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That Kind Of Girl
Kim Mckade
“Nothing works out the way you think it’s going to when you’re eighteen, Colt.
“At least, it hasn’t for me. But that’s okay. You know, when I think about it, not one thing has changed since that night in your pickup, and yet everything has changed. I’m a different person now, even though I’m still the smart girl who helps everybody with their algebra homework. I just get paid for it now. My life hasn’t changed that much on the surface. I’m still in Aloma, still in the same house, still a—”
Becca broke off with a sharp intake of breath. She clamped her mouth shut and looked at him with wide eyes, her cheeks flushing. Colt thought for a second she was choking, but she’d just gone very, very still.
And in that moment the sentence completed itself in his head. He gaped at her.
“Becca, don’t tell me you’re still a virgin?”
Dear Reader,
The year is almost over, but the excitement continues here at Intimate Moments. Reader favorite Ruth Langan launches a new miniseries, THE LASSITER LAW, with By Honor Bound. Law enforcement is the Lassiter family legacy—and love is their future. Be there to see it all happen.
Our FIRSTBORN SONS continuity is almost at an end. This month’s installment is Born in Secret, by Kylie Brant. Next month Alexandra Sellers finishes up this six-book series, which leads right into ROMANCING THE CROWN, our new twelve-book Intimate Moments continuity continuing the saga of the Montebellan royal family. THE PROTECTORS, by Beverly Barton, is one of our most popular ongoing miniseries, so don’t miss this seasonal offering, Jack’s Christmas Mission. Judith Duncan takes you back to the WIDE OPEN SPACES of Alberta, Canada, for The Renegade and the Heiress, a romantic wilderness adventure you won’t soon forget. Finish up the month with Once Forbidden… by Carla Cassidy, the latest in her miniseries THE DELANEY HEIRS, and That Kind of Girl, the second novel by exciting new talent Kim McKade.
And in case you’d like a sneak preview of next month, our Christmas gifts to you include the above-mentioned conclusion to FIRSTBORN SONS, Born Royal, as well as Brand-New Heartache, award-winning Maggie Shayne’s latest of THE OKLAHOMA ALL-GIRL BRANDS. See you then!
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
That Kind of Girl
Kim McKade
KIM MCKADE
came out of the womb knowing she was going to be a writer. She was also convinced she would someday be a gourmet chef (at last count she’s destroyed two blenders, three mixers and innumerable pots and pans), dreamed of singing like Wynonna (but has the vocal talent of Alfalfa) and at one time aspired to be a dancer (but was born with the legs of a coffee table). She has persevered in her dream to write, however, and today spends happy hours concocting stories in the Texas home she shares with her husband and her daughter, who is inarguably the world’s cutest kid.
For my biggest fans and staunchest supporters, Kelly and Kathy.
For Darryl.
Everything good in my life started with you.
And with special thanks to Brenda Ash, for getting me started down this road.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 1
He had a body that belonged on one of those beefcake calendars. Clothed now in faded jeans and a white undershirt that had seen better days, he had broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and everything in between…well, everything in between was just where it should be.
He hunkered down over the broken board on the front porch—the board she’d almost fallen through one day when she’d come to look in on his father. His black hair had been raked back with his fingers, ruffled across his forehead in an unruly wave. He pounded on the board, loud enough to drown out the sound of her arrival. No photographer could have set up a better shot to showcase masculinity at work than Colt Bonner hefting a hammer.
Becca had fantasized—a million years ago when she was young and held out hope that fantasies came true—that Colt was Heathcliffe and she was Catherine, and he would sweep her across the dry west Texas plains as if they were the moors of Scotland.
Fat chance.
Back then, she’d been about as desirable as a box of rocks. And the only sweeping being done was with the handy O’Cedar.
But she had changed. She chanted those words like a mantra as she drove down the road to the Bonner house, and even as she climbed from the car and closed the door softly behind her. From her long red hair pulled back in a shower of curls, to the crisp teal-green suit she wore, she’d changed her style. True, she wasn’t a siren in red leather, but at least she’d made an improvement on the shapeless, drab dresses Mama had always insisted she wear.
She’d changed on the inside, too. She’d worked hard over the past few years cultivating a sense of self-esteem, a sense of herself. Wasn’t she proving that right now? If she wasn’t confident in herself, would she ever be able to come here? After all, Colt was the one to whom she’d offered her virginity, a dozen years ago.
