by Drea Stein
Tory narrowed her eyes and looked around, considering. Ok, so he was probably right. There was no way his truck could have gotten anywhere near her Mini. As he’d said, he was probably only taking a look. It only meant he was nosy, not a car wrecker. Still, it didn’t make her feel any better about what had happened.
“Was there someone parked next to you when you went in?” he asked, his voice helpful, reasonable. “Maybe that’s the car you’re looking for?”
Tory shook her head. “I was the first one in this morning.” There had been no one parked next to her. But then the parking lot had been busy most of the day, she suspected, with people going to the clinic and the moving vans that Chase had hired to ferry over office stuff from the other location.
“And I didn’t leave my desk all day,” she said, shrugging as she stepped down to the pavement level and let her hands run along the rough gash. Green paint flecks fell off into her hand, and she almost wanted to cry.
“Well,” he said, pursing his lips, “it looks like there might be some security cameras around here.” He pointed up toward the lamp pole and then at the edge of the building.
Tory followed his arm and nodded. There definitely were security cameras; she knew for sure because she was the one who had recommended the company that had installed them to Jackson Sanders, the owner of the building. Since Jackson was engaged to her best friend Lynn, it probably wouldn’t be too hard to get the footage from him.
“I know the owner,” Tory said immediately and then regretted it. It sounded snooty even as it came out of her mouth. She could tell he’d gotten the same impression when he gave her a smirk that clearly said, Well, isn’t that good for you, little darlin’?
“He’s engaged to my friend,” she said, shoving her hands into her jacket, hoping that would make it sound better. Even as it was out of her mouth, she knew it didn’t.
“Of course.” Blue Eyes considered, his lips twisting in a smile. “Still, you might want to call the police and file an accident report, for insurance purposes. It would probably make getting the video feed a little easier.”
It was definitely a drawl, Tory decided, a slow, sexy voice that matched his broad-shouldered self-confidence. She took a deep breath, and told herself it was not the time to be thinking about how nice his shoulders looked or how, if she closed her eyes and listened, she could have sworn Brad Paisley was standing in front of her. She preferred her guys lankier, with ironic t-shirts and skinny jeans, and a self-deprecating sense of humor. Or in a suit and tie, with the ability to talk about current events while picking out a great wine to drink with dinner. She did not go for guys in cowboy boots and covered in cocky arrogance. Nope, he wasn’t her type at all.
“Of course,” Tory agreed, wondering why his blue eyes and accent were distracting to the point of forgetfulness. She was an intelligent, capable and confident career woman who shouldn’t be flustered by a little car trouble. Of course she should call the police, file a report. And get in touch with her insurance agent. It would make everything easier. It was exactly what you were supposed to do if you ever got into an accident.
She pulled out her phone, did a quick search and called the police department directly. The dispatcher, sounding brisk and efficient, promised her that there was a patrol car out and it would head on over quickly.
Tory sighed in relief, glad to know one thing was taken care of. She supposed the next step was to call her insurance company. As she thumbed through the contacts in her phone, she looked up and saw that he was still standing there, feet spread apart, looking totally comfortable.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said. “I have everything under control.” He was making her nervous. Well, not exactly nervous, but it was unsettling, the way he was completely at ease, with his blue eyes that matched the morning sky and the way he looked at her, level and confident as if there was nothing odd about being in the parking lot with a stranger who had just—falsely—accused you of hitting her car.
“Doesn’t seem very polite to leave you here,” he drawled, and she felt a little shiver go down her spine. It was the wind, had to be— it was picking up now that the sun was getting low on the sky. It wasn’t the sound of that voice. Never once had just the voice on a man given her a thrill. Maybe their smile, their hands, their sense of humor—those had all been mildly entertaining, but never once had just the sound of a voice sent her mind racing in the wrong direction.
