“Yeah.” His voice came from someplace deep. Like it was dragged up from his soul.
“How long have you been stuck out here?”
“About an hour.”
“Run out of gas?”
“No,” he answered, sounding annoyed that he might be confused for the kind of guy who’d run out of gas. Like that somehow insulted his masculinity. “It’s either the alternator or timing belt.”
“Could be your fuel pump.”
One corner of his mouth twitched up. “It’s getting fuel. No power.”
“Where you headed?”
“Lovett.”
She’d figured that since there wasn’t much else down the road. Not that Lovett was much. “I’ll call you a tow truck.”
He raised his gaze and looked down the highway. “I’d appreciate it.”
She punched the number to information and got connected with B.J. Henderson’s garage. She’d gone to school with B.J.’s son, B.J. Junior, who everyone called Boner. Yeah, Boner. The last she’d heard, Boner worked for his dad. The answering machine picked up and she glanced at the clock in her dash. It was five minutes after six. She hung up and didn’t bother to call another garage. It was an hour and five minutes past Lone Star time, and Boner and the other mechanics in town were either at home or holding down a barstool.
She looked up at the man, past that amazing chest, and figured she had two choices. She could take the stranger to her daddy’s ranch and have one of her father’s men take him into town, or take him herself. Driving to the ranch would take ten minutes up the dirt road. It would take twenty to twenty-five to take him into town.
She stared into the shadow cast over his profile. She’d rather a stranger didn’t know where she lived. “I have a stun gun.” It was a lie, but she’d always wanted one.
He looked back down at her. “Excuse me?”
“I have a stun gun and I’ve been trained to use it.” He took a step back from the car and she smiled. “I’m deadly.”
“A stun gun isn’t a deadly weapon.”
“What if I set it really high?”
“Can’t set it high enough to kill unless there is a preexisting condition. I don’t have a preexisting condition.”
“How do you know all that?”
“I used to be in security.”
Oh. “Well, it will hurt like hell if I have to zap your ass.”
“I don’t want my ass zapped, lady. I just need a tow into town.”
“Garages are all closed.” She tossed her phone in the cup holder. “I’ll drive you into Lovett, but you have to show me some identification first.”
Annoyance pulled one corner of his mouth as he reached into the back pocket of his Levi’s, and for the first time, her gaze dropped to his five-button fly.
Good Lord.
Without a word, he pulled out a driver’s license and passed it through the window.
Sadie might have cause to feel a little pervy about staring at his impressive package if it hadn’t been sort of framed in her window. “Great.” She punched up a few numbers on her cell and waited for Renee to pick up. “Hi, Renee. It’s Sadie again. Gotta pen?” She looked at the hunk of man junk in front of her and waited. “I’m giving a stranded guy a ride into town. So, write this down.” She gave her friend the Washington driver’s license number and added, “Vincent James Haven. 4389 North Central Avenue, Kent, Washington. Hair: brown. Eyes: green. Six foot and a hundred and ninety pounds. Got it? Great. If you don’t hear from me in an hour, call the Potter County sheriff’s office in Texas and tell them I’ve been abducted and you fear for my life. Give them the information that I just gave you.” She shut the phone and handed the ID through the window. “Get in. I’ll drop you off in Lovett.” She looked up into the shadow of his hat. “And don’t make me use my stun gun on you.”
“No ma’am.” One corner of his mouth slid up as he took his driver’s license and slid it back into his wallet. “I’ll just get a duffel.”
Her gaze dropped to the back pockets of his jeans as he turned and shoved his wallet inside. Nice chest. Great butt, handsome face. If there was one thing she knew about men, one thing she’d learned from being single all these years, it was that there were several different types of men. Gentlemen, regular guys, charming dogs, and dirty dogs. The only true gentlemen in the world were purebred nerds who were gentlemen in the hopes of someday getting laid. The man grabbing a duffel from the cab of his truck was too good-looking to be a purebred anything. He was likely one of those tricky hybrids.
She hit the door locks, then he tossed a green military duffel into the backseat. He got in the front, and set off the seat belt alarm, filling up the Saab with his broad shoulders and the annoying bong bong bong of the belt alarm.
