by Stacy Gail
“She told you about that, did she?” He stared hard at the door for another moment, as if he hoped he could melt it on the spot through the heat of a glare alone. Then he looked back to her with such intensity, she half suspected he was trying to melt her instead. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Of course.” She just wasn’t sure she could remain upright with him looking at her as if he’d never seen a woman before. She had to get a hold of the situation, fast. “What are you doing here?”
“I drove your car over, and I was hoping you’d have time to drive me back to the garage.”
Surprised, she glanced over his shoulder to where her car sat on the shoulderless, crumbling road. “Already? I had a feeling I was going to be carless for about a week, but you’ve already gotten it done in a few days. I’m impressed.” Then her eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. Are those new tires?”
“No, I just cleaned up the old ones. They were gross, by the way. Pro tip, Miranda—a clean car is a happy car, so spring for a car wash every now and again, yeah?”
“Yeah, but...Wow, you did an amazing job. They look like new.” Hadn’t her tires had some sort of white lettering on them? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember.
He lifted a careless shoulder. “Funny how things look different when you take the dirt off. I did change out the shocks, though, so it might feel different when you drive it.”
She had no idea how much a pair of shock absorbers were, and the idea of money flying out of her anemic bank account had her stomach doing its best impression of an anvil falling off a cliff. “Let’s get to the bottom line. How much did this cost me?”
“Eighty-seven.”
She stared at him, speechless. Did he mean eighty-seven hundred? Because if he did, no court in the land would convict her for murdering him.
He lifted a shoulder. “All right, you got me. Eighty-seven bucks, plus I need your expertise in making a website. I’ll trade you the shocks for the time it takes to put my garage on the web. You don’t have to do this since I threw them in on my own, but I’d really appreciate it if you’d agree to a barter-style arrangement here. That way we both get what we want.”
At last she managed to dig up her AWOL voice. “Barter?”
“Yeah, it’s what I do with Lucy. Regular oil changes and tune-ups in exchange for a constant flow of cookies, scones, cupcakes and the occasional apple fritter.”
“You’re telling me all that smoke billowing out from under the hood of my car—smoke that had me thinking I was going to become one huge mushroom cloud—caused only eighty-seven dollars’ worth of damage?”
He scowled. “What, do you want it to be more? I suppose I could make shit up, if that’d make you happy.”
“No! No, it’s just...it’s kind of hard to believe, that’s all.” Like, impossible.
“That doesn’t surprise me. Considering you pulled out a dipstick to see if that would fix what broke, it’s pretty obvious you’re not exactly an expert when it comes to cars. But you are an expert on techy internet stuff, and that’s the one thing I’m in the market for,” he added while she wrestled with the unhealthy desire to push his finely toned ass down the porch stairs. “For all I know, it costs an arm and a leg to get a professional website up and running. That’s why I brought up bartering. But if you’re not interested in it, I guess I’m stuck with eating the bill for the shocks—”
“I’ll do it.” The words were out before she could think about it. She didn’t want to think about it. All that mattered was that she never be beholden to him, so that she could walk away with a clear conscience. But when his mouth curled like a cat that just enjoyed a feast of canary, she began to second-guess her judgment.
“Great. Is your front door unlocked?”
She blinked at the sudden change of subject before glancing back at her poisonous place. “Yes. It seemed kind of silly to lock a door when all the windows have to be open. Why do you ask?”
“I’m going to get your laptop so we can work over at my place.”
“Oh, I’ll get it—”
“No worries, I’ve got this.” Strong hands came down on her shoulders before he gently guided her back to Esme’s front door. “Gearheads like me are used to killing off brain cells by breathing in carbon monoxide. Go back inside where it’s warm, and I’ll be with you in just a minute.”
Coe’s minute stretched into five, then more. With dire visions of him succumbing to her trailer’s hostile environment, Miranda was just reaching for her front door when he called her from behind. She spun around to find him jogging across the empty street toward her, a gleam of grim satisfaction in his eyes. The anxiety gushed out of her, along with the strength in her knees when she saw he was perfectly fine and not lying passed out in her trailer. It was a normal reaction to be relieved he wasn’t sucking in poison, she told herself firmly even as she pressed a shaky hand to the stampeding thing that was her heart. It didn’t mean she cared in any profound way. It was just a relief he wasn’t sprawled out on the floor gasping out his last breath.
But when he bounded up the stairs to where she was, it was all she could do to stop herself from flinging her arms around his neck. “If you were trying to scare me, you did a bang-up job.” She shot the accusation at him instead of throwing herself at him like an idiot, letting herself swing from relief to the far safer waters of irritation. He’d be lucky she didn’t kill him herself for being so healthy. “Did I misunderstand? Because I thought you said you were coming over here, to the trailer of doom. When you didn’t come back, I had visions of finding you dead in spectacular fashion all over that disgusting carpet.”
“That doesn’t make for a pretty mental image, at that,” he seemed to agree, nodding. “That carpet hasn’t been changed for decades, I’m sure. Not a very hygienic place to die.”
