by Stacy Gail
“‘Fraid not. He retired a while ago and moved to Austin. Or San Angelo. Or something like that.”
“Maybe an internet search will track him down, and I can drop in for a visit...” She stared at her car, which was doing a great impression of a giant-sized paperweight. “Crap.”
“Yep. First things first.” He fished a black phone from his back pocket and paused just long enough to shoot her a laserlike glance. “My garage. Right?”
It killed her to nod in agreement. For the time being, that much-needed distance between them—distance they agreed they needed despite a kiss that could melt polar caps faster than the greenhouse effect—would just have to wait.
* * *
“Aha! There he is, Bitterthorn’s surly version of a knight in shining armor.”
Blank-eyed, Coe looked up from the worktable in the back of the garage. With morning sunlight flooding in through the open garage doors, Lucy and Sully sidled past Miranda’s car now on the ramp, its hood up and half its contents spread out before him. When the fan belt went, it decided it didn’t want to go into the great abyss all by its lonesome. It dragged the alternator and head gasket over the cliff with it, making it one hell of an expensive repair job. But by the time he was done with it, it would be the safest thing on wheels. Already he’d replaced the brake shoes and front tires, which had had steel showing through bald patches in the treads, adjusted the alignment and changed out the shocks. He’d left the hardest part for last, but that was how he liked it. The trickiest fixes were his idea of dessert.
“Yo, Luce. Sully.” He nodded at his friend’s fiancé, a downright cordial move for him. Since he no longer suffered the urge to rip the other man’s head off, Coe figured he must have taken a healthy mental step somewhere along the way when it came to Sullivan Jax. If Lucy stayed as happy and complete as she seemed, then he had no problem with once again walking her down the aisle to retie the knot with Sully on New Year’s Day. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, nothing in particular.” But Lucy’s sharp, neener-neener smirk told him otherwise as they drew up to the table. “Except how you freaked out when Pauline told you a certain blonde damsel in distress was stranded on the side of the road.”
“Bullshit. I didn’t freak out.”
“That’s not what Pauline says.”
“Pauline needs to get her eyes examined. They should check her for cataracts and excessive drama.”
“Small towns.” Sully shook his head even as he grinned at the doubtful sound Lucy made. “You start out with a simple breakdown on a country road, and by the end of the day the whole town’s got you tangled up in a hot and sweaty clinch with triplets on the way.”
Coe’s neck stung with uncomfortable warmth. At least he and Miranda weren’t expecting triplets, but as for the rest of it...”It was no big deal.”
“So you didn’t close up shop and run to your car when Pauline told you about Miranda?”
He glared pure death at Lucy. “It was five-thirty. I was in the process of closing up for the day anyway.”
“Yeah, but did you run?”
Goddamn it. “Why are you here?”
“You totally ran, didn’t you?” Lucy’s witchy cackle resonated to the point that Coe was tempted to ask if she was going to get him and his little dog too. “Oh, wow. You have no idea how sorry I am that I missed that.”
“And you have no idea how sorry I am I left the doors open so you could waltz in here and bust my chops.”
“Bust your chops and give you a reward for being such a good boy.” She plunked a paper bag next to him with that damned aggravating smirk still in place. “Apple fritters, your favorite. They’re still warm and I drenched them in an extra layer of glaze, just the way you like them. You deserve it after going to all the trouble of saving the princess.”
“Don’t call her that.” It was out before he even knew he was going to speak. “She doesn’t like it. In fact, nowadays she sees it as some sort of deeply abusive insult.”
“I remember Miranda Brookhaven,” Sully said while his fiancée’s brows inched up. “I didn’t know her that well, though—different social circles. Wasn’t she on the cheerleading squad or something like that?”
“No, that was Miranda’s sister, Katherine.”
“Damn memory.” Sully scowled before Lucy turned to give him a quick kiss. He relaxed after a moment to smile and lean his forehead against hers before he shrugged. “All I can remember is blonde, spoiled and stuck-up.”
