Unraveling Him: A Small Town Family Romance (The Bailey Brothers Book 3)

by Claire Kingsley

  Leaving Simone to get ready for her thing, whatever that was, I gathered my stuff and went downstairs to my car. A light mist blew through the air—not heavy enough to be called rain, but wet enough to cling to my hair and make my coat shiny with moisture. I got in and checked my makeup. It had smeared a little beneath my left eye. That was what I got for using liquid eyeliner on a wet day. I wiped it away with the tip of my finger and started the engine.

  Traffic was surprisingly light this morning. I stopped at a drive-through espresso stand for a latte. When I pulled out onto the street again, my clutch slipped.

  Uh-oh.

  My car wasn’t exactly what you’d call nice. Or reliable. In fact, it was basically a piece of crap. But I was trying to crawl out from under a mountain of student debt, and this was all I’d been able to afford without taking on an additional payment.

  Plus, I knew cars. I’d known what I was getting when I bought her, and I knew how to fix her. I just hoped she’d keep running until I could afford the parts to replace the clutch. And whatever else she needed.

  I made it into work—small wins!—and went into the front office. The familiar sound of power tools came through the walls and the faint scent of cheap coffee hung in the air. Dad’s office was dark, and I had no idea if he’d come in today. He came and went, always chasing down deals or meeting contacts, and he worked in his home office a lot.

  Truthfully, I was relieved he wasn’t here this morning. No doubt he was still in a bad mood after the trip to Evan Bailey’s shop yesterday. If he were here, he’d probably take it out on me. No thanks.

  I put my things down at my desk and tried not to groan at the stack of work waiting for me. There were things I liked about my job. I liked most of the guys who worked for my dad. I liked the challenge of hunting down a rare hood ornament or finding an awesome deal on a great project car. But lately I’d been feeling more and more dissatisfied.

  It would have helped if Dad wasn’t such a cheapskate. He claimed my low pay was so no one would accuse him of nepotism. I’d believed that for a long time, but I was beginning to feel like maybe he was just taking advantage of me.

  Not a pleasant thought for a girl to have about her father, but here I was.

  I glanced at Simone’s empty seat, wishing she’d hurry up and get here. I needed to talk—process what had happened yesterday. She’d been out last night, and I’d gone to bed before she’d come home. I was hoping she’d be able to put my mind at ease about Dad. Maybe she could confirm Dad’s explanation about the stolen Mustang, and I could stop worrying about it.

  And then there was Evan Bailey.

  I had no idea why I kept thinking about him. Actually, that wasn’t true. I knew exactly why I kept thinking about him.

  Those eyes. That jaw. Those hands.

  That body.

  He’d looked powerful and intimidating but I hadn’t sensed cruelty. Although his dog had been alert and wary of the strangers in his territory, he’d seemed calm and well-behaved—a sign of a good owner.

  And those hands.

  They were very distracting.

  I was definitely not going to Google him or his shop, nor was I going to spend time searching through his gallery of car photos, hoping there was one with him in it.

  That was a big fat lie. I definitely did that.

  The phone rang, jolting me back to reality, and I quickly closed the tab.

  “Gallagher Auto, this is Fiona.”

  “There’s my girl,” a wheezy old voice answered.

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Hi, Mr. Browning. It’s been a while. I was starting to worry about you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’m healthy as an ox.”

  “Good to hear. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, I’m looking for a grill for a ’66 Pontiac Catalina. You have anything like that lying around out there?”

  “I don’t think we do. I take it you haven’t had luck locally?”

  “There’s a guy out here who has one, but it’s rusted to shit. I can’t use that. You know me, only the best. I have standards.”

  I wondered if Mr. Browning was actually working on his Catalina or just buying more parts. He was something of a hoarder. He lived in northern Arizona, but he had a thing for rare cars, which meant parts were particularly hard to find. Sometimes if he got stuck trying to find something specific, he’d call me. He knew I loved a challenge.

