A haunted, desperate look in her eyes. As closely as they worked together day in and day out, he’d expected her to eventually crack and tell him the truth. Two years later and that day still hadn’t come to pass.
Damn but she was pretty. Her enormous brown eyes and the dark arch of her brows were usually hidden or shadowed by the hat he’d assumed she wore twenty-four-seven. Didn’t matter what she looked like, although it’d have been a sight easier if she’d been hiding a few warts or hairy moles under that hat. He was basically her boss, and as such, he stuffed any inappropriate thoughts back into the deep, dark recesses of his soul.
His frustration wasn’t really about Willa anyway. He was pissed at Ford and the way he’d betrayed his blood. Even before he’d headed to LSU and gotten his degree, he’d acted too good for the garage. Their pop had been blind to Ford’s lack of devotion to cars and the garage, and when he’d died unexpectedly last year, that blindness had incited a power struggle between Mack and Ford for the garage’s future.
The clomp of boots sounded on the steps. Jackson opened his eyes, but otherwise didn’t move. Still wearing his sparring gloves, Wyatt shot him a look, went to the fridge, uncapped two beers, and joined him on the couch. Jackson took the proffered bottle and sipped. Sweat rolled down Wyatt’s face, and after pressing the cold bottle against his forehead, he chugged the beer.
They were fraternal twins, unlike in both temperament and looks, yet the ties that bound them were made of bullet-stopping Kevlar.
“I think we should let things play out.” Wyatt tossed his empty bottle toward the bin underhanded. It thumped the side, and rolled back and forth on the floor.
“I’m sorry, what?” Jackson had been sure that Wyatt would cast his vote for tracking Ford down and beating some sense into him.
“I know what you’re thinking; Sutton has turned me into a wuss.”
Jackson couldn’t stop a chuckle from rising up and out. “You’re definitely easier to get along with since you’ve been getting some on a regular basis.” He sobered quickly. “What if Ford sells to some asshole out of spite?”
“Let me clarify. I don’t propose we do nothing. Just not as in your face as I tend to favor. Sutton’s already put some feelers for information out. Ford would have to contact a lawyer for the paperwork.” Wyatt grimaced and looked toward the window and the woods beyond. “Considering Ford and Tarwater are golfing buddies, he would be the obvious choice.”
“You okay with her talking to her ex like that?”
Wyatt and Sutton had met over a thong he discovered under the seat of Andrew Tarwater’s Camaro. The Cottonbloom, Mississippi, lawyer had been Sutton’s fiancé, and the scrap of lace had belonged to Sutton’s best friend. Tarwater had not remained her fiancé for long. What Jackson had assumed was a simple rebound had turned into love, and Wyatt was indeed the definition of whipped.
But as long as Sutton made Wyatt happy, then Jackson would support her—and them—one hundred and ten percent. If she broke his brother’s heart though, he would become her worst nightmare.
“I’m not worried about her having second thoughts, if that’s what you’re getting at. He’s a natural liar, so whether he’ll even give up the truth is debatable. Plus, he’s an asshat. If he says something to hurt her feelings, I’m not sure I won’t get myself thrown in jail for assault.”
“No worries, I’ll bail you out.” Jackson punched his arm and flashed a smile. “If you promise to clean my bay for the next month.”
Their chuffing, slight laughter petered into a comfortable silence.
“It’s a long shot, but Ford might actually do us a favor.” Wyatt’s tone was serious even though the sentiment sounded like a joke.
“Ford wouldn’t cross the road to tell us the garage was on fire. He’d stand there and watch it burn. Him doing us a favor is more than a long shot.”
“I don’t know. He’s lost weight and looks stressed. I’m worried about him.”
The fact that this assessment was coming from Wyatt held water, considering their naturally adversarial relationship went back as far as Jackson could remember. “You think he’s sick or something?”
“I don’t know.” Wyatt picked at the laces of his gloves, his voice vague but with an undercurrent of concern. “Let’s look at the bright side. Whoever is interested in buying his stake might be doing it because they love cars and restorations, and if they’re rich, they might give the garage a leg up.”
“That sounds like a moon shot.”
“Maybe, but think about it. We’ll never attract the kind of cars we need to build the restoration business. Not if we limit ourselves to Cottonbloom.”
“You’ve made huge inroads over the river and brought in three cars in two months.”
“The widow’s walk of cars will dry up soon enough. Without some influence, this garage will stay small potatoes. We’ll make a living, sure. But, no matter how hard we bust our humps, we’ll never get rich.”
“Is that what you want? Money?”
Had Jackson stepped into the Twilight Zone? Wyatt was rock-solid dependable. Did his work without complaining. He never seemed to need or want money, unlike Jackson who had his racing to support. Hearing him now rocked the foundation of not only the garage, but their already-skewed family dynamic.
“I want the freedom money can buy. We’re twenty-nine. Haven’t you ever wanted to take some time off to travel? See something besides the undercarriage of a car? Are you going to live up here forever? Don’t you want to settle down with a good woman and have kids?” Wyatt gestured around the loft and its mismatched furniture. The wall-mounted flat screen TV had been their only splurge. “No offense, but I don’t want to grow into a grizzled bachelor with you.”