“Yep, that’s Katherine. It’s not surprising you’d confuse them though, they kind of look alike. But Miranda was always more...” Coe searched for the right word, but it was tough. Comparing the sisters was like trying to describe the gap that existed between a diamond and a piece of gravel. “Miranda was always more real than her sister. More grounded. More open-minded, more accepting...I don’t know. Just more than Katherine ever dreamed of being.”
Lucy poked at the obliterated strip that had once been Miranda’s fan belt. “I guess that explains why Miranda was able to see the real you, rather than some scary, tattooed badass from Garden Court.”
“That’s a surprise, coming from you.” Coe grabbed up the bag, and the mingled scents of sugar, spiced apples and yeast begged for his love and attention. No problem there. “Weren’t you the one who said Miranda dated me just to tick off Daddy?”
“I did, but I think maybe I was the one who was guilty of focusing on where she came from, rather than who she really was.” And if Lucy’s grimace was any indication, she was mortally embarrassed by her bout of reverse-snobbery. “But I’m an adult now and I have a lot more understanding of the world than when I was a kid. For instance, when I look at Miranda now, my vision of her is very clear, indeed.”
Coe snorted. “Points for using the word indeed without sounding like a pretentious ass, and what is it that you see when you look at Miranda?”
“The biggest thing that stands out is that even though seven years have come and gone, she’s still pissed off at you.”
Like that, Coe’s appetite vanished. “Yeah. I know she is.”
“Don’t you see? That’s great.”
“Wait, what?” Sully stared at Lucy with a baffled frown that Coe suspected mirrored his own. “Just...what?”
“Yeah.” Coe nodded in pure male solidarity. “What Sully said. What?”
Lucy sighed. “I can’t believe you two don’t see it. This must be a girl thing.”
“It must be, because I’m lost. How is it ‘great’ that Miranda’s still angry at Coe after all this time? If you stayed angry with me for seven years, I’d feel so bad about it I’d have to fight the urge to play in traffic.” Then Sully winced and shot Coe a quick glance. “Sorry, man.”
“No, it’s good. I mean, it’s not like I’m all wrapped up in Miranda the way you are with Lucy.” But the sentiment hit Coe hard—hard enough to squeeze his chest to the point where it was tough to breathe without looking like a landed fish. It was understandable Sully couldn’t stand the thought of Lucy holding a grudge against him; the guy had been crazy about her since forever. But that wasn’t how it was with him and Miranda, or anyone else for that matter. As much as he regretted it, he wasn’t the type to love. Maybe it was seeing what love had reaped for his mother. Maybe deep down he feared his brand of love might express itself the same way it had with his father, and he’d get twisted with it until he was a raging monster. Or maybe he just didn’t have it in him to love.
Whatever was at the root of it, his inability to love kept him on his inner island built for one, unreachable and content. He tinkered with his engines until mechanical perfection was achieved, and watched as others drifted by his island, on their way to either happiness or heartbreak.
But Sully’s words didn’t leave him feeling content. They’d sliced into him like jagged sha
rds of poison-edged glass. It hurt, knowing that Miranda had been furious with him for years. No, it was more than mere hurt. A relentless gush of pain boiled him from the inside out, emanating from some deep place he hadn’t known existed, and he didn’t know how to make it stop. He just knew one thing—he didn’t want her to be mad at him anymore. Normally he didn’t give a shit. People would do, think and feel whatever they wanted, it wasn’t any of his business.
But Miranda...
God, he didn’t want her to hate him so much.
Lucy graced them with a withering look. “Basic rule of thumb when it comes to being pissed off—you have to care deeply in order to be angry for more than a day or two. If she were indifferent to you, I’d say just leave well enough alone, get the rights to your valve and go your separate ways without looking back. But since I get the impression she’d be more than happy to murder you, there might be something really wonderful there.”
