Her Secret Love

by Paula Altenburg

  Jess had been here a little more than a week. Her clothes had gotten increasingly bizarre. She said she only owned one pair of jeans and that long-sleeved pink t-shirt, and if she was going to clean, she couldn’t wear the same dirty clothes every day. He got that her wardrobe was limited, but for normal people, that meant they had a closet full of sweatshirts and blue jeans. For Jess, it meant something she called “Boho chic.”

  While he had no idea what she was talking about, the results were…okay, pretty. Today’s ensemble had been a long, flowing, flowery skirt in some kind of sheer, drapey material topped off with a cropped knitted sweater that showed a lot of tanned stomach every time she lifted her arms. Since she’d been cleaning the front windows all day, she’d lifted them often.

  The high-heeled suede ankle boots had at least extended her reach. He wasn’t sure if his insurance would cover it if she fell off a ladder while wearing them though, so he’d put his foot down and made her switch to those flat little canvas things.

  He had the uniform he’d promised her sitting in a shopping bag in his office. He’d asked his sister Alayna to buy it for him, but he was having second thoughts. So far, he hadn’t worked up enough nerve to give it to her.

  “Germophobe seems a bit harsh,” he replied.

  Aaron was just getting started. “She told me I have to mop the floor in here every night before I leave.”

  Damon ticked off another line on his spreadsheet. “Cleanliness is next to godliness.”

  Aaron speared him with a look that only a teenager could master. “Yeah? I thought you were supposed to be God around here. So when did you appoint her second-in-command?”

  He hadn’t, but he hadn’t tried to stop her, either. The truth was, Jess got things done. She made sure Aaron did, too. “She’s only here for a few months. We can survive.”

  “I mentioned serial killer, right?” Aaron grumbled. He dropped another box on a shelf, then looked at it for a second before straightening it. “If I don’t make sure everything is lined up exactly so, she’s going to redo it all. And then she’s going to give me a hard time about taking pride in my work.”

  While Damon disagreed that all the boxes had to be sorted alphabetically by shelf, and then by size, he did think things were easier to find. He also had to say that he liked not staring through filthy windows, or getting dirt and grease all over his regular clothes, when he had to work cash. So far she’d stayed out of the service bay, but he suspected those days were numbered.

  When she ventured into the bay—and she would—she’d have a fight on her hands. His tools were arranged the exact way he preferred them.

  “While we’re at it,” Aaron continued, “let’s discuss summer hours. Can she and I swap some shifts so I’m not working all evenings? I’ve got a life. And a girlfriend.”

  Damon had already thought about it and the answer was no. He wasn’t having any woman, let alone Jess in her Boho-belly-baring-whatever-chic outfits, working late hours alone. He could set everything up to be ‘pay at the pump only’ after a certain hour, but even then, he’d worry about her. So he was sexist. At least he could sleep at night. “I can take a few shifts for you. All you have to do is ask.”

  Aaron left it at that, but Damon could tell he was disappointed. If Damon took his shifts it meant he’d lose hours, and the boy was saving for college.

  They were finished with the inventory by seven o’clock. Aaron sat down to do his homework at the front counter while Damon shut himself in his office to finish drafting his order.

  He stared at it for a bit, trying to make up his mind. Jess didn’t have the money to pay for new tires or car parts. He didn’t have it either, and he couldn’t guarantee that either one of them would before the invoices became payable. But if he went ahead and got her car fixed, he wouldn’t have to drive her around anymore.

  It wasn’t so much that he minded. It was the deafening silence during the ride, highlighting how some things were too hard to forgive and that they were no longer friends. He’d long ago gotten over being in love with her too, even if she did still send his brain south on occasion.

  But she worked hard for the little he paid her and never complained. She was nice to the customers—even the ones not-so-nice to her. He could hear a lot more from the service bay than most people realized. At some point, Jess had grown up.

