“How many traps are we talking?” she asked.
“Only one or two. And they’re live traps,” he reassured her, inspired. He made a mental note to run out and purchase a couple. “You’ll have to drive them out of town to release them.”
“I can do that.”
He tried to envision her releasing rats in the wild while wearing that dress. Which gave him another brilliant idea. “You’d have to wear a uniform, too.”
“You mean coveralls with my name on them?”
Her look of resignation was priceless. He might be able to talk her out of this yet.
“Not coveralls. And not your name—the station’s. I was actually about to implement a new marketing plan,” he lied, making it up as he went. “Something to drum up more business. You’ve given me a great idea. A pretty girl in shorts and a t-shirt around here would be perfect. You’d be cheaper than hiring a real model.”
He stood, wiping his hands on the seat of his Wranglers. Even in high heels she had to tip her head back to look him in the eye, exposing a length of smooth neck and a fair bit of cleavage. That blonde mass of loose curls made his tongue dry. His blood rushed south of his belt buckle.
“Is this going to be a standard-issue uniform? Will Aaron be wearing shorts and a t-shirt, too?” Jess asked.
A smidgeon of guilt nipped at his conscience. But just for a second.
Bare-assed to the breeze, Damon. Don’t you ever forget it.
“You aren’t going to make a habit of arguing with me, are you?” he asked. “Because that’s not going to start us off on the right foot. You could always look for work elsewhere, you know.”
Her eyes sparked with fire. Then gold-tipped lashes dropped to smother the flames. “Shorts and t-shirt, it is. Company provided, I assume?”
He’d won this round. Smugness gave him warm, fuzzy feelings. “All I need is your size. You can start work tomorrow,” he added. “Day shifts. And wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.” Now that the matter was decided, there was no point in prolonging the inevitable. He really could use the help.
How much help she’d really be remained to be seen.
She paid for her gas inside, at the till. “How much do I owe you for changing the tire?”
“I’ll take it out of your wages.” Maintaining her ancient car would eat up a lot of her paycheck. All it would cost him was his time. He counted out her change and handed it over, along with a smile that might have given away too much self-satisfaction. “The pumps open at six. See you first thing in the morning, princess.”
They both froze. The old endearment had slid off his tongue without thought. He used to call her that in good-natured fun, but this time, it had an edge to it that she couldn’t miss.
She squared her slender shoulders and lifted her chin. Challenge accepted.
“I’ll be here,” she said.
Chapter Four
‡
Five o’clock was too early in the morning for Jess to properly apply makeup, but she gave it her best shot. She’d fix it up at the gas station. No one would notice her eyeliner or lipstick, anyway.
She twisted her heavy curls into a tight knot on top of her head and secured it with an elastic hairband, then fumbled around for her clothes in the semi-dark bedroom. The room was a shambles, strewn with all the gowns she’d been trying to sort for sale at the consignment stores. They’d be of no use to her in Cherry Lake. Maybe never again. At least she now had jeans and a long-sleeved pink t-shirt to wear until her new uniform was ready.
Contrary to popular belief, she wasn’t stupid. She knew why Damon had insisted on choosing something other than coveralls for her. Payback was coming. She was even willing to concede that she deserved whatever he had planned. She’d heard the jokes about his ride back to town in disgrace ten years ago. How he must hate her…
What she’d never understood was why he hadn’t told anyone whom he’d been with that night. Had he been protecting her reputation? Or his?
Because frankly, hers hadn’t needed protection. She’d ruined it all on her own. Deliberately, too. Anything to embarrass her parents.
She perched on the edge of the bed and pulled on her socks. Then, she leaned forward to rest her folded arms on her knees and her head on her arms. All through school, she’d used Damon. He’d done her homework for her. He’d defended her when she hadn’t wanted defending. She’d always known how he felt about her. When he finally worked up the nerve to ask her out, she’d planned on losing her virginity to him—one last thumb of her nose at her parents before she left town.
