Braving the Heat

by Regan Black

  “Why are you so convinced I did?”

  “You only do the half-hug thing when I’m pregnant. Did I leave something from the doctor in the van?”

  “Just a lucky guess,” he said. Ignoring his griping ribs, he pulled her in for a real, two-armed hug and she cinched her arms tight around his waist.

  He grunted. “Come on, Meg.”

  “Well, this one has to last, since I’ll be big as a house with twins soon.”

  “Right.” He let her squeeze all she wanted. “Love you, sis.”

  “Love you, too,” she said against his shoulder. “Go be happy,” she added, her gaze sliding toward Kenzie.

  “Shut up,” Stephen protested. “We’re friends.” Again, something unfamiliar inside him rebelled at that label.

  Megan only twinkled in that way of women overflowing with happiness. “So was James.”

  Stephen was more than a little relieved to escape to Mitch’s gleaming Dodge Charger. Only a few years old, it served as an advertisement for Galway Automotive. Julia and Kenzie had taken the backseat, giving him more leg room up front.

  “Tell me about this buyer,” Stephen demanded, needing to put the family and talk of babies out of his mind. “You think he can really afford it?”

  “I’ve told him we don’t do financing, if that’s what you mean,” Mitch replied. “I think he can make the deal. Don’t tell me you’ve got another buyer on the hook.”

  “I wish.” A bidding war could be fun, although if they wanted to do that, they should take it to auction. Stephen struggled to hide the deep despair clamping around his rib cage like a vise. He wanted to blame the pervasive discomfort on the altercation last night or Megan’s hug, but he knew this pain was emotional. “Is he willing to pay cash?”

  “Well, I didn’t ask him for stacks of unmarked twenty-dollar bills,” Mitch joked.

  In the backseat, Julia and Kenzie were talking in low tones. Kenzie was definitely a better person than he was. Given a choice, he’d rather see the notorious law firm dismantled and their historic building on Walnut Street removed from existence brick by brick. That little fantasy kept his mind off dinner, Kenzie and the thousand other stupid things bothering him like a swarm of bees.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Mitch asked, when they reached the garage and the women were out of the car. “You’re grouchier than normal.”

  “I’m fine.” Stephen reached for the door, paused. “Did you promise this buyer a deep discount or something?”

  Mitch called him on it. “You’re hurt again.” He swore. “You ask all kinds of stupid questions when you want to smother the pain.”

  “Go to hell.”

  Mitch grabbed him before he could get out of the car. “You can’t keep this up. It’s time to get some help.”

  He didn’t dignify that with a reply. Besides, he was far more interested in what Mitch and Julia had been talking about before dinner.

  “Megan’s pregnant and you can’t dredge up any real happiness,” Mitch continued. “The misery is obvious to everyone.”

  Stephen bristled. “I’m happy for them.” What kind of jerk wouldn’t be happy for them? “End of story.” He glanced out the window and saw Julia and Kenzie still looking chummy. Maybe Julia was filling her in on what had upset them.

  Mitch drilled a finger into Stephen’s shoulder. “It’s me. I was there, remember?”

  Yes, Stephen remembered. How could he forget that his brother had responded to the 9-1-1 call that a woman, Stephen’s fiancée, had been shot? His brother had been there while Annabeth bled out on those cursed steps, well beyond the help of the paramedics on the scene. Stephen would never forget how he’d failed to protect the woman he’d planned to grow old with. Mitch had been the one who’d called him. Mitch had held him when grief and denial dropped him to his knees in the ER.

  “You’re wrong. I fell, that’s all,” Stephen lied.

  “Like hell. You need to talk with someone. You can’t hide under cars alone all day and go looking for fights all night. You deserve better.”

  “I had better,” Stephen shot back. “And you’ve got better things to worry about than me.” His gaze drifted to Kenzie. “Plus I’m not alone.” She was all the interference he could handle in his routine right now. “You’re a good brother for caring, but I’m fine.”