She put the car into drive, then pulled a U-turn out onto the highway. “Ever been to Lovett, Vincent?”
“No.”
“You’re in for a treat.” She pulled on a pair of sunglasses and stepped on the gas. “Put on your seat belt, please.”
“Are you going to zap me with your stun gun if I don’t?”
“Possibly. Depends on how annoyed I get by the seat belt alarm between here and town.” She adjusted the gold aviators on the bridge of her nose. “And I should warn you in advance, I’ve been driving all day, so I’m already annoyed.”
He chuckled and belted himself in. “You headed to Lovett yourself?”
“Unfortunately.” She glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes. “I was born and raised here but I escaped when I was eighteen.”
He pushed up the bill of his hat and looked across his shoulder at her. His driver’s license had stated that his eyes were green and they were. A light green that wasn’t quite spooky. More unsettling, as he stared back at her from that very masculine face. “What brings you back?” he asked.
“Wedding.” Unsettling in a way that made a girl want to twist her hair and put on some red lip gloss. “My cousin’s getting married.” Her younger cousin. “I’m a bridesmaid.” No doubt the other bridesmaids were younger, too. They’d probably arrive with a date. She’d be the only single one. Old and single. A “Welcome to Lovett, Texas, Y’all” sign marked the city limits. It had been painted a bright blue since the last time she’d been home.
“You don’t look happy about it.”
She’d been out of Texas too long if her “uglies” were showing. According to her mother, “uglies” were any emotions that weren’t pretty. A girl could have them. Just not show them. “The dress is meant for someone ten years younger than me and is the color of Bubble Yum.” She glanced out the driver’s side window. “What brings you to Lovett?”
“Pardon?”
She glanced at him as they passed a used car lot and a Mucho Taco. “What brings you to Lovett?”
“Family.”
“Who’re your people?”
“Person.” He pointed to the Gas and Go across the street. “You can drop me off there.”
She cut across two lanes and pulled into the parking lot. “Girlfriend? Wife?”
“Neither.” He squinted and looked out the windshield at the convenience store. “Why don’t you go ahead and call your friend Renee, and tell her you’re still in one piece.”
She pulled to a stop in an empty slot next to a white pickup and reached into the cup holder. “Don’t want the sheriff knocking on your door?”
“Not on my first night.” He unbuckled the belt and opened the passenger door. His feet hit the pavement and he stood.
She could practically smell the popcorn from the Gas and Go as she punched in Renee’s number. Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” played in her ear until her assistant answered. “I’m not dead.” Sadie pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head. “I’ll see you in the office on Monday.”
The rear door opened and he pulled out his duffel. He dumped it on the curb, then closed the door. He placed his hands on the roof of the car, then leaned down and looked through the car at her. “Thank
s for the ride. I appreciate it. If there’s any way I can repay you, let me know.”
It was the kind of thing people said and never meant. Like asking, “How are you?” when no one really gave a crap. She looked across at him, into his light green eyes and dark masculine face. Everyone in town had always said she had more nerve than sense. “Well, there is one thing.”
Chapter Two
Vince Haven lowered the bill of his ball cap and watched the Saab pull out of the parking lot. Normally he didn’t mind doing a favor for a beautiful woman. Especially one who’d saved him from humping it ten miles into town. Although compared to a thirty-mile jog or a hike in the Afghani mountains with at least sixty pounds on his back and enough ammo in his chest rig to blow up a small village, a ten-mile walk across the Texas panhandle was just a pleasant stroll through the country. Back in the day he’d have packed an M4A1 across his chest, his Sig on his hip, and a .45ACP 1911 custom sidearm strapped to his thigh.
