Hugging her arms tightly around herself, Mollie said, “It wasn’t the Dark Ages. I wasn’t left on the side of a village well in a basket. She left me with Gran. Who had a full-time business to run and was still adjusting to life as an amputee. Full-time insta-motherhood was a lot for her to juggle. But luckily she didn’t have to. The whole town stepped in to help.”
“It takes a village.”
He was quick with the quips, which Mollie appreciated. “Yes. In this case, quite literally. We didn’t have daycare, so they set up a rotation between twenty different families to watch me in the afternoons. I belonged to all of them from then on. The high school math teacher taught me the multiplication tables. Lucien’s dad sent me to summer camp with his son. Your boss’s husband taught me to drive.”
“But not how to change a tire? The owner of a garage?”
Apparently there was no slipping anything past him. “I only agreed to learn so much. The attention span of a teenaged girl is a tenuous thing.”
Spreading his arms wide, Rafe said, “Everyone helped you. I get it.”
No. He couldn’t fathom the depth of it. Mollie looked out at the bobbing boats. Remembered riding on each and every one that didn’t belong to a tourist. Helping the fishermen. Gassing up boats at the marina. She knew a little bit about every single part of what made this town tick. Her extended families had made sure of it.
“They didn’t just help. They accepted me into their homes, families, and lives. I wasn’t a chore. I wasn’t charity. I was theirs. All of theirs.”
Rafe dipped his head in acknowledgment of her correction. Then moved behind her, folded his arms around her waist, and just held her for a moment.
It felt really good. It settled her. Mollie took a few long, salt-tinged breaths before continuing.
“So, no, I don’t want to date the men whose parents made them dance with me at the middle school father/daughter dance. I don’t want to see the pity in the eyes of people who are convinced that I’m forever broken inside from my mother’s abandonment. But that’s a small price to pay for staying here in a town chock-full of big hearts and generous spirits.”
“I feel like you’re circling in to a point.”
“Bandon might latch on to gossip, spread it thicker than hot fudge on ice cream, but they are good people, wonderful people, through and through. It’s why I gave up a lucrative and prestigious career in Chicago to come back and work here. I owe this town. It is as important to me as . . . as your brothers are to you. They all drive me crazy sometimes, but I care for them, and will spend my life doing so.”
“That’s quite an endorsement.”
“Too much? Did I oversell it?” Because Mollie felt like she’d been talking forever. And might’ve scared him off with her exuberance.
“Nope. You gave me a new way of looking at this place. Put a different frame around it. Loyalty that strong is impressive. Sure as hell makes an impact on me.”
Whew. Rafe really did get it now. “Bandon is just a bigger version of a normal family. They’ve got their quirks, but you love them all the more for it.”
“You think they’ll take Jesse on as a project the same way they did for you?”
Her heart double-thumped. He’d made the logical leap. Proof he wasn’t just listening, but absorbing her point. “Are you worried about my cousin?”
On a grimace, Rafe said, “Worried about my potential slave labor.”
“With your generous intervention and the help of the town, yes, I’m hoping he’ll be over his troublemaking phase by the time the festival rolls around in September.”
“You think they’d take a chance on me? On an idea I’ve got?”
Mollie spun around in his arms. “After yesterday? I’d be surprised if they don’t make you the grand marshal of the festival this year.”
“Bite your tongue, woman.”
“Make me.” They stood there, just grinning at each other for a minute. There was always a low simmer of sexual tension between them, but that wasn’t what hung in the air. It was just . . . fun. She had fun sparring with Rafe. The utterly relaxed, being totally herself kind of fun she had with Lucien and the girls. Her best friends, in other words.
Wasn’t that startling?
Rafe tugged on her ponytail. “I’m serious. I have an idea to expand business at the garage—if Frieda will let me. Restoring classic cars.”
“Is there money in it? If so, I guarantee that Frieda’s in,” Mollie said with only a hint of snark. The woman was notorious for wringing every last cent out of a dollar. Probably how she’d grown two businesses simultaneously. But she also had a heart bigger than Mt. Hood.