“Not to mention it would have done nothing for your coloring. Where the hell did you go?”
“I had to run a quick errand, no biggie.” He smiled down at her—really smiled, like she’d just told him a wildly funny joke. Before she knew what he was going to do, he curled his hand around hers. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were worried about me.”
When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? When? “I’d be worried about anyone coming over here.”
“True. But see, now you’re angry with me.” And he seemed inordinately pleased about it.
“In case you’ve missed it, being angry with you is my default setting.”
If possible, his grin widened as though this pleased him, and it convinced her that he hadn’t been lying when he said he’d killed off some brain cells somewhere along the way. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. I’ve also been made to notice something else about your behavior when it comes to me.”
She wasn’t going to ask. She wasn’t going to ask. She wasn’t...
“What?”
Crap.
“Just that it’s impossible to be both pissed off and indifferent.”
She waited an extra beat. “That’s it? That’s your big revelation?”
“Am I wrong?”
“When I kicked you in the ass, did it feel indifferent?”
“Nope, and that’s my point. It felt...” He seemed to search the air for the right word. “Impassioned.”
All thought came to a screeching stop as her internal alarm bells went off. “If you think getting a foot planted in your ass is some weird form of foreplay, you need to get out more.”
“It’s not just that kick. I was also thinking about our kiss.”
She flinched at the unexpected mention of it. The last thing she’d ever admit was that she’d been thinking about their kiss too. What she really wanted to do was forget it ever happened. “That’s something that won’t happen again. Now, give me the car keys so I can drive you back.”
She
’d do anything to get rid of him before she did something really stupid, like having him prove her wrong.
Chapter Ten
“I can’t get over it.” Surprised delight glowed from Miranda’s face as she hit the turn indicator. “The difference in how the car drives now is like night and day. It feels like a brand new car made out of marshmallow fluff and heavenly clouds.”
“Glad you like it.” Beside her, Coe fiddled with the heater, not at all pleased with its output. He’d mess with it when she wasn’t looking. “It’s amazing what a little TLC can do for a hardworking piece of machinery.”
“It also doesn’t hurt being mechanically brilliant.” He felt her gaze slide over him, as physical as a teasing brush of a lover’s fingers. He bit his lip before he could make any give-away noises and looked to her just as she turned her attention back to the road. “Coe, I’ve been wanting to ask you something for a while now, but I’m not sure how to go about it.”
Her tone made him smile. Whether she liked it or not, Miranda would always be a product of her privileged environment. When in doubt, hide behind a mile-thick layer of fussy manners. “Let ’er rip, babe. Just ask and see what happens.”
She took a deep breath like a diver about to jump off a cliff. “Are you happy? I mean, I know this isn’t the life you wanted when we were dating. As I recall, you had dreams of making a name for yourself on the stock-car circuit. But I guess that was crushed when my father pulled the rug out from under you, so...you know what, this is probably a stupid question. Forget I asked.”
“Your dad had nothing to do with it. I could have pursued a racing career if I’d had a genuine fire in the belly for it, but I didn’t.” He shrugged, ignoring her verbal retreat. She cared enough to ask, and that touched him so deeply he felt like he’d swallowed sunshine. “What I loved about the track was being around the cars. But thanks to all the rules restricting what can and can’t go into a stock car, I couldn’t experiment the way I wanted to. That’s why I started working at the garage fulltime. Lefty let me do anything and everything that came to mind, and even encouraged me to think outside the box.”
“So...does that mean you’re not completely unhappy with how your life is now?”
“To be honest, I’d say I’m happier than most people I know.”
“Okay. Good.” She nodded after a long moment, as if she’d taken her time to digest his answer. She even slanted a smile his way. “I’m glad you weren’t permanently scarred by what both my father and yours put you through while growing up. Every time you smile or laugh or just enjoy life, it’s like a win against all the wrongs of the world.”
He grimaced, hating that she knew about his childhood. That nightmare was his and his alone—private, no trespassing. It was something that he kept with him on his solitary island and never shared.
Never.
“My biggest fear while growing up was that when I became an adult, I’d be like my father.”
Well, well. Maybe he should never say never.
Her hand lifted his way as if to touch him before it executed an awkward U-turn back to the steering wheel. “That you even had such a fear only underscores how decent you are. Your character is the exact opposite of whatever your father was.”
“A bully,” he said, and instead of the quiet street heading past the town square, he saw his mother silently serving a meal to his self-satisfied father with one shaking hand, while her other hand clutched a ragged dish towel to yet another bloody nose. “He fucking enjoyed it, Miranda. He enjoyed hurting people weaker than him. He had no real power in his own life, so it’s like he had to manufacture some. His way of doing that was to make my mother beg for mercy. I think he was even addicted to that sick sort of rush, if that makes any sense.”
“It does.” She slid him a complicated glance churning with what looked like admiration, and a determination to not admit to it. “I’m amazed at how well you turned out, all things considered. Being forged in that kind of fire could have easily burned you up and twisted you for life. Instead, it made you stronger, better than your father ever dreamed of being.”
