Phoebe and the Rock of Ages

by Becky Doughty

  The man was not so easily dissuaded. He fell into step beside her and gestured toward the gas can. “Let me help.”

  Phoebe hoisted it out of his reach, the weight of it pulling painfully on her wrist. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “I’m not arguing that, ma’am.” He grinned, one side of his mouth quirking up in humor. “I’m only offering my help.”

  “Demanding, is more like it. Besides, maybe you’re just trying to steal my gas can now that I spent my hard-earned cash to fill it.” She teased him back, enjoying the banter a little more than she should, knowing her sisters were waiting for her to get there so they could start the meeting.

  He laughed openly, genuinely. “Scout’s honor. I won’t steal your gas can. I’m Trevor, by the way.” He thrust his hand toward her and after only the briefest pause, she shook it.

  “Phoebe.” But when she withdrew her hand, he didn’t lower his. She cocked her right eyebrow at him, her head at a slight angle. “What? Was that handshake not good enough?”

  “Your gas can. Please. Let me carry it for you.”

  “But your bike. You can’t just leave it here while you go for a walk with me.”

  “Sure I can,” he insisted. “If you’ll give me five minutes, I’ll park it in front of the shop to free up the pump.” He noticed her hesitation. “Okay, fine. Three minutes. Just give me three minutes.” When she still hedged, he added, “I guarantee we’ll make up those three minutes if I’m carrying that can instead of you. It’s going to get heavy if you have very far to go.”

  Phoebe laughed resignedly. “You win. I’ll wait. But I’ll hang on to this while you move your bike.” She patted the side of the plastic can. “If you’re not back in three minutes, I’m heading out, because I’m running very late as it is. You’ll have to catch up to me if you still want to help.”

  Trevor saluted her and circled back around the pump. He scooped up his gear and threw a leg over the bike, shoving his jacket into the helmet and propping it on the seat between his thighs. A moment later, the Harley cleared its throat and rumbled to life. Phoebe closed her eyes briefly, wondering what on earth she’d just gotten herself into.

  “Two minutes, fourteen seconds,” Trevor announced, jogging up beside her. “I timed it, did you?”

  “Where’s your helmet? And your jacket?” His gloves were gone, too.

  “Locked the helmet on the bike. And if someone needs a jacket so badly that they need to steal my rag, they’re welcome to it.” Trevor grinned and picked up the gas can she’d set on the ground at her feet. “Lead the way, fair lady.”

  They more than made up the two minutes and fourteen seconds she’d waited for him. Trevor wasn’t tall and he didn’t have extraordinarily long legs, but he moved with great exuberance and she could barely keep up. “You’re practically walking in circles around me,” she chided. “Do you need to use the restroom? Or are you just anxious to get this over with?” She was only teasing him, but she’d never met a guy who had this much energy before.

  “Nah, it’s all good. I’m just easy to please, that’s all.” He turned and walked backwards so he was facing her, swinging the red can at his side as if it was empty. “I mean, come on, Phoebe. A beautiful day, a beautiful woman, and a chance to help someone out of a bind. What’s there not to be pleased about, hm?” He dipped his head to one side, watching her, that cock-eyed smile never leaving his face.

  “I think you might be certifiably crazy.” She shook her head as he barely missed backing into a postal box on the sidewalk. “I should probably take that thing and run in the opposite direction.” She pointed beyond him. “Except my Jeep is right there.”

  In minutes, Trevor had emptied the contents of the can into the tank, capped it, stowed it in the back of the Jeep, and was holding out his hand for her keys.

  She hesitated, wondering briefly if he was going to start Xena up and take off with her, but then remembered his bike parked in front of the gas station. He couldn’t very well steal her car and rescue his bike, too. The look in his eyes told her he knew exactly what she was thinking, and his words all but confirmed it.

  “Just want to make sure it starts up for you before I send you on your way. Here.” He dug in his back pocket for his own set of keys and offered them to her. “Collateral. If I steal your ride, you can have mine.” She exchanged keys with him just to play along, and eyed him appreciatively as he swung up into her front seat.