  He drummed his thumb on the desk. A gallery in Missoula that carried some of his work had approached him regarding a private client who wanted to buy two pieces from his personal collection. He’d intended those pieces for his exhibit in September because they were specific to Cherry Lake. One was a five-foot cherry tree in full bloom that had taken him weeks to get right. The other was the sectional hanging on his office wall. It was one of his favorites because of the delicate layers. And he was already having difficulty finding enough hours in the day to build up his inventory.

  He could let them go.

  He finished placing the order. Then, he called the gallery in Missoula and told them he’d decided to sell those two pieces.

  It was just after nine o’clock when he called it a night. He said goodbye to Aaron. The teen still had two hours left in his shift.

  A fine drizzle was falling as he got in his truck, dampening his hair and misting the windshield enough to make it difficult to see. He started the engine and turned on the wipers, watching them slap back and forth for a minute. He should really head home and put in some hours on his welding, but tomorrow was Saturday. The service bay was closed on the weekends and all he had to do was take care of the pumps. He could weld in a corner of the bay. Other than sketching he’d always tried to keep his art separate from the garage, but maybe it was time to reconsider.

  He might want to rethink his social life while he was at it. Aaron had touched a sore spot when he’d mentioned having a life. When was the last time Damon had gone out with friends?

  When was the last time he’d even been asked?

  On a whim, he headed across town and pulled his truck into the Lake Street Tavern, a popular local hangout, and found a vacant parking spot at the rear. A neon sign flashed above the door.

  Inside, the Lake Street was busy. Country music crooned from the speakers—Blake Shelton, singing about an empty chair on some beach.

  Damon made his way to the bar and ordered a beer from a girl who didn’t look twenty-one. Not to him. He couldn’t remember her name, but he thought she was a friend’s little sister. Or she might be a friend of his little sister… Either way, no matter how pretty she smiled, she wasn’t the diversion he wanted.

  He scanned the crowded room and spotted two of his friends sharing a table and a pitcher of beer. Ben Nichols and Patterson Campbell. Both seemed surprised to see him.

  He really did need to get out more often.

  “Grab a seat,” Patterson said when he walked over to join them. “The fun’s just getting started.” He nodded at a booth in the corner, next to the dance floor. “Your new employee’s had a few drinks.” He sounded indulgent, but also concerned. “We’re placing bets as to whether or not she can convince Carrie to dance on that table.”

  He looked where his friend pointed, to the two blondes deep in an intense conversation. Jess had a half empty pitcher of beer in front of her. She’d forgone the Boho look in favor of a tight red dress and high heels that said “expensive.” Carrie was dressed more casually in a pair of jeans and a pretty blouse. She clutched a glass of white wine. By the fuzzy shine to her expression, he was willing to bet it was far from her first.

  Two pretty, drunk women in a crowded bar on a Friday night. What could go wrong?

  He got to his feet with a sigh. “My money’s on not. Sorry to have to ruin your fun, guys.”

  “That’s okay,” Ben said, lifting his glass in acceptance. “Patterson was about to give Will a call to come get them before things went that far, but I’m sure he’d gladly let you have the pleasure.”

  Will Jackson was a cousin to both Jess and Carrie. While
Damon liked Will, he seriously doubted if he could get Jess to listen to reason. The only person in the room who’d had half a shot at it was already looking worse off than she was. He’d never seen Carrie drink more than a glass. Not until now.

  Still, the women really weren’t as bad off as Ben and Patterson let on, not yet, but he could see the potential. Jess had been keeping up her Miss Congeniality pretense for more than a week now and was ready to let off some steam. Carrie, however… Something had gotten her seriously down in the dumps.

  Maybe an evening with Jess wasn’t such a bad thing for her. While Jess could go too far when it came to having a good time—or at least she had in the past—she also had one of the most positive personalities ever. She liked to have fun. It was impossible to stay in a funk around her. Regret twisted his gut. He’d always admired that about her and hadn’t realized how much he’d missed it.