Flipping his hand back and forth, Rafe said, “There can be. At first, it’ll just be a nice bump, but it has the potential to grow into something bigger.”
“So, a passion project that produces?”
“Hopefully. I think it could turn into a real moneymaker. End up employing a couple of more people. Bring in more tourists, maybe grow it into a classic car rally.”
It was a solid idea. And so great to hear the enthusiasm in his voice, see it light up those blue eyes. Mollie skimmed a hand down the outside of his arm. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“It was my dad’s big dream for retirement. He wanted to do it with me. We’d talk big about it while working on his car, or his friends’. Didn’t hit me that it could really happen until I settled here. You’re the first person I’ve mentioned it to.”
Funny, the dazed smile on his face made it look like it hadn’t hit him until about five minutes ago. “I’m so glad you did.” She went up on tiptoe to brush a kiss over his lips. Men didn’t share easily. He deserved a reward. “I think it’s a stellar idea, Rafe. I’m sure you’ll turn it into a booming business.”
“You’re sure, huh?” Rafe cupped her cheek, keeping her face a breath away from his. His eyes smoldered darkly. “How is it you see the best in me, no questions asked?”
The question pinched at her heart. How sad was it that he felt he had to ask? “Why wouldn’t I? Maybe wait to broach it with Frieda for a few months, though?”
“No kidding. I need time anyway, to work up a solid business plan. Research who else does it in the area.”
“Sure sounds like you’ve made up your mind to commit to Bandon.”
Another grimace. “I’m never going to like cranberries.”
Mollie could overlook that character flaw due to his flawless kissing technique. “How do you feel about ice cream?”
“Two thumbs up.”
“How about I buy you a cone as a thanks for listening?”
“I’m buying.” He dropped a featherlight line of kisses from her forehead down to her lips. “You’ve given me enough today.”
Uh-oh. The whole point of this lunch jaunt was to prove to herself that she wasn’t falling for Rafe. Instead, she’d shared a deeply personal story she almost always kept under wraps—and been completely bowled over by his righteous indignation on her behalf and implied willingness to let the town grow on him.
All the ice cream in the world could not cool her off.
Which was a problem . . .
Chapter 13
Wick’s Garage, 4:00 p.m.
Mood in the service bay—surprisingly good. Chances it’d last? Slim to none.
Rafe pointed at the stack of tires in the corner with a lug wrench. “Today I’m going to teach you how to change a tire.”
“How come?” Jesse sounded curious. Not like he was pushing back just for the hell of it. Which had been the way of it the first two afternoons the kid had spent here. He was sulky. Ready to argue that the sky was polka-dotted if Rafe called it blue. But it was nothing Rafe couldn’t handle. Hadn’t handled a million times each between Flynn and Kellan.
Today had been different, though. He swept the whole garage without being reminded. Checked the list on the computer to see who needed a courtesy call about their car being ready. Again, without being asked. He�
�d done a one-eighty from being a pain in the ass to at least tolerable.
Maybe he’d gotten laid.
If so, that’d be Mollie’s damn problem to deal with.
Thwacking the wrench against his palm—and wasn’t that a familiar feeling that shot him right back to a deserted Chicago forest preserve, scaring the shit out of some double-crossing scum—Rafe said, “Because it’s something you’ll need to do a lot while you’re working here. Because you can drive, which means you ought to be able to do it.” Dredging out of his memory what really motivated teenagers, Rafe kept going. “And mostly, because your cousin doesn’t know how. Thought you might enjoy rubbing your new skill in her face.”
Something that, if you knew how to read teenaged boys, could be interpreted as a smile ghosted across his face. “It wouldn’t suck.”
“Good enough.”
Rafe crossed to the iPod dock to take a shot in the dark at spinning tunes that wouldn’t double the kid over in fake nausea—which had been his reaction to everything from old school head-banging rock to country to some weird electronica shit that Kellan must’ve loaded as a joke.
“I heard about what you did.” Jesse took a deep breath, and then all the words spilled out faster than cereal into milk. “Mollie and Gran wouldn’t tell me, but I heard about it at school.”