  He turned the key in the ignition, but didn’t start the car. He simply sat for a few minutes, listening for something. “Making sure the fuel pump kicks on,” he explained when he saw her curious look. “These older Jeeps don’t like to run out of gas. The fuel pump pulls from the bottom of the tank, and when the tank runs dry, the pump will suck up whatever is left. With an older vehicle like this one, the debris from the bottom of the tank could wreck your pump. Believe me, you don’t want to have to replace a fuel pump if you don’t have to.”

  He said it so nonchalantly that it didn’t even feel like a reprimand. She scrunched her nose at him anyway. “You sound like my grandfather,” she retorted.

  Trevor gave the gas pedal a few pumps, rotated the key the rest of the way in the ignition, and the trusty little Jeep coughed, spluttered, and started up without any further ado. He left it running and hopped out, holding a hand out to help her up into the driver’s seat. “Your carriage awaits,” he murmured, and bowed over her hand before releasing it.

  And with that, he circled the hood of her car and stepped up onto the sidewalk. Saluting her, he said, “You’re good to go. I know you said you were running late already, but you should probably fill that tank soon. Two gallons won’t get you far.”

  “Wait,” Phoebe said, stopping him before he walked away. “I’m heading right to the gas station. Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” This time, he was the one who hesitated. She laughed out loud, letting her head fall back against the seat. “Are you serious? Do you think I’ll kidnap you or something?”

  He made a pretense of hemming and hawing, shuffling his feet and cupping his chin, his eyes shining with humor. “The thought had crossed my mind, you know.”

  Phoebe mimicked his words from earlier. “Scout’s honor. I won’t steal your virtue. Come on. Before I run out of gas waiting for you to make up your mind.” She held up the small ring of keys he’d given her. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll get very far without these.”

  He climbed in and buckled his seatbelt, taking his keys from her. His fingers brushed the palm of her hand and a pleasant tingle raced up her arm. “You drive a hard bargain, lady. But thanks. I’m actually running late, too. I was on my way to meet a friend, but for some reason, I felt compelled to pull into the gas station to top off my tank.”

  The way he said it made Phoebe sit up a little straighter. “For some reason?” she asked, wondering too late if she really wanted clarification.

  “Yeah. Just had an inclination that I needed to stop. So I did, and there you were, needing my help.” He tapped the side of his face just in front of his ear. “Pays to listen.”

  Before Phoebe could come up with a suitable response—and quite honestly, she didn’t have any clue how to respond to that—they were pulling up to the same pump where they’d first crossed paths. Trevor leaped out, waited while Phoebe paid, but refused to let her pump her own gas. The conversation stuttered a little, Phoebe waiting for the guy to make his move; ask her out, ask for her number, anything.

  But he didn’t. He just kept smiling in a pleasant way, obviously completely at ease with silence.

  Phoebe, on the other hand, resisted the urge to fill the void with invitation-ladened small talk. If he wasn’t interested, she wasn’t going to twist his arm. There was nothing more pitiful than a woman who couldn’t take a hint.

  When he was through filling the tank, she thanked him again, but took extra care not to overdo it. Just because she felt like she owed him more, he didn’t need to know that.
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br />   Once again, he stood back and saluted her, then watched until she’d pulled out onto the street. She glanced over her shoulder to see him climbing on his bike, helmet on, no jacket. He had a rather lovely back—she couldn’t help but wonder what it would look like on the cover of a romance novel. The sound of his motorcycle roaring to life made her smile; it was so loud, so in-your-face. She kinda liked it.

  The rumble didn’t fade the farther she got from the gas station. She peered up into her rear view mirror and was both startled and pleased to see him following her.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Trevor could feel the grin on his face. It was making his cheeks ache, but for the life of him, he couldn’t stop. He’d been smiling like a buffoon since he’d heard the husky voice curl its way around the pump, saying she wouldn’t mind licking him.

  Okay. So he knew she hadn’t meant him. The way she’d said it, though, made him laugh out loud, and hey; a guy could dream, right? Right. Dream on, big guy. He used her words to mock himself.

