by Regan Black
She’s a friend of the family, he reminded himself as he changed into a T-shirt and gym shorts for the night. She might as well be another little sister. As if the two sisters he had weren’t enough to worry over on any given day. When he added in the two sisters-in-law, even he could see the last thing he needed was another woman in that category.
Yet thinking of Kenzie in any other type of relationship held far more risk. He wasn’t ready to date, wasn’t looking for a receptionist or even a tenant for the trailer. Draping a sheet over the couch, he squeezed the pillow between his hands, trying to wedge Kenzie into the sister category.
She just wouldn’t go.
Maybe it was the big blue eyes or the soft lips or that ironclad willpower that kept her going forward no matter what bombshells life dropped on her. Stretched out on the couch in the darkness, he could admit part of his attraction to her might be tied to the way she’d handled the Camaro on that track. The woman could drive. Her delighted grin had been infectious and the way her small hands worked the gearshift and steering wheel slid right under his defenses.
He caught himself rubbing his shoulder where her hands had touched him, and punched the pillow under his head. Dwelling on any aspect of her as a woman was the wrong thing to do. He should be working on regaining some sense and perspective.
Logically, he knew she wasn’t over there in the trailer savoring the feel of that kiss the way he was. She was probably annoyed—and rightfully so—that he’d taken advantage of the moment. Then why did the taste of her hold him with such an unbreakable grip?
Because he never planned to leave himself open to that kind of longing and need again.
His mother had tried a couple times to set him up with someone new. That last attempt had been a miserable night, he recalled, with some regret for the woman involved. He suspected his mom frequently sent single women and their car troubles his way, with her fingers crossed that one of them would break through the grief that kept him locked up in his work.
Her well-meaning attempts to see him happy again only made him feel more broken inside, drifting further beyond repair.
Desperate for sleep, he forced his mind back to what he’d felt and heard while test-driving the Camaro. He wasn’t satisfied with the clutch performance from second to third. He suspected the most likely root of the problem and would tweak it tomorrow. Any other concerns and solutions evaporated as the memory of Kenzie’s dazzling happiness when she took the wheel played across his closed eyelids.
Letting her stay here was a mistake, yet he was committed now. Instead of taking her to Sunday dinner and kissing her, he should have been asking why she didn’t have a boyfriend helping her out. He’d sat up and reached for his phone to text Mitch and ask about Kenzie’s personal life when he realized there was no good way for his brother to interpret that kind of question.
She didn’t strike him as a woman who would let him steal a kiss while she was in a relationship with someone else. Kenzie radiated integrity and loyalty.
No. Just like everything else lately, he’d have to deal with his hang-ups on his own. Mitch worried about him enough already. No sense giving his brother more cause to come around and pester him. He was being an idiot, and he’d given Kenzie his word that she could stay. If she felt inclined to answer the business phone and repair her car by herself, he should shut up and let her.
Attempting to get comfortable in his makeshift bed again, he closed his eyes and kept them closed until he fell asleep.
All too soon, sunlight through the window brought him awake and he dragged himself to the shower to face Monday. If he was working, with the music amped up and power tools running, maybe she wouldn’t bother asking him what he’d meant by kissing her. He could hope. And if he was working he’d be too preoccupied to do something dumb and try to kiss her again.
Thankfully, when Kenzie walked into the garage with her coffee and an easygoing smile, she didn’t seem annoyed or inclined to hold that kiss against him. She didn’t seem inclined to chat, either. He noticed the dark smudges under her eyes, but kept his concern to himself as she pulled coveralls over her tank top and shorts. After lacing up her steel-toed boots, she started in on her pitiful junker, pausing whenever the phone rang.
Over the next several days they fell into a surprisingly comfortable routine. In the mornings they worked side by side. He found and fixed the clutch issue on the Camaro and sent it off for the interior and exterior work, returning to the more typical maintenance tasks. Kenzie booked service appointments, searched for and ordered parts, did an inventory on a whim and fielded calls for the tow truck, as well as potential restoration clients.
He stayed away from the community center, telling himself the neighborhood would survive his absence for a few more days. Without a good reason for leaving, he couldn’t take the chance she would discover his unpredictable and unpleasant hobby. Instead he worked late or researched cars he might want to restore. Although he was tempted to do his drive-bys while Kenzie was working at the club, he resisted the urge. Security system or not, he didn’t want Kenzie coming home from a shift to find the garage empty.
When she wasn’t scheduled early at the Escape Club, she ordered lunch and they would sit down in the office and eat together before she headed to her evening shifts. Although Kenzie’s sunny demeanor was usually at odds with his perpetual solitude, he found himself enjoying those conversations more than he anticipated. She loved sharing stories about working on cars with her dad, and she never lectured him about his lacking social life. He eventually realized she was deftly avoiding the topic of anything related to Murtagh or the lawsuit, and Stephen found himself happy he could help her, even if it was only to serve as a small distraction.
Happy in any capacity wasn’t something he’d ever expected to feel again.
