Braving the Heat

by Regan Black

  “Did you take a pain pill?” Stephen asked. “I left them on the nightstand for you.”

  She curled the tips of her fingers over the edge of the brace. “I must have overlooked that,” she admitted. “I took ibuprofen instead. It’s not unbearable.”

  He didn’t appear to be convinced.

  She handed him the message slip with the appointment on it. “You’ve got some interest in the Charger out there.”

  His gaze remained locked with hers. “That’s great news.”

  “Have you heard about the progress on the Camaro?” Feeling a blush rising in her face as he studied her, she searched for another topic to distract him.

  “It should be moving right along,” he said. “They gave Riley the choice of restoring and repairing the original interior or going with all new seats.” He rubbed at his cheek, leaving behind a smudge of dirt. “I’m not sure what he’ll decide.”

  She wanted to reach up and wipe it away, and told her fingers to behave. They were quasi-coworkers and tentative friends. He didn’t need her making another platonic move loaded with wishful thinking after being so amazing with her last night.

  “Thanks for handling me and, well, all of that chaotic mess last night. Can’t believe I passed out on you.” The sense of utter security she’d felt in his arms would stay with her forever.

  “You didn’t really.” His gaze drifted back to the vehicle on the lift and his mouth twitched at the corners. “Mitch backed a car over my foot once.”

  She grinned at his attempt to make her feel better. “Bet you didn’t faint over the pain.”

  “No, I puked. Your way was much cleaner.”

  He was so matter-of-fact that she laughed. “I’ll let you get back to...” Her voice trailed off when she saw her little rust-bucket wasn’t in pieces anymore. She walked over, circling the reassembled car. This was her project, not his. She’d had it under control. “What did you do?”

  “Um, yeah. About that.”

  Anger, mostly with herself, gaining steam, she spread her arms wide when he didn’t complete the explanation. “Yes?”

  “Well, that’s why I went into the club last night.”

  And she’d been grateful for his surprise appearance. Who knew what he’d kept Murtagh from doing by charging in to help her? “I’m waiting, Stephen.”

  He looked to the rafters above and back to her. “I really needed to finish something.”

  “Was the car in your way?” There were four bays and only two were occupied right now.

  “No.” It was the only logical reply.

  “Let me guess.” She tried to fold her arms and the brace got in the way. “You didn’t think I could manage the job.”

  “Of course not,” he said. “You know what you’re doing.”

  “Then why did you interfere?” She closed the distance between them. “It was my responsibility.” She couldn’t get her emotions under control. This was a ridiculous thing to argue over, but it had been her problem to solve. “I would’ve been done in a few days.” Though the bum hand would have slowed her down.

  “I’m sorry. Don’t you ever need to see progress on something?”

  “Yes.” She looked back at the car. “Yes,” she repeated with a weary sigh. “I understand that.” Unfortunately, the car had apparently represented that tangible progress for both of them. She studied him now, the timing clicking into place. “You finished it before you came to the club.”

  He rolled his shoulders back, cocked his chin, daring her to react. If only she could decide whether to kiss him or smack him.

  “You can take it apart and do it yourself if tightening every bolt means that much to you.”

  She bit back an oath. “Do I look dumb enough to undo the work of an excellent mechanic?” Two flags of color stained his cheeks at the compliment. She couldn’t stay mad, not when he helped her at every turn. “I’ll get it out of here and then you can finally sell the loaner car.” Stalking over to the control panel, she raised the bay door.

  “I was thinking maybe you’d rather sell this one.” Stephen handed her the key. “My guy would give you a good rate on the paint and body work. Interiors for this car are easy to come by.”

  If only it was that easy. “Right idea,” she admitted. “Wrong time. I don’t have the disposable income to pay any kind of rate right now.”

  “So use my account. Pay me when you sell it.”

  Exasperated, she paused, half in and half out of the driver’s seat. Why was he being so nice? “I pay my own way.” She was already trying to figure out how many hours of office time she owed him for his labor.

  “That’s clear,” he said. “I just thought if you invested a little now, you’d have more money in a week or two. That model and year, in working condition, will be perfect for a kid heading to college.”

  “Hardly your typical clientele.”

  “I buy and sell what I want here,” he stated.

  Unable to come up with any credible response to that, she got into the car and backed it out of the service bay. She couldn’t line it up with the other cars that were ready for sale; it looked too pitiful with the rust-and-primer color scheme. Circling around back, she parked it along the fence, where none of his customers would have to look at it while she made up her mind about what to do next.

  The car didn’t sputter or rattle anymore and that shimmy in the left rear tire was gone.

  She cut the engine and sat there a moment, collecting herself. He’d done more than she’d ever planned to do and now he’d given her a fair option. Minimal paint and body work would increase the resale value and make sure he got a decent return on what he’d pumped into it. Selling the car for a decent profit would go a long way to ease the financial stress she was under at the moment. And knowing Stephen, he probably had a buyer in mind already.

