by Roni Loren
“You sure you’re okay?” Wes asked, his voice low and carrying a hint of what sounded like a West Texas drawl to her Austin ear. “You took a hard fall.”
She glanced over at him but in the darkness could only see his profile and the colorful tattoos on the arm he had draped over the steering wheel. She tried to remember what he did for a living. Maybe owned a business? Probably not an office job, with that kind of ink and hair long enough to touch his collar, but the details wouldn’t come to her. “I’m fine. The glass from the wine bottle cut me up a little, but the paramedics took care of it.”
“That adds insult to injury. You get mugged and have no wine to drink afterward.”
She smirked. “Or dinner.”
He frowned and peeked over at her. “Damn, I didn’t realize. You must be starving. I can run by a drive-through, or I know a guy who runs a food truck that serves great Indian food not far from here. He stays open late.”
She shifted in her seat, her body aching in more places than she’d expected. “It’s fine. I’m really not that hungry anymore.”
But as soon as she said it, her stomach growled loudly.
He laughed under his breath. “Your body betrays you. Come on, I really don’t mind. I didn’t get a chance to grab dinner either, so I’d need to stop for something anyway.”
Another no was poised on her lips, but then a terrifying thought hit her. “Shit.”
Wes pulled up to a stoplight and glanced over, brow furrowed. “What’s wrong?”
She pressed her fingers to the spot between her eyes where a headache was suddenly brewing. A headache and scary-ass images. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. It just hit me that those jerks took my purse, which has my house key.”
“You don’t have your keys?”
Shit. Shit. Shit. “I have a spare hidden that I can get to, but I wasn’t thinking. They have my key and my—”
“Your license with your address,” Wes said grimly.
Anxiety crept through her chest like thorny vines. “I have a house alarm, but I’m not sure if I set it this morning. I don’t always remember to do that.”
“You need to call a twenty-four-hour locksmith. Get everything changed tonight,” he said, already pulling his phone from the cup holder and passing it her way. “I doubt those guys are going to show up at your place, especially with one injured, but you can’t risk it.”
Goose bumps broke out on her arms, images of dangerous men lurking around her home making her throat close. She took the phone. “Goddammit, I just wanted to take a hot shower, go to bed, and forget tonight happened.”
Wes sent her a sympathetic look. “Get a locksmith headed out there, and we’ll pick up some food. The locksmith can work. We can eat. And I’ll stick around until you can do a thorough search of your place to make sure nothing is out of order.”
She frowned his way. “You don’t need to do that. I’m sure you need to get home. And—”
“I’m not going to leave you until I know you’re all right. That’s not going to happen.” He said resolutely. “So…McDonald’s or Indian?”
She stared at him. His hazel eyes held calm determination, and under different circumstances—if she didn’t know the type of guy he really was—she would’ve let herself enjoy the chivalry for a moment. Guys didn’t take that road with her often because she wore her toughness like a cape. Stand back, boys. I can handle it. And she could.
But right now she wished she could fold up that cape and put it in a drawer for a few hours. Let the man with the pretty eyes and the sexy smile take the lead for a little while and allow her to just take a breath, shake off the night, and find her footing again. To feel safe and not so alone, despite all her worst anxieties pushing at the back of her brain like an angry crowd ready to riot. But she couldn’t trust this man. Whoever this version of him was, it was a facade. Somewhere in there was the angry guy she’d seen in court. The man who’d stepped out on his wife. He was showing her his good side.
However, knowing he wasn’t that great of a guy beneath the surface wasn’t going to stop her from accepting his offer. She was woman enough to admit that she was way too freaked out to go home alone. She’d have a panic attack before she made it through the front door. Plus, she spent her days dealing with liars, and she didn’t get the sense that Wes had some agenda. He didn’t have anything to gain. And he wasn’t trying to hit on her—not shocking news.
Beside the fact that she looked like hell right now, guys like him didn’t pursue women like her. She didn’t attract edgy or rebellious. She tended to draw businessmen who wanted to impress their mother with “a smart girl from a good family.” She had a feeling Wes couldn’t give a shit about impressing anyone, but for whatever reason, he was genuinely concerned and trying to be helpful.
Tonight, she’d take it.
Rebecca wet her lips. “Indian.”
She’d never actually had Indian food before, but she got the sense that was what Wes wanted, and a greasy hamburger just didn’t sound all that appealing at the moment. Indian food had rice. She knew, at the very least, she could get that.
A genuine smile broke out on Wes’s face. “Excellent choice. You call the locksmith, and I’ll take care of the grub.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were in one of the many food-truck parks in Austin, and a guy with a mischievous smile and thick, dark hair was chatting with Wes from the window of a shiny, converted Airstream trailer called Mad Masala. He peered down at Wes’s stained jeans. “I thought you were helping Suzie out tonight. You come back looking like you’ve been through war. What the hell happened?”
“Long story. But it involved police, a hurt dog, and both of us missing dinner.” Wes cocked a thumb toward Rebecca. “Dev, meet Rebecca. Rebecca, this is Devin Madan, head chef of this fine establishment.”
