by Meghan March
“So you’re telling me I just helped save someone who’s part of the problem in this town?”
Cody shrugs. “He’s still unconscious, so we can’t question him right now, but we have security stationed at his door just in case someone decides that he might be thinking about talking.”
The implications of his words sink in. “You think Jeff’s supplier is going to off him before he can talk?”
“It’s a distinct possibility.”
“Fucking hell. Can’t you turn someone else?”
“We’re trying.”
“What a disaster.”
Cody sucks back the rest of his coffee and tosses the cup in the trash. “I thought I’d come see if you had any idea who Jeff was close to these days, but I’m guessing from what you told me that’s a no.”
“You’d be right about that.”
He turns and heads for the door. “I appreciate the coffee.”
“If he wakes up, do you want me to talk to him? Try to get some answers?”
Cody pauses and glances back at me. “Nah, we got this covered. Thanks for the offer. And good luck with the woman. She seems a little different from the normal kind around here. Ain’t looking to lock your ass down and throw away the key.”
Cody was another guy in Gold Haven determined to stay single.
“She’s definitely not that kind.”
“I need to find me one of those,” he replies before pushing the door open.
I want to tell him good luck, because women like Banner are one in a million and nothing like the kind he’s used to, but I don’t. I head back into the garage to find Jock and Rick have the music back on, and are shining up every surface under the hood for the Mustang we finished.
“Looking slick.”
“Of course it does. This shop only does badass restorations.”
I grunt in response, and my brain goes back through all the stuff Cody told me. Someone in this town is pushing meth, and my former stepbrother was dealing.
Fucking ridiculous.
Chapter 35
Banner
I called the hospital to check on Logan’s ex-stepbrother, but they wouldn’t even confirm if he was a patient. I know Logan promised to take me on a date tonight, but with the events of this morning, there’s no way that’s happening.
Instead, I knock out several hours of work before my stomach stages a rebellion. I could attempt to make something, but I decide to venture into town again and try the home-style family restaurant I saw when I was semi-stalking Logan last night. It was closed then, so I figure it caters to more of the early-bird-special clientele.
After I take a half hour to make myself look presentable—well, more like make it so the women in town won’t be able to find anything bad to say about my appearance if they tried—I take my rental car into town and park in front of Home Cookin’.
When I step inside the glass door, there’s a white piece of notebook paper on a podium to write your name and the number in your party. I’ve missed the lunch crowd, so there’s no one in the waiting area and no names left open on the list. Green vinyl booths line both side walls, and there are several empty tables mixed in with the few taken up by older folks drinking coffee. An honest-to-God lunch counter with stools runs along the back section of the restaurant.
A woman in jeans, cowboy boots, and a green polo shirt with Home Cookin’ embroidered on the breast comes toward me.
“How many in your party?”
“Just one, thanks.”
“Do you want a seat at the counter, or would you like a table or booth?”
“A booth would be great.”
She pulls a plastic menu, a paper place mat, and napkin-wrapped silverware out of the three wooden holders on the paneled half wall next to the waiting-list stand. “Follow me right this way.”
I trail after her, impressed by the way her Levi’s hug her curves without causing the dreaded muffin top. I have to spend big dollars on jeans to ensure the same effect.
“You can have a seat right here. Great view of the main drag through town, so you can do some people watching.”
It also has a great view of Logan’s repair shop, such that I can see his truck parked around the side.
“Thanks, this is perfect.” I look up at her name tag. “I appreciate it, Emmy.”
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“A skinny caramel latte would be great.”
Her eyebrows wing up to her hairline. “I’m afraid that’s a forty-five-minute drive. In this town, you’ve got coffee and hot chocolate, unless you want one of those instant cappuccino drinks out of the machine at the gas station, but I hear that’s all sugar and chemicals.”
“Do you have Diet Coke?”
She nods. “Of course.”
As she walks off, I can hear her mutter, “Skinny caramel latte . . . where does that girl think she is?”
I study the menu, deciding to skip the chicken fried steak because I have absolutely no idea what the hell it is, and instead choose a Caesar salad with chicken.
A different woman comes to the table with my Diet Coke and to take my order. Her name tag says Darlene, and she’s all business with her curly short dark brown hair.
“Dressing on the side?” she asks, beating me to my last request.
“Yes, please.” I pause. “How did you know?”
She gives me a slow once-over. “You look like the type.” Darlene turns on a heel and heads back to put in my order.
I brush off her comment and stare out the window as what seems like a parade of trucks pass by. Does every man in this town own a pickup truck? And when did that become so sexy?
I’m sure there’s only one answer for that, and it’s all Logan Brantley’s fault.
Emmy’s voice cuts through the quiet chatter in the room. “I said I wanted his lunch ready in ten minutes. Do you want the man to starve?”
The door chimes again, and a woman with a killer fishtail braid strides in and up to the counter with the biggest travel mug I’ve ever seen. It must fit a half gallon of whatever she puts in it.