  Did he have to do everything so well? It was petty for her to be upset with him for being a decent man. No, this was simply her overdeveloped pride rearing its ugly head. She’d been stressed out by the complaint and lawsuit, and feeling small after Murtagh’s interview, then harassment at the club. None of that gave her valid cause to be aggravated with Stephen.

  Not wanting to accept help was different from not needing the assist in the first place.

  Contrite, she walked back to the garage, feeling like a dork, ready to accept his offer to make the most of their invested effort, parts and time. In a rare moment, she found him watching the television, arms folded over his chest. She did a double-take when she realized the images were a cell phone video of last night’s debacle at the club.

  The angle, taken from over Murtagh’s shoulder, showed her clearly, while hiding most of his face. Without an alternate view, Murtagh could almost claim it wasn’t him hounding her at all. The audio was terrible and the expression she’d intended as professional came across the television as snarky, while a cultured male voice off-camera explained the situation for the viewers.

  “It’s quite clear that Miss Hughes does not handle stressful situations well,” the man continued. “You’ll see she does nothing to diffuse the customer’s ire and allows herself to be bullied.”

  In the video, the tray slammed into her chest. Kenzie gasped, reliving it. “I look pathetic, just standing there like some damsel in distress.” The video footage froze at that moment. Even knowing better, she could almost believe the woman on the screen was helpless.

  Stephen blocked her view and turned it off. “Sorry.” His gaze moved over her, leaving flickers of warmth in its wake as he tracked the resulting nicks and scrapes as if he could see through her top.

  She waved off the apology. “At least now we know why he pulled that stunt.”

  “Your lawyer will have a plan to counter this,” Stephen said.

  “I hope you’re right.” She’d promised herself she wouldn’t think about it anym
ore. “I’m sorry I was a twit about you doing the work for me,” she said in a bold change of subject. “I like your idea of selling the car.” She moved by him and into the office. “I’ll go call your paint and body guy. And we’ll split whatever profit we make,” she said over her shoulder.

  “Hang on. That’s not fair.”

  She was done arguing. Dropping into the desk chair, she picked up the phone. When she finished making the arrangements, she found Stephen staring at her. “It is fair,” she said. “You did all the labor.”

  “Not even close. You had a good start on it.”

  “What about all the parts? Answering your phone hardly evens that score.”

  “You’d be surprised.” He scowled at the phone. “I hate that thing.”

  “I won’t go through with your plan unless we agree to split the profit. And I mean the profit, not the gross from the sale,” she added, anticipating his next likely maneuver.

  He stalked over to the refrigerator under the counter and pulled out a bottle of water. “Fine. Write it up that way.”

  She swiveled the chair to follow his movements. “Why aren’t you a cop or a firefighter?” Watching him, her pulse quickening, she thought he’d be a stunning addition to any fundraising calendar.

  “I told you. I was too into cars to think about any other line of work.”

  “You’ve got this innate good-guy nature.” And he employed it in his own way within his family and community. “Plus you’re cool as a cucumber in a crisis.”

  His cheeks colored again. “You don’t know that.”

  “Do too. You kept your head in the middle of my crisis last night.”

  He scoffed, started for the door. “I’ve got work to do.”

  Her cell phone chimed and the garage phone rang at the same time. “Me, too,” she said with a big smile, letting him off the hook now that things felt steadier between them.

  There were layers and layers to Stephen Galway and she had the ridiculous urge to peel back every one of them, polishing up all the rough edges along the way. Smitten, her father would have called it.

  He would have been right.

  * * *

  Stephen worked through the remainder of the morning and into the afternoon, turning up the music so he wouldn’t hear her voice in the office. Alone in the garage had always been his preference, and yet after mere days of Kenzie working alongside him, being alone out here felt wrong.

  She had a way about her, smart and strong, with a sweetness under the tough exterior. He told himself to shut up. Thoughts like that led into dangerous territory. He’d get over this distraction, just like he got over everything else life tossed his way.

  In the back of his mind he was assessing the new rebuild project as he dealt with the basic maintenance and repairs on the schedule. He had plenty of standard business to keep his business flush, but once he and Mitch had started with the restoration and rebuilds, Galway Automotive had swiftly earned a reputation in collector circles that had clients seeking them. It helped that they worked well together and had similar, though not identical, taste in cars.

  Naturally, as soon as Kenzie drove off to take her car for paint, his concentration shattered. He didn’t like her going out there without him, yet there was only so much hovering he could get away with. There had to be a way to kick this need to keep her safely within sight. Kenzie personified independence. While she was gone, he turned down the music and took advantage of her absence to give Grant another update.

  “I’ve sent everything Jason collected from the other customers to her lawyer,” Grant was saying. “You’re sure she’s feeling all right?”

  “Seems to be.” Stephen checked the clock. “Won’t take the heavy painkillers.” If she wasn’t back in fifteen minutes, he’d call her cell and make sure she was okay.

  “She’s tough,” Grant said. “Try to encourage her to rest.”

  Stephen gave a snort. “You’ve met Kenzie, right?”