Devin leaned out through the window and shook her hand. “Lovely to meet you. And no dinner? Well, we need to fix that. What do you like? Curry? Biryani? Dal?”
She lifted her shoulders and gave him an apologetic look. “So, if I’ve never actually tried Indian food…”
He put a hand to his heart and grimaced. “Wesley, you are letting me down. Your friend has never had Indian food. What kind of person are you not to have introduced her to—”
Wes lifted a hand. “We just met tonight, Dev. Give me a break. I got her here as quickly as I could to indoctrinate her.” He turned to Rebecca. “All right. You tell me some basics, and we’ll hook you up. Spicy or mild?”
“Somewhere in the middle.”
“Vegetarian or carnivore?”
“Omnivore.”
“Do you feel like potatoes or rice?”
“Rice.”
Wes looked up at Devin, and at the same time they both said, “Butter chicken.”
Rebecca didn’t protest. Anything called butter chicken couldn’t be bad. “I’ll trust you guys.”
Wesley’s lips lifted at one corner. “It’s not the most adventurous choice, but I’ll go easy on you since this is your first time.”
Rebecca’s face heated like she was thirteen again and everything a boy said was a double entendre. Very mature, Bec.
“That’s what she said,” Devin supplied.
Wes groaned and gave him a look. “Really, man?”
Devin shrugged. “You walked right into that one. It was my duty.”
Wes shook his head. “Get us some food, chef. Vegetable korma for me. Throw in some garlic naan, too, for that comment.”
Devin laughed. “Lucky for you, I have a stack of naan that won’t be any good tomorrow. I experimented with a jalapeño-and-cheese version tonight. You can tell me what you think.”
“Nothing sounds bad about bread, cheese, and chili peppers,” Wes said as he grabbed one of the bottles lining the counter and squirted a green sauce into a little takeout cup. He repeated
the action with two more colorful sauces, his movements efficient and sure, like he’d done that routine millions of times.
“You come here a lot?” Rebecca asked as Devin got their food ready.
Wes looked over as he put covers on the sauce containers and then stacked them on the ledge for Devin to put in the bag. “You can find some of the best food in the city in these kinds of places. Lots of experimental stuff. New chefs finding their groove. Gourmet stuff at reasonable prices.” He sidled up next to her and glanced out at the U-shaped park, something wistful crossing his face. “I mean, it’s kind of amazing. Who wouldn’t want to come here?”
She studied his profile for a moment before following his gaze to see what he was seeing. Not many trucks were left at this hour, but there were twinkle lights strung above the well-worn picnic tables and colorful potted flowers dotting the ground. A lone couple was sharing a tray of three colorful cupcakes as crickets serenaded them from off in the dark. The park did have a bit of a magical quality to it, especially at this hour when it felt like some kind of secret. “It is really lovely. I don’t live that far from here, but I didn’t know this existed.”
“Well, after you try Dev’s food, I bet you’ll put it on regular rotation,” Wes said, tucking his hands in his back pockets, which made his biceps bulge, temporarily distracting her from her vow not to check him out anymore. “You should also try the street taco truck, the Korean-Texas BBQ fusion, and Reel Cupcakes. The chef there names her cupcakes after horror movies. I recommend The Shining—it’s a red velvet cupcake covered with coconut snow.”
She lifted a brow. “You seem like quite the connoisseur of the food park. I guess you’re into eating?”
Not that anyone would be able to tell. His T-shirt was snug enough to show a body that didn’t look like it’d ever had a cupcake. Not that she was still looking. Nope. Not her.
Wes shrugged. “I teach culinary arts at an after-school program.”
“What he means to say,” Devin said, his back still to them, “is that he is a chef. Not as good as me, of course, but passable.” He turned and placed two takeout containers and a foil-wrapped package on the ledge. “Who is currently wasting his talent teaching children how to fry an egg and denying the rest of the world his skills.”
Wes’s expression darkened at Devin’s words. He grabbed the bag and tucked the food inside. “How much do I owe you?”
“On the house.” Devin smiled. “When you make that purchase I told you about, you can return the favor.”
Wes frowned and pulled out his wallet. He dropped a twenty on the counter, apparently making some point. Rebecca didn’t know what was going on between the two friends, but she sensed the tension, the air of challenge.
Wes turned to her, his expression softening into something friendly again. He pulled out a steaming piece of flatbread dotted with jalapeños and handed it to her. “Best to eat these warm. You ready to go?”
She took the bread, inhaling the enticing scents of garlic and hot peppers, and looked up at the truck. “Yeah. Thanks, Devin.”
“Anytime.” He lifted a hand in goodbye. “You come back and tell me what you think.”
“Will do,” she said and then bit into the bread as they took a few steps away from the truck. The soft dough was filled with melty cheese, and she moaned at the rush of flavor—garlic, spices, heat. Her empty stomach rumbled in victory as she stopped in her tracks. “Holy hell, that’s good.”
Stretchy cheese tried to escape, but she caught it with her finger and then licked it off the tip. Wes turned to face her, his lips curling at her obvious pleasure and the mess she was making.
He leaned close, next to her ear. “Don’t say that too loud. Dev’s ego is big enough.”