“Can I get a large coffee to go?”
Emmy turns around and eyes her. “That stuff is going to kill you someday, Julianne. You should really lay off the caffeine.”
“Save the concern for someone who cares, Emmy.” She twists the lid off the mug, and Emmy takes it from her before turning away to fill it up with an entire carafe of coffee.
Julianne, a woman I haven’t yet met, slides some money across the counter and replaces the lid.
“You ever going to replace that broken coffeepot of yours?” Emmy asks, picking up the money and tucking it in the cash register. “Not that I’m complaining about taking your money.”
“Warranty replacement is supposed to be here next week. Don’t worry; I’m ready to end these lovely visits too.”
Julianne turns away from the counter and heads for the door, but slows and changes direction when she notices me. “Well, well . . . I’m guessing I know exactly who you are.”
“That’s a little creepy.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but apparently my lack of filter is still well and truly intact.
She steps toward the table and sets down the giant travel mug. “I’m Julianne. I cut your man’s hair, and you’ve got the entire town talking today.” She slides into the booth without an invitation.
“Uh, feel free to join me, I guess.”
“Thanks for the invite, but I’ve only got ten minutes before my next appointment, and I definitely am gonna have to pee.” She stares at me as she sucks down a sip of coffee. “Do you know how many women in this town probably wouldn’t mind accidentally hittin’ you with a car today after hearing about what Logan said last night at Brews and Balls?”
“I expected this conversation to get less creepy, but it turns out I was wrong.”
Julianne shrugs. “I’m just saying you might want to watch your ass. He’s a catch, and he’s been evading the net for a while
now. Some of these women are getting desperate.” She shoots a look toward Emmy behind the counter as the other woman tucks some food into what looks like a picnic basket. “That one, especially.”
“Her? Really?” My next inspection of Emmy is much closer. Acceptably cut light brown hair, decent body, nice eyes, and a hint of bitchiness.
Julianne nods when I meet her gaze again. “She’s carved her name in his tree, if you know what I mean.”
I might not be from Kentucky, but even I understand her euphemism. “I get what you’re saying.”
“But apparently Emmy hasn’t put two and two together that you’re the one who’s about to crush her dreams of becoming Mrs. Logan Brantley.”
When she glances back at the woman, I follow her gaze. “Why’s that?”
“She’d be glaring daggers at you instead of putting Logan’s lunch basket together.”
Logan’s lunch basket? Seriously? “Did he order takeout?”
Julianne laughs. “Nope. He doesn’t have to in order to get the Emmy special. She makes it her mission to keep him fed. I guess she’s trying to get the one half of the stomach full, balls empty equation covered, since as far as I know, Logan’s never let her get anywhere near his balls.” Julianne sips her coffee again. “Not for lack of trying, of course. She’d for sure turn up pregnant the first time he touched her, though. I’d put money on that.”
All of this information is bringing on an epically bad headache and killing my appetite.
I narrow my eyes at Julianne. “Why are you telling me this?”
She shrugs. “Logan genuinely likes you. He’s made that plenty clear.” She shoots a look over at Emmy. “And I’ve pretty much hated that bitch since junior high when she decided she was better than everyone else.”
God bless small towns.
A short bus pulls up in front of the restaurant, momentarily blocking my view of the street.
“I better get out of here. The assisted-living-home folks are coming for their way too late to be lunch and too early to be dinner. It’s about to be old people city up in here. See you around, Banner. You let me know if you need that color touched up or those nails fixed. I’m not a big-city stylist by any means, but I don’t fuck up hair or nails.” She flashes me a crooked smile. “Just everything else in my life.”
And with that, she’s gone, leaving me wishing she’d stayed longer. Besides Nicole, Julianne is the only other woman I’ve met in this town I can picture having drinks with.
Emmy bustles to the door as the busload of older people comes tromping into the restaurant. “Y’all are early! I didn’t expect you until three thirty.”
Darlene rushes over with my salad and drops it at the table. “You need anything else? I’m about to be real busy.”
“No, ma’am. I’m all set here.”
I lean back in the booth and proceed to be entertained by all the retirees and their chatter. There’s some kind of magic to this small-town life.
* * *
Julianne’s warning about Emmy and her plans concerning Logan keep cycling through my head as I finish my salad. It wasn’t incredibly filling, but I didn’t have to make it myself, so there’s that. The door to the restaurant chimes again, and I realize this place must be a happening spot in town for all the traffic I’ve seen.
“I thought that was your rental out front. How’s it going, Bruce?”
Logan slides into the booth the same way Julianne did. Every time he calls me Bruce, a shaft of warmth hits me directly in the heart-attack region.
Apparently I’m not the only one who notices Logan, though. Emmy comes right over to my table.
“I’m so sorry, Logan. I had a late lunch all packed up for you but the Sunnybrook contingent distracted me.” She looks from Logan to me and then back at him. “You don’t have to share a booth with her; we’ve got plenty of open tables.”