“I can take care of myself,” she said curtly, wondering just where her usual good manners and easy rapport with the opposite sex had gone. She was hyper-aware of him and the way his shoulders filled out his canvas Carhartt jacket, the hint of stubble on his cheeks giving him a slightly bad ass air. Bad ass guys weren’t her type, right?
“I am sure you can, but … well, I’m waiting for my guy Joe, who’s in there.” He gestured his thumb toward the glass doors of the clinic. “I don’t mind getting a little fresh air. Lots of sick people in there.” He beamed a smile at her, like it was supposed to be a joke.
It wasn’t very funny, but Tory did manage a smile in return.
“You know, I promise not to blame you when the police come,” Tory said, reaching for a light tone. She could do this, talk to some guy in a parking lot. She talked to guys all the time, sometimes over a coffee, sometimes over a drink. Sometimes over breakfast, if the spirit moved her. This didn’t have to be different, talking to a sexy guy over a dented Mini Cooper.
“Not too worried about that, seeing as how the laws of physics, chemistry and just plain common sense ensure that there’s no way in hell that my truck could have done this,” he said, stepping close to her so that she could feel the heat from his body and smell a fusion of soap and spicy aftershave mixed in with only the barest hint of motor oil. She told herself not to breathe in too deeply, wondering just when motor oil had jumped onto her list of sexy scents.
“I have a feeling you’re looking for a vehicle with an orange paint job,” he said, pointing but not touching. She leaned down on the edge of the curb to see what he was looking at and overbalanced. He caught her and pulled her upright. She stood there, frozen, pressed too close against him as she blinked in the light of his blazing blue eyes.
She didn’t get a chance to find out what could have happened next because of the flashing lights and whine of siren that cut short with a gasp as a police car pulled up next to them. He let go of her, and she felt is if every one of her nerve endings was aflame, even as she took a solid step back onto the sidewalk, trying to find her balance.
The police cruiser’s door opened, and she that it was Hank Sisson, one of the deputies.
“Tory,” he said, nodding his head in greeting as he maneuvered his blocky body out of the car.
“Hi, Officer Sisson,” she said. He was a good friend of her father’s, a fishing and golf buddy. When he wasn’t in uniform, she called him Uncle Hank.
Hank’s eyes were sharp as he took in the situation: Tory standing there, the damage to her car, and the man standing next to her.
“Don’t believe we’ve met,” Uncle Hank boomed out, moving his impressive physique in their direction.
“Colby Reynolds, Officer. I noticed the damage and was just keeping Tory company until you came.”
Her stomach jumped. She’d never thought hearing her name could give her such an electric charge, not until he had said it. Ok, so it was definitely the accent. He must have women lining up with a voice like that.
Hank swiveled, looked at the big truck. “That your rig?”
“Yes,” Colby nodded, “and it’s been parked there since I took my guy, Joe, into the clinic.”
“I wasn’t accusing. There’s no way that would fit in this spot.”
Tory stopped herself from rolling her eyes at the enviable sound of reasonableness that was in Uncle Hank’s voice as he spoke to Colby. Of course the men were on the same page because … well, they were guys, and they had to be.
“There’s some orange paint in the scra
pe. And there are surveillance cameras around—think that might help?” Tory offered up helpfully. She avoided Colby’s eyes, but she could see he was smothering a smile.
“Colby noticed it,” she said, after moment. His name sounded nice. She shook her head, trying to clear it as images of him saying her name, her saying his name and tangled sheets flooded her brain. Her mind was not going to go there.
“Hold on, now,” Hank’s voice rumbled. “Let’s start with getting some pictures, and I’ll write up your report. Did you get the insurance company on the line? See if they want to send someone out here now or if they’ll look at it later? Then we’ll want to make sure it starts.”
Tory nodded, feeling a little more relaxed now that Uncle Hank was here. She looked over at Colby, as he still stood near them, taking an interest in what was going on.
There was the swish of doors, and another man came out of the clinic’s entrance, his right arm in a sling and a sheet of paper in his hand.