He reached for his old Navy-issue pack and tucked it under one arm. He’d turned Sadie down and blamed it on not having a suit. Which was true but wasn’t why he’d told her no. Blond-haired Sadie wasn’t his type. She was certainly pretty enough. Beautiful really, but he liked his blondes easy. Easygoing, easy tempered, easy to be around, and easy to get in the sack. Brunettes and redheads, too. An easy woman didn’t ask anything from him, like wearing a suit and attending a wedding where he knew no one. Easy didn’t chew his ears off with talk of feelings. Easy didn’t demand a commitment beyond sex, or any sort of stability, nor did easy expect the one hundred and one other things he was unable to give. Luckily for him, there were plenty of easy women who liked him as much as he liked them.
He didn’t know what that said about him. Probably a lot. Probably things he wouldn’t particularly like to admit. Good thing for him, he didn’t particularly give a shit.
The rubber heels of his boots didn’t make a sound as he moved toward the front of the store, passing a white truck with a big dent in the rear fender. The woman who’d dropped him off was far from dumb. A dumb woman wouldn’t phone in his ID like he was a serial killer before she let him in her car. He’d actually been impressed by that, and the nonexistent stun gun had been a nice touch, too. He didn’t know if she was easy. Sometimes smart women were just as easy as dumb, but he’d guess not. Her clothes—jeans and a big gray hoodie—hadn’t given any clues, and he hadn’t been able to tell if the body matched the face. Not that it mattered. Women like Sadie always wanted a relationship. Even when they said they didn’t, and he wasn’t in any position to commit to more than a one- or two-night stand. Possibly more if all the woman wanted was great sex.
He pulled open the front door, and the smell of popcorn, hot dogs, and Pine-Sol hit him. A cowboy stood at the counter loaded down with jerky and a twelve-pack of Lone Star, chatting it up with a woman with a pile of fine gray hair and deep wrinkles. A white “Don’t Mess with Texas” T-shirt was tucked into the belted skirt beneath her breasts. She looked a bit like a skinny Shar Pei with long, dangly earrings.
“Hello, Aunt Luraleen.”
“Vince!” His mother’s sister glanced up from bagging the cowboy’s jerky. “Well, aren’t you just a handsome sight.” Her blue eyes were bright as she came around the counter. She hurled herself into his chest and he dropped the pack at his feet. She wrapped her arms around as much of him as she could and squeezed him with the kind of free affection he’d never understood. His mother’s Texas relatives were natural-born huggers, like it was part of them. Like it was in their DNA, but somehow neither he nor his sister had inherited the hugging gene. He raised a hand to pat her back. How many pats was enough? One? Two. He kept it at two.
She lifted her chin from his chest and looked up at him. It had been several years since he’d seen her, but she hadn’t changed. “You’re as big as hell and half of Texas,” she said in that deep, tobacco raspy twang that had scared the hell out of him as a kid. How she’d lived so long was a testament to stubbornness rather than clean living. He guessed he’d inherited that particular strand of DNA because he hadn’t exactly lived a clean life himself. “Good-lookin’ as original sin, too,” she added.
“Thanks.” He smiled. “I get my looks from my Southern relatives.” Which wasn’t true. His Texas relatives were fair-skinned and redheaded. Like his sister. The only thing he’d inherited from his mother was green eyes and a penchant to roam from place to place. He got his black hair and roving eye from his father.
Luraleen gave him one last squeeze with her skinny arms. “Bend down here so I can kiss you.”
As a kid, he’d always cringed. As a thirty-six-year-old man, and a former Navy SEAL, he’d endured worse than his aunt’s Marlboro breath. He lowered his cheek.
She gave him a big smack, then rocked back on the heels of her comfortable shoes as the cowboy exited the Gas and Go. “Luraleen,” he said as he passed.
“See ya tomorrow night, Alvin.”
The cowboy colored a deep pink as he walked out the door. “Does he have a thing for you?”
“Of course.” The soles of Luraleen’s shoes squeaked on the linoleum as she turned and headed back behind the counter. “I’m a single woman with needs and prospects.”
She was also in her late sixties with a bad smoker’s wheeze and had about twenty extra years on the cowboy. Twenty hard, unattractive years. He laughed. “Aunt Luraleen, you’re a cougar.” Jesus, who would have thought? It just went to show that some men had no standards. Some women—mainly his sister—might consider Vince a dog but he did have his standards. Old ladies with smoker’s hacks was one of them.
