too.
"Jennif—Jenny's car is in the shot." Bobby quickly
corrected himself before Billy took another swing at
him. "We need to get you on the bike riding up to the
school with the sunrise, and her car will be in the way.
I've asked her to move it—for the day," he added,
giving her another sexy smile, "but because it's early and
she hasn't had her coffee, she hasn't yet seen the value of
temporarily relocating her vehicle."
What a load of hooey dressed up in double–talk.
Did he think he could confuse her with a bunch of fancy
language and the kind of smile that probably melted the
average woman?
"Just because Josey gave you permission to film at this
school does not mean I'm going to let you and your ‘crew'
disrupt my students' educations," she said through a forced
smile.
Then something strange happened. Billy looked at her,
leaned forward, took a deep breath—and appeared to be
savoring it. "She doesn't drink coffee," he said as the
woman Jenny had seen earlier walked up with a steaming mug
of the stuff.
Okay, Billy Bolton was officially freaking her out.
Jenny had been more–or–less invisible to the
male race for—well, how old was Seth? Fourteen? Yes,
fourteen years. No one wanted to mess with a single mother,
and a mostly broke Indian one at that.
But Billy? He was not just paying attention to her name,
or what she smelled like. He was paying attention to her.
She had no idea if she should be flattered or terrified.
"You're not going to move your car?" he asked.
"No."
She couldn't see his eyes behind his glasses, but she
got the feeling he was giving her the once–over.
Then, with a curt nod, he turned around, walked to the
front bumper of her car and picked up the whole dang thing.
With his bare hands. True, it was a crappy little compact
car that was about twenty years old, but still—he
picked it up as if it didn't weigh much more than a laundry
basket. If she wasn't so mad right now, she'd be tempted to
do something ridiculous, like swoon at the sight of all his
muscles in action. He was like every bad–boy fantasy
she'd ever had rolled into one body.
"Hey—hey!" Jenny yelled as he rolled her car
about thirty feet away and dropped it in the grass with a
thud. "What the heck do you think you're doing?"
"Solving a problem." Billy dusted his hands off on his
chaps and turned to face her, as if he regularly moved
vehicles with his bare hands. "You."
That absolutely, totally, did it. It was bad enough she
had to take a constant stream of attitude from her son.
She'd tried being nice and polite—like the good girl
she was—but what had that gotten her? Nothing but
grief.
"You listen to me, you—you—you." Before she
knew what she was doing, she'd reached out and
shoved—actually shoved—Billy Bolton.
Not that he moved or anything. Pushing his chest was
like pushing against a solid wall of stone. And all those
stupid goose bumps set off again. She ignored them.
"I am not here for you or your brother or his film crew
to treat like garbage. I am a teacher. This is my school.
Got that?"
She thought she saw Billy's mouth curve up into
something that might have been a grin. Was he laughing at
her?
She reached up to shove him again—not that it
would hurt him, but she had this irrational thought that
something physical might be the only thing a man like him
understood.
This time, Billy captured her hand with his massive
fingers and held it. In an instant, all those goose bumps
were erased by a licking flame of heat that ran roughshod
over her body.
With effort, she held on to her anger and wrenched her
hand away from his. "You listen to me—I don't care
how big or scary or rich or famous you are—you're at
my school, on my rez, mister. You make one
mistake—touch one student, say something
inappropriate—I'll personally grind you up into
hamburger and feed you to the coyotes. Do I make myself
clear?"
Billy didn't say a thing. He looked at her from behind
his dark shades. The only reaction she could see was the
possible curve of his lips behind his beard, but she
couldn't even be sure about that.
"Mom," Seth hissed from behind her.
"We need to get filming, Jenny," Bobby added. He stepped
between her and Billy and tried to herd her away.
She leaned around Bobby and leveled her meanest glare at
Billy. "We aren't done here." Then she turned around and
stomped off.
As she went, she swore she heard Billy say behind
her, "No, I don't think we are."