“Well, there’s Joe, and it looks like you’re in good hands,” Colby said as he nodded in Uncle Hank’s direction and took a step closer to Tory.
Tory nodded, swallowing. She barely knew the guy, so there was no reason she should feel any sort of loss at the thought of him leaving. But there it was. There had been something slightly promising about their exchange, and she wasn’t quite ready to let it go.
Joe, who was shorter and stockier than Colby, came and stood by them. He nodded politely to Tory, but said nothing. He had dark eyes, darkly tanned skin and, like Colby, was wearing a knit cap. Unlike Colby, his sideburns were definitely shading toward salt and pepper.
“Shouldn’t be anything to worry about, Colby,” he said easily enough, but Tory didn’t miss the hint of pain in his voice.
“Good, did you tell them to bill me?”
Joe shook his head, a stubborn look on his face. “You don’t have to do that. It was my fault.”
“C’mon, give it up,” Colby said.
Joe grudgingly held out the sheet of paper, which Tory assumed must be a bill for the clinic’s services.
Colby took it, scanned it, nodded quickly, and then folded it and shoved it his pocket.
Joe mumbled, “Thanks,” and gave Tory and Uncle Hank, who was walking around the car, a quick nod before heading off in the direction of the truck.
Colby shot her a smile and inclined his head toward the man’s retreating back. “A man of few words, Joe is.”
“He’s probably in pain.”
Colby shrugged. “Maybe, but that’s pretty much how he is all the time. Besides it’s only a sprain. Joe used to race motorbikes so, trust me, he’s had worse.”
“Glad you’re such a stoic bunch,” Tory said.
“Not me, I can’t stand the sight of blood,” Colby said. “Cry like a baby. Why do you think I waited out here?”
Tory looked over Colby’s rangy frame and his work-scarred hands, trying to decide if he was being serious or not. She didn’t have time to say anything else because Uncle Hank called her name.
“Think we’re looking for vehicle with an orange paint job,” he said, “which shouldn’t be too hard to find, especially if we can get copy of those security tapes. And you, Colby Reynolds,” Hank had his pad out and was writing down things, spelling out Colby’s name carefully, “you said you didn’t see anything?”
Colby nodded. “Nope, the damage was already there when I got here.”
“Then you’re not much of a witness, but I’ll need your contact information anyway. Here, save me the trouble and write it down.”
“How about a business card, to make it easier for you?” Colby said, fishing into the pocket of his coveralls. He pulled out a white rectangle and handed it over to Hank.
“Thanks,” Hank said and turned his attention back to the car and his report, copying down some information from Colby’s card onto his pad, his thick fingers almost engulfing the small pencil he was using to write.
“Classic Autosports? What is that, some sort of used car dealership?”
Colby laughed. “I haven’t quite heard it put that way … but, yes, I guess that’s what it is.”
Tory stood there, wondering what Colby had found so funny about that statement.
“You know, depending on what the insurance says, you may need someone to do a little body work.” Colby turned the full force of his baby blues on her, and she was lost, comparing his eyes to the way Queensbay Harbor looked on a cloudless summer day, or the color of the blue bellflowers her mother grew, or even the bluer-than-blue color of her favorite sweater. It really was not fair, his having eyes like that, combined with the Southern accent that was like the smooth burn of aged bourbon sliding slowly down your throat. And he wanted to do some body work on her. Tory mentally smacked herself. She needed to get her head back in the game.
“Excuse me?”
“Body work. On the car,” Colby said, his lips starting to turn up in a smile as she wondered if he had guessed what she was thinking.
“Oh, right,” Tory answered, feeling herself start to blush. Her mind definitely conjured up some fairly X-rated visions at the term body work.
“Well, here’s my card. I’d be happy to help.”
“You know, if this was the plot of a book, someone might accuse you of causing the damage to drum up business.”
“Oh, that wounds me,” Colby said, thumping his hand flat on his chest. “And don’t let the good officer know. I wouldn’t want that going into his report. Bad for business.”