Luraleen’s raspy laugh joined his and ended in a coughing fit. “You hungry?” She pounded on her bony chest. “I got Wound Hounds in the warmer. My jalapeño dogs are real favorites with the customers.”
He was hungry. Hadn’t eaten since Tulsa.
“And I got some regular all-beef franks. Folks like to load ’em up with Cheez Whiz, salsa, and chili.”
Not that hungry. “Maybe I’ll just have a Wound Hound.”
“Suit yourself. Get a beer.” She smiled and motioned toward the big coolers. “Get two and I’ll join you in the back room.”
While Vince’s mother had been deeply religious, Aunt Luraleen had worshipped at her favorite bar with a bottle of cheap booze and a pack of smokes. He moved to the cooler and opened the glass door. Cool air brushed his face as he grabbed a couple of Shiner Blondes. He hadn’t had a Shiner since he’d been in San Antonio visiting Wilson’s mother. Pete Bridger Wilson had graduated BUD/S with Vince and was one of the smartest guys Vince had ever met. He’d had a big round head stuffed with everything from the trivial to the profound. He’d been a tall, proud Texan, a teammate, and a SEAL brother. He’d also been the best and bravest man Vince had ever known, and the accident that had changed Vince’s life had taken Wilson’s.
On the way to the back room, Vince stuck one bottle beneath his arm and snagged two Wound Hounds out of the warming drawer. Those jalapeño and all-beef dogs rolled up and back on one of the nastiest-looking wiener grills he’d ever seen.
“I expected you hours ago,” Luraleen said as he walked into the room. She sat at an old battered desk with a Marlboro clamped between her fingers. Obviously smoking in the workplace was acceptable at the Gas and Go. It probably didn’t hurt that she owned the place.
He handed her the beer, and she held the neck as he twisted off the top. “I had a little trouble with my truck about ten miles outside of town.” He twisted off his own top and took a chair across the desk. “It’s still parked out there on the side of the road.”
“And you didn’t call?”
He frowned. Still unable to believe what he had to confess. “My phone’s dead.” He was Mr. Prepared. Always made sure his gear was in tip-top working order. There had been a time in his life when preparation had been a matter of living or dying. “I think something is wrong with the charger.”
She took a long drag and blew i
t out. “How’d you get here? You didn’t have to walk, did ya?”
“Someone stopped and gave me a lift.” He pulled back the foil on his hot dog and took a bite. It wasn’t the best meal, but he’d certainly eaten worse. Silkworm pupas from a street vendor in Seoul came to mind.
“Someone from around here?”
It had either been the pupas or dog meat stew. The pupas had been smaller. He swallowed and took a drink from the bottle. It had helped that he’d been blind drunk.
“Who?”
“Her name was Sadie.”
“Sadie? The only Sadie from around here is Sadie Jo Hollowell, but she doesn’t live in Lovett these days.” Luraleen poured her beer into a Tweety Bird coffee mug. “She took off right out of high school. Abandoned her poor daddy.”
“She mentioned that she doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Huh. Sadie’s back, then.” She took a drink. “Probably on account of Tally Lynn’s weddin’ this weekend over at the Sweetheart Palace Weddin’ Chapel at six o’clock. It’s a big doin’s.” She set the mug on the desk. “I wasn’t invited, of course. No reason I would be. Except maybe I went to school with her cousin on her daddy’s side and Tally Lynn and her friends used to try and buy beer from me with fake IDs. Like I haven’t known them all their lives.”
Luraleen sounded bitter so he didn’t mention that he’d been invited. “If you aren’t invited, how do you know so much about it?” He took another bite.
“People tell me everything. I’m like a hairdresser and bartender all rolled into one.”
More likely she pried a lot. He swallowed and took a long drink of his beer. The door chimed, indicating a customer, and Luraleen snubbed out her smoke. She placed her hand on the desk and rose.
“I’m gettin’ old.” She moved toward the door and said over her shoulder, “Sit tight and enjoy your dinner. When I get back, we’ll talk about that business proposition I have for you.”
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