  He’d been too angry and hurt.

  He stopped at their booth. The best way to get her attention was to not give her any.

  “Evenin,’ ladies.” He nodded to them both before leaning over the table to talk to the pretty blonde most in need of intervention. “Carrie. Would you like to dance?”

  “No thanks.” She stared into her empty wine glass as if contemplating ordering another. “I’m sure Jess would love to, though.”

  Jess made a shooing motion with one hand while she drained her beer with the other. “No more feeling sorry for yourself,” she reprimanded her cousin. “When a handsome guy asks you to dance, you get on your feet. Now go.”

  Damon’s curiosity spiked. Well, wasn’t that interesting?

  Carrie, never one for making a scene, slid out of the booth.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked her as they took to the dance floor together. He had to bend to shout in her ear so she could hear him over the music.

  “Some issues with the studio.” She shrugged it off. “It’s nothing.”

  He let it drop even though he could tell it wasn’t “nothing,” because in her own way, Carrie, a professional photographer, was as private as her more ornery cousin. If she wanted anyone to know her business she’d tell them.

  After they’d danced a few turns together, with him guiding her through the packed, gyrating bodies, he thought it best to give Jess a whirl around the floor at least once before offering to take both women home.

  He’d thought Jess would refuse, but she didn’t.

  Another Blake Shelton tune belted out. And, as luck would have it, the song was a slow one. He settled his hands on her hips. She twined hers around his neck and snuggled against him, soft in all the right places and with enough drink in her to toss inhibitions to the wind. The high heels gave her enough added height that the crown of her hair brushed his cheek. The soft tangle of curls smelled girly and sweet. His brain shifted straight where it inevitably did around her.

  This rescue mission was in danger of turning kamikaze on him.

  “It’s not really a good idea for you to be pushing drinks on Carrie,” he said, trying to get his mind off his brain’s new location. “Something seems to be bothering her.”

  “She needs to unwind. A few drinks will do her good.” Jess thought about it for a second. “A hangover might be good for her, too. That always takes my mind off my problems.”

  He spun her to the left to avoid bumping into a couple, who was out of step with the music. Her comment rubbed him the wrong way. “You should try facing your problems,” he suggested. “You might be surprised by how that turns out.”

  She tipped her head back. The ends of her hair brushed the backs of his wrists. “Don’t be such a downer all the time, Damon. Live a little. You deal with your problems, and work hard and make money, and you know what happens then? Life has passed you by and you’ve missed all these little opportunities to enjoy it.”

  “The sentiment is nice, but I have people relying on the money I make.” His mother needed his help. So did his brother and sister. They’d lost a husband and father. Dodging responsibility simply wasn’t his way.

  “And yet I don’t see any of them offering to give you a hand to earn it. When was the last time one of your family or deadbeat friends worked a shift in your garage?”

  She’d seen more than he’d realized. And she’d zeroed in on the truth. Aaron had pointed it out too, whether he’d meant to or not. Damon didn’t have much of a life, no. Because he had no support system, either.

  But getting life lessons from Jess, a woman driving a car with a dead squirrel in the wheel well, was rich. Her judgment was far from the best. And it was tempting to ask who’d paid for the fancy dress she was wearing. Or remind her that she was only in Cherry Lake to get money from her rich grandfather.

  He guessed he was still angry with her, no matter how good she smelled or where his brain drifted.

  The song ended. She let her hands fall to her sides and he let her go.

  “Come on, princess,” he said. “You and I are going to take Carrie home so she can enjoy that hangover well rested.”

  Chapter Six

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  Framed in the glare of the headlights, Damon walked Carrie to her door and helped her get the key in the lock.

  Jess settled into the passenger seat she’d shared with Carrie and kicked off her heels while she waited. The warmth from the heater spewing hot air under the dash felt good on her bare toes and legs. She yawned. All the beer made her sleepy. Maybe she shouldn’t have encouraged Carrie to drink quite so much, but her cousin really had needed to unwind.