  “Of course you have standards. We don’t have one, but I can keep my eyes open and let you know.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart. Appreciate that.”

  “You bet. Hey, speaking of Pontiacs, is your GTO still tragically sitting in your barn?”

  He chuckled. “Is your daddy going to come sniffing around again, trying to take it off my hands?”

  “I don’t know, Dad’s got a lot on his plate right now. I’m just curious. It’s a beautiful car. I’d love to see it running again.”

  “Ain’t that the truth. I’m thinking about selling it, finally. Been sitting in my barn a long time.”

  Among Mr. Browning’s extensive collection of moldering classic cars was a 1970 Pontiac GTO convertible, nicknamed the Judge. Years ago, my dad had tried to buy it from him, but he hadn’t been willing to let it go. It was hard to blame him. The Judge was a rare find. There were only a dozen or so ever made. His was in terrible shape; whoever had owned it before him had left it out in the weather for years. It would be a daunting restoration for anyone, so I wasn’t surprised Mr. Browning was finally thinking about letting it go. He had to be in his eighties; it was hard to imagine him being able to do all the work to restore it.

  “Are you really?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, it’s probably time I let it go. I got a guy coming in a few days to take a look.”

  “Make sure you hold out for the right price.”

  “Oh, I will. I know what I’ve got.”

  “Good for you. I’ll let you know if I come across a grill for your Catalina.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye, Mr. Browning.”

  I hung up the phone and fought down the urge to search for Evan Bailey again.

  Barely.

  The morning got busier, especially since Simone still hadn’t come in. I had some bookkeeping to catch up on, but Dad hadn’t brought in all the receipts and expense reports. Again.

  Nothing new there. I’d just swing by his house and pick them up—and water his plants while I was there. I was pretty sure I was the only one who watered them, so an excuse to stop by wasn’t so bad.

  He lived in a quiet neighborhood a few miles from the shop. I pretended my clutch wasn’t slipping on the short drive over. I added shuffle some things around on the shop schedule to my mental to-do list so I could use space in the garage to work on it. If I let this go too long, I could be in trouble.

  I knocked softly before using my key to go inside. He wasn’t in his office. I’d probably just missed him. Humming quietly to myself, I rooted around his desk for the latest receipts, adding what I could find to a folder.

  His laptop was open, as if he’d been working and something had interrupted him. My eyes flicked across the screen and I did a double take when I saw the name Felix Orman.

  Oh no.

  It was a brief email to my dad from Felix. It simply said, I already took care of it.

  My heart sank. I wanted to believe my dad had legitimate reasons for corresponding with Felix. No girl wants to think the worst of her father. But what were the chances that Felix had gone legit and this was all a big misunderstanding? I was usually an unfailing optimist who saw the best in people, but even I knew that was a stretch.

  If Dad was dealing in stolen goods again, he’d broken his promise.

  This really sucked.

  I left the folder of receipts on his desk and went to the kitchen to get the watering can I’d left here. I felt like crap, but that didn’t mean his plants needed to go without water.
r />   After filling it up, I went to his living room to give his plants a drink, but a noise from upstairs made me stop in my tracks. Maybe he was home.

  Except.

  Oh no.

  Oh, please no.

  Rhythmic banging. His bedroom was on this side of the house, right above me, and yep, that was a woman’s voice.

  “Spank me, Daddy. Yes.”

  Oh my god. Gross.

  Unfortunately for me, this wasn’t the first time I’d overheard my dad with a lady friend. Not even close. My mom had left when I was little, and my dad had been more or less single ever since. He’d dated several women, and I’d even met a few of them. But mostly he seemed to indulge in… whatever was going on upstairs that I didn’t want to think about. I was aware of it, but did my best to ignore that part of his life.

  Although, when I thought about it, he’d never tried very hard to hide it from me.

  I quickly flitted around, watering the last plants. The noise stopped and I heard the shower turn on.