Awkwardness fills the void as soon as she shuts her mouth.
Logan smiles at me before he speaks. “This is exactly where I want to be sitting.” He finally glances up at Emmy. “Have you met Banner? She’s in town from New York.”
As soon as he says my name, the confused expression on her face turns into something harsh before immediately morphing into the fakest smile I’ve ever seen. And considering I’m from New York, that’s saying something.
“I didn’t get her name. Welcome to our little slice of paradise, ma’am. I’m sure you’re already bored out of your mind, what with you being from the big city and all.”
“I’m just getting settled in, and I can’t imagine leaving anytime soon.” My tone carries a sincerity that Logan can’t miss.
The edges of Emmy’s fake smile start to roughen. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll be done with this place soon enough.”
Logan’s watching our exchange, and he’s not an idiot. “I sure hope not. I appreciate you making Banner feel welcome. She’s pretty damn special to me.”
Emmy’s mask threatens to crack, but she holds it in place. “Special. How sweet. I’ll just leave you two alone then. Unless you still want the club sandwich and blueberry pie I packed up for you. It’s on the house, as always.”
I wait to see how Logan will respond.
“I gotta get back to work in a few. I only had a minute to run over here because I saw Banner’s car. You know you don’t need to keep bringing me lunch. I can handle myself.”
“Well then,” Emmy says, her teeth clenched. “I’ll just leave you alone.”
She steps away and nearly runs smack into Darlene, who is carrying a tray of refills to a table.
“That was . . . interesting,” I say, looking at Logan after Emmy stalks away.
“We went out a few times, but we were really never more than friends,” he says in explanation.
I haven’t decided if I feel threatened or not. I decide not because according to Julianne’s gossip, Emmy doesn’t even know about the good dick she’s missing out on.
“She wanted to be a whole lot more, though, I bet.”
Logan covers my hand with his. “Doesn’t matter, because there’s gotta be two people who want the same thing in order for something like that to happen.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask why he didn’t want anything to happen with Betty Crocker Barbie, but I decide that now isn’t the time or place.
“You don’t have to turn down her food on my account.” Although, for some stupid, petty reason, I’m hoping he sticks to his decision.
“I’ve got a couple protein bars that’ll tide me over. But that’s not what I came to talk to you about.”
I take in his stiffening posture. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Well, that’s not true. It’s been a shit day, and I know I said I wanted to take you out on a date, but I’m gonna go up to the hospital tonight to see what I can find out, and that’s not where I want to take you. Do you mind if we make it a rain check?”
Even though I’m disappointed by the idea of not seeing Logan tonight, I completely understand where he’s coming from.
“Of course I don’t mind.”
Logan relaxes in the booth. “Thanks, Bruce. This isn’t something I saw coming.”
I reach out and cover his hand with mine. It’s not a gesture that’s normal for me, but with Logan, it feels exactly right. “You do what you need to do. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got enough work to keep me busy for two weeks.”
He threads his fingers through mine and squeezes. “Thanks, Bruce.”
When I move to pull my hand back, he stops me. “You ever going to tell me exactly what that work is?”
The edges of my lips turn up with a smile as I think about all the retirees in the room. “Now really isn’t the time or place. But when you cash in on that rain check . . . I’ll tell you.”
Surprisingly, I’m excited about the prospect of telling Logan.
“It’s a deal. And I promise I’ll make tonight up to you,” he says as he finally releases my hand and stands.
Befo
re I can reply, Logan leans down and presses a kiss to my lips, and I think the entire restaurant freezes at the same moment I do.
Holy crap. Logan’s not messing around with this.
“I’ll talk to you later, Bruce.”
I nod, feeling the weight of all the stares in the room. Logan turns and takes a few steps before pausing.
“You wanna toss those steaks I left at your place in the freezer? We can grill ’em up next time.”
The weight of the stares intensifies.
“That sounds perfect,” I say, keeping my smile intact.
“Catch you later.”
The chime rings as Logan strides out of the restaurant, but all the patrons inside seem to be content continuing to stare at me, including Emmy. But where the rest of them seem curious, she looks enraged.
I push my empty plate away and pull a twenty from my wallet to leave on the table rather than waiting for my bill.
It appears I’ve overstayed my welcome at Home Cookin’.
Chapter 36
Logan
It feels good staking my claim on Banner. I’ve never before had the compulsion to do something like that, but with her, it’s exactly what I want. Gossip is going to happen either way, and she’s proven she’s tough enough to handle whatever comes her way.
I’ve been busting my ass to put the final touches on this Mustang all day, and when the owner shows up and takes a look at his fully restored car and his eyes go glassy, I know I’ve done my job right.
The classic restorations take a lot more labor, but the big fat paychecks make them worth it. Oil changes and routine repairs are my bread and butter, but restorations are what I truly enjoy.