Revved to the Maxx

by Melanie Moreland

  “Hey, baby,” I crooned. “I was just thinking about you. Christ, I miss you.”

  There was silence on the end of the line.

  “I was heading to my room. Maybe you could finish what you started this morning when you called, you little minx.” I chuckled low and deep in my chest, knowing Red liked that. “I think my cock was about to slide between those pretty lips of yours?”

  I heard Monique’s huff of exasperation and watched as she stormed away, her high heels clicking on the marble floor. I had a feeling she wouldn’t be bothering me anymore.

  I went back to the call. “Charly?”

  A throat cleared, and a voice I didn’t expect replied.

  “It’s Brett. I assume you would like to talk to Charly and not me. I doubt I can help you with what, ah, you are looking for.”

  I shut my eyes, cursing and muttering. I headed toward the elevator.

  “What can I do for you, Brett?” I asked through tight lips.

  “I need a part for a Lincoln. It’s backordered, but there is a dealership in Toronto that has one. I was going to drive in and get it. It would save us the courier charges, but I’d be gone the rest of the day. I’ll catch up tomorrow. I wanted to okay it with you. Charly said you needed to approve it.”

  “Sure. That’s fine.”

  “Okay. Hang on.”

  I let my head fall back in the elevator, part of me hoping it plunged to the basement and ended my embarrassment.

  I heard murmurs and Charly’s loud screech.

  “He said what?”

  Her voice came on the line. “Holy moly, Maxx Reynolds, are you drunk?”

  I started to laugh. Loud guffaws that echoed in the empty elevator. The doors opened, and I walked down the hall to my room, still chuckling. “No, but I think I’d like to be.”

  I explained about Monique, relieved when Charly huffed, then giggled. “I don’t remember getting a ring,” she sniffed.

  “An oversight.”

  “I told you to watch out for the women.”

  “Yes, as usual, you were right.”

  “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

  “Nope. You’re breaking up, Charly. I didn’t hear you.”

  “Gosh dang it. I aid you in your time of need, and I don’t even get the satisfaction of you groveling.” Then she began to giggle. “And I’m not sure Brett will ever recover.”

  “I’ll explain when I get home. He’ll understand.”

  “Right now, he thinks I call you for phone sex. Thanks for that, Bucko.”

  Bucko? That was a new one.

  “You can tell him.”

  “Nah, let him think what he wants. He already surmised we were sleeping together.”

  “Why would he think that?” I toed off my shitkickers and relaxed back on the bed.

  “I think you went a little overboard on the protectiveness thing when you spoke to him. He’s been very, ah, respectful.”

  “Good. He should be.” I frowned. “Any trouble with Wes?”

  “I saw his brother in Lomand while I was in town yesterday with Mary. Aside from his staring, nothing else.”

  “Okay. Keep your eyes open.”

  “As I told you, I can take care of myself.”

  “And as I said, I know that. Just saying, be careful.”

  She muttered something about chapping her ass, which made me grin. “I have to go. I really need some food and some Tylenol.”

  “Okay. Put a cold cloth on your head. Or even better, ask for an ice bag and put it on your neck.”

  “I will. Thanks. And, Charly?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  She sighed, the sound breathy and low over the line. “It’s fine. I expect a huge bonus for that, though.”

  “What would you like?” I asked, playing along, wondering what she would ask for. Her reply slid into my heart, warming the unused organ.

  “For you to come home. I miss you.”

  She hung up before I could reply.

  Chapter 16

  CHARLY

  I dropped my head into my hands. Why did I say that to him? It was far too personal—yet the words had come out before I could stop them. I did miss him. Staying in his house, working at making it better for him, made his absence seem bigger. The silence in the house louder.

  I looked down at the file I had discovered earlier. It was stuck in the back of a drawer, caught on the railings. I had to work it out carefully, and I had been shocked to discover the contents.