As much as she’d liked Damon, however, it was clear that he was going nowhere else. He loved Cherry Lake. He loved his family and friends even more, and a bigger bunch of losers she’d never met. He was destined to stay here forever and look after them. As it turned out, she’d been right. That’s exactly what he’d done.
Jess had never been so selfless. All she’d wanted was one special memory of him to take with her. Instead, he’d ruined everything.
They’d driven out to the cherry orchards in the car her parents had given her for graduation. They’d sat under the trees. Everything had been just as she’d hoped it would be. Maybe better. The way he’d touched her—the look in his eyes…
Memories of that night still made her shiver.
Then he’d said, with a slight hint of awe in his voice that she hadn’t deserved, “I wish you could see yourself the way I do. How perfect you are.”
Those words had scared her to death. She couldn’t live up to those expectations. She wasn’t perfect. She never had been and she never would be, and to prove it, she’d driven off with his clothes. They’d avoided each other the rest of the summer. Once she got to LA she’d slept with the first actor who’d bought her dinner. Nothing put a punctuation mark on the end of a relationship—or whatever the potential for that relationship might have been—better than sleeping around.
Over the next few years she’d been on a slow, downward spiral, and although she’d stayed away from drugs and the adult film industry, she’d finally run out of money and options. Her pride was evaporating, too. Then John came into her life. After one particularly humiliating audition he’d told her flat out that she didn’t have what it took to be a star. He’d called her on her reading abilities. He’d suggested she concentrate on smaller parts, which could be a good way to earn a living. He hadn’t thought she was perfect. Nor had he ever expected her to be.
She really missed him.
She dabbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand and stood. Feeling sorry for herself wasn’t getting anything done. While Damon might not be her biggest fan anymore, he was still too decent to hold a serious grudge. Whatever he had planned—whatever he asked of her—she wouldn’t complain. All she had to do was be friendly to his customers for the next six months and they’d get along fine.
At the foot of the stairs, as she was reaching for the front door, she heard a noise in the kitchen. The light was on. Softly, not wanting to alert any possible intruders as to her presence, she tiptoed down the short hall.
Her grandfather stood at the counter, dressed in his pajamas and slippers, wrapping sandwiches in foil. He looked up when she entered the room.
“I didn’t figure you’d take the time to make a lunch so I did it for you.” He shot her a dark, disapproving scowl. “Good thing I made extra because it turns out you couldn’t be bothered with breakfast, either.”
Jess threw an arm around his neck and kissed his cheek. She wished she knew the right way to tell him how much she appreciated his gesture. How much she loved him. Instead, she said something smart. “You’re the best grandfather ever.”
He passed her the sandwiches. “And don’t you forget it. Now get out. You’re going to be late.”
She tucked the sandwiches into her purse, said goodbye, and left him making a cup of tea.
Outside, the morning had barely begun. The sun hadn’t yet cleared the horizon. The air had a damp, earthy bite
to it. She wished she’d brought a sweater but no longer had time to go back for one. She’d forgotten about the donut on her car, too. Thankfully, however, it looked inflated, since she didn’t see what option she had but to drive on it. At some point today Damon would need to fix it for her.
She pulled into the station and parked in the small lot at one end just as he was hopping out of his truck. His boots struck the pavement. Blue eyes flashed to meet hers. Her toes curled inside her Toms.
“Good morning,” he said, lifting his travel mug in greeting before taking a sip. “Glad you could make it.”
The next hour was spent with him showing her how everything worked. She had to turn on the pumps for the customers and monitor the security camera. She had to manage the cash register, and know how to use the debit and credit machines. Thankfully, she didn’t have to worry about convenience store items. He’d had vending machines installed.
“I wrote everything down.” He leaned past her, his shoulder brushing hers, and tapped a piece of paper lying on the counter. He had the long, elegant fingers of a pianist. A shiver trailed up her spine. She held her breath, not exhaling until he straightened. “I’ve got to get to work in the bay. Think you can manage?”
