Burning Hot Rumors (Choices: Tarkio MC Book 2) Read online

  "Can I get you anything...?" He turned around as the customer started the engine and pulled away from the gas station, running over the hose that rang the bell inside at the counter.

  Returning to the front of the gas station, he grabbed the dolly and walked around the building to the back door. Before he loaded more bags of ice, he stepped inside and looked around for Callie.

  She sat behind the counter, her head bent, and her icy-blonde hair shielding her face. For one of the sexiest women he'd ever seen, she was either shy or not a people person. She went out of her way to ignore not only him but every customer that'd come into the gas station.

  That morning when she'd shown him around the place and gave him a list of chores to do between helping the customers outside, she'd stayed away from small talk.

  Even her instructions were given in a way that he could either do what he wanted or not do them, she wouldn't care either way. Knowing she was Ed's daughter, he'd think she would take responsibility for the success of the gas station and be critical about the employees her dad hired.

  Her shoulders moved with a heavy sigh. He stood there, hoping she would look at him. For one brief moment that morning, she'd tossed her hair over her shoulder and caught her bottom lip between her teeth and it'd felt like he'd gotten sucker-punched.

  She had the lightest brown eyes, but it was the gold ring around her iris that left him staring. Her eyes were magnetizing and seductive. As if he stared too long, he'd be a goner.

  Then, she'd gone back to looking away from him, hiding from his view.

  He stepped to the counter and placed the money he'd collected from the customers in front of Callie. She spared him a glance and went back to writing in a notebook filled with columns.

  The bell on the door jingled. A group of young women came in, their laughter and steps stopping at the sight of him. He dipped his chin and moved out of their way, walking around them toward the door.

  "There's that skank," whispered one of the girls.

  Kent continued to the door, looking back over his shoulder only to find they were talking about Callie. He gazed at his boss's daughter. Either she never heard the name-calling directed at her or pretended not to acknowledge the two women because she continued staring down at the ledger in front of her.

  "I swear, she's had more dick than every female in Missoula," muttered the woman with short hair.

  Kent walked outside. It wasn't his business what went on around town. He only planned to stay as long as he had money flowing in. After work, he needed to check out the pay-by-the-day motel across town and see if they had a vacancy and would allow him to pay by the week or month. If not, he'd continue to stay in the tent down at the river.

  He grabbed the broom and put bristles to pavement. Staying down at the river wasn't a bad way to live. The weather was decent, if not chilly, like he preferred, and it only took a short dip in the water to wash.

  All he had to do was sleep when he wasn't working, and one day turned into the next. It was a comfortable existence after spending the last two years living in a trailer working long days, six days a week, on the oil rigs.

  He wasn't made to settle at any one place for long. Never had been, thanks to being an Army brat.

  His life had been planned out for him. He'd join the Army and follow his dad's footsteps

  But life had a way of changing plans without telling him. At eighteen years old, he hit the road, jumping from one place to another.

  There was no need to set down roots. People never interested him. Places grew boring. As long as he had his Harley, he could go anywhere he wanted.

  Using the broom, he pushed the gravel, tossed pull tabs and snuffed cigarette butts to the corner of the building, and added the debris to the pile he'd started earlier.

  In his peripheral vision, the two women came out of the front door. He set the broom against the building and walked toward the pump.

  "Are you getting gas today, ladies?" he asked.

  The woman with short hair turned around. "I paid inside."

  "How much?" He unhooked the nozzle.

  "Five dollars."

  He unscrewed the gas cap at the back of the car behind the license plate, knowing he'd be able to fill the car with that amount of money.

  "Can you do the windshield, too?" The other woman wagged her finger toward the car. "There are bugs."

  "That, I can do." He got the gas flowing and walked to the front of the vehicle and washed the windshield.

  "You're not from around here." The short-haired woman leaned against the door of the car and arched her back against the vehicle, studying him. "What's your name?"

  "Kent." The numbers on the pump slowly changed.

  "I'm Belinda DeBarge." She pointed to her friend. "That's Dana Avery."

  He dipped his chin, acknowledging the introduction. Neither woman appealed to him after hearing them bitch about Callie.

  "What have you been doing in Missoula?"

  "Working," he said.

  The pump clicked off. He took out the nozzle and screwed on the gas cap. There were two cents remaining on her balance.

  He dug out two pennies from his pocket and held the change out to her. "All filled."

  "You don't talk much." She stepped closer, taking the coins, her fingers lingering on his hand.

  He moved away. "You have a good day now."

  Belinda's scoff at his rejection hit his ears as he turned and walked toward the front door. He was here to work, not make friends.

  Walking inside, he searched out Callie and found her filling the magazine rack. He cleared his throat.

  She jolted and turned her head, looking over her shoulder. The fear that'd flashed in her gaze was quickly hidden.

  "Did you need something?" She looked down at the stack of skin mags in her hand.

  Her face flushed, and she hurried to put the magazines in their slot and flip down the plastic shield to hide the naked woman on the cover from him.

  "Just wanted to check and make sure that last customer paid five bucks for the gas." He wasn't here to embarrass her. It was obvious she was only stocking the rack, not checking out the contents of the magazine.