Though she was eager to return the loaner, he’d convinced her not to stop with a new fuel system, but to go ahead and take care of the long list of potential troubles with her car. During her shifts at the club, Stephen hustled to get the parts she would need into his storeroom, for her to find at the right time.
She had excellent skills as a mechanic, and if he needed extra hands around the shop, she would have been at the top of his new-hire list. He told himself it wasn’t just because it was pure pleasure watching her peel off the oversize coveralls whenever she had to leave. Though he tried, he couldn’t kick that fascination of her long-limbed body out of his head, not even when he reminded himself Kenzie needed a friend more than a pseudo boss hitting on her.
Between the GPS tracker on the loaner car and the constant communication between him and Grant and Jason, Stephen didn’t feel the need to tail her to and from the club or blow up her phone with check-in requests. If Kenzie had any idea how many text messages were exchanged regarding her safety on any given day she’d be furious with all of them.
It wasn’t that they didn’t believe in her ability to hold her own, but rather a general unease about the guy suing her. They hadn’t heard anything out of him after the car had been vandalized at the club, and though the security cameras hadn’t offered a conclusive ID, everyone assumed the vandal had been Murtagh.
As Stephen finished up an oil change service for Mr. Cartwright, a faithful customer from the neighborhood, he was waiting for the phone to ring with a Kenzie update. She’d put in two hours at the shop before her midmorning appointment with her lawyer. Apparently he wanted to give her an update on the deposition process and schedule. After that she was supposed to go straight to the Escape Club for a double shift.
“That’s a sorry excuse for a man right there,” Mr. Cartwright said from his typical waiting place, near the doorway between the shop and the office.
Stephen glanced up from the tire pressure gauge. “What’s that?”
“Old” Mr. Cartwright had lived in the neighborhood, a block down from his parents’ place, for as long as Stephen could r
emember. His hair had gone white and wispy and his shoulders were stooped, but his mind was sharp as ever. One of Stephen’s first customers, he brought his car in for maintenance every three months like clockwork, had a cup of coffee and shared his opinion on everything from the weather to global politics. With a wry chuckle, he always claimed waiting while Stephen tended to the car got him out of his wife’s hair and saved their marriage.
He raised his paper coffee cup toward the television Stephen had installed in the small customer waiting area he’d carved out of the office space when he’d bought the place. “That man is alive and walking around thanks to the Hughes girl. He should be on his knees thanking her, not suing her.”
That brought Stephen to his feet and he hurried over to the television. The cameraman chose that moment for a close-up shot of Randall Murtagh’s red-cheeked face, while a ticker at the bottom of the screen ran a summary of how he’d come to file a civil suit against Kenzie.
Stephen couldn’t hear anything Murtagh said because Mr. Cartwright had hit his stride, rattling off a litany of opinions about trial-happy lawyers, community heroes and bitter old men until at last the interview was over. As soon as he had a break, Stephen meant to ask Julia why Murtagh’s legal team allowed him to do public interviews before the case even got rolling.
His concentration fractured, he turned to the checklist posted on the wall to help him tick through the last details of Mr. Cartwright’s service. He sent the older man on his way with a hearty handshake.
Alone in the garage, Stephen sent Grant a text message as a heads-up. He didn’t want Kenzie getting blindsided by this while she was on shift. She was popular among the club staff and probably equally liked by regular customers. He knew someone would mention it to her.
With time to spare before his next appointment, he closed the driveway gate and retreated to the office to search the web for a replay of the interview. He decided it was a good thing Mr. Cartwright had talked throughout the interview because Stephen wouldn’t have been able to control his language.
The accusations and outrageous claims Murtagh aimed at Kenzie and the PFD had to qualify as slander. Someone needed to give the jerk a serious wakeup call. As Mr. Cartwright said, the man was alive and well when he might just as easily have been dead.
Stephen groaned when the interview showed pictures of the man’s burns. He wouldn’t presume to judge another man’s pain, but those burns were mild enough that they had to be completely healed by now.
“Vindictive bastard, aren’t you?” he said to the monitor when the interview finished.
Stephen pushed back from the desk as a familiar wave of helplessness surged through him. Other than quiz Julia or send a sympathetic text message to Kenzie, he couldn’t do a damn thing for her. His temper reared up and he slammed his palms into the metal file cabinet, rocking it back against the wall. With an oath, he stalked out to the shop to find a better release valve before he did something irreparable in the office.
Mad as hell on her behalf, he cranked up the music as he debated his options. He could cruise by the community center, for all the good that would do around noon on a weekday. It was much easier to strike back at those useless drug dealers from the shadows, though reporting a few drug deals wouldn’t help Kenzie. He sent a text to Mitch asking what the PFD was doing to protect Kenzie and their own reputation. No telling when his brother would have time in his shift to reply.
Stephen picked up a wrench, spinning it repeatedly in his hand, desperate for some kind of action. There had to be something to bleed off this pent-up frustration. He’d failed Annabeth. He wouldn’t fail Kenzie, too. Staring at her car, he decided to start with that.
