Hellion (Southern Rebels MC)

“Do you need assistance, ma’am?”

Her nose crinkled, and she let out a throaty laugh as she shook her head. “The South will never die as long as gentlemen have manners,” she commented idly, then gestured behind her. “Do you change tires?”

“Only on Tuesdays,” I replied, watching the corners of her eyes crinkle.

“Then I guess it’s my lucky Tuesday,” she quipped, disappearing back around the RV. Her voice trailed behind her, “Are you coming?”

I followed more slowly, still a little wary, but when I went around the side there was nothing but an extremely flat tire and a crowbar lying on the ground. “Weren’t you at the barber shop earlier today?” I’d recognized her immediately even though her hair had changed color. The bleached blonde was gone, replaced by a silky caramel color that glinted in the sunlight.

“Observant, Officer….” She paused, checking the badge on my chest. “Breaux.”

“Not many pronounce it correctly,” I observed, kneeling by the tire, seeing she’d managed to get two lugs off already.

“I’ve spent some time in the Bayou state,” she answered and I filed the information away for later. “And I thought it was a salon.”

“Eh, it sounds manlier when I say I get my hair cut at the barber shop.”

Her mouth twitched, but she didn’t allow herself to smile.

“You get all the best gossip there,” she mentioned and I grunted in acknowledgement, as I worked off one of the lug nuts. “Like the fact that you drive a 1957 Indian on the weekends.” I paused, glancing up at her. “And you’re a Pisces.” My eyes narrowed. “Everyone thought you would marry Sheila, but really she didn’t understand you.”

I rocked back on my heels, staring at her now. “What the hell?”

Laughter danced in her eyes as she smirked down at me. “You were the hot topic of conversation at the salon.”

I shook my head, chuckling under my breath. “They tell you my shoe size too?”

“Twelve,” she answered instantly and I swung my head around, staring at her in shock. A peal of laughter escaped her as she crouched down next to me, pointing at my shoes.

“I could see the size on the bottom,” she admitted and I nodded, impressed in spite of myself. “You know the hairdresser with the big tits has a huge crush on you.”

“Candy,” I recognized, unable to stop a quick frown.

“Ah,” she murmured knowingly.

I sent her a quick look, prying off the tire. “What?”

“You don’t feel the same way.”

“All I said was her name,” I said defensively and her lip curled. “You got a spare?” I deflected and she nodded, standing up. I rolled the tire as she walked to the back of the RV.

“Fingers crossed it has air,” she muttered, unlocking the spare wheel cover. “It’s been in storage a few years.”

I shot her a questioning glance, but she avoided my gaze. “It looks okay,” I replied, “There’s a little dry rot but it should get you back to town.” She nodded in agreement, crossing her arms over her chest. “Where were you headed?” I nodded at the empty highway. “Not much out this way.”

“I was going to the Riverside Campground,” she answered as I wrestled the spare down. “It’s the only place around here to park an RV.”

“It’s closed,” I told her, and her face pinched worriedly. “There was a flood a couple months ago,” I explained, walking the spare tire back to the wheel well. “They haven’t gotten it back up and running.”

“Is there anywhere else to park an RV?” She asked, the veneer of the confident woman slipping slightly, as a hint of anxiety came through.

“Not for a hundred miles,” I said bluntly, positive she wouldn’t appreciate any sign of sympathy. “Not a lot of tourists come through Friendly.”

“Hard to believe with a name like that,” she joked halfheartedly. I set the tire on and started twisting on one of the nuts. She leaned against the RV, watching me work. “Did you really moon the Chief of Police when you were in high school?”

The question was unexpected and a laugh escaped me at the memory. I paused, meeting her eyes. “I hadn’t thought of that in years.” I shook my head ruefully. “I seriously underestimated the gossip that goes down at the barber shop.”

“Well, it all depends on the topic,” she admitted, wrinkling her nose. “It didn’t hurt you were in uniform.” My eyebrows rose and one of her cheeks creased in a grin. “Apparently, you’d make a really hot March if the department ever did a calendar.” Heat crawled up my cheeks. “Are you blushing?”

I could hear the laughter in her voice as I kept my head down, muttering, “What? No. It’s warm out here and I’m working.”

“Uh huh,” she murmured, clearly unconvinced. “Whatever you say, March,” she drawled, light amber eyes glittering in amusement.

I needed a distraction before the nickname stuck. “You got another place you can park this rig?”