“You do realize you used the words murder and wonderful in the same sentence, right?” Coe asked, bewildered. “I can’t believe I’m having to point this out, but usually those two words don’t go together.”
She shook her head. “I’m saying that the reason you went running out of here last night and the reason Miranda’s still so hostile comes down to the same thing. When you cut through the crap, you guys still care about each other.”
“I told you, I was never in love with Miranda.”
“I didn’t say that, I just said you still cared. That’s more than a lot of people have, so this could be something the two of you could build on.” When he made a noncommittal sound, she turned to Sully. “I’m not getting through. Can’t you use some sort of man-speak to communicate with him? Like grunts and hand gestures?”
Coe glared. “I’ve got a hand gesture for you that everyone will understand.”
“And since I’m not sure where you want to go with this particular train of thought, I doubt anything I grunted or gestured would help.” Sully was busy eyeing the alternator while Lucy made a sound of frustration. “Are all these parts from Miranda’s car?”
“Yup.”
“Big fix, huh?”
Coe hesitated. But in that moment the memory of Miranda rejecting a measly bottle of milk flashed through his mind. Accompanying that image came the revelation that she’d opted to work as a janitor, rather than take a single penny from the man who’d chosen a valve over his own daughter. No doubt about it; Miranda was a Grade-A hard case whose ability to hold a grudge was on an expert level. It didn’t take a genius to see she’d go to the proverbial ends of the earth to avoid relying on the men who’d already let her down. No way in hell would she accept help from him.
“Nah. It’s not that big a deal.” Coe tried to look nonchalant and waved a dismissive hand at the parts before him. “I’m just going over everything to make sure it’s all in good working order.”
Sully rubbed a thumb at the scorch marks on the engine piece before giving him a long look. Coe gave it back in spades, ready to pounce if Sully decided to call him out. But the other man nodded once and put his arm around Lucy. “Cool. Let’s leave him to it, Luce. He’s got things to do.”
As they headed out with Lucy suggesting Sully work on his man-speak, Coe took in the aura of togetherness that surrounded them.
Watching, always, from his island.
Chapter Nine
A cold snap a few days later brought all flavors of misery Miranda’s way. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she’d had a way of escaping the ancient trailer. But, since her car had pulled the ultimate betrayal and left her stranded, she had the choice of freezing with only mild allergies, or using the anemic heating system, have her eyes and throat swell shut and be forced out onto the warped front landing outside her door just so she could breathe.
Eventually she chose a third option. At long last she contacted Kip Kippley to have him look into the cantankerous heating system and to let him know that the air coming through the trailer’s vents were a health hazard.
Come to find out, the manager of Garden Court had a genius for proving that a person really could be less than useful. His hour-long tinkering session with the trailer’s heating system came to an abrupt end when smoke began to pour through the trailer’s vents. Noxious fumes, like tires and dust bunnies set on fire, immediately filled the interior to the point where her eyes watered and she had to breathe through her hand.
The final straw came when the carbon-monoxide alarm joined the ear-shattering trill of the smoke alarm, and it was enough to chase them out into the freezing cold. When the alarms refused to shut up even with Kip bravely returning to open the windows, his brilliant idea of a fix was to unplug the alarms—a violation of every housing code in the book. Kip’s parting suggestion in dealing with the fact that there was now an unlivable atmosphere within the trailer was simple. Bundle up under several coats and blankets, and sleep with all the windows open with her head propped on the windowsill for clean air. Just to be safe.
Esme, watching the events unfold from her front porch, decided at that point that it would be a good time to unload with both barrels. As she dragged a furiously sputtering Miranda into her home, her neighbor let the trailer park’s manager have a piece of her mind by calling him every name in the book, from slumlord to an incompetent baboon on whom the gift of opposable thumbs had been wasted.