In Rafe’s old life, I heard about what you did was usually said in a hushed whisper. It happened after a big beatdown on someone trying to horn in on McGinty turf, like an out-of-towner trying to recruit and getting booted ass-first out of Chicago. Or the time they relocated an entire truck of cash headed to the casino in Wisconsin. Said in a whisper because those things were never official. Never acknowledged—unless you counted the victory ribeyes at Gene & Georgetti’s.
At most, Rafe would stare for an extra beat or two. Long enough to make the person piss their pants in fear for bringing it up at all. Then he’d slow-slide his gaze away.
Jesse, though, was almost bouncing in his unlaced high-tops. The statement had burst out of him like the explosion of water when someone uncapped a hydrant on a hot summer day. And Jesus H., the kid lived with a pot dealer. He ought to be dialed in. Not hearing it secondhand.
He turned on Kanye, then angled back to face Jesse. “You mean us getting into it with the idiots who broke into your gran’s shop?”
“You caught the guys. You punched one.” Excitement and yeah, a little awe lit up those eyes the same color as Mollie’s.
Tongue in his cheek, Rafe said, “I didn’t have my lasso with me. Had to think fast.”
“Your brother kicked the other guy all the way across the street. How’d he do that?”
All the way across the street. Flynn would snort beer out of his nose at hearing that his legend had grown. Guess his new, bad-ass rep would come in handy if he needed to bounce anyone from the Gorse.
“Lots of practice. Not to sound too much like a pain-in-the-ass adult, but practice almost anything enough and you can get good at it.” He jerked his head at the boring, ten-year-old sedan in the middle of the shop floor. “Changing tires, for instance. We can time me doing it, then you. See if in a couple of weeks you come close to catching me.”
“Catch you? I’ll beat you,” Jesse boasted, with a rare grin on his face.
“Big talk. I’ll let it slide this time. Because you haven’t yet witnessed my mastery of lug nuts.” Relief washed through him. This was working. Jesse was, if not excited, then at least engaged.
“Could you show me how to do it?”
“Kid, that’s the plan. Haven’t you been listening?” Rafe plucked the top tire off the stack and started rolling it across the floor.
“No. Could you show me how to punch? How to beat someone up?”
Holy fuck. Thank God the tire gave him something to hold on to. Or Rafe might’ve raced right out the door.
This was what happened when you tried to be a good guy. When you stuck your neck out to help someone. Rafe thought having a gofer around the place would make his life easier. Make Mollie worry a little less about her cousin and allow some of Rafe’s ruggedness to rub off on a kid being raised by women. Win, win, win, and he could put his feet up and assume angel wings were his.
Yeah, that was the dumbest thing he’d done in a long time.
Because Jesse needed real help. Rafe remembered Mollie mentioning that he’d not only been kicked out of school, but picked up by the police a time or two. And that was serious shit.
His problem was that he needed direction.
Rafe had never met a problem that he didn’t fix. It was second nature to him.
If he didn’t step up and give Jesse that help? Then Rafe would be the one with the problem. Because he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
What should he say?
What would Mollie want him to do?
Shit. Rafe let the tire fall. Dug a hand through his hair. “Do you want to learn how to punch? Or how to defend yourself?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Intent. What you do with the muscles and fists. Do you want to be able to beat someone up? Be a bully?”
“Not a bully. But I wouldn’t mind scaring a few assholes. Like those guys you beat up.”
“Hey. That’s not what happened.”
“Go on. Take the credit. Everyone’s talking about it.”
“Doesn’t mean they’re saying the right things.” Never, ever before had Rafe needed—or wanted—to downplay his actions. But mob life, and the reputation he’d built for being tougher than everyone else, was the old way.
This . . . this town of parades and the sourest damn fruit on the planet and people who genuinely wanted to know an answer when asking how you were . . . this was real life now. One he’d chosen to embrace. A life where people didn’t beat each other up every other day. A life where fists shouldn’t be the solution.