  “Try,” Grant emphasized. “It’s all any of us can do.”

  True. “I can’t believe Murtagh’s lawyers found a way to twist his assault on her in his favor.” Although when it came to the Marburg firm, Stephen trusted only Julia to play fair.

  Grant was equally displeased and baffled by the tactic. “I’ve reached out to a few reporters I know, making it clear she was following company policy.”

  “Won’t matter much if they like his version better,” Stephen pointed out. The unfairness of that had him hefting a socket wrench, wishing he could hold off every possible threat or danger to her.

  “I’m not giving in. The man assaulted an employee,” Grant said. “By the way, I’ve texted Kenzie her new schedule. She’s off until Tuesday. That gives her recovery time for the hand and her deposition on Monday afternoon.”

  Stephen rubbed his temples, feeling the headache brewing. “You know, I really didn’t need the extra challenge right now,” he said.

  Grant chuckled. “I believe you’re up to it. Keep me in the loop and I’ll do the same.”

  The call ended, Stephen stood in the quiet solitude of the garage, unable to focus. What was taking her so long? Ten more minutes and he’d call her.

  Hearing a bigger engine idling nearby, he walked out to see a media van parked at the curb across the street. Apparently they’d discovered she was staying here. No big surprise. The Marburg law firm was familiar with Stephen. He’d made no secret of how he felt when they’d successfully defended Annabeth’s killer. They probably recognized him immediately from the altercation at the club. He assumed Murtagh’s legal team had given Kenzie’s location to the media just to keep tightening the screws on her.

  A low-slung, foreign street-racing car with a neon paint scheme and more power than anyone needed in the city rolled to a stop just outside the gate. Joey Garcia, owner of the shop Stephen preferred for the paint and interior details, was behind the wheel. He gave Stephen a wave as Kenzie hopped out of the passenger side, carrying a big brown paper bag. He waved back and pressed the button on the fob in his pocket to close the gate behind her, giving her as much shelter as possible from the media van.

  “I brought lunch,” she called as she walked up. “Better late than never, right?”

  “Right.” A good rule when applied to lunch. He opened the office door for her and failed in his gallant effort to ignore the tempting sway of her hips. The woman had legs that commanded attention.

  She caught him scowling and raised an eyebrow. “What happened now?”

  “You didn’t see the news van out there?” he asked.

  “I did,” she replied. “I’m not sure it’s wise to look like I’m hiding out.”

  “It is,” he replied. “What’s for lunch?” No point dwelling on what they couldn’t change.

  “I picked up your favorite.” She held up a bag with the logo of a nearby sandwich shop.

  How did she know his favorite?

  She opened the bag and the rich aroma of a meatball sub filled the room. His stomach rumbled and she grinned. “It was the least I could do after getting mad over nothing.”

  With that expression on her face, he was suddenly hungry for more than the sandwich. He pulled himself together. She trusted him as a friend. He would not wreck that. “How did you convince Joey to stop for food?” he asked.

  “I bought his lunch, too.”

  “Really? That guy never stops moving long enough to eat.”

  “Like someone else I know,” she said with a grin. “He ordered enough to feed the whole shop,” she said, “though he was the only one in sight when I dropped off my car.”

  Stephen shook his head in disbelief, digging into his sandwich while she pulled out an enormous chopped salad. “Did he give you a good price?”

  “He gave me the same rate he gives you for the painting. Said he couldn’t be sure about the body work
until he had a better look at the rust damage.”

  “No rust on the frame,” Stephen said. “It shouldn’t be too bad.”

  She nodded, picking at her salad, but not really eating. He wondered if the pain was making her queasy. He’d keep an eye on her. There was a quart of his mom’s chicken soup in the freezer. She’d brought it over when he’d had a cold around Easter.

  “We chose a hot pink color scheme,” Kenzie said.

  Stephen choked on a bite of his sandwich, washed it away with some water. “Hot pink?”

  “I knew it.” She aimed her fork at him. “You already have a buyer in mind.”

  “Not anymore,” he muttered.

  “Stephen, I’ve been managing my life for over a decade now. I don’t need you to stack the deck for me.”

  Someone should. She deserved better than what she’d been dealing with on her own lately. Better than the firestorm ahead of her if Marburg continued to work the media in favor of their client.

  “Say something,” she urged. “You know you want to.”

  That ornery sparkle in her big blue eyes made him want to say plenty, and not much of it had to do with cars and paint, or the civil suit. He wanted to make her promises to hold her close and keep her safe and happy. Promises he had no business making.

  “If it is hot pink, I’ll have to check with Mom about some better local prospects.”

  “I should have expected that unflappable calm to prevail.” She rolled her eyes. “There are moments when teasing you is no fun,” she said, with a ghost of a smile on her generous lips.

  It made him want to smile back. “So what color did you go with?”

  “A neutral, medium-gray with enough metallic to keep it shy of boring,” she replied.

  “Easy-care color.”

  She agreed with a quick bob of her chin. “A factor I thought would hold great appeal for a college-bound kid.”