  Boudoir photos leaked on the internet…Ouch.

  Those weren’t the kind of self-portraits she’d ever expected prim, proper Carrie to experiment with. As a business, it was a great little sideline. Jess knew all kinds of women in LA who’d had them taken for their husbands and boyfriends. But for Carrie to do it… Never mind that boudoir images could be beautiful art. Her family would freak, not only because she’d taken some of herself—although that was bad enough. They’d think she was using her photography studio as a front for pornography.

  Jess was used to being the black sheep. Carrie had always been golden. This was going to be hard on her, no doubt about it. And she was too good to deserve drama like this.

  She had also been the first person to tell Jess how sorry she was for her loss. She’d understood what John had meant to her. Then she’d offered Jess a place to stay while she was in town. They both loved their grandfather, but he could be preachy. The thoughtfulness of the gesture had made Jess maudlin too, and she wanted none of that.

  That was when she’d started ordering the drinks.

  Damon was checking to make sure Carrie’s door was locked behind her, then, still caught in the headlights, he jogged toward the truck. A full body shiver brought Jess wide awake as a memory struck her. She’d seen him like this once before, only he’d been stark naked and she’d been backing up with her foot pressed so hard to the gas pedal the car had fishtailed on gravel.

  At twenty he’d been absolutely beautiful, naked or not—tall and lean, all muscle from working outdoors—but in a more boyish way. Her toes bunched into knots as she took him all in. Plaid, buttoned-down shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows worn over a white t-shirt. The requisite jeans with the hems that broke on the laces of black leather shoes. Short, brown tousled hair with the hint of a curl. Blue eyes the color of the endless Montana sky.

  He was as gorgeous as ever. The only real difference was that the youthful lankiness was gone.

  So was the boy who’d once liked her.

  She couldn’t fix that. She couldn’t pick at the old scab of their friendship when her heart was sore from fresher wounds. She would put in her six months and then she’d be gone, and he’d never have to see her again.

  The ride to her grandfather’s took place in its usual silence but Damon was mad about something. She could see it in the way the muscle jerked in his jaw, as if he were expending great effort to keep from saying what was on his mind. If this was
about Carrie, she refused to be sorry. Carrie had needed tonight.

  So had she.

  “I’ll see you Monday morning,” she said when they reached the house. She fumbled for the handle on the truck door.

  Damon hopped out his side and came around to hers. Before she could protest he had his hands on her waist and was lifting her to the ground. She wobbled a little, the high heels not working in sync with the beer she’d consumed.

  She wasn’t drunk.

  She wasn’t sober, either.

  The soft shroud of night settled around them. Fireflies flickered in the long grass behind the house. His hands felt like twin mini heaters as he steadied her. She’d love to wrap her arms around his neck and nestle against him the way she had when they danced, but she had no right.

  She eased away from his touch, praying her shoes wouldn’t fail her. “I’m good. I can hold my liquor way better than Carrie. That girl’s out of practice.”

  His mouth quirked in the glow from the yard light her grandfather had left on for her. “She was never as good at it as you. Still, I intend to make sure you get inside safely.”

  He walked with her as far as the front doorstep. He stood, silent for a moment, his hands shoved in his pockets. That telltale muscle in his jaw, the one that said he had something heavy on his mind, gave another quick jerk.

  “About what you said earlier…” he began.

  She had only a vague recollection. “About Carrie’s naughty pictures?”

  His jaw slackened. “What?”

  Jess tried to backtrack. “Never mind. I never said that. You didn’t hear it from me.” She could bite off her tongue. Carrie was going to kill her.

  It took a few seconds longer than it should have for the surprise to filter from his eyes.

  There. That was the reason why Carrie was so afraid of people around here finding out. No one liked to be judged. The worst part was that Damon was the least judgmental person Jess knew.