  Mitch swore again. “Come on—”

  Stephen swiveled around as a car pulled to a stop in front of the gate. “Your buyer?”

  Mitch nodded, the scowl on his face smoothing out as he climbed from the Dodge to greet the newcomer. Stephen envied that ease his brother demonstrated, and tried his best to smile at the man, who seemed vaguely familiar.

  “Jason?” Kenzie’s lips curved into a grin as she hurried over to join them.

  Something clicked for Stephen. This was one of the full-time bartenders from the Escape Club. A weird ripple of irritation chased through him as Kenzie and Jason fell into an immediate, friendly conversation.

  Clearly, she knew how to get along with anyone in any circumstance, he decided, as she turned the conversation to the car. Had he ever been that easy with people?

  Having had more than a week’s worth of conversation over family dinner, Stephen let the others chat. He leaned back against the trunk of another car-in-progress and let Mitch handle the dealing. His little brother enjoyed the bargaining as much as he enjoyed the hands-on work.

  Although... Stephen slid a glance at Julia. Would Mitch still want to be as involved when they started a family?

  Kenzie, a smile on her face, walked over. He tried to keep his eyes on her face rather than that teasing hem of her dress.

  “You’re not into the art of the deal?” she asked.

  “He’s better at it,” Stephen answered. He could smell the sunshine in her hair and something tangled with it that reminded him of a summer-ripe peach.

  “What about the Riley Camaro in there? Did you negotiate that deal?”

  He looked toward the bay where the Camaro was hidden by the lowered door. “That’s different.”

  Her bare shoulder rubbed faintly against his biceps. “Come on. Tell me more.”

  “It’s more like a commission.” He glanced down to her shining face and knew she wouldn’t let it rest. Talking was overrated and he always seemed to get tangled in the wrong details of the conversation. He folded his arms over his chest, the movement pressing his arm to hers. He swallowed, holding his ground rather than jumping away from her. “The Riley family brings us the car, a list of priorities, and gives me the budget,” he said at last.

  “Interesting.” She was eyeing that bay door as intently as he had been.

  He told himself he didn’t want to know if she’d aimed that “interesting” at the customer’s methods or him. “I need to take it out for a test drive,” he said before he thought better of it. “You could ride along,” he suggested, startling them both.

  “Right now? You sure you’re up for it?”

  “Once we’re done here.” And he could drive with far worse injuries than bruised ribs. He lifted his chin toward Mitch and Jason. “Unless you’d rather join him?”

  “I’m surprised Jason’s looking at a car with that kind of price tag.” Kenzie’s nose wrinkled as she studied the Mustang.

  “You don’t like it?” he challenged. He and Mitch had brought that thing back to mint condition. “It’s a ’70.” In theory, it could get upward of a hundred grand at the right auction. He had confidence that Mitch would work a profitable deal. Stephen was eager to get it off his lot and churn the profits into another project.

  “I know,” she said. “I can appreciate the car,” she added quickly. She did her best to suppress the smile and failed. “And it’s excellent workmanship. Still, there is something about the lines of a classic Camaro.”

  Her soft murmur of longing gave him a jolt
, as if he’d touched a loose live wire. Stephen couldn’t reply. His passion for cars ran the gamut from classic to quirky to cutting edge. He loved them all, and the challenge and ongoing learning kept him sharp. Cars didn’t need conversation. Engines and tires and mufflers didn’t demand he talk about feelings. The garage was a place to get things done. In a world that had frozen three years ago, the night his fiancée died, the garage gave him tangible progress and rewarded honest efforts equitably.

  The Mustang’s beefy engine roared to life and Jason, Mitch and Julia took the car for a short test drive. When they returned, the deal was settled in the office, payment and delivery arranged, and at last Stephen was alone again.

  Well, almost alone.

