Page 132 of Outlaws of Tulsa

I shower off the sweat and then hunt down a sexy outfit. Because Copper is really kind of a good guy under his tough exterior, he managed to get all my stuff from Koyn’s. In the past, though, I’d dress in something slutty that screamed biker babe. Since the jig is up, I opt for something hot but comfortable. I find a pair of frayed, holey denim shorts that make my ass look good and couple it with a too-tight red T-shirt that shows my midriff, making sure to again leave off the bra. He keeps it cold in his house, so I pull on some University of Arkansas knee-high socksI stole from my sister last time I saw her. I keep my hair in a ponytail and then set out to find Copper.

His bedroom door is closed and I can hear the shower going, so I make my way into the kitchen to start dinner. A pang of regret hits me in the chest as I remember all the times Bermuda and I would cook together. Like my own brother, Bermuda made me laugh and seemed to enjoy my presence in a non-sexual way. Of all the people I fucked over, I hate what I did to him the most. I hope Hadley’s taking care of him. Thinking of Hadley makes my throat burn with emotion. Copper says she’s still alive and happy. It’s all I can ask for. Blowing my cover was worth it for her.

Blinking back my tears, I set to work on a dish Bermuda made all the time. Cowboy stir-fry. Rather than the usual Asian-inspired veggies, Bermuda’s consisted of seasoned hamburger meat cooked in Worcestershire sauce, onions, bell peppers, tomatoes, corn, carrots, and black beans. He served it over rice and usually made jalapeno cornbread to go with it. Copper doesn’t have cornbread mix, so I pop some biscuits in the oven instead and pull out the grape jelly.

I freeze when the scent of manly soap envelops me and Copper’s heat warms my back.

“That smells good,” he rumbles, his breath tickling my hair.

I suppress a shiver, turning my head slightly to catch a peek at him. His dark eyes are intense and his wet hair flops over one brow, making him seem boyish and younger. My core clenches with desire for this ridiculously hot man.

“Bermuda’s recipe,” I murmur. “Hope I make it as good as he does.”

“I’m sure it’ll be just fine,” he replies as he steps back, giving my ass a pat as he does it. “Red wine go with this redneck meal?”

“A Bud Light is more fitting,” I say with a grin.

“Sorry to break your heart, Joe Dirt, but all I have is a locally brewed IPA. Is that good enough?”

“Beer’s beer and better than wine.” I shrug before turning back to finishing up our meal.

While he sets to fishing out beer from the fridge, I plate up our food and set it on the bar. The dogs circle my feet, giving me their best eyes, but Copper already laid down the law about them eating human food. Their butts can’t handle it. Literally. I regret sneaking Hansel bacon once. My nostrils still burn from that mishap.

Copper pops the cap off my beer and slides it my way before doing the same for his. I butter up a biscuit for him and slather on some grape jelly before setting it on his plate. He frowns at me but murmurs out his thanks. We’re quiet as we eat. If I’m being honest with myself, my Cowboy stir-fry tastes as good as Bermuda’s. I wish he were here so I could razz him about it.

With a sad sigh, I slide off the barstool when I finish my meal to set to cleaning up the kitchen. Copper puts away the leftovers. I’m working on scrubbing the last pan I cooked in when the lights flicker out, bathing us in darkness. The dogs whine from nearby.

“The radar said we’re under a—”

Before Copper can get his words out, the tornado sirens begin their eerie wail. Panic climbs up my throat and I whimper out Copper’s name.

A strong hand grabs mine, tugging me through the darkness. He walks us to a closet under the stairs. With the mash of a button, he bathes the small room in a battery-operated light. A thin twin-sized foam pad takes up most of the floor. Pillows and blankets are piled up at the end. Near the bed are two dog cushions. He whistles for the dogs. Because this is Oklahoma and they’re used to this sort of thing, they plop down ontheir cushions. Copper closes the door with us inside and then motions for the bed.

I sit down on my knees so I can fix up the bed for us to lie on. Once it’s situated, I stretch out on one side. Copper looms above me, still hot in a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants. I want to climb him like a tree. Instead, I remain still and waiting. He crawls in next to me, propping himself up against the pillows. I want to touch him or straddle him, but we’ve made such progress. I don’t want to piss him off and scare him away.

“Is it safe here?” I ask, toying with a thread on my shorts.

“You’ll be fine.” His fingers absently twist in my ponytail, making me tremble.

Thunder rumbles loud enough the house seems to shake. Both dogs yelp, causing Copper to chuckle.

“They’re pussies,” he says to me. “The both of them.”

I take the opportunity to curl into him, hooking my leg over his. His body stiffens, but he doesn’t push me away. “I’m a pussy too,” I reveal. “Now you have three babies to take care of.”

“Just my luck,” he drawls out, a playfulness in his tone.

“How’s Hadley doing?” I ask, unable to keep in the question any longer. “I miss her.”

He lets out a heavy sigh. I wonder if he’ll ignore my question. After a long minute, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “She’s good. Her belly is cute.”

I’m shocked when he swipes his phone open and locates some pictures of her on his phone. It’s from the most recent monthly Q. It isn’t until I see everyone partying it up, all grins as they eat and hang out, that I feel a great sense of loss.

Copper relinquishes his phone so I can swipe through the pictures. The first one is Hadley sitting in Koyn’s lap. Her belly is swollen with his child. Koyn isn’t smiling, but his eyes don’t lie. He’s happy as hell. Hadley grins in a goofy way that says all is right in her world. The picture blurs as tears well in my eyes.Quickly, I swipe to the next picture of Gibson. His acoustic guitar is perched on his thigh and his head is bowed. Gibson might goof around with Bizzy a lot, but he’s a sad soul underneath his usual grins. It comes out in his music. There are a few pictures of Payne, Halo, and Bizzy. In a picture where Nees grins, flipping off the camera, Filter broods in the background, his angry glare pinned on the camera as though he’s looking right at me.

“He’ll get over it,” Copper rumbles.

I swallow down the niggling fear and swipe to the next picture. Bermuda is sprawled out in his lawn chair, his cheeks rosy from being drunk, a lazy grin on his face. His OU hat is flipped backward on his head and a little crooked. My heart clenches at seeing him.

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