She shivered at the tickle of Wes’s breath along her neck and shook her head. “I can’t help it. You’ve got to try this.”
Without thinking, she held out the naan, the cheese oozing. Wes smiled at the invitation and bit into the bread while holding her gaze. The move should’ve been nothing more than a man taking a bite of food, but the way he watched her, the way he lingered in her space, made her heartbeat pick up speed.
He pulled back, a string of cheese stretching until it broke, and wiped the corner of his mouth, his eyes still on her. “That’s pretty damn good.”
“Yeah,” she said quietly, her body staging some kind of protest while her mind tried to remind her that this man was a cheater. And that she’d been mugged tonight, so she was in some weird vulnerable state that made her think inappropriate thoughts. And that she had way bigger things to worry about than how long it’d been since she’d felt attraction on such a visceral level.
Focus, Bec.
“This is fantastic, Devin,” she called out, breaking the eye contact and forcing herself to look somewhere else besides at Wes.
Devin’s face broke into a wide smile, and he lifted a hand in thanks. “Enjoy!”
Wesley handed her an extra napkin. “Let’s get you home.”
She didn’t trust herself to say anything appropriate, so she took another big bite of naan and followed Wes to the van.
She needed to get home.
She was tired. And traumatized. And based on her reactions to Wes, clearly out of her mind at the moment.
New locks and a good night’s rest were what she needed.
Only another hour or so, and she’d never have to see Wesley Garrett again.
And he’d never have to know that he’d just bought a delicious dinner for the woman who’d taken him down in court.
chapter
FIVE
Wes and Rebecca beat the locksmith to her house, which was a small but pristine Craftsman bungalow near Zilker Park. The prime location must’ve cost her a fortune, but the place looked homey and unassuming. The porch light was on, illuminating a bright-red door and pale-gray siding. Her shiny, black BMW was parked under the carport, and nothing looked disturbed.
Wes parked the van in front of the house and cut the engine. “Well, I’ll take it as a good sign that your car is still here. If those guys showed up with your keys, they would’ve taken your ride.”
Rebecca frowned. “No. I didn’t have my car keys with me since I walked today, but at least everything looks the same as how I left it. Plus, my car keys are hanging on a peg in the kitchen. They wouldn’t be hard to find.”
Wesley eyed her. Her voice was confident, but she kept smoothing the leg of her scrubs, her hands like nervous birds not knowing where to settle. He had the weirdest urge to hug her and tell her it was going to be all right, to take that fear from her. But a sure way to freak her out even further would be for some strange dude she’d just met to hug her. He was freaked out enough for both of them that he even had that urge. “Hey, why don’t you tell me where your spare key is hidden, and I’ll go in and check the house for you first?”
There. That was a reasonable, not weird way to help.
She glanced his way, frowning. “If the alarm’s on, I need to turn it off, and I don’t want to sit out here. That’ll stress me out more than going in with you. I’m the only one who will be able to tell if anything’s been moved anyway.”
“Fair enough. Whatever makes you feel most comfortable is fine. But the minute something seems off or out of place, we bail and call the cops. Pinch my arm or something to signal me.”
Her frown deepened, a little line appearing between her brows, as if she couldn’t quite figure him out.
He couldn’t stop his smile. “What’s wrong? You look like you’re trying to figure out a really hard math problem.”
“I wouldn’t make this face for math. I’m good at math.” She let out a breath. “I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you’re being so nice to me. You don’t…know me.”
“Does that matter? If I knew you, would I not want to help you out?”
She stif
fened. “What?”
He tilted his head. “I mean, are you secretly some evil comic-book villain who’s about to take over the city? Or do you have plans to kill me and store my body in your basement when we get inside?”
Her pinched expression flattened into something droll. “Austin houses don’t have basements.”
“Whew.” He wiped his brow. “I’m safe.”
She snorted and then covered her nose and mouth like she was surprised the sound had escaped. “You’re kind of strange, Wesley Garrett.”
He shrugged. “I get that a lot.” And that was a helluva lot better than what most people probably called him these days. “Now, are we going to bravely search your house like two TV detectives? Because I am so down for that right now. I need to bang open doors and yell, ‘Clear!’”
She laughed, the soft, husky sound filling the space between them and sending a pleasant ripple through him. The feeling was so unfamiliar that it stalled his breath for a second. How long had it been since he’d been around someone he could simply joke with and relax around? Someone who wasn’t looking at him like he was damaged goods? Or who wasn’t checking him for signs of a backslide?
He didn’t get clean-slate conversations like this anymore. Not with his family. Not with friends. Not even with himself. Rebecca felt like a gulp of clean, fresh air. He wanted to close his eyes and inhale. In this moment, he could be a man with no past. He could be whoever he wanted to be. And right now, he wanted to be the guy who was making this woman laugh.
She cocked her head. “You say that like you’ve been planning to do this TV detective routine for a while.”
“It’s a life goal,” he said solemnly. “I mean, I’ve done it at home alone, but that really isn’t as fun. Plus, it pisses off the neighbors. All those banging doors.”
She laughed again, and he felt like he’d won some kind of prize. She seemed like someone who didn’t give those laughs away easily.