On Her Side

by Beth Andrews

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” she called.

  “I’m good.” He wandered toward the staircase, checked out the framed photos on a skinny table underneath the window. He picked up a shot of Nora, wearing jeans and a green sweater, and a smiling boy with dark, floppy hair. Her arm was around the kid’s shoulder and they were laughing, looking at each other instead of the camera. Behind them a Christmas tree twinkled merrily.

  “That’s my nephew, Brandon,” she said, coming up behind him. “My gift to him was a trip to Boston for a Bruins game.”

  He set the picture down. He knew Tori had a kid, that she’d gotten pregnant during their senior year of high school, but it still came as a shock that Mystic Point’s own living, breathing, walking, talking male fantasy was someone’s mother. “You like hockey?”

  “God, no. But I like my nephew.” Her lips curved. His stomach pinched. “And I really like getting him better presents than Layne.”

  “You Sullivans take sibling rivalry to new heights.”

  “I prefer to think of it as a healthy competition. One that I usually come out on top of. I do, after all, know the way to a guy’s heart. Food,” she said, holding up a finger for each item listed. “Sports. Video games. Action movies—the more violent and unrealistic, the better.”

  “Angel,” he murmured, “that list might be the way to your nephew’s heart but you’re nuts if you think it’ll work on a grown man, one you’re not related to.” He shifted closer, scanned her face. “There’s only one thing he’ll want from you.”

  “Yes, well, I draw the line at pole dancing, making out with another woman or wearing anything made out of spandex.”

  His lips twitched. “You really do understand what men want.”

  She patted his hand. “You are, after all, but simple creatures.”

  Her skin was warm against his. Soft. Their eyes met and held while something elemental and intense arced between them. She swallowed, lowered her lids.

  And shoved the check at him. “Here you go,” she said breathlessly, her cheeks pink. He took it, careful not to touch her. “I appreciate you doing the work so quickly.”

  He folded the slip of paper, stuck it into his back pocket. “I’d say it’s been nice doing business with you but I’ve never been much of a liar.”

  That grin was back, the one that made him feel like she was laughing at him. And that she wanted him to join in on the joke. “I can only imagine how much repeat business you get.”

  He shrugged. “Next time you feel like taking a crowbar to your Lexus, do me a favor and do some damage to the engine or even transmission. There’s a bigger margin for me on those.”

  “I think my car bashing days are over, but I’ll keep the advice in mind. Hey,” she said when he crossed to the door, “if you drove my car here, how are you getting back to the garage?”

  “I’m walking.”

  “It’s at least five miles.” She grabbed her purse from a small, round table, along with a laptop and briefcase. “I’ll drop you off on my way to work.”

  “No payback for my making you hoof it to work in those heels the other day?”

  “I’ve never been much into revenge,” she said, mimicking his words. “Besides, I didn’t walk to work. Anthony picked me up on the way…” Her mouth went slack. “Wait. Is that why you brought my car over here instead of waiting for me to pick it up? Because you felt guilty?”

  “No,” he growled, giving her the scowl that intimidated men twice her size. She wasn’t fazed in the least. “I didn’t want you at my garage again. I was worried you’d take that crowbar to my head this time.”

  “I thought you weren’t much of a liar,” she teased, opening the door. “I think it’s sweet that you wanted to make amends.”

  Sweet. Him. Jesus Christ. He wanted to back her against that door, press his body to hers and show her exactly how far from sweet he really was. Wanted to shock her, to prove to her that he wasn’t like the other men she knew. He wasn’t polished and civilized with a veneer of politeness and charm.

  He was real. He didn’t sit back while someone poked at him. He pushed back.

  “Well?” she asked, as she stepped onto the porch. “Are you coming or not?”

  He didn’t know and that was the problem. Didn’t know if he was coming or going. Dealing with her made his head spin. Gave him a headache. He couldn’t figure her out and that pissed him off.

  Only one thing was certain. No one was to be trusted.

  Not even curvy blondes with soft hands and warm smiles and a killer sense of humor.

  “Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I’m coming.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  PULLING TO A stop at the sign at the intersection by her house, Nora turned up the air-conditioning. It wasn’t that hot out yet but it was surprisingly warm in her car. Stuffy.

  Maybe because the interior seemed to have shrunk, what with the silent man next to her.

  He smelled good. Really good. Like a mixture of a subtle, spicy cologne and man.

  She cracked her window, greedily inhaled the fresh air like a woman who’d spent the past five minutes with her head in a pillowcase.

  God, get a grip. Griffin York was just a man. A sexy man, yes. She wasn’t blind was she? But sexy or not he was also brooding and cynical and hauled that chip on his shoulder along with him everywhere he went, right next to the bad attitude he made sure everyone knew about.

  “I’m not sure if you’re aware of what’s going on with your father…” Griffin continued to stare out the passenger side window. She had no idea what information he had, or if Dale had been to see his mother again. If his father had tried to contact him since he’d been in town. “Uh…anyway…Ross has interviewed him, twice, but so far he’s sticking to his story.”

  She turned left onto Mechanic Street, tapped her fingers on the steering wheel to the Maroon Five song playing softly on the radio. “What story, you may ask?” she said, unable to stand his silence. “Well, let me tell you—”

  “Not interested.”

  She gaped at him. “How can you say that?”

  He had to be curious. No one could be that cold, that closed off. Could they?

  He grabbed the dash. “Watch it,” he said tightly.

  She whipped her head around, saw she’d drifted into the wrong lane—and into the path of an approaching SUV. Unfazed, she yanked the wheel to the right, waved at the other driver, ignoring the way he laid on his horn.

  Boy, she did not get Griffin. At all. But, if he didn’t want to hear Dale’s claim that he’d waited for Val half the night at the quarry but she’d never showed, that was his business. He could read about it in the newspaper. Or hear about it at Dale’s trial. Because Ross was already trying to pick apart Dale’s statement.

  There were too many loose ends. Like why Dale had left his car at the quarry and what happened to her mother’s vehicle. His answers didn’t add up, and his vagueness about where he’d spent the past eighteen years only made him look more suspicious. Guilty. They could use both against him.

  The truth would come out. She believed that. She had to.

  “So,” she said, racking her brain for a neutral topic of conversation, “how long have you owned the garage?”

  “Five years.”

  “It must be interesting.” She felt him look at her. “Taking things apart, putting them back together again. Learning how things work.”

  “It pays the bills.”

  “I can see you have a great passion for your business,” she said dryly.

  He shifted, thumped his fist against his knee a few times. “I enjoy