Colt was the one who had turned her down.
The reminder had her nerves jittering. This was a bad idea. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He hadn’t seen her yet. She could tiptoe away and he’d never be the wiser.
“You okay?”
Becca gulped and opened her eyes. Colt studied her frankly over his shoulder.
“Fine,” she said brightly. Too brightly. She forced some moderation into her smile and stepped toward the porch. “I’m Becca Danvers. We went to school together.” So much for making him guess who she was.
Colt snorted. Actually snorted. “I know who you are, Becca. I haven’t been kicked in the head that many times.”
“Of course not,” she stammered. “I just thought that since I—well, people say I’ve changed a lot. I didn’t know if you would recognize me.”
“Haven’t changed a bit to me,” he said, turning back to the porch.
Her smile fell. “Oh. Well, good. Good.”
Wonderful. She was really impressing him with her cool sophistication now. He’d noticed her for all of three seconds. She reminded herself why she was here. The man had just lost his father—well, not just; Doff Bonner had passed on two months ago—and Colt had come back to a town he’d avoided for over a dozen years. It was bound to be a hard time for him.
“I stopped by to see if you needed anything. I heard you got back in town last night—” Actually, she’d seen his pickup pull up, but she wasn’t going to let him think she sat around staring at his house.
“I see the Aloma gossip mill is still in business.” He didn’t bother to look up. “Everybody’s already worried what that degenerate Bonner is up to now.”
She pursed her lips and moved closer to the porch. She should have known Colt would be angry. She hadn’t seen him in over twelve years, but she remembered enough to know that anger was his first line of defense. She wasn’t put off by it any more now than she had been when she was ten.
She stepped onto the porch and leaned against the rail, crossing her ankles. “Yes, the entire town was peeking through their curtains when you drove past the city limits sign. We held a town meeting this morning to decide how we’re going to run you out. Someone suggested calling in the National Guard. But me? I prefer a good old-fashioned stoning any day.” She smiled and raised her eyebrows at him.
Colt sat back on his haunches, his forearms across his knees, and gave her a rueful half-smile. Her heart did a slow flip.
“Okay, your point is made. I guess you could say I’m not exactly glad to be back in Aloma County.”
“I can’t say I blame you, considering everything that happened before you left.” She folded her arms across her middle, careful to make sure the Santa Fe Sand she wore on her perfectly manicured fingertips—which were probably still a little wet, anyway—didn’t smudge against the teal of her power suit. She was doing a pretty good job, she thought, pretending the sight of him didn’t make her breath come short and her heart pound. “And considering what’s brought you back. I’m sorry about Doff, Colt.”
Colt’s eyes narrowed, and he waved away that consideration with his hand. “Don’t be. He brought it on himself.”
She raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything. There was no love lost between Colt and his father; everyone knew that. She’d grown up a hundred yards from Doff Bonner’s violent temper. She knew what the man was capable of, including turning his own son against him. As Colt said, he brought it on himself.
Colt stood and walked across the porch, his boots clopping softly on the wooden boards. She watched him until she realized with a jolt that he was moving toward her, his eyes dark with intent.
Her mouth went dry. The memory of the last night she’d seen Colt came to her in excruciatingly vivid staccato flashes. Kissing him, holding on to him for dear life. The feel of him beneath her as she sat on his lap; feeling closer to him in that moment than she’d ever felt to anyone, before or since.
Her ridiculous offer of a dozen years ago hung foremost in her mind, and she realized with mortification that he was probably remembering it, too, more clearly than she.
His eyes were steady on hers, brooding. He meant to kiss her again. She could see it in the way he honed in on her. She regained enough presence of mind to close her mouth.
He moved toward her with a tangible sense of purpose, his jaw set with determination. His gaze held hers with an intensity that had her heart stuttering. He stopped inches from her. She could smell the scent of hard work. In a delicious panic, her eyelids fluttered closed.
He was silent for a moment, then cleared his throat. “’Scuse me, Becca. You’re leaning on my shirt.”
She opened her eyes a fraction, to see him watching her with barely disguised amusement. She willed the porch to open up and swallow her whole. When it didn’t, she sighed and moved aside.