  I glanced up, making sure the doors were shut. Brett had left while I was on the phone with Maxx, Rufus was napping at my feet, and Mary wouldn’t arrive for a couple of hours. We were going to finish the wall I had been working on in the garage.

  I opened the file, once again perusing the documents, the story they told unfolding before my eyes. I had sorted the thick folder once I had realized what it contained, and now I read through it.

  The mystery of the 1952 Indian motorcycle was revealed in front of me. Maxx’s dad had bought the first parts, slowly finding pieces to begin restoring it when Maxx was about twenty. Years went by as they searched and discovered more original parts. There were a few grainy photos, some handwritten notes—everything to do with the bike kept and stored in this tattered file. He and his dad invested years of time, and hundreds of man-hours, finding, restoring, and rebuilding the bike. There was a gap in the file, which I assumed was when his mom became ill the first time, and after that, it was all Maxx’s handwriting in the file. Pictures of the bike, complete. Set up in the large bay window at the end of the shop. I glanced toward the window, now vacant, understanding why. There was a police report for the stolen bike. Another one for theft of cash and valuables. The suspects’ names listed: Shannon West and Billy Rines. From the little I had gleaned from Mary—Maxx’s girlfriend and best friend.

  They had stolen from him, taken off together, and left him broken.

  I picked up the picture of the bike. It was spectacular, the fluid lines clean and sharp, the color an intense red with lots of brilliant, gleaming chrome. Beautiful airbrushing along the unusual fenders. The only things missing, the front figurehead and the emblem.

  Maxx must not have attached the emblem before it was stolen. He hadn’t yet located the figurehead. Otherwise, the bike was perfect.

  It was worth a lot of money, but I had a feeling it was the sentimental value of the bike that made losing it so hard for Maxx. Add in the betrayal he felt, no wonder he had trust issues.

  I recalled Mary telling me that Maxx and I had a lot in common. She was right, although Maxx had suffered far more loss than I had. He was left with deeper scars.

  I tapped the file, finding a thicker, safer accordion case to keep it in, and put it back in the file cabinet. Maxx must have forgotten it was there when he told me about the petty cash hidden at the back of the cabinet.

  I had to tell him I knew and let the chips fall where they may. He hated lies, so better I tell him than for him to find out and think I was hiding it from him.

  “Child, what is making you look so pensive?”

  I glanced up, startled. I hadn’t heard Mary come in. Her arms were full, and I hurried over to take some of the piles of pictures from her arms.

  We stacked them on the table in the garage, then headed back to the office. I handed her the file. “I found this.”

  She flipped through it. “Ah.”

  “So, that’s the story,” I surmised. “Why Maxx is so distrustful.”

  She exhaled hard. “That’s the gist of it. He needs to tell you the rest.”

  “If he’s willing. I’m not sure he wants to share.”

  She tapped my nose. “You have no idea, do you?”

  “About?”

  “Maxx has called me several times. Hypothetically to check on the garage, but his questions were mostly about you. He cares more than he’s willing to admit.” She shook her head. “He’s been away
before—I don’t remember getting more than a quick call once or twice while he was away.”

  “Do you think he can trust again? I mean, trust me—enough to tell me and let me in?”

  “I hope so. You’re good for him.” She looked around the garage. “You’re good to him. He will not be expecting this when he gets home.”

  “I hope he isn’t mad.” I indicated the wall. “I worry he’ll think I took this too far.”

  “Give him some time. If he truly hates it after a few days, we can paint over it and take the pictures down, but I think you’ll be surprised.”

  “I am not sure he’ll be happy with the money I’ve spent.” I grimaced with worry. I had used all the petty cash and my own two hundred, but the difference was incredible. Mary had given me her credit card so I could purchase the domain name and rebuild the website, so Maxx owed her for that. His reaction to that information worried me more than his reaction to the changes. I liked Maxx growly and annoyed. Not angry.

  “Nonsense. It’s business. Maxx understands that.” Mary tilted her head. “Has he given you the impression he is in the poorhouse?”