The questions whirred through his head like a misfiring engine. He hadn’t thought about the future in those terms. He was focused on the day-to-day micro issues that always arose with the cars under his care, not the macro issues of life in general. All he could do was shrug.
“How long has it been since you brought a woman back here?” Wyatt scrubbed the back of his neck, his dark hair in need of a trim and curling at the ends. “If we had more money, we could hire on more help, and you could work on occasionally getting laid.”
A resentment that might have been tinged green with jealousy rose. “Just cuz you’re whipped and getting some on the regular, doesn’t mean everyone wants that. I prefer being alone. Love it, in fact.”
An alarm that signaled a lie went off like a distant tornado warning. Truth was, since Wyatt had taken up with Sutton and spent a majority of his nights at her house instead of their loft, the quiet had become more burden than blessing.
“Your life is this damn garage.” Wyatt linked his hands behind his head and looked to the beamed ceiling. “Just like it was for Pop,” he added softly.
The subtle admonishment drove a steel rod in Jackson’s spine and tensed his shoulders. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means the most meaningful relationship you have is with your car.” The hint of a smile played around Wyatt’s mouth. “And, maybe Willa.”
“Relationship? Willa and I work together. That’s it.” An echo of his earlier thoughts drove his kneejerk defensiveness. It wasn’t a lie, yet it didn’t feel a hundred percent truthful either. He hated waffling through the gray area in between. Life was easier in absolutes. Black and white, right and wrong. One thing he could say with no qualms. “She’s the best mechanic we’ve ever had.”
“She’s a goddamn prodigy, which brings up another point. We pay her next to nothing. As good as she is, she could make more money over the river in Mississippi changing oil at one of those quickie lube places. I don’t know why she hasn’t already quit.”
“She wouldn’t quit on me. Us. I mean, us.” He clenched his teeth together to corral his runaway tongue. If Wyatt’s raised brows were any indication, he’d noticed Jackson’s slip.
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. She asked for her
pay and took off early. My guess is she has a job interview somewhere else. Might not even be back on Monday morning.”
Jackson shot to his feet. He couldn’t lose her.
Wyatt grabbed his forearm. “Hold up, we have bigger frogs to gig. Mack texted. He’ll be back by five and wants to talk.”
Jackson sank back down and wished for another beer or six, but he needed to keep his wits sharp, especially if he was going to drive later. Which he was.
“What is Mack thinking?”
“No clue. He doesn’t tell me jack these days.” Wyatt’s voice reflected a wariness and worry that didn’t sit well with Jackson. Wyatt was the most emotionally intuitive of all of them, even if that made him reckless and prone to acting impetuously.
Jackson looked out the window. Trees spanned all the way to the horizon. Their family had gone through upheavals and hard times in the past. His grandparents had been forced to give up cotton farming and sell the rich land. Tough years followed while his father built the garage. With money tight, it sat beside their family home out of necessity. The location outside of town hurt their business, but except for Ford, none of them wanted to pick up and move.
Memories of summers long gone echoed through the woods. Most of the leaves were gone, leaving green pines interspersed with bare branches. After their mother ran off and left them, the brothers had taken care of each other while their father had toiled away in the garage. Those days were harder, but they’d managed to have fun anyway. The resiliency of children.
Jackson had known he was destined to work in the garage from the time he could walk. He’d never wanted anything else. Fixing a car inside and out provided a simple joy. Yet, darker impulses drove him to the dirt track in search of an adrenaline rush. He couldn’t explain the wildness that simmered under his general calm. Honestly, he did his best not to scrutinize the uncomfortable complexity of his moods.
Jackson usually confined his worries to his family and to the garage, but somehow Willa had gotten tangled up in his life without him noticing. He stood and held out a hand to haul Wyatt off the couch. “Let’s get this over with. I have something to take care of.”
Also by Laura Trentham
THE FALCON FOOTBALL SERIES
Slow and Steady Rush
Caught Up in the Touch
Melting Into You
THE COTTONBLOOM SERIES
Kiss Me That Way
Then He Kissed Me
Till I Kissed You
Candy Cane Christmas (novella)
Light Up the Night (novella)
About the Author
An award-winning author, Laura Trentham was born and raised in a small town in Tennessee. Although she loved English and reading in high school, she was convinced an English degree equated to starvation. She chose the next most logical major—Chemical Engineering—and worked in a hard hat and steel-toed boots for several years.
She writes sexy, small-town contemporaries and smoking-hot Regency historicals. The first two books of her Falcon Football series were named Top Picks by RT Book Reviews magazine. When not lost in a cozy Southern town or Regency England, she’s shuttling kids to soccer, helping with homework, and avoiding the Mt. Everest–sized pile of laundry that is almost as large as the to-be-read pile of books on her nightstand.
Visit her at www.LauraTrentham.com or connect on Twitter at @LauraTrentham (https://twitter.com/LauraTrentham) or on Facebook (www.facebook.com/LauraTrenthamAuthor), or sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
When The Stars Come Out Excerpt
Also by Laura Trentham
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
LEAVE THE NIGHT ON
Copyright © 2017 by Laura Trentham.
Excerpt from When the Stars Come Out copyright © 2017 by Laura Trentham.
All rights reserved.
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St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / August 2017
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Leave the Night On Page 30