“I didn’t beat anyone up, Jesse. That’s giving extra licks, as punishment. I used one punch to stop a crime. Period.”
“They deserve more than that. For upsetting Gran.” The kid practically vibrated with the need to act. To avenge his pot-smoking, amputee vet of a grandmother. Rafe wanted to meet this woman who inspired so much loyalty in a child who’d only recently moved in with her. “If you teach me, I could show them how wrong they were.”
Oh, Rafe understood the impulse. He was proud of the kid for wanting to stand up for his grandmother, do right by her.
He was damn sure Mollie wouldn’t agree, though. Not if it ended with Jesse getting kicked out of another high school. That definitely wouldn’t get Rafe in her scrub pants any sooner.
He’d talked to the police two nights ago, after giving his statement. Jawed with them. That’d been surreal. Cops sharing info with him out of gratitude. Talk about a mind fuck. And something that never would’ve gone down in Chicago. But sharing what they’d told him might get Jesse off the revenge train.
“The criminal masterminds who broke into the shop had been high as kites. Said they were bored and that it’d been a dare. Something to do.” He grabbed two sodas from the mini fridge in the corner and handed one over. It’d give Jesse something to do with his hands besides pumping them into fists. “They’re going to pay plenty for a pretty low-key bad choice. You don’t need to pay for making a different kind of bad choice.”
“I still want to do something,” he said, low and fierce. “To help her. To make her feel better.”
No wonder Mollie wanted to help Jesse. Beneath all the sulking and smart-ass, there was one hell of a big heart. The idea of doing his part to keep even one kid from going down the wrong path, the one that he had, resonated with Rafe. He could do this. For Jesse, for Mollie—who believed in him enough to make Rafe believe he could be the guy she saw. And yeah, he needed to do this for his own sake, too.
“How about I give you an advance on your paycheck?” Rafe walked over to the till, pulled out a Hamilton, and pressed it into Jesse’s hand. “Buy her some flowers at the grocery store.
Nothing big or flashy. Just something bright to put on her counter that’ll distract her from the boarded-up window. You’ll be a hero.”
“You think?”
Wow. Someone really needed to show him the ropes. “Kid, flowers can get you out of almost any scrape with a woman. We’ll call that your number one lesson learned today. That’s even more important than knowing how to change a tire.”
“Thanks.” After the bill disappeared into Jesse’s back pocket, he took a long swig of his soda. “Does this mean you won’t teach me how to fight?”
Stubborn, too. Rafe didn’t know if he should sigh or smile or swear.
“Let’s start with the tire. We’re still on the clock. Gotta make sure we don’t let Frieda down.” That was the right thing to do, as the mechanic Frieda had entrusted with her husband’s beloved garage.
As a good guy.
As a responsible citizen.
It wasn’t enough, though. Who else would teach Jesse how to handle himself? He’d already gotten in trouble over and over again. He needed a way to channel that loose energy and frustration.
Rafe sure as hell wouldn’t step in as the missing dad. Or even a big brother. But he could be a . . . a guide. Try to help him stay on the straight and narrow.
So as he popped his own can, Rafe continued, “Once you’ve pulled your weight here for a whole week? Then, yeah, I’ll teach you the basics. Of how to defend yourself. Including a long lecture about not beating people up just for shits and giggles.”
“Really?” Jesse’s face lit up like a firecracker. “Thanks. You won’t regret it.”
“I’d better not.”
“Maguire.” A man’s voice hollered from the front office. “You want to help me knock a few heads?”
At first, Rafe’s pulse kicked up into overdrive. Who could resist the fun of an offer like that? God knew he never had in the past. He actually set his can on the floor and had taken two steps before his brain caught up to . . . well, the rest of him.
No head-knocking. He’d just laid down the law to Jesse all of two stupid seconds ago. And? Not so much that he knew better . . . which he did. More that he’d sworn to change. Sworn to be different. To be a better person. Rafe had turned over a new leaf. No matter how hard it was, he’d stick to it. Even if he’d only given his word on that to himself? It mattered.
Bad for Her Page 16