  “No. I see the balance in the business accounts. I get the feeling he is a bit of a, um…” I trailed off.

  “A tight ass?” Mary finished. “He is, but he knows a good investment, and I believe what you have done is exactly that. Now, let’s finish it. He comes home in a couple of days.”

  Those words made me smile. I was looking forward to having him back—I hoped the time away helped clear his head some.

  I glanced at the garage.

  I hope what waited for him pleased him.

  Maxx had an early morning flight, and with the time difference, his plane should land about two. With customs and driving home, I expected him around dinner. I made him his favorite chicken and rice casserole, planning on slipping it into the oven around five. Brett was booked solid all day, and I was busy between the last-minute additions to the waiting room and the final piece for the wall. Once it was hung up, I stood back and looked at it, wondering on a scale of one to ten, how much Maxx would hate it. I only had it dry-mounted, so it wasn’t expensive. If he was furious, I could get rid of it easily. But I hoped he would like it.

  Brett looked at it, threw back his head in laughter, and patted me on the shoulder.

  “That is brilliant.”

  “Will he hate it?”

  “Probably. But it’s eye-catching and I like it. He’ll get used to it. You know Maxx, it takes him a while to warm up to things.”

  Even with the garage busy, I couldn’t settle. I flitted from job to job, finding it hard to concentrate. Finally, I left the garage and went to make Maxx a pie. I told myself I was simply anxious about Maxx’s reaction. The truth was, I had missed him terribly. All sides of him. His growls and glowers. The glares he threw my way when I annoyed him. Our verbal sparring.

  His honest, quiet thanks for the meals I made him. The caring way he was with Rufus. The respect with which he treated his customers.

  The odd moment when he would look at me with tenderness. His gentle teasing. The rare treat of being close enough to smell him. The subtle fragrance of his cologne and just him. The heat that bubbled in the air between us at times. Hot and aching—the way he left me feeling a great deal of the time. Even if he had no intention of doing so.

  I liked all sides of Maxx.

  With a sigh, I finished beating the meringue and piled it on the lemon, still steaming from the pot. I fluffed the egg mixture with the fork for peaks, then slid it back into the oven to brown. I washed up the dishes and took the pie from the oven, sliding it onto the counter to cool. It looked beautiful.

  His favorite meal and dessert. That alone should tell him I missed him.

  I only hoped it was enough to soothe any anger he had over the changes.

  Brett finished about five and left to head home. He assured me he would be back in the morning to talk to Maxx. He was hoping Maxx would take him on for a while in the garage, and maybe allow him to stay in the room out back. He was a quiet guy and enjoyed the privacy. He usually ate his meals on his own at night, the way I did, and went for a long run every evening. He had confessed to not wanting to go back to his father’s place simply because his dad expected him to work in the small store, and he really didn’t like it.

  I wasn’t sure how that would work since I assumed Maxx would be sending me back to the room in the garage, but I wished him much luck with his talk. Brett would be a good addition to the garage and help free up some of Maxx’s time. His email had exploded since the weekend with inquiries about hiring him to restore motorcycles. He was so talented, I hoped he would focus on that endeavor.

  I paced around the garage, finally heading over to the house about six. I had thought Maxx would be home by now but decided his plane must have been late. I slipped the casserole into the oven, fussed in the living room, then began to regret everything I had done.

  He was going to hate it. I just knew it. I had crossed the line, but once I’d started opening boxes in the garage, I couldn’t stop myself. Maxx’s house was so sterile and plain. What I discovered in the boxes was all him. His past. His life. He should have it around him.

  I fidgeted with the edge of a small throw blanket, worrying the fringe when a throat clearing from behind startled me. I jumped, spinning on my heel.

  Maxx stood in the door, Rufus pressed against his leg, happy to have his master back. I had been so deep in my thoughts, I hadn’t heard him arrive. Maxx’s expression was inscrutable as he stared at the room, taking in the changes.