Tory smiled, a real one. Ok, so charming and funny was all of a sudden very sexy and just a bit unnerving. “Thanks for your help.”
“I didn’t do much,” he said, and Tory found that Colby Reynolds had somehow inched just a little closer to her again.
“I guess you should drive Joe home,” she said and then wanted to kick herself.
Colby nodded, took a step back and smiled, as if he wasn’t at all put off by her refusal. “Well, like I said,” he drawled, and Tory’s stomach did another one of those annoying and unpredictable flip-flops, “if you need some help with your body work, just give me a call.”
And with that, Colby sketched a small salute and sauntered off, pausing only to shake Uncle Hank’s hand before walking over to his tow truck and hoisting himself into the cab. The big truck rumbled to life, and he waved again before it thundered out of the parking lot.
Uncle Hank came over to Tory. “Is the insurance guy on his way over? Do you need a ride home?”
Tory took one look at the police cruiser and then looked at Hank. “You’d make me ride in the back, wouldn’t you?”
“With the lights flashing, young lady,” he answered with one of his rare, but friendly, grins.
She laughed, shaking her head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m meeting a friend. She’ll give me a ride.”
Chapter 5
“Who was that?” Joe asked after they’d been driving for a while in silence.
Colby looked over at him. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Tory that Joe was a man of few words. When the jack had slipped and Joe had screamed, that had been the last cry of complaint he’d uttered. Luckily the arm hadn’t looked too bad, so Colby had taken him straight to the Queensbay Clinic, since it was closer than the hospital. Just a sprain, thank goodness, though it would mean that Joe would have limited mobility for a while. Still, he could and would boss around the other guys in the shop, and that would keep him busy.
“I think her name is Tory,” Colby answered, keeping his eyes on the road. The showroom and garage were up on the main commercial highway, well out of the village of Queensbay proper, but the roads down here were narrow and tricky. He certainly didn’t want to be responsible for a real fender-bender today.
“That’s it, that’s all you got?” Joe said. Colby hazarded a glance at Joe’s face, but it was inscrutable.
“Her name is Tory. She must work in the building,” he said. She had caramel-colored eyes and caramel-colore
d hair, and she’d been wearing dark jeans that angled straight into tall brown boots, showing off seriously toned legs, and a little blazer that nipped in at the waist. And she’d smelled nice, like citrus and honeysuckle, and when she had smiled, finally, once she hadn’t been blazing mad at him, she’d been the prettiest girl he’d seen in a long time. Not drop dead gorgeous like Kayla, who’d been tall and blonde, with what could only be describe as icy good looks. Tory on the other hand had something else. Pretty, of course, but there was no iciness there. Intelligence, he thought, and class.
“A little better,” Joe said, the barest hint of encouragement in his voice.
“I gave her my card.”
Joe shook his head and leaned his seat back. “You should’ve gotten her number. The ladies always say they don’t mind making the first move, but trust me, none of them are ever upset when you call first.”
Colby snorted. “What do you know about the ladies?”
Joe didn’t look over, didn’t even bother to open his eyes, just held up his left hand so that Colby could see the wide, solid band of gold.
“Married twenty-five years. Trust me, I know how to keep my lady happy.”
Colby shook his head and focused on driving. Truth was, he was kicking himself for not finding out more about Tory with the caramel-colored eyes. She’s been more than pretty, especially when she’d been mad, and then she had reminded of him of some sort of avenging angel, maybe an ancient goddess, intent on smoking anything in her path. She’d calmed down some, once she’d realized that he hadn’t anything to do with the damage to her car, but the anger had given her face color, an undeniable energy.
“Don’t think a woman like that would have much use for a guy like me. Practically accused me of wrecking her car.”
“Oh, I bet if you fix her car, she might be grateful enough to let you buy her dinner. From there, you’ll just have to rely on your charm.”
Joe was silent for a second. “On second thought, maybe you better just focus on fixing her car.”