  "Uh, yes." She shoved the crate with her foot and moved down the aisle. "The gas was paid for."

  "It only came to four dollars and ninety-eight cents, so I gave her the change out of my pocket."

  "Go ahead and take a couple pennies from the dish on the counter," she said.

  "I'm not worried about two cents."

  She shrugged and went back to sliding magazines into the right slot. He headed toward the door when he stopped and turned back around. There was nobody inside with her. Her dad must be off doing something else.

  "Customer service doesn't mean you have to put up with rude people," he said.

  She glanced at him, no emotions on her face. For several seconds, she simply stared at him, and he wondered if he'd misread the hostile attitude the women aimed at Callie.

  "The new gas price came in a few minutes ago. You'll need to change the pump and then put the new price on the sign at the road. It cost a dollar nineteen a gallon now." She turned away from him, ending their two-subject conversation.

  He walked out. It wasn't any of his business how she handled customers or the history behind the way they acted toward her. If she wanted to ignore how other people treated her, that was her problem.

  Chapter 3

  Callie

  CALLIE LOCKED THE BACK door and walked the two hundred feet to the single-wide trailer. She gazed at the pinkness in the sky over the mountain peaks in the distance. Working every day made the seasons go by fast. It was already the beginning of summer.

  Before she knew it, the weather would change.

  Snow would cover the mountain range.

  Her nights would get longer and lonelier.

  The gravel under her feet rolled with each step. It was almost laughable how fast the warmer days went by and how cold nights seemed to last forever.<
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  Noticing her dad's truck gone, she opened the front door of the trailer. Not knowing what time he planned to come home since he left work before she closed the gas station and never mentioned any plans for the evening, she'd hold off on starting dinner and heat the leftover casserole that remained from last night.

  She kicked her shoes off by the door and walked over to the couch. Plopping down, she took her hair out of her high ponytail and rubbed her head. Her normal day had turned strange with the added employee her dad hired.

  Her humiliation, facing the good citizens of Missoula, was witnessed by Kent. Even worse, he'd heard what Belinda and Dana said about her, and then an hour before closing, Brian came into the station and asked her if the new guy working for her had spread her legs yet. He'd actually said those exact words—there was no way Kent would think he misunderstood the meaning.

  A cough came from the other end of the trailer. She dropped her arms and cocked her head, listening.

  Another cough came, and she recognized who made the sound. She stood. "Dad?"

  Going to her dad's bedroom, she peeked her head inside. Her dad sat on the edge of the bed with his work-worn hands planted on his knees. His upper body tensed as he tried to stifle his chest spasms.

  Alarmed, she walked to him and sat down on the bed. Putting her hand on his back, her throat closed with concern at the slight vibration under her palm. Frailness had replaced her always robust father.

  "Do you need a drink?" She rubbed his back.

  He shook his head, his body seized as he tried to stop the cough. Her concern went beyond his struggle with COPD. She worried that his heart wasn't doing a good enough job. That there could be more blockage.

  Knowing it was hard for him to exert the energy to hold a conversation while he struggled to keep the all-consuming coughs at bay, she sat with him. He hadn't mentioned he was feeling bad when he'd left work.

  But he wouldn't.

  He was a strong, stubborn, and proud man. Not one day in her life had she ever seen him admit he was scared, hurting, or pissed off because of the life he'd been dealt with.

  Her dad was at an age where he shouldn't be working. He could spend more time in his shed fiddling with his tools and making flower baskets out of wood or teeter-totters for grandchildren—grandchildren she should've given him.

  He patted her knee. "I'm...okay."

  She leaned against his side and pressed her cheek to his shoulder. He'd given up so much of his life raising her after her mom died giving birth to her stillborn brother. Not once had he complained or hesitated about ending up a single father.

  Just like he never paused when she showed up at his door with her belongings in bags and fell apart in his strong arms the night she'd left Josh. He'd welcomed her home and never spoke a word about her decision to get a divorce or judged her, while the town of Missoula had done enough speaking for him.

  "I wish you'd see a doctor," she whispered.

  He inhaled deeply, testing his lungs before standing up. She watched his complexion pale. His whiskered jawline hardened.

  Knowing he wouldn't agree, she expected him not to answer.

  "I thought you were gone. I didn't see your truck outside." She stood.

  "I got some wood coming," he muttered, grabbing his flannel shirt off the chair in his room and slipping it over his T-shirt.

  She fixed the collar for him and added a kiss to his cheek. "I'll stack it."

  "No need. Kent's going to do it." Her dad walked out of the bedroom.

  The low rumble of her dad's old truck penetrated the thin walls of the trailer. She walked out to the living room and caught sight of Kent pulling the pickup in front of the house. She squinted, studying the full truckload of wood.

  So, her dad already trusted Kent to drive his personal vehicle. That surprised her.

  The front door opened and closed. She sighed loudly. If her dad would've asked, she could've retrieved the wood from Mr. Langly. She'd done it many times throughout the years.

  Not wanting to be beholding to Kent, she went outside. While her dad leaned his arms over the bed of the truck, she picked up the pieces of wood Kent threw to the ground and carried them over to the woodpile to stack.

