Bo stared at a list of medical rehab centers on his computer screen. He should look at the websites and start making calls. And he would. As soon as he quelled his urge to smash something. If his leg wasn’t hurt, he’d go over to Sal’s and take it out on him. He blew out a breath. Tara mentioned not doing whatever her heart wanted to do. That was Bo’s problem. Act first, think later.
Being arrested when he was sixteen had been a wakeup call. His parents hadn’t come to his rescue, or more to the point, his father hadn’t. At the time, he’d resented being in lock-up overnight with guys who swapped stories about who they’d shot or raped before they were even eighteen. When Bo got home the next night after the five-mile walk from the detention center, Barrett Michaels only lowered the newspaper a few inches, lifted one brow and said in a stony voice, “Did ya like it in there?”
Bo hadn’t answered. But despite the rage that roiled inside him, he’d known it was the right question. The answer was no. The following day, his father stood by him in court. Stoic. When he dropped Bo at school, he said, “Son, I’ve taught you right from wrong. You can fight me or you can put your energy into doing something with your life. Making yourself useful.”
There was no flowery speech about how he believed in Bo or how he could do whatever he set his mind to. The next day, Barrett went to work without taking Bo along as he usually did on Saturdays. Bo had lazed on his bed and pondered his life. An orange jumpsuit and a prison tattoo weren’t what he wanted, so he’d made a U-turn.
Bo picked up his phone and began making calls. An hour later, he concluded that he’d drop at least six thousand dollars between the various deductibles, with the daily cost to the insurer being between seven and eight hundred dollars. No one offered a driver or errand runner, so that would be extra.
The out-of-pocket costs wouldn’t put a big dent in his savings. Then why did it bother him so much? Because, for the first time in years, money wasn’t the only factor in a decision. It wasn’t even the biggest one. Tara was. What kind of person put a total stranger ahead of an important test, then took him into her home after he’d given her good reason not to? He wanted to find out.
Bo stewed about how to handle the situation. He’d already told Tara he couldn’t just be friends. His attraction had started the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Now, after all she had done, he longed to return the tenderness she’d shown him. But he could certainly control himself. He understood—even respected—her desire to show restraint, to be true to herself. If they were a couple, he knew men would hit on her. And she’d given him a glimpse of how she would handle it. Bo sighed, ran a hand through his hair.
Somehow, he’d have to accommodate her. Unfortunately, after he voiced his doubts, he’d also walked out. It might be too late. He stared at the ceiling.
Tara drove home from the grocery store. She’d taken the opportunity to go out after Bo went to his room, knowing that once he left, she’d be without transportation again. During the drive, she thought through her feelings. The time alone bolstered her resolve. There had to be another way out of her financial dilemma. When she got home, she’d call the assessor’s office and find out what her options were, now that the deadline to pay the taxes had passed.
Tara was putting the food in the fridge when Bo entered the kitchen. Her stomach felt sick. “I used your car to get some groceries.”
“That’s fine.” There was something different in his tone.
Facing him, she inhaled slowly.
“Do you mind if we talk?” he asked.
“No.” She followed him to the front room. This was where Grandpa Henry had always brought her when they needed to talk. He’d always been gentle. She hoped his spirit was here. Bo sat on the sofa. Too nervous to sit in the chair, Tara perched on the arm of the recliner.
“I looked into several places in Reno. Two of them would work.” He rubbed his neck.
So this was the end. Tara stood, trying not to cry. “When do you need to go? I’ll get your things packed.”
“I’m sorry for walking out like that. It was selfish. I’ll leave if you want me to.” Bo stared at the floor, paused a few beats. “I know I told you I didn’t think I could keep things cool between us, but I’ve given it more thought.” He leveled his gaze. “If you agree to let me stay, I won’t cross the line.”
A knock on the door made her jump. She went and peeked through the curtains. “It’s the police officer. I spoke to him while you were sleeping.”
“Do you want to talk to him privately?” Bo asked.
“No.”
She opened the door and ushered him in. They greeted each other and she introduced him to Bo. “Did you find out anything?”
He gave a disappointed smile. “Mr. Esposito denies any involvement. And we didn’t find any prints. What we need is a witness. You might ask around. We’ll do the same.”