Jess stared at the paper. Her heart began pounding. Thankfully, his handwriting was neat and her memory, good. She’d be fine as long as there was no pressure or distractions. “Of course.”
“After lunch, maybe you can tackle cleaning the restrooms.”
Something in his tone made her suspicious. Once he’d donned his coveralls and crawled under the car on the hoist in the service bay, nothing visible but his long legs and steel-toed boots, she hopped off the stool to go check out why.
The restrooms were situated partway down a short, narrow hall past the counter. At the far end of the hall was a closed door marked OFFICE.
She pushed open the door to the ladies’ room. A quick peek inside revealed that the floor was a bit gross, and the water in the stained toilet bowl looked as if it had been there for years, but overall, this was nothing she couldn’t handle. It suffered more from neglect than outright abuse. She’d cleaned people’s houses during those lean years in LA, and more toilets than she cared to remember. She could clean this one, too.
Somewhat reassured, she eased open the men’s room door. An overpowering smell of ammonia knocked her back a few paces. The dead squirrel in her trunk had nothing on this. She threw up an elbow to cover her mouth and nose so she could breathe.
The flooring appeared to be manufactured from dirty boot prints. The faucets on the sink had grease smeared all over them. So did the paper towel dispenser, which was hanging open, empty. The roll of paper towels sat on the floor beneath the sink, its bottom end sopping up splashed water and some of the dirt. Water marks—she hoped it was water—splattered the mirror and wall as if someone had bathed in the sink.
The toilet, however, was the worst. If it had seen disinfectant and a brush within the past month, she’d be surprised. When she ventured inside to see how bad it really was, the soles of her shoes stuck to the floor. She closed her eyes. She’d asked for this. If memory served her, she’d actually begged.
I’m an actress. It’s only six months of my life.
The bell rang out front. Someone was at the pumps. She backed out of the men’s room and returned to her post.
The customer finished filling her gas tank, then crossed the island toward the front door. A slender woman, her deep red hair bunched in two practical plaits, she had the confident stride of an athlete, or someone who spent most of her days working outdoors. It took a moment for Jess to place her. When she did, her stomach plunged. Emma Stanhope had been such geek in school. Look how pretty she was now. How confident. She’d always made Jess feel so dumb—not on purpose, but Jess had been too spoiled and insecure to understand that the world didn’t revolve around her. She’d made Emma’s life hell in an attempt to feel better about herself.
Therapy had been such an eye opener.
Emma froze for a split second when she came through the door and saw who was behind the cash register. Then she smiled—a full one, stretching all the way to her earth mother eyes. “Jessica Palmer. I haven’t seen you since high school. Welcome home. Are you here to stay?”
“Only for a few months. I’m on hiatus, but I needed something to keep me busy while I’m here.” She waved a hand toward the service bay. “Damon’s an old friend and he needed a hand. Things fell into place for the both of us.” In the service bay, whatever tool he’d been using fell silent. Jess sensed he was listening. While nothing she’d said had been an actual untruth, she prayed he wouldn’t decide to dispute it. She rushed on. “What are you up to, these days? Still living in Cherry Lake, I see.”
“Actually, I live in Missoula. I’m here visiting my mother for a few days, but I’ll be back for the cherry festival—although it’s looking as if it might be late this year. The blossoms are just coming out.”
“What do you do in Missoula?”
“I’m working for the Department of Ag in pest management.”
“I guess you had to do a few years of college for that.”
Emma shrugged, like it was no big deal, and handed Jess her debit card. “I like your hair that way. It’s really pretty.”
Jess tried to read the instructions Damon had left on the counter for her, but she was nervous now, and the letters wouldn’t stay still. They didn’t leap from the page to her brain either, and time seemed to stretch.
She could do this. Concentrate.