  He changed from the button down to a Galway Automotive T-shirt and joined Kenzie in the bay where the Camaro waited. She’d changed into denim shorts, a faded red, sleeveless cotton top and canvas shoes. She’d redone her hair, the thick braid falling straight down her back. He told himself he didn’t miss the dress.

  “My dad would have loved this one,” she said, her voice soft and wistful.

  He recognized the nostalgic nuance in her tone. “How long ago did he die?”

  “I was fifteen,” she said, her hand sweeping over the rise of the rear fender. “Our dads worked together,” she added, caressing the tail fin. “Did you know that?”

  “Vaguely.” She was thirty and death had neatly divided her life in two parts, yet she remained so vibrant, completely alive. For the first time in recent memory Stephen wanted to ask how to manage that full recovery. Watching her, he realized the sorrow was still there, deep in her eyes, the tug at the corners of her lips. He wondered how her dad had died. He couldn’t recall any deadly fires around that time. “Back then, the fire department was low on my list of priorities.”

  She met his gaze, her blue eyes sparkling. “Girls, right?”

  “Cars.” Girls followed, he thought, with an inward smile. “Engines made sense to me, and to my mother’s dismay street racing was my preferred adrenaline rush.”

  She stopped at the front of the car, her eyes wide. “Seriously?”

  “Young and stupid.” He flipped the Camaro’s keys around his index finger. “Sure you want to be seen with me in this?” The lines and body of the car were in decent condition, but although the factory color had once been crisp champagne, the years and a little rust gave it an unsightly coppery patina.

  “That could be embarrassing,” she teased. Stepping back, she planted her hands on her hips. “Better let me hear the engine first.”

  Mechanically, the car was nearly done. He needed to test the suspension and make sure the manual transmission was good to go. Curious how she’d react, he kept his gaze on her as he reached in and turned the key.

  The engine roared to life.

  Her expression absolutely lit up and she threw her head back in one of her big laughs. If he’d felt sucker punched earlier, seeing her in that dress, her reaction to the car might as well have been a knockout.

  He had no idea how to cope with all the reactions she stirred inside him. Thankfully, she wouldn’t be sticking around more than a week or two.

  Chapter 4

  Settled into the passenger seat, Kenzie could tell her heart was still running a little fast as Stephen drove the Camaro away from the shop, and not just because of the big block engine under the hood. Oh, that sound had been like magic, sending her straight back to those days of helping her dad in the garage. Just like her father always said, in the lower gears, this kind of motor growled, ready to leap at the first opportunity to open up.

  Sure, the car had given her pulse a jump start, but it was the man behind the wheel that kept her system amped up. His hard jaw set in concentration made her want to reach out and see what kind of touch would soften him up. The flex and motion of his working hands and forearms as he shifted gears posed a ridiculous temptation to reach out, to feel that sinuous movement under her fingertips. Not smart to go there just because she was feeling lonely.

  Keeping her mouth shut and her thoughts and hands to herself, she sank into the experience of watching Stephen handle the car. He needed to listen to and feel what the car was doing under him. She made her own mental notes, just in case he asked her opinion later.

  As they cruised through the neighborhood, she tried to divert her attention with the Sunday evening activities around them. Summertime in this part of town was a throwback to an idyllic era. With the car windows rolled down, the scent of burgers and hot dogs on backyard grills drifted through, backed by the soundtrack of delighted shrieks of children dashing through sprinklers.

  “What was your favorite part of summer as a kid?” she asked abruptly.

  “Catching fireflies,” he replied, the stern line of his mouth easing with the memory. “Though burying my little brothers in the sand when we went up to Ocean City in Jersey is a close second.”

  “They really let you do that?”

  His lips twitched, though he didn’t smile. “Let’s just say they always managed to draw the short straw.”

  She chuckled. “Being oldest does have its advantages.”

  “A few,” he agreed.

  He wound his way out of the neighborhood and let the car open up a bit more, then picked up Interstate 95 and aimed north, away from the city. She didn’t care where they were going because the driving was plenty of fun. Shedding the city and her recent troubles gave her a sense of relief, despite knowing she’d have to go back and ride out the lawsuit.