  Time to go.

  “There you go, pretty,” I whispered to the last plant in his office. “Isn’t that better? I know, but just ignore them. She’ll be gone soon. You’re looking awfully droopy, but who could blame you?”

  I turned to take the watering can back to the kitchen and came face to face with a woman standing at the base of the stairs.

  She squealed, startling me, and I dropped the watering can. It bounced on the hardwood floor, spraying water everywhere.

  I blinked at her, confused. Her platinum blond hair was messy and a pair of heels dangled from her hand. Her eyes were wide with shock, her mouth open.

  “Simone?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”

  5

  Fiona

  Simone seemed to recover quickly, closing her mouth and straightening her shoulders. “Fiona, what are you doing here?”

  “That’s what I just asked you.” I felt frozen, rooted to the spot while a pool of water from the overturned watering can spread around my feet. My eyes flicked up the stairs, then back to her. “Why are you here?”

  “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

  “Find out about what?” It was a stupid question. I knew. I’d heard it with my own ears. But my brain suddenly felt cloudy, a shroud of disbelief settling over me. They couldn’t have.

  “About me and Shane.”

  “Shane? You’re calling him Shane now?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

  “What else would I call him?”

  “Daddy, apparently.”

  She didn’t even have the decency to blush. “Oh my god, it’s not that big of a deal.”

  “Are you kidding me? He’s my father. He’s known you since you were little. How could you possibly think this is okay?”

  “You’re seriously going to be a bitch about this, aren’t you? After everything we’ve been through together, you can’t be happy for me?”

  I stared at her in disbelief. “Happy that you’re sleeping with my dad? Are you nuts? How long has this been going on?”

  She shrugged. “Five or six months, I guess. You know, off and on. I was going to tell you, but he wouldn’t let me.”

  “Five or six months? I thought you were hooking up with your ex again.”

  “Yeah, I kind of let you think that. It was a good cover.”

  Nausea spread through my stomach and I tasted bile on the back of my tongue. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  She scowled at me. “Really? I’m such trash you’re going to puke at the thought of me being with your dad? Great, I’m glad you think so highly of me.”

  “That’s not what I’m saying.”

  “No? I thought you’d be happy for us. I won’t turn into a wicked stepmother, Fiona.”

  “What, like he’s going to marry you?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And why not?”

  “Do you know how many women he’s kicked out the door over the years? So many. I got very good at pretending I didn’t notice them. What on earth makes you think you’re any different?”

  “I should have known you’d be jealous.”

  “How am I jealous? It’s my dad, Simone. It’s gross. And you’ve been lying to me.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You made it easy, Fiona. You don’t want to see the truth. Not everyone wants to be nice like you. It doesn’t get you anywhere.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what, we’ll talk about this later when you can be rational,” she said, her voice so patronizing I wanted to smack her. “I have to go to work.”

  Without putting on her shoes, she walked out.

  I blinked with disbelief. I hadn’t seen her car outside, but maybe she’d parked on the street and I hadn’t noticed.

  Oh my god.

  The shower upstairs turned off, making my heart jump. I did not want to be here when he came down. I quickly cleaned up the mess from the watering can and put it away. Then I darted back into his office, grabbed the folder, and left—hoping I hadn’t missed anything. The last thing I wanted was to have to come back.

  As if my car knew I needed a break, the clutch didn’t slip on the drive home. I didn’t go back to work. Simone would be there. Dad would come in eventually. I couldn’t stand the thought of looking at either of them right now.

  She’d been calling him daddy.

  God, it was so gross, I still thought I might puke.

  I got home and brought my stuff inside. I put my things down on the kitchen table and looked around numbly at the apartment Simone and I had shared for the last few years. When I’d moved here, I’d though I was making progress toward building my own life. But I hadn’t gone anywhere.

  I sank down into a chair. “Is she right, Myra? Should I be happy for them?”