Only when Esme sat Miranda down with some coffee did the enormity of the situation hit her—she didn’t have a place to sleep. Well, she did, but if she went to sleep in her own bed it was pretty certain she’d never wake up again. Esme gruffly offered her couch as a temporary fix, but even as Miranda tried to find a graceful way out of that generous offer, they heard a deep voice calling her name outside, followed by a feverish pounding.
“Coe.” Wrapping herself up in her coat as she stepped out onto Esme’s raised front porch area, Miranda folded her arms tightly in front of her and tried to hug as much warmth to her body as she could. “What are you doing here?”
With his long wavy hair melding with the black leather of his jacket, Coe wheeled around, a gloved hand still fisted to pound against her door. In an instant they locked onto each other, and the sheer masculine impact of him hit her with the force of a blow. He had the look of a man who had pulled an all-nighter—unshaven, his lean face shadowed with the scruffy darkness of what could easily be a beard if left alone for another day. His onyx eyes absorbed the midmorning sun as he looked at her like a hunting dog keying in on a target. As bizarre as it seemed, for a second she had the very real impression that he wanted to walk right off the raised wooden platform in front of her door as he stared at her.
“What am I doing here?” He jabbed a finger at the wide-open windows on either side of the door, a sun-faded curtain hanging out and flapping in the icy breeze. “I’m thinking you need a keeper, that’s what I’m doing here. It’s thirty degrees out and every single one of your damn windows is open. Are you an idiot, or are you actively trying to catch pneumonia?”
“Calm down, it’s not her fault.” Tugging a tweed coat to hang over her shoulders, Esme came to stand beside Miranda to scowl at Coe. “That deathtrap is full of carbon monoxide. The super’s bright idea of fixing the problem was to break the law by turning off all the alarms. I was just about to try and talk Miranda into calling Sheriff Berry to report the situation. If nothing else, maybe if she makes enough noise she might be able to get her rent money back.”
Coe’s face went blank and unnaturally still, as if someone had hit his internal pause button. Then he did walk off the platform, only to join them on Esme’s porch, stopping just in front of Miranda as he wordlessly grabbed her face and tilted it up.
“Coe,” she began, alarmed that he might kiss her again—and that a huge part of her was thrilled at the prospect. But he didn’t bring his mouth to hers. Instead he examined her eyes as if se
arching for the secret to life. Then he turned her face this way and that, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks before moving on to her lips. When his thumbs brushed over them as well, she pulled back a fraction while her heart rate decided it needed to bolt into full gallop for no reason. “What are you doing?”
“Do you have a headache?”
“What? No, I—”
“Nausea? Are you dizzy?”
Good grief. “I’m fine.”
“Carbon monoxide leaves physical traces—cherry red cheeks, bright red lips, deep pink nails.” He took one of her hands in his, looked at each fingernail, then to her shock brought it to his lips and simply pressed them there while his eyes squeezed shut as if in pain. “You’re okay. My God. You’re okay.”
She wasn’t sure whether or not she should apologize. “I told you, I’m fine.”
“Kip Kippley needs to be talked to,” Esme announced before turning back for the door. “He’s not like the indifferent bastard who ran Garden Court when you lived here, but he is a towering moron. I have a feeling that if he gets leaned on a little, the pressure will probably make him cough up the money this girl is due.”
“Thank you.” At last Coe raised his head to focus on Esme, but he seemed to forget he needed to let go of Miranda’s hand. “I mean it. Thank you so much for looking out for her.”
“Miranda can look out for herself, just like you. And, just like you, she needs to learn how to give in with good grace when her back’s against the wall and there’s no place left to turn. You two have a lot in common, now that I think about it.” With a philosophical shrug, Esme vanished back inside and snapped the door shut.
Coe frowned after her. “Why does that lady talk like she knows me?”
“She does. Or she did when you were a boy.” Miranda pointed to the trailer Esme told her had once been Coe’s childhood home. “She used to try and get you to come inside when your parents were fighting, but you never allowed her to take care of you. She also mentioned that even as a child, your repertoire for curse words was an impressive thing to behold.”