  Once he was in fourth gear the engine sounded good to her, but she felt a lag in the clutch whenever he shifted from second to third. She didn’t mention it; this was his project, and he had to be feeling it more than she did.

  The low purr of the engine filled the space where most people would want to talk, and she enjoyed the companionable silence as the miles slipped by. She’d been doing so much talking, defending and justifying her decisions in the Murtagh fire, that Stephen’s quiet tendencies were a refreshing reprieve. So focused on the professional ramifications, she hadn’t realized how the case was consuming her personally. The only thing no one wanted to discuss with her was what she was going to do if Murtagh won his case against her.

  She glanced at Stephen again. It wasn’t as if firefighting was the only thing she could do. She was a quick learner, tenacious, good with her hands, and she had decent skills with computers, too. If Stephen hired her to manage the office, she could build on that, giving him a hand with the basic maintenance tasks. Combined with waitressing at the club, she could make ends meet.

  She sighed, frustrated and more than a little discouraged by how that life looked in her mind. Her career as a firefighter couldn’t be over. Not like this. She had turned her gaze to the passing scenery. Positive thinking was essential. She had to keep a strong vision of the result she wanted.

  “What do you think about the car?” Stephen asked, drawing her away from the less pleasant thoughts.

  “The engine loves the highway,” she said.

  His lips tilted into a faint smile. “Riley will have his hands full keeping her in check in town.”

  “About that,” she said.

  He shot her a quick glance.

  “Is there a hiccup between second and third gear or do you enjoy abusing a clutch?”

  He laughed, a rusty sound that seemed to surprise them both. “I took an oath as a mechanic not to abuse any machinery.”

  The joke made her smile. “What a relief,” she teased.

  “I think I know what to look for when we get back,” he said. “I’m glad you noticed it, too. But you weren’t thinking about the car.”

  She didn’t appreciate his observation skills. “I wasn’t only thinking about the car.” It was as far as she wanted to go on the subject. They barely knew each other, and though he wasn’t the only person trying to help her
though this rough patch, something in his quiet intensity slipped past her defenses. She wasn’t sure she could deal with that kind of invasion. Not now, anyway.

  Before she could ask what he’d meant by the earlier offer to help her beat the lawsuit, he was turning off the interstate to a less-traveled side road.

  “Would you like to just think about the car?”

  She stared at him, almost afraid to hope. “Are you offering to let me drive?”

  “Yes.”

  That single word sent a thrill of anticipation rolling through her. It was all she could do to sit still when she wanted to bounce in her seat like one of his siblings’ children had done at the sight of him.

  He stopped to fill the car with gas, but didn’t turn over the keys when she hopped out and held out her hand.

  “Five minutes,” he told her.

  She took in the trees lining the road and something clicked. She hadn’t been up this way in a long time. More than fifteen years, in fact. Her weekend trips out of Philly had come to an abrupt halt when her dad died. “Where are we going?”

  “Be patient.” His lips twitched again.

  That bemused expression made her want to tease him for hours and hours with more than words. She pulled herself back from that slippery slope. Neither of them was in the market for a fast fling. He was doing her a big favor letting her stay in the camper, and she didn’t dare screw that up by letting her hormones call the shots.

  He continued down the access road until the trees cleared away to reveal an old oval racetrack. She sat a little forward in her seat. “I have been here.”

  “You have?”

  “Yes!” The grandstands looked weary and forlorn now. She remembered when bright racing team flags had flown from the poles along the top rail. She could almost smell the popcorn blending with the pungent scents of hot tires, oil and gasoline. “Ages ago when my dad did some racing on the weekends,” she replied. “I was probably twelve or thirteen the last time.”

  “How did I not know about that?” Stephen asked.

  “It’s not like he was some racing celebrity or anything,” she pointed out. “He had to give it up when he got sick.”