Her words set off what felt like fireworks inside him, glowing with warmth and beauty. How could she move him so deeply with words alone? “At least I know what I’m talking about when it comes to asshole fathers who are close enough to damage their kids where it hurts the most.”
It was like magic, how quickly her face closed up. “At least you knew what your father was capable of. But mine...” She shook her head, and the old anger layered her every move. “I never saw the sucker punch coming.”
“That’s how a sucker punch works.” He studied her delicately sculpted profile—the deep set of eyes that churned like an ever-changing sky. The small, straight slant of her nose. The thrust of a chin that he’d somehow never noticed was set in permanent stubborn mode. That gorgeous neck that demanded the attention of his mouth. She’d always been beautiful in a refined sort of way, but the accept-no-crap personality behind the exterior was what catapulted her into the unforgettable category. Which, he supposed, was why she still affected him after all this time. Miranda Brookhaven was the kind of woman a man clung to the memory of, even when he knew he’d be better off trying to forget.
She glanced over as if sensing his preoccupation. “What?”
“What about you, Miranda? Are you happy?”
Her shoulders moved. “Sure.”
“No, you’re not. You used to radiate happiness the way the sun radiates warmth.” The words were out before he knew he was going to say them, and he felt as surprised as she looked.
“Are you saying I don’t now?”
“Before I answer, let me shoot you a hypothetical. If I called you a sour-faced shrew in desperate need of a good lay, would that piss you off?”
The car jerked to a stop that was so abrupt it snapped his seatbelt taut. “Oh. The brakes are touchier than I remember.”
“I tightened them a bit.” Which was true. After he’d replaced them with the best on the market, he made sure they were good and tight.
“And for your information, I haven’t changed,” she went on, looking grimmer than ever. “I’m happy. I radiate happiness like nobody’s business. I’m so happy I make Saturday morning cartoons look funereal in comparison. Now get the hell out of my car and don’t walk in front of it. My foot might accidentally slip in all my giddy euphoria.”
He reached over and turned the car off. “You still owe me eighty-seven bucks. Will this be cash, credit or debit?”
With a groan she rested her brow on the steering wheel. “I hate you.”
“I know you do.” The words came out with a long sigh as he opened his door. “It’s a funny thing, though. Being loved by you or hated by you...I know it’s fucked up, but either way I get the privilege of being the center of your attention.” He reached over and popped the locks on their seatbelts. “Let’s get this done.”
* * *
The last thing Miranda expected was for Coe to ignore the glass-enclosed corner office in front of the garage. Instead, by the time she’d shut the car door, he was already around the side of the building and halfway up a flight of sturdy exterior wooden steps.
“Wait.” She hustled after him, catching up just as he turned a key in a heavy metal door at the top of the landing. “I thought your office was downstairs.”
“Huh, how ’bout that. Come on in.” He stepped inside, then turned to sweep an extravagantly inviting arm, holding the door open for her like an Old World courtly gentleman. The urge to look around for camera crews was tempting at the overt display of manners. As she entered, her footsteps echoed hollowly off of hardwood floors that gleamed in the light coming from the unadorned industrial style windows along the entire wall facing Main Street below. The loft area covered the same amount of space of the garage below, the walls exposed and glowin
g with the earthy color of red brick. The sun coming in warmed the space to the point where she was almost uncomfortable in her coat. Pendant lights with satin pewter shades hung from the loft’s high ceilings, and though currently off she could see their placement would fill the large area with light once the sun went down. Off to one side, a simple platform futon bed with the futon neatly rolled up was the only furniture in the open space, giving the loft an abandoned feel. To the right of the main area was the kitchen, a rectangular island separating that space from the rest of the loft. Stainless steel appliances and a deep triple sink looked almost new, as did the bathroom fixtures she could see through the open door on the far left of the loft.
One thing stood out—there was no sign of an office, or that anyone had been in there in a while.
“What is this?” She did a slow turn, once again taking in the empty space, turning all the way around to face him once more. She watched him shrug out of his leather jacket and toss it onto the island, and decided to do the same. “What are we doing up here?”
He lifted a shoulder encased in the black cotton of a slim-fitting T-shirt, idly twirling the keys around his finger. “Lucy and Sully lived here until a few weeks ago, when they moved into their new house. I haven’t even gotten around to shutting off the electricity to it.”
That explained why it was warm enough for him to strip down to short sleeves, his long, muscular arms glowing with that hint of bronze he’d been born with. Though she told herself to resist, she couldn’t stop herself from drinking in his rugged build sculpted with powerful muscles that wrestled with heavy machinery on a daily basis and won. She’d always thought he was beautiful in a thoroughly masculine way, and it had been an absurd source of pride and joy that he’d forever decorated his body with her name.
Except...it wasn’t there.
A brick of ice dropped into her stomach to flash-freeze her from the inside out. The place where her name had once been was covered by the stylized, spiky swirls of a black tribal tattoo that stretched from his wrist all the way up under his shirtsleeve, no doubt ending at the neck—the same tattoo she’d noticed when she first approached him. It had never occurred to her that the tattoo had eradicated her name, but...