  But when he’d peered around the pump, it was only her. No big guy anywhere. And oh, what a woman she was.

  Drop. Dead. Gorgeous.

  A woman alone. Without a car.

  He took in the gas can thumping against her leg as she stepped away from the dock. From there, his gaze traveled up the length of her, his curiosity piqued. She wore a long, colorful skirt that skimmed the top of her feet which were encased in some kind of strappy sandals. A see-through cream top did nothing to hide a turquoise bra with what appeared to be little red hearts or flowers all over it, and even though he didn’t allow himself to look too closely, Trevor got the feeling she’d intended the bra to be visible. Her neck was draped with an assorted collection of chains and pendants, and the chunky jewelry on the fingers of both hands echoed the look.

  Around her head she’d tied a scarf, Gypsy-style, and her sunglasses perched low on her nose. A thick rope of a black braid hung beneath the fluttering ends of the scarf, the tip of it, like a paintbrush, sweeping back and forth across the curve of her back.

  Her voice, full and throaty, flowed out from between lips painted scarlet, and he caught himself watching her mouth move, mesmerized. He couldn’t remember what color her eyes were, but he didn’t care. All that had mattered was the way she’d watched him, challenging him, analyzing him, judging him. And trusting him. He’d seen the moment things had shifted. As though the shutters opened and the welcome mat came out. He wouldn’t exactly call it seduction—they were, after all, at a gas station—but he was pretty sure he’d seen anticipation in her bold gaze.

  It made him want to straighten his shoulders, throw back his head, and pound his chest while he bellowed like a jungle man. “Me Trevor. You Phoebe,” he muttered, mocking himself as he took off down the road, the wind whipping away his words as he picked up speed.

  Her Jeep was just ahead of him. He pulled up behind her close enough that he could see her watching him in her rear view mirror. He didn’t bother pretending he hadn’t noticed, but smiled even broader, his jaw now threatening to seize up on him.

  When they reached the next intersection, he pulled up beside the driver’s side of the Jeep.

  “You following me?” she hollered over the rumble of his bike. There it was again, that anticipation, an invitation in her slanted eyes.

  “Maybe,” he shrugged, glad for his dark glasses so he could openly study her without feeling like a pervert. Yeah, she was sexy. Petite and lean, but not waifish, with some very feminine curves in all the right places. Her skirt had risen high on her thighs from the breeze billowing around the open-topped vehicle, but it was her face that kept drawing his gaze. The way her mouth moved when she spoke, the slow, intentional way she blinked—not those fluttering fangirl eyes he got before, during, and after every show—and the tilt of her head, as though angling her face for a kiss she knew was coming.

  Her eyebrows rose above the top of her sunglasses and she casually smoothed her skirt down over her knees, tucking it carefully beneath her thighs.

  “Or maybe I’m just heading the same direction you are.” He shifted into first gear as the light turned green.

  Phoebe nodded noncommittally and turned right without switching on her blinker. He wondered how she would react when she realized he was turning right as well. He could see she was still watching him in the mirror, but her expression now showed signs of wariness.

  “Good girl,” he muttered, glad to see her mounting caution. “You don’t know me from Adam.”

  When she slowed ever so slightly in front of Juliette Gustafson’s condo, Trevor found he was holding his breath in disbelief. No way.

  The wave of disappointment that crashed over him as she kept going surprised him. Had he really thought she’d be stopping the same place he was?

  “Well, Lord,” he chuckled, swinging the bike in a wide u-turn so he could park right in front of the house. “That was the most amazing encounter. Thank you for making me smile today. And for making my pulse race like that. For reminding me how awesome it is that you made man and woman.” He rubbed the heel of his palm over his heart. He unbuckled his helmet, slipped off his gloves and shoved them into it, then swung his leg over the bike and stepped up onto the parkway…just as Phoebe came tearing back down the street toward him. His heart thudded to an abrupt halt, and then leapt into action again, as though playing some high school marching band number at high speed.

