Move the Sun (Signal Bend Series) Read Free Page B

of woman from whom he’d never hear the boner-killing plea, Watch my hair! Fuck, he hated women like that. He liked his fucks to get messy. So, yeah, he could sit back and look at her all day. But that’s not what had caught him.
    He’d noticed her cage before he’d noticed her, when he, Len, and Showdown were on their way out of town earlier in the afternoon. That 68 Camaro was cherry. It was worth a lot of money, and it wasn’t so usual to see expensive cars around Signal Bend.  Even the out-of-towners who came out on weekends to the shops on Main weren’t the ritzy “antiquing” types. The “Main Street Marketplace,” so-dubbed by the sad, little men of the sad, little Chamber of Commerce, was really junk shops. Permanent garage sales.
    So a hot chick with money was at the one and only realtor in Signal Bend. That was worth a look. He’d decided he wanted to know more while they were still riding past her; he intended to put Bart on it in the morning. But now she was here at the bar, so maybe he could get what he needed straight from the hottie’s mouth.
    She kept that pretty, rosy mouth closed, though. He didn’t even have her name yet. She was smiling, her eyes keen and sparkling, and she was sitting here sharing her eats with him—her reticence wasn’t hostile at all. In fact, he was picking up that she might well be good for a tumble tonight.
    So why so cool? He wasn’t a big talker, but she’d said one word for ten of his. There was something going on behind those—blue?—eyes. Woman was smart, and she was paying careful attention. That had his antennae up.
    Her name and address he’d have five minutes after he put Bart on it. Probably less. But there was something else, something deeper and much more interesting, to know about her.
    Taking a pull from her bottle of Bud, she looked past him down the bar and rolled her eyes. Isaac turned and saw his guys all goggling at them like the assholes they were. Dan raised his glass of whiskey, and the other four followed suit, toasting him as if they’d never seen him work a chick before. Assholes. He lifted his beer to them and turned away.
    “Don’t mind them. I don’t let ‘em out much.” He watched her tip the bottle up and swallow down the last of it. The way her throat moved as she swallowed, the muscles flexing rhythmically, gave him an urge to run his fingers across that smooth, sleek skin. He barely caught it back; his fingers actually stretched a little toward her, which surprised him.
    She set the empty bottle on the bar. He drained his and did the same. “’Nother?”
    She smiled at him—that smile said that she was on to him, and she wanted to make sure he knew it. “One more. Gotta drive home in unfamiliar territory, so I’ll need my wits.”
    “I’ll see to it you get home, don’t you worry.”
    “I’ll bet. One more. And thank you.” She pulled a fry heavy with ketchup and ate it, end first. It left behind a small, tomato-y drop, and he reached out to catch it with his thumb, but, with a sly glance at his reaching digit, she slid her tongue out and ran it over her lower lip. His balls clenched hard at the sight, and his cock filled out uncomfortably. He signaled to Rose to bring two more Buds.
    As Rose was nodding, Isaac heard a crash behind him and instinctively looked at the mirror behind the bar. Jimmy Sullivan and Don Keyes were going at it and, in customary fashion, pulling in the rest of the crowd, men and women alike. His brothers were fairly leaping into the fray. Okay, then. He turned to his new, nameless friend. Way too pretty to get caught up in the melee.
    “You should get behind the bar with Rose, Sport. Show’s startin’.”
    Signal Bend, Missouri was named for a particular feature: a complicated bend in the railroad which bisected the town. When, after three massive derailments, the rail line acknowledged that the bend was more than a locomotive could take at speed, they installed a signal house at the