Damon strolled in from the service bay, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. He tucked the rag in a back pocket of his coveralls. “Hey, Emma. I haven’t seen you around in a while. How are things in Missoula?” He nudged Jess aside with his hip. “Let me ring this one up.” He shifted his body ever so slightly so that Jess could watch what he was doing without being obvious about it, chatting the whole time. When he was done he handed Emma her receipt. “Say hi to Zoe for me.”
After Emma was gone, he turned to Jess. “If you’re having trouble with anything, you’re allowed to ask questions. I don’t expect you to know how to run the place your first morning here.”
Perhaps not. But this wasn’t rocket science, and she should have made sure she understood his instructions before getting distracted. Taking care of the cash was more important than cleaning the restrooms—or figuring out what associated life lessons he might be planning to teach her.
Once Damon went back to the car he’d been fixing, and she’d had a minute to calm her spinning thoughts, she reread his notes. All the letters fell into place. She managed the next customer all on her own.
The morning picked up pace after that. Until today, she’d had no real idea how many cars passed through Cherry Lake. From what she could tell, business was booming.
After the third person came inside to use the facilities, however, Jess couldn’t take it any longer. Everything about this place was depressing, from the streaked front windows to the scarred, eighteenth century linoleum. She wasn’t waiting until the afternoon to at least make a start on the ladies’ room.
She couldn’t find the cleaning supplies anywhere, however, and despite what he’d said, she wasn’t about to ask. He’d wanted someone to help minimize interruptions, not increase the volume, and cleaning the restrooms was no emergency.
Other than the service bay, which was highly unlikely, there was only one place left the supplies could be—they had to be somewhere—but a quick check confirmed that his office was locked. Damon’s keys were in a plastic basket under the counter.
It only took a few minutes for her to figure out which one fit the door.
His inner sanctum wasn’t clean, either. Far from it. Since this was a gas station and not some Hollywood executive’s mansion, that came as no surprise. The furniture was minimal and old, probably salvaged from some government clearance auction. A computer monitor sat on the chipped laminate desk, along with a file organizer and bright ora
nge stapler. A battered, green-metal filing cabinet stood sentinel nearby. But everything was tidy and well organized. On the wall, he’d hung a three-sectional piece of art—a cherry tree in full bloom. She moved closer to inspect it, admiring the level of detail. Each tiny, shimmering petal had been carefully soldered onto a sheet metal backdrop.
Damon liked three-dimensional art. That was something she hadn’t known about him.
She found the cleaning supplies in a closet, including a bucket and mop, then locked up the office behind her. She stared at the closed men’s room door for a full minute, trying to make up her mind. Why not finish the hardest job first?
Really, the worst of it was the floor. If she mopped that, then tackled the toilet…
Factoring in all the interruptions by customers, her inexperience with the till, and the enormity of the task at hand, it took her the better part of two hours, but when she was finished, the men’s room was spotless. She stripped off her rubber gloves and tossed them in the trash can. Next up, the ladies’ room.
“Lunchtime,” someone said in her ear.
She let out a shriek and spun on her toes. Damon was standing in the hallway behind her. She planted both hands on his chest and gave him a shove. He barely budged. “Don’t you know better than to sneak up on women?”
“I didn’t realize I was sneaking.” He folded his arms and propped his shoulder against the wall. “What are you up to that made you so jumpy?” His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t cherry bomb the toilets, did you?”
“If I had, I’d be doing you a favor. I cleaned them instead.”
“Seriously?”
She stepped aside, holding the door open wide. “See for yourself.”
He leaned forward to peer past her, the sleeve of his coverall brushing her arm, his chest nudging her shoulder aside. “Well, I’ll be d—gosh darned. It smells daisy fresh in here, too.”
His incredulity, while borderline offensive, was justified. But she’d learned a lot of things in LA. One of them was that she wasn’t afraid of hard work. Deep down, she’d worried her easy years with John might have turned her back into a person she no longer wanted to be.
Her Secret Love Page 4