Once again, she’d made a colossal fool of herself in front of Colt Bonner.
He picked up the shirt from the porch rail and slipped his arms into it, leaving the buttons undone. Then he moved to the opposite rail and leaned against it, hooking his thumbs in his pockets. “So, what do you think I need?”
She blinked rapidly a few times. “What?” Her voice quavered.
He ducked his head, but she saw his grin, anyway. Oh, well. If she couldn’t be cool and sophisticated, she could console herself with the knowledge that she was amusing.
“You said you came by to see if I needed anything. What did you have in mind?”
Since her vivid imagination had deserted her, she told him the truth. “Dinner,” she said. “I didn’t know if the electricity was turned on yet, and I didn’t think you would want to eat at the Dairy Queen your first night back in town.”
“Electricity got turned on this morning.”
“Oh. Okay.” She walked slowly around the porch, deciding that she couldn’t have made a bigger failure of this visit if she’d tried. She’d wanted to comfort him over the loss of his father, which he obviously didn’t need. She’d wanted to show him that she wasn’t that same mousy, shy wallflower, and instead she’d proved conclusively that she was a nut. He didn’t even want her dinner.
“Okay, then. I need to be going. I have papers to grade and—”
She heard his shout of warning at the same time the porch decided to finally open up and swallow her. Not whole, though. Just her left shin.
Jagged wood bit into her leg as she pitched forward, and she slammed her hand against the wall to regain her balance. Cold air under the porch brushed against her skin, and her foot thudded against solid ground.
Colt leapt across the porch and grabbed her before she fell on her face. His hands under her elbows, he brought her against him.
Becca pulled frantically on her leg. It was stuck.
“Stop, Becca!” Colt said sharply. “You keep pulling like that and you’re going to make it worse.”
She stopped. Colt leaned over the splintered wood, one hand cupping her leg behind her knee. Becca bit her lip and looked down at his dark head bent over her leg. Physical pain began to seep past her hurt pride.
Colt cursed, then tilted his head to offer her a curt apology. “This place is a disaster. I should just pay to have the place bulldozed and sell the land. It’s going to take a month or more to get it livable again.” He muttered something under his breath and sat back on his heels. “Don’t move. I’m going to have to get the hammer and pry some of this loose before you can pull your leg out.”
She stood there, lopsided, while he picked up the hammer and fit the claw end into the hole beside her leg. “I hope this doesn’t hurt,” he said as he gave it a mighty tug. The muscles of his shoulders flexed as he worked the wood free. The entire board popped up with a screeching groan.
It did hurt, a little. She asked through gritted teeth, “You’re going to remodel the house?”
He shrugged and put his hand on her calf, helping her out of the hole. “I’m going to try— How does it feel? It looks pretty scraped up.”
The Silky Sheer Precious Ivory panty hose she’d bought early that morning before school were ruined, of course. A big ugly hole opened around the scrape, and three different runs inched from the hole toward her skirt. She managed to nod, as he ran his fingers down the abrasion.
“It’s fine, really.” She drew her leg away from his fingers. “You’re not staying, are you?”
“I’m going to get the house livable again, and sell it as quick as I can. Right now, it ought to be condemned.” He cursed and shook his head.
“Damn old drunk, I’m surprised he didn’t break his neck in this dump.” He knelt in front of her and looked up, grim faced. “Do you want to see a doctor?”
She shook her head and smiled. “Of course not. It’s just a little red.” It stung mightily, and her shinbone ached. She resisted the urge to bend over and blow on it. “A little soap and water, and it will be fine.”
Colt stood and took her hand, leading her away from the hole. “Lazy, worthless drunk. I can’t believe he let the place go like this.” He scowled at the piles of junk in the yard, the tangles of weeds and dried grass, the gray weathered wood that had once been painted white.
Because it felt a little too overwhelming, Becca withdrew her hand from his. If he noticed at all, he didn’t acknowledge it.
Becca took off her bone-colored flat and shook out dirt. “He had a few other things on his mind the past few years. Like maintaining a constant state of inebriation.”
“So, nothing’s changed. You’re the one who left those Alcoholics Anonymous pamphlets for him, aren’t you.”
Becca nodded.
Colt shook his head. “Still the champion of lost causes, Becca? You know he was using them as coasters for his beer, don’t you?”
