“Sorry ’bout that. Wish I could help.”
“Not your fault. I don’t suppose you might know of anyone . . . ? I could make it worth their while.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Gosh, everyone I know is working today. I’d ask Hope, but she hasn’t driven a stick in years. Plus, she’s studying for a big exam.”
Allie squeezed the steering wheel. “Right. No, I understand. I’ll think of something.”
“Maybe your dad could come back and get it.”
Wouldn’t that be exactly what her parents expected? Instead of proving herself, she’d reinforce their belief that she was a complete and total failure.
Unless . . . she called Luke.
Her heart pounded at the thought of seeing him again. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d spoken to him. That was a lie. She remembered every detail.
“Don’t worry about it.” Allie dredged up a smile that was as fake as her “natural” highlights. “Really. Go on and enjoy lunch with your wife and give me a minute to make other arrangements. I’ll be out of your hair lickety-split.”
“Sure you don’t want to join us while you work something out? There’s more than enough.”
“I’m sure, but thank you.”
As Brady headed back to the house, Allie turned her thoughts to what she had to do. She knew for a fact Luke was home. She’d seen his old Mustang in the driveway when she went inside her parents’ house for the check. Okay, sneaked inside the house. Those ugly hedges had to be good for something.
But, oh, she didn’t want to face Luke again. And he wouldn’t want to see her either. God knew he’d done nothing but avoid her since her senior prom.
She glanced around the beautifully restored vehicle. She was in a fix, and she couldn’t fail at this task. She couldn’t. Not even if it meant the favored surrogate son would receive half the glory.
She couldn’t just go up to his door—too much like groveling. And she would not beg Luke, not for anything. As it happened she still remembered his old home phone number (it was tattooed on her heart), but he probably didn’t have the landline anymore—who did?
So she would let fate decide what would happen. She’d make the call—just to prove to herself and the world that Luke Fletcher was not the answer to this or any other problem she might have. And if he wasn’t . . .
She was sunk.
Chapter 3
Luke wolfed down the turkey sandwich on five-grain bread, his mind on the maple cabinets waiting in his garage. The customer requested a black cherry stain, but that was a mistake. Maple didn’t take dark stains well. Luke still hoped to bring the client around.
He took his plate to the sink and rinsed it, then put it in the stainless steel dishwasher. Luke had upgraded the kitchen after his mother married Greg Barnes and moved to Florida, leaving Luke to assume the mortgage on his childhood home. When he was finished, he headed toward the garage, his bulldog, Walter, lumbering behind him.
The dog stared up at him with his wrinkled face and tragic brown eyes. “Ready to go back to work, boy?”
For Luke, every day was take-your-dog-to-work day. For Walter, the garage was just another place for a long nap. But what the dog lacked in energy he made up for with a big heart.
The phone rang in the living room—the landline. He reached for a work boot and shoved his foot into it. Most likely a solicitor. No one he knew used or even remembered that number anymore.
Except maybe his dad. If Luke was gut-level honest, it was the reason he hadn’t dropped the landline years ago.
He paused in lacing his boots as the shrill ring sounded again. He straightened and went into the living room, telling his heart it was only someone selling windows, a credit card, or a “free” four-day vacation to the Bahamas.
He picked up the handset. “Hello?”
A pause followed and Luke waited for the recording to kick on. He should just hang up. But a longing for a man he hadn’t heard from in years made him try one more time.
“Hello?” It was more of a bark, but he was impatient with himself and his pitiful yearning for someone who’d probably forgotten him long ago.
He’d just begun to hang up when a voice came through the handset.
“Luke?” A woman’s voice.
He pulled the phone back to his ear. “Yes . . . Who’s this?”
“It’s . . . It’s Allie. Allie Adams.”
As if there were another Allie. His heart skipped a couple beats, then made up for it by doing double time. For the past seven years Allie had been holding what was apparently a one-hundred-year grudge that still had many years left on it. He could only think of one reason she’d call.
Her parents’ trip to Pennsylvania—the anniversary party. Dread slithered down his spine. Bill and Becky had an accident in the mountains, and she was calling to tell him . . . “Your parents?”
“They’re fine.” Her voice was brittle.
Thank God. He released a breath, leaning against the solid chestnut cabinets.
“Sorry to call out of the blue like this, but I have to ask you a favor.”
“Okay . . .” He couldn’t imagine what she’d want since she hadn’t willingly spoken to him in years. And he could tell by her tone that The Grudge was still in effect, favor or no.
Her heavy sigh came through the phone. “My parents restored my grandparents’ ’57 Chevy for their anniversary.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do. When it got delayed I offered to drive it to my grandparents’ for them, but there seems to be a minor problem.”
“And that is . . . ?” he asked when she paused.
“I’m here in Copper Creek to pick it up, and I didn’t realize—it’s a stick shift.”
“You can’t drive a stick.”
“I know that.” She grated out the words. “That’s why I’m calling you.”
“You want me to drive the car to Pennsylvania?”
“If you can get away today—and tomorrow, too, I guess. Time is of the essence—the party’s tomorrow night.” She paused as if she expected an immediate answer.