She might get pissed off when she discovered he’d taken over the project. Too bad. This wasn’t about charity or generosity. The sooner this car was up and running, the sooner she could sell the thing and churn the profit into a better car. Assuming he could convince her that was her smartest option.
Decided, he set to work before his next maintenance appointment arrived.
Chapter 5
Kenzie left her lawyer’s office feeling less than optimistic about the civil suit. The son of a firefighter, Paul Corrigan had been recommended by the PFD. She liked him well enough. He was young and smart and he was willing to roll up his sleeves and get creative. More than all that combined, he wasn’t afraid to go up against the notorious Marburg law firm.
Paul had laid out what they had so far and what he expected Murtagh to do during the depositions next week. He was on the verge of explaining his plan to counter those moves when his assistant had interrupted them with the interview disaster. All of it echoed through her mind as she drove toward the pier for her shift at the Escape Club.
“She was too small for the task,” Murtagh had said as the studio flashed her academy picture beside a picture of his burned leg. “And I’m not even a big man.”
Big baby was more like it, she thought darkly, gripping the steering wheel while she waited for a traffic light to change. When Murtagh had first filed his complaint, she’d told everyone up the PFD chain of command how he’d fought her attempts to get him out safely. He’d argued with her long enough that the fire cut off the first clear escape route, putting them both at more risk.
Still, she’d amended her original plan and managed to get him clear of the blaze before the second floor dropped on top of them. The body-cam footage from a police officer on the scene proved Murtagh had walked to the ambulance on his own power. Of course, as the paramedics tried to treat him, he’d shoved away the oxygen mask so he could complain more loudly about her ineptitude. At the time, she’d chalked up his nonsense to smoke inhalation, and rejoined her crew as they put out the fire.
Both the PFD and her lawyer had statements from the police officer and paramedics and a few bystanders willing to step up in her defense. Those statements had been enough to ward off any disciplinary action against her on the original complaint, but Murtagh had kept on gunning for her.
Though Paul wasn’t happy about it, he’d reminded her that Murtagh was getting this outrageous free publicity only because he’d given twenty years to the PFD. He served as his own expert and the media couldn’t resist his controversial agenda to limit women in the PFD to desk roles.
Murtagh spouted off as if the women who had fought fires on the front lines as far back as the 1800s had never existed. Good grief, the academy—the same academy they had both attended—had pictures of women who’d stepped up as firefighters while most of the men in the area were serving overseas during World War II. Why wasn’t anyone in the media asking his opinion on those women?
By the time she reached the club and parked in the spot near the kitchen at Grant’s insistence Kenzie was furious all over again. She sat there trying to breathe through the temper and worry, to push all this to the back of her mind so she could be pleasant for the long hours ahead. Given a few minutes, she’d be able to smile again. Just as soon as she found something better to think about.
The feel of Stephen’s lips against hers popped back to the front of her mind and she couldn’t help reliving that sweet, tender moment. Not even that kiss was a straightforward happy thought to carry with her tonight. Not when she factored in his reaction. As eager as she’d been to see where something more personal might lead, it had been clear the following morning that Stephen wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened.
Which was okay. His reaction was better than okay; it was the smart approach. Angling for a conversation about a kiss would have made her look needier than she felt already. Forgetting that kiss was for the best. She didn’t need any more complications in her life right now, especially the sort that came in the form of a handsome, lean mechanic with a sexy scowl.
Getting nowhere, Kenzie left the car and walked in the back door of the club, nearly plowing into Grant, who was on his way outside.
“I was just coming to
check on you,” he said, with his easygoing smile.
Knowing his history, she wondered if he ever had to practice the calm, confident expression. Probably not. Grant maintained a pragmatic outlook when it came to adversity, and made a point of always looking ahead and moving forward.
“Here I am,” she said. “Who’s onstage tonight?”
He ignored her question. “You doing okay?”
“Sure.” Though she tried to give him a warm smile, it felt stiff and awkward on her face.
“That’s not your best look.” Grant exaggerated the move as he leaned back. “Walk with me a minute,” he said, turning her around. “If I let you clock in now, you’ll scare off everyone inside.”
“Your employees are tougher than that,” she said, deliberately misinterpreting him.
He held open the door she’d just come through. “My employees need to have something to do and customers to serve, or the club is just another empty warehouse again.”
“We don’t want that,” she said. Though it came out with an edge of sarcasm, she’d meant it sincerely. The Escape Club made a difference for customers, staff and the people who came by seeking “Alexander” to help them through various sticky situations.
She walked alongside Grant toward the river, the breeze teasing a few strands of hair from the twin French braids she’d woven it into this morning for the long day.
“I wanted to say thanks,” Grant said.
Kenzie was lost. “For what?”
“Keeping Stephen out of trouble,” he told her. “He hasn’t been spotted near the community center in almost a week. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up.”
All she’d done was fill his schedule from open to close and keep him talking about cars. “I haven’t done anything special.” If Stephen had wanted to go out, he’d certainly had ample opportunity during her shifts here at the club. It made her wonder why he wasn’t taking advantage of those hours.