  He took one step toward her car, and then waited while she swung her legs out and dropped agilely to the street, circled the front end, and stepped up onto the grass in front of him. She was obviously on a mission and he thought it might behoove him to stand still and brace himself for whatever was coming.

  Didn’t mean he had to stand still in silence.

  “So maybe you’re following me,” he said, his head cocked a little to one side. He ran a hand through his hair, the action making it flop messily across his forehead.

  “What are you doing here?” Phoebe asked, pausing several feet away, hands on her slim hips. “Do you know the people who live here?”

  For some reason, her abrasiveness only made him want to pet her, to soothe her ruffled feathers. Get your head in the game, man. “I do, in fact,” Trevor said, his eyes glued to her face. “My sister lives here.” He glanced over his shoulder at the front door expectantly.

  Phoebe frowned and crossed her arms, her brows shooting up derisively. She had rather expressive eyebrows. “Really. Your sister?”

  “Absolutely.” Should he expound on the whole ‘sister in Christ’ thing?

  “You’re lying,” Phoebe declared, her jaw tight, her eyes flashing. She wasn’t playing games anymore. “In fact, the woman who lives here is engaged to a police officer. One who happens to be here right now.” Her tone turned the statement into a warning.

  Trevor held up his hands in surrender, the helmet still clutched in one, but he didn’t give in to the urge to step back. Clearly this woman knew Juliette. “Right, right,” he said quickly, keeping his voice calm. “A police officer who happens to be like a brother to me. So when they get married, Juliette will be like my sister….” He trailed off, lowering his hands slowly.

  Phoebe’s face relaxed, her chin lowering as she considered what he’d just said.

  And then he saw it. When she lifted her eyes to meet his in that slow, guarded way he’d seen Juliette do a dozen or more times since the first night he’d met her, recognition washed over him like a rushing wind. He laughed out loud.

  “And you must be one of the Gustafson Girls.” He held out his hand. “Let me start over. I’m Trevor Zander. Friend to Vic Jarrett who is, as you say, engaged to the delightful Juliette Gustafson. The same Vic Jarrett I was supposed to meet over here about half an hour ago to rescue him from some sister club, or a secret ‘girls-only’ thing, or something equally terrifying.”

  “But you got waylaid by a damsel in distress,” Phoebe concluded for him, a hint of a smile
tugging at her full lips.

  “An honor and a privilege, both,” he replied, dipping forward slightly in a quick bow.

  Phoebe made a small snorting laugh, an odd, unladylike sound coming from the beautiful woman, and then held out her hand to him, shaking his for the second time that day. “And yes, I’m one of the Gustafson Girls. Phoebe Gustafson. And Juliette is my for real sister. By birth. Not by marriage.”

  Trevor narrowed his eyes and studied her, pretending to search her face for some familiarity. “You know, in the right light, at the right angle…” he pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. I still think I might have to go with stalker.”

  Phoebe snatched her hand from his and gently poked him in the shoulder. “As far as I’m concerned, the verdict’s still out on you, too, mister. And relax. Your face might freeze that way. You haven’t stopped grinning like a creepy creeper this whole time and it’s creeping me out.”

  He laughed out loud. “Really? The ladies usually dig the piano key smile. I could have sworn it was working on you, the way you just about tore my head off there a minute ago.”

  She rolled her eyes and turned away, then surprised him by slipping a hand into the crook of his arm and gesturing with her other toward the front door of Juliette’s condo. “Come on,” she said, giving him a little extra tug. “We’re both late, and now I don’t have to face the wrath alone. You can be my protector.”

  Trevor moved into step beside her and they crossed the lawn together. He liked the way that sounded, the idea of looking out for Phoebe Gustafson, of standing between her and danger, even if the danger was only in her mind. He knew Juliette and Gia, and he didn’t imagine the fourth sister, Renata, was anything to worry about.

  He liked the way it felt to walk beside this ebullient woman, her fingers light and cool wrapped around his forearm. And he liked the way the smile on her face—not creepy at all—seemed to reflect the one he knew he still wore.

  CHAPTER FOUR