But he was still trying to convince himself that Allie had actually called him. Was asking him for a favor after all these years. Besides, committing to something like this required thought. Deliberation. Possibly insanity.
“I’m willing to pay you,” she choked out, as if giving an incentive pained her.
Luke knew what that car meant to Bill and Becky—they’d been planning this surprise for almost a year—and Luke would move heaven and earth to please the couple. While his own mom had drunk herself into a stupor most nights after his dad’s departure, the Adamses had been there for him.
Allie aside, he couldn’t let them down, could he? He mentally reviewed his work schedule. His current customer wasn’t in a hurry. Luke had other orders lined up, but nothing pressing. Nothing he couldn’t handle if he applied himself over the next few weeks. What else did he have to do but build his business?
“Are you going to answer me or not?” Allie said.
“You’re awful prickly for someone asking a favor.”
“Go ahead and say no—you know you want to.”
Oh, she vexed him. Always had. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you planning to ride along on this five-hundred-mile joyride?”
She gave a sharp laugh. “Closer to seven hundred, actually—and joy will hardly be a factor. Yes, of course I’m planning to ride along. You think I’m letting you drive that car without me?”
“I have a stellar driving record, I’ll have you know. I won’t be driving over any parking bumpers at least.”
He could practically hear her grinding her teeth. Then swallowing her pride. And after all the snubbing she’d done, he was just petty enough to enjoy it.
“Is that a yes?” she asked.
Luke checked the time. He’d need to shower and change from his work clothes. Pack a few things. “A
re you at Brady Collins’s place?”
“Where else would I be?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”
He set the phone in the cradle before she could respond. He needed the upper hand with her. But in reality, his heart was pounding and his breaths were shallow. This was going to be an exasperating day—an exasperating trip. She couldn’t possibly pay him enough to put up with her sharp tongue for ten grueling hours.
Who was he kidding? He wasn’t taking Allie’s money. And her tongue—though it might be sharp—had once been good for things other than slinging barbs.
Chapter 4
Allie heard the popping of gravel on the drive long before she made herself turn and look. There, stirring up a cloud of dust, was the blue Mustang. She couldn’t make out Luke through the glare on the windshield, but he no doubt saw her clearly enough.
She leaned against the driver’s side of the Chevy, crossing her arms, striving for a casual effect. Well, she couldn’t very well be sitting down when all six feet one inch of Luke Fletcher approached, could she? She was at enough of a disadvantage having to ask for a favor. She wondered how her hair looked, then gave herself a mental thump.
He pulled in beside the Chevy, and everything went quiet as he shut off the engine. The door squawked open, and he emerged, stretching to his full height in a snug black T-shirt and worn jeans. His gaze, guarded and mysterious, met hers across his car.
Allie couldn’t drag her eyes from those familiar green depths. She had only a peripheral impression of short dark hair, unshaven jaw, and masculine physique.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t seen him in years—they had too many common Facebook friends for that. But she still thought of him as the boy he’d been. However, now that she saw him in person, she couldn’t deny that the boy had only been a shadow of the man he’d become. Just the sight of him made her heart tick up a notch. She scowled at the realization.
His lips quirked and a mocking light entered his eyes. “Allie.”
“Luke.” She dragged her eyes away, looking pointedly at her watch, even though he was right on time.
He missed the impatient gesture, as he was getting into the back of his car—for his overnight things, no doubt.
Overnight. Jeez Louise. What had she gotten herself into?
A squat, hairy beast lumbered around the back side of the Mustang. Bulging brown eyes dominated the bulldog’s brown-and-white smashed-in face. Even though it was walking, it looked as if it might drift off to sleep any moment.
Even so, it was a dog. She shrank into the car. The terrier that had bitten her when she was six hadn’t seemed threatening either—until its jaws were clamped around her ankle. She wasn’t able to shake it off until her dad came.
Allie frowned at the beast. “What is that?”
Luke shut the door, and the car beeped as he locked it. “Allie, meet Walter.”
“He is not coming on this trip.”
“I don’t have anyone to leave him with. Anyway, Walter’s well trained. He won’t be any trouble. Will you, buddy?”
Walter flopped down in the gravel, apparently unable to bear another step. His jowls drooped low as if God had accidentally made too much skin and not enough face.
Allie glanced at the beautifully restored Chevy. “You can’t put your”—she looked down at the animal—“dog on these new leather seats. White leather seats.”
“Relax, I’ve got it covered.” Luke—bearing a sleeping bag, she saw now—was opening the Chevy’s back door. He spread it across the seat. “He doesn’t have accidents.”
“I didn’t plan on having a dog along.”
“Well, I didn’t plan on driving to Pennsylvania today,” Luke said from the back seat. “But here we are.”
She wanted to put her foot down. But . . . beggars and choosers and all that. There was no one else she could ask to drive—if there had been, Luke sure wouldn’t be here. Looked like she was stuck with them both.
She stared up to the heavens. She so deserved brownie points for this.
Allie scowled down at the mongrel, whose pink tongue was now out and lolling beside a pointy fang. She didn’t relish the idea of him sitting behind her. What if he went for her carotid artery when she least expected it?