  Finally, he spoke.

  “What have you done?”

  MAXX

  The garage overhead door was shut as I pulled into the driveway, so I assumed Brett must have been done for the day. I knew he had worked extra to keep up while I was gone. Rufus nosed open the screen door of the mudroom and rushed out to greet me, his tail wagging as he weaved around my legs, happy and excited. I patted his haunches and stroked along his back, as pleased to see him as he was to see me.

  I straightened, eyeing the house. There was somebody else I was anxious to see. I had expected Charly to greet me as soon as I arrived, waiting and apprehensive. My gaze skittered toward the garage. Had she moved her things back into her room, so she hadn’t heard me approach? I hoped not. I planned on talking to her about that situation.

  I planned on discussing a lot of things with her.

  I headed for the house, opening the door and stopping in the kitchen, inhaling. She had dinner for me, and it smelled incredible. Sitting on the counter was a lemon pie, the top browned and glistening. My mouth watered just thinking about tasting it. I moved farther into the house, noting how spotless everything was.

  I caught sight of Charly in the living room, and I strode toward her, stopping in shock before I walked into the room.

  For a moment, it felt as if I had gone back in time, the room looked so familiar.

  Except better.

  I made a strange noise low in my throat, and Charly looked up, startled. Our eyes locked across the room, her nervous green meeting my confused brown.

  “What have you done?” I managed to rasp.

  Her movements were a blur. She rushed toward me, her hands flapping, talking the entire time. “Holy moly, Maxx. I didn’t hear you. Way to give a girl a heart attack. Don’t be mad. Well, be mad if you want, but don’t stay mad. I can change it all back. Easy peasy.”

  She reached me, her hands still fluttering. She touched my shoulder, arm, tapped my chest, then clasped her hands across her breasts. “You’re mad. Oh god, you’re so mad, you can’t even speak.” She cupped her cheeks, staring at me in horror. “Are you gonna throw me out?”

  I blinked, feeling disoriented. How could anyone talk so fast and flitter around like a mad magpie? And how did her touching me make me feel so completely relaxed?

  I reached out and pulled her hands from her face. “I am not throwing you out.”

  “Oh,
thank god.”

  Then she launched herself at me. I stumbled back a step or two, then steadied myself and gripped her hard.

  “Don’t be mad,” she repeated. “Please don’t be mad.”

  I looked around the room, still in shock. Gone were the bare, white walls. The room had been painted in a deep charcoal—the same color it had been before Shannon moved in. The only white now was on the chair rail and the trim. The pictures I’d had on the walls were back, my favorite chair in the corner. There were new pieces, small items that belonged to my parents scattered in places. Some bright cushions on the sofa. A warm rug I recalled being in one of the bedrooms upstairs covered the hardwood floors. Curtains hung at the windows. The room was warm and homey.

  Still holding Charly, I walked forward to the center of the room, turning my head to her ear. “Tell me how,” I demanded. “How did you do this?”

  I set her on her feet. She looked up at me, her hands on her hips.

  “You told me I could look in the barn for things. I found the paint and boxes marked living room. I looked inside, and Mary told me it was stuff you used to have in here. She recalled helping you pick the paint color.” Charly waved her hands. “This room wasn’t you, Maxx. Everything in the boxes I found was—plus a few items Mary told me belonged to your parents. I thought you’d like them out where you could see them.”

  She lifted her chin higher, as if bracing for a fight. “You hired me to make your house comfortable. So, that’s what I did.”

  I looked around again. She was right. The room was comfortable, and it was me. Shannon had hated everything about it, preferring modern and minimalistic. She’d packed everything up one weekend while I was away and painted the walls a sterile white. I hadn’t liked it much, but it seemed to make her happy, so I decided not to argue. It was better than listening to her talk about how much she hated the old house. She wanted a sleek, modern place, and I had no desire to live in one. Nor did I want to spend the kind of money she wanted on having a new house built.