Free Beauty & the Biker by Beth Ciotta

on, so did the compliments, making Bella feel like one of Carson’s collectible cars. Clearly he was more smitten with her outer blessings than her inner workings.
    “Surprised you’re here on a Friday afternoon,” she said without turning. “Did you come in for a research book or something?”
    “I came in for you.”
    Most women would have been flattered. A committed business owner, who was typically up to his eyeballs in work-related matters, breaking away for a social visit. Bella just felt pressured.
    She slid a rogue book into its rightful place then faced the Silver-tongued Golden-boy of Dawes County embarrassed that she’d ever allowed herself to be seduced by a dimpled smile and sugar words. Carson was the radiant sun to Savage’s dark side of the moon. Cropped blond hair, classically handsome, not overly tall or ripped, but fit and stylish. Creased trousers, pressed oxford shirt, buffed loafers. He owned more suit jackets and ties than any man in Nowhere. He lived in a beautiful house and drove an expensive car. He championed folks who’d fallen on hard times and hosted an annual family fun day at his auto dealership.
    Unfortunately, most of his efforts as a Good Samaritan were rooted in selfish motivation. Anything to gain the praise of the townfolk. Anything to live up to his deceased father’s reputation and expectations. Most people were blind to that aspect of Carson—including Carson.
    “Not sure what you have in mind,” Bella said, “but I’m on the clock until five. After that I have a commitment.”
    “I heard about the poker game,” he said. “Archie gambling away the truck.”
    Bella flushed, mortified for her dad. He wouldn’t like knowing he was a source of gossip. Maybe that’s why he’d stayed home last night. To avoid his cronies and random whispers regarding his drunken folly. “Everything righted itself,” she whispered, desperate to minimize the fallout. “Red’s home. We’re good. Dad’s fine.”
    “You don’t believe that. And if you do, you’re fooling yourself.”
    “I don’t want to talk about this. Not here.” Not ever. Not with you.
    “I texted you last night and left two voice mails this morning. If you would have returned—”
    “I’m working, Carson.”
    “Archie’s drinking is out of control. Coupled with depression…” He sighed and lowered his voice even more. “He could hurt someone. He could hurt you. Unintentionally, of course, but the fact remains. He needs help.”
    “What, like a psychiatrist? AA?”
    “Or a grief counselor.”
    Bella fisted her hands at her sides. Her lungs squeezed. It was the first time anyone had suggested her dad needed professional help. She didn’t want to believe it was that bad. “He won’t go for it. He’s too proud. Too private.”
    “What about talking to someone who’s gone through a similar loss? My accountant, Bernie Forrester—”
    “Lost his wife last year. I know.”
    “He’s acquainted with Archie. I’m sure he’d be willing—”
    “No. Thank you. Maybe.” Bella shook her head. “I’ll think about it.” She absolutely believed her dad would feel better if he spewed his bottled up grief. The sadness. The anger. She’d hoped he’d talk to her. She missed her mom, too.
    She looked up at Carson, squirming under his compassionate regard. She’d expected an invitation to dinner not a proposed intervention. This is how he’d seduced her in the first place. Stepping in as a calm and confident force in the wake of her mom’s passing. Feeling awkward, Bella folded her arms, shifted. “I appreciate your concern.”
    He moved forward and cupped her shoulders. “Things were good between us before I suggested you were wasting your writing talent. I apologized for hurting your feelings. When are you going to forgive me?”
    “I do forgive you.” Bella licked her lips, cursed her erratic pulse. She hated confrontation. She hated being forced into expressing her thoughts, especially when