Walter peered up at her as if asking if it was time to get up yet. After a moment passed he gave a slow blink and rested his head on his paws.
Allie rounded the vehicle and got into the passenger side while Luke loaded the dog. “How old is that thing?”
Luke spared her a look. “Walter is seven.”
“He moves like an old man.” With hip replacements. She took out her phone and opened the road trip playlist she’d made just for the drive when she’d been feeling optimistic about the assignment—songs from the fifties, in honor of the Chevy, of course.
Luke stowed his things in the trunk and got into the car. The spacious interior seemed to shrink to Fiat proportions. She was grateful for the console between them, at least. Of course, if there were no console, there would be no stick shift—and no Luke.
He took a moment to appreciate the leather, his gaze flittering around the pristine interior. “She turned out real nice. Your grandparents are going to be thrilled.”
He said something else, but Allie couldn’t take her eyes off his hands, now stroking the large white steering wheel with its chrome center and spokes. His skin, already summer brown, was marked with a new scar or two. Long fingers tapered down to blunt-cut fingernails, stained around the cuticles from his job. A workingman’s hands.
Hands that had once held hers. Hands that caressed her face so softly it made her ache inside. At one time she’d believed they were made for each other. That he was her soul mate, that they might share a lifetime of love.
But that had just been a foolish girlhood fantasy.
The engine roared to life. Allie dropped her gaze to her phone, starting her playlist, and the peppy melody of “Rockin’ Robin” filled the car.
Chapter 5
It hadn’t quite been love at first sight for Allie, but it still seemed like she’d loved Luke her whole life. Soon after his family moved in next door, when Allie was nine, Luke’s dad left.
Mrs. Fletcher turned to drinking, leaving Luke at loose ends. He often mowed the lawn for Allie’s parents or helped her mom carry in groceries. He was a frequent guest at their dinner table. Olivia treated him like a brother, but that role never felt quite right to Allie, even though Luke often ruffled her hair and called her kiddo.
When she was fifteen a boy on the bus began picking on her, making rides to school stressful. When Luke found out he insisted on driving her the remainder of the year—even though he was a senior and she a lowly sophomore.
That was when Allie fell head over heels in love with Luke. They talked on those rides about school and life and her current passion—art. Luke rarely talked about his home life, but he was more open when they were alone. Each morning and afternoon Allie’s stomach wobbled as she got into his car. Her heart softened when he looked at her.
Alas . . . Luke had continued to ruffle her hair and chuckle as she shared her adolescent problems or waxed poetic about the impressionist movement. She hid her growing feelings by calling him hotshot and giving him sisterly slugs.
Before she knew it, Luke, seventeen and graduated, was off to the University of Georgia on a full scholarship. (He’d skipped fourth grade.) She mourned the loss but hid it well, dating other boys and going out often. She rarely saw Luke over the next couple of years. He hardly bothered to come home, and when he did, she was often busy with friends, drama practice, or one of her jobs.
The fall of her senior year he came home for Thanksgiving to meet his mother’s fiancé. He joined the Adamses for their holiday feast.
Despite his long absence, despite all the other boys she’d dated, Allie’s feelings for Luke hadn’t diminished one iota. Her heart fluttered as he took a seat across the table, and her stomach was ful
l of hyperactive butterflies.
When she opened her eyes after her father said grace, she caught Luke staring at her—the strangest expression on his face. His green eyes were fixed on hers—was that a flicker of male appreciation?
Allie’s pulse jumped. Her face heated. Had he noticed her new haircut? Or that, after years of being a tomboy, she was wearing makeup and dressing like a girl?
After the meal she told herself she’d just imagined it. She put it from her mind—or tried to—until Christmas break, when he came home for his mom’s wedding.
Allie was arriving home from theater practice when movement next door caught her eye. Luke was pulling his duffel bag from the trunk of his Mustang, his muscles bulging under the sleeves of his Georgia Bulldogs T-shirt. He walked over, meeting her beside the Odyssey. The intense look in his eyes made her heart pound like she’d just taken the stage on opening night.
His smile inching upward made her heart buckle. “Hey, Allie.”
“Hi.” Her voice was breathless because he hadn’t called her kiddo and because . . . that look.
He drew her into the usual hug, but it didn’t feel usual. It felt gentle and stirring, and he lingered an extra beat as if he didn’t want it to end either.
When he drew away, Allie’s tongue seemed stuck to the roof of her mouth, but it didn’t matter because she couldn’t think of a thing to say. His gaze drifted over her face, seeming to take in every detail before he looked away.
“Got all your Christmas shopping done?” His cheeks were a little flushed. Maybe just the chill in the air. It was December, after all.
“Haven’t even started yet.”
He gave a throaty chuckle. “Sounds about right.”
Her dad pulled in the drive just then, and things went back to normal.
The next day Allie wondered again if she’d imagined the whole thing. Wishful thinking—she was a pro by now. But she’d gone on many dates and had even had two short-term boyfriends. She couldn’t be wrong about that look in his eyes. Could she?
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