  They worked in silence. Once in a while, Kent broke the evening calmness by saying something to her dad. She kept busy, staying out of their conversation but curious about what he talked about.

  During the work hours, Kent kept to himself, preferring to work in silence than talking her ear off like a lot of the younger men her dad had hired in the past.

  She picked up two pieces of wood precariously balancing them in her arms. The sooner the job got done, and Kent went home, she could slip inside, take a shower, and go to bed. Her hunger long gone; she wasn't even planning to eat.

  Maybe the skipped meal and extra labor would be her first step toward getting back in shape. She wiped her forehead and glanced at Kent. Could he tell she was overheated and out of breath?

  He hadn't broken a sweat and threw the logs to the ground faster than she could stack the woodpile. Though she tried to keep up with him, she failed.

  Going by the broad shoulders and muscles bulging in his biceps, Kent had gathered wood before. Her mouth dry, she swallowed. He could probably unload and stack faster alone than with her.

  But she wasn't going to let him think he had done the job by himself.

  The wood was for heating the trailer, which they fought to keep warm when temperatures dropped below freezing. Normally, she went and got the wood from Mr. Langly, who had his son load the wood for her. Then, between her and her dad, they took all week to stack the wood.

  She pushed up the sleeves of her shirt on the way back to the pickup. Kent jumped to the ground, picked up the last four pieces in one arm, and walked past her. She looked over her shoulder at his back. Seriously, how could someone be in such good shape?

  Brushing her hands off on her jeans, she crossed her arms and went to stand beside her dad. Her dad was still pale and exhaled harder than usual.

  Kent returned to the truck. Callie's dad shook the man's hand. She stood back, letting the men deal with the job in their own way. It wasn't unusual for one of the employees to do an errand or two for her dad after work. Though they hadn't had an extra employee in over four months.

  The awkwardness of having Kent around must be the reason why he made her feel self-conscious. Once the newness wore off, she wouldn't even be aware of him hanging around.

  "Have you eaten?" asked her dad.

  Callie's heart pounded at the question. Of course, Kent hadn't eaten. He'd gone directly after work to pick up the wood. He wouldn't have had time to eat.

  "Going to go do that now." Kent handed the truck keys to her dad. "You have a good evening."

  "No use rushing off." Her dad slapped Kent on the shoulder, even though the man was at least six inches taller than her father.

  Why hadn't she noticed how tall Kent was before? Her dad was six feet tall. Or, he was before his posture changed over the last few years with his illness.

  "Callie?" Her dad looked at her. "Set another plate at the table."

  "Nah, that's okay, Mr. Moore," said Kent.

  "I insist. It's leftover casserole. One of my favorites." said her dad. "And, call me Ed."

  Kent turned his attention to Callie as if to see what she thought about her dad inviting him to eat with them, but replied to her dad. "Okay. Thanks."

  Prepared for his answer, she never let her disappointment show. She walked to the house, hoping the living room wasn't resembling a collect-all of her dad's newspapers and his three pairs of boots.

  The mess greeted her inside. She groaned at the lived-in look centered around her dad's La-Z-Boy. Sunday, she'd need to pick up the house on her day off.

  She quickly took off her long-sleeved shirt, washed with soap and water clear up to her elbows, and took out the casserole. Turning on the oven, she slid in the dish, not worrying about preheating.

  When he
r dad and Kent came inside, she stayed by the sink and cleaned the few dishes leftover from when she and her dad came over to have lunch during work. It was best to leave the men to themselves.

  "You're catching on to how we run the business fairly fast." Her dad huffed as he sat down. "Have you ever pumped gas before?"

  "Can't say I have. I was out in the oil fields in my last job."

  "Good work. Hard work. What made you leave?"

  "The company cut back on the labor crews. I knew it was coming. Several of the wells had been capped over the last year."

  "That's a shame," said her dad. "What made you land in Missoula?"

  "It's where the road took me."

  Callie wiped down the counter, stealing glances at Kent. He sat in the smaller recliner across from her dad. Her recliner.

  He looked comfortable, regardless of his bent knees and his shoulders taking up the span of the back cushion. She scrubbed harder.

  "No family?" said her dad.

  Curious to know the answer, she looked up. She knew nothing about him.

  "Not anymore. My dad was a military man, died in 'Nam. Mom...she died a year later. She mistook the signs of cancer for grief. By the time she went to the doctor, it was too late." Kent leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees.

  "Sorry to hear that." Her dad shook his head. "You look old enough to have served. Did you get caught up in the draft?"

  "No, to the disappointment of my dad." Kent's voice lowered. "He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, and when I never stepped that way, he hoped the draft would get me and change my mind. I was called up a week after his death, and they gave me a deferment for being the only son."

  "Would you have gone?"

  "Yes, sir." Kent dipped his chin. "I argued against the favoritism, believing it only came because they lost a good man, a better man than me. But, six months later, they stopped the draft, then the war ended."

  "For the best." Her dad grunted. "It's a lonely life without family. I thank God every day I've got Callie to take care of me. She does more than she should, or I want her to do. A woman her age shouldn't be tied down looking after an old man."