“Okay.” Tara flooded with disappointment.
“I made it clear to Sal that if he contacts you, it constitutes harassment and he can be charged.” He patted his pocket. “I gave you my card, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. You should make sure to keep your doors locked.”
“I always do. Thank you for coming by.”
As she opened the front door, he said, “There’s a used tire store called Chambers just outside Reno. It could save you a couple hundred on replacements.”
“Good to know.” Tara locked the door and went back to Bo, who was now lying down. He stretched, causing his T-shirt to pull up several inches, revealing a patch of taut abs split by a line of dark hair. She’d seen all of Bo’s abs—and everything else—but it didn’t keep her stomach from doing somersaults. His eyes followed hers to his navel and he adjusted his shirt with a wry grin. “We were interrupted.”
“You’re welcome to stay.”
“Thank you.”
Tara collapsed on the recliner, took it all the way back, draping an arm over her forehead.
“Are you worried about Sal?” said Bo.
“A little. I hope he’s satisfied now.”
“What happened with him?”
She groaned.
“Tell me.”
Tara recounted her visit to Sal’s shop. Bo’s features hardened when she told him what Sal had done. When she got to the part where she’d knocked the pile of hubcaps over while repossessing her car, he burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny? I was scared out of my mind.”
“I’m just picturing it. You’ve got cojones, Tara.”
“Only when I’m desperate.” She laughed too, still surprised at herself.
Bo sobered. “If I wasn’t laid up, I’d make a personal visit.”
“And end up in jail. Or the hospital.”
Bo shook his head. “Just jail.” He drummed his fingers on the sofa cushion.
“Been there before?” she teased.
“Once.”
“Seriously?” Tara righted her chair and stared at him.
“I was sixteen.”
“So I’m not the only one to do something stupid as a teenager. What did you do?”
“You first,” he insisted.
“No way.” She shook her head.
Bo turned a sofa pillow over in his hands. “My friends and I stole a car.”
Tara gaped at him. “You stole a car?”
“Yep.”
“How’d you get caught?”
He set the pillow beside him. “We were drunk and wound up in a ditch. Someone stopped to help and they called the cops when they saw beer bottles in the car.”
“Were you driving?” she asked.
“No.”
“What happened?”
“I got probation and community service.”
Tara stretched her legs, running her toes along the edge of the coffee table. “What did your parents do?”
“They let me sit in juvie overnight. I had to walk home the next day.”
Tara laughed.
“Yeah, it was real funny.”
“But you turned things around and went to college. That’s awesome.”
“Your turn.”
“Is this like spin the bottle?” Tara pulled her hand away from her scar.
Bo seemed to notice. “I’ve never played that.”
“You didn’t miss much.”
“You’re changing the subject again.” He threw the pillow at her.
Tara caught it. “Haven’t you ever heard it’s a woman’s prerogative to change the subject?”
He squinted one eye. “I’ve never heard it put quite like that.”
She shrugged, as though that was of no consequence. “I happen to be especially good at it. Rita and I planned a Christmas party for this Friday. Do you want me to cancel?”
Bo gave her a droll look. “You are good. No segue at all. What sort of party? Do I need to worry about getting caught in the middle of a drunken brawl?”
“I’m not a big drinker. Rita likes her liquor, but she doesn’t go crazy. It’s more of a dinner party. We dress up and eat good food.”
“It’s fine with me.”
“Would you like to join us?”
“Don’t you already have a date?” His eyes shone. With trouble.
“Have you heard the phone ringing much since you got here?”
“Can I be your date?”
She feigned throwing the pillow at him.
“Okay. I’ll settle for being your chaperone. Strictly hands off.”
“You’d be totally bored. Not that it concerns you, but Sal’s the only guy who’s hit on me lately.”
“Hey! What about me?” Bo thumped his chest.
Tara wagged a finger his direction. “You don’t count.”
“Why not?”
“Because—” She struggled to come up with a reason for her big fat lie. “Because you’re off limits.”
“I think that will work in my favor.” Bo smirked.
“How so?”
“By the time this is over, you’ll be so desperate that I won’t get all the way down the front steps before you come chasing after me for that kiss you turned down.”