  The deep sense of betrayal I felt was too acute to entertain that possibility. What had she been thinking? What had he been thinking?

  Although a bigger question thrummed through my mind. What was I still doing here?

  I’d thought about moving so many times. Finding a different job. Making a life for myself that wasn’t tied to my father. But talk was cheap. I was twenty-six years old and still living under his thumb. Still letting him call the shots. Deep down, I knew why.

  I was afraid of what he’d do if he didn’t have me around to keep him in check.

  Dad had narrowly escaped going to prison once already. I’d made him promise he’d stay legit. And wrapped up in that promise had been the unspoken acknowledgment that I’d always be here to see that he kept it.

  But he wasn’t keeping it. I didn’t know what he was into, or how deep it went. But the fact that he was sleeping with Simone and lying to me about it was only one more sticky layer in his web of deceit.

  And I was done trying to hold everything together for him.

  “Myra, Blanche, we’re leaving.”

  I stood, my resolve giving me a rush of energy. It was like I’d flipped a switch and suddenly felt in control of my life. It was a heady sensation, making me light on my feet. Almost giddy.

  I was getting out of here.

  The beginnings of a plan formed in my mind as I packed some of my things. There was only one place I could think to go where Dad wouldn’t follow.

  Mom.

  If my relationship with Dad was difficult, my relationship with Mom was a twisting labyrinth of complications. Which was why Dad wouldn’t dream that I’d go there.

  Sure, she was eighteen hundred miles away in Iowa, and my car probably wouldn’t make it that far without a clutch replacement. My bank account was pathetic, I owed a ton of money in student loans, and walking out on my job meant no income for the foreseeable future.

  It felt like the universe was staring me down, waiting to see what I was made of. Trying to tell me this wasn’t possible.

  You know what, universe? Hold my beer.

  A couple of hours later, I was on the road, my car stuffed to the ceiling. Myra and Blanche sat happi
ly—they really looked quite perky—on the passenger seat beside me.

  I’d left Simone a note, telling her I’d moved out and wasn’t coming back. Maybe I should have felt bad for sticking her with the apartment, but I couldn’t find it in me to care. I’d covered for her for years, doing her job, ignoring how shitty she could be. She wasn’t getting anything else from me.

  As for Dad, I left him a message telling him, calmly, that I wasn’t coming back to work.

  That left me with the pressing issue of my car. Had there been no emotion involved, it probably would have been smarter to wait and fix the clutch first, then uproot my life and move to a new state. But that would have meant seeing Simone and my dad every day until I got it done. And I just couldn’t.

  However, now that I was on the road, I had to face the reality of the big, gaping hole in my escape plan. It wasn’t safe for me to make the trip to Iowa. That meant a pit stop to fix my car.

  But I had an idea about that, too. An idea that, to a person who wasn’t high on the thrill of changing her life in one fell swoop, probably would have seemed crazy. Possibly even stupid.

  But I was high on that thrill, and as I raced east on the freeway, leaving Seattle behind, I decided it was simply going to have to work. I wasn’t going to accept anything else.

  I was going to see Evan Bailey.

  My plan was simple. Evan Bailey had recently lost a valuable project car. It stood to reason he needed another one. I needed a place to fix my car that wasn’t my dad’s garage.

  Evan Bailey had a garage. I knew of another car—Mr. Browning’s Pontiac GTO. That would be an even better find than the ’67 Mustang.

  Yes, my plan was slightly convoluted and hinged on the cooperation of a stranger—who hated my father—and my ability to convince Mr. Browning to sell his car to Evan Bailey. But I wasn’t going to let a silly thing like doubt or a high probability of failure stop me now. I was going to make it work.

  “It’s not that crazy, is it, girls?” I glanced at Myra and Blanche. “I know there are a lot of ways this could go wrong, but for right now, this is what we’ve got. Our alternative is going back, and I’ll live in my car before I do that.”