“A bet, huh? What will we be betting?”
“You say whatever you want then I’ll decide something for myself.”
“Really?” His eyes narrowed as though he didn’t believe her or maybe he was really intrigued. She should have been able to tell, but a fog kept obscuring her senses.
“In that case, I’ll do it. If I win you’ll go to dinner with me tomorrow night.”
Emalea’s heart surged into her throat for a moment before breaking into an erratic rhythm. Trying to make a valiant recovery, she tossed her braid over her shoulder. He caught her fluttering fingers between his and grinned. “What do you think?”
She pushed her feet solidly into the ground, using all her determination to keep from turning tail and running. The scent of him—leather, beer, man—filled her nose, causing a certain amount of dizziness. Her hand was already starting to burn. She wanted to blame that heat on the late evening sun, but she knew exactly where it was coming from. She was attracted to him. It was a mind-numbing realization.
She put the brakes on her runaway feelings. She wasn’t going to lose. Pinning him with a sweet smile, she said, “I’ll take that bet.”
They shook hands. He had a nice laugh and for a minute she felt a little guilty about what she was going to do. Just a little joke and she’d clear it up tomorrow, right?
She put her hands on her hips. “Well, when I win, I want your bike, to keep. As in, you give me the papers.”
The thug flinched. “Have you lost your mind?”
Emalea felt a bump at her side. Lana hovered next to her shoulder. “Please excuse her, sir. She seems to be having an attack of pure insanity.”
Lana tugged at her arm. “Stop it!” Emalea hissed. “I know what I’m doing.”
“I doubt that,” Lana said, but let go, retreating a half step.
“You better listen to your friend.”
She widened her eyes innocently. “You’re not afraid you’re going to lose, are you?”
Jackson frowned. The woman just didn’t know when to quit.
“We’ll run this strip like everyone else. The first one to pass the orange stripe at the end of the road will win.”
He gritted his teeth. “Is this something you do on a regular basis, challenging people to races for their bikes?”
The shorter woman moved forward. “No, she does not.” She glared at her friend. “She needs to reconsider what she’s doing.”
The woman—Doc—pushed her friend to the side. “I know what I’m doing.”
He glared at the two of them. So what? He’d race. When he won, he’d tell her to forget about the dinner. Part of him still wanted to go, but that wasn’t a part he needed to be thinking with. Good sense was beginning to tell him this might not be the type of woman he needed to spend time with or even let know where he lived. Images of mad stalkers and pet rabbits in cooking pots flashed in his mind.
He twisted the key, then thumbed the start switch. “Get on your bike, honey. Let’s do it.”
When he pulled onto the road she was right behind him. The asphalt stretched before him into the distance. The small crowd that had gathered to watch the races didn’t seem especially interested. Though, at the moment, they didn’t know what was at stake.
For a second, he considered backing out. What was he thinking? This was not the way he had imagined he’d start life in his new town. She raced ahead of him, and he gunned the engine to pull alongside her. She needed to learn a little lesson. Now was as good a time as any. With a wave of her arm, she began to slow, then came to a complete stop.
Beside them, Mick had come to be the official race starter, leaving someone else in charge of the bar. Jackson revved his engine. He was way too old for this. Doc rolled her motorcycle into position and he did the same. The dark shades she wore hid her eyes, leaving him wondering if a hint of worry might be lurking there. Probably not. She was a little too cocky for that. He adjusted his own sunglasses, then faced forward, twisting the gas, his engine roaring.
Mick raised a towel into the air as Jackson had seen him do several times already for other races. Before he could reconsider, Mick brought the cloth down with a flourish.
The race was on. Jackson’s lips twitched upward slightly as his front wheel inched past hers, then half his bike was ahead. He could just imagine her desperation, now that she was beginning to realize she would lose. A full bike length ahead, his mouth curved into a victorious smile.
A thundering noise exploded next to him and his hands nearly slipped off the rubber grips. A flash of blue streaked past him, a long braid blowing in the wind. His wrists flexed as he begged his machine for more speed. But it was completely spent. The wind whistled in his ears, and he felt a little sick.
JACKSON SLAMMED HIS FIST on the seat of his Harley. Or was it her Harley? “What kind of motorcycle is that you’re riding? You shouldn’t challenge someone to a race when you’re on a souped-up machine.”
The long-legged witch grinned at him as she stuffed the keys to her motorcycle in her pocket. With a deft move, she straddled his bike. Her friend ran up.
“Em, you’re not really going to take this guy’s bike, are you?”
“Of course I am. If he had won I’m sure he’d have collected on his bet.” She regarded him disdainfully. “You can just leave the papers at the bar. I’ll come for them later. I know you won’t try and shirk on this bet, not with all these witnesses.”
The other woman stepped back from the motorcycle, giving Jackson a brief but worried glance. “You need to admit yourself for therapy, Em. Enough is enough. Now end this little joke and give him the bike back.” She stomped over to him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into her today. But she’ll give you your bike back, I’m sure.”
He could barely hear her, as Doc or Em or whoever she was revved his motorcycle. He wasn’t so sure he’d ever get it back. She gunned the engine one more time then roared onto the highway. A moment later she disappeared from sight. He stood there, stunned.
“I’m Lana.”
The woman standing next to him held out her hand. If he hadn’t been so angry he’d have laughed. He grasped her hand. It really wasn’t her fault, anyway. “Well, Lana, your friend should be locked in a padded room somewhere.”
“She’s really a nice person. She’s never done anything like this.”
“So what are you saying? She suddenly developed a split personality?”
Lana tucked her hair behind her ear. “I don’t know.” She pulled on the arm of a man who had been at the table with them earlier. “This is my husband, Lance. Lance, tell him how Em is usually not like this.”
The man put an arm around Lana. “Em’s not usually this bad.”
Jackson fumed. “Yeah? Well, looks like she chose today to be off-the-chart bad.”
“How will you get home?”
He eyed Lana. Now there was the question of the hour. “I guess since your friend took the keys to her bike I won’t be riding it.”
A large, rough hand hit him on the shoulder. “Come on, man. I’ll give you a ride home in my truck. Somebody’ll cover for me in the bar.”
He squinted at Mick’s smiling face then nodded. Jackson followed the beefy man to a dilapidated blue truck. The passenger door squeaked in protest when he opened it. He tried to get comfortable in the worn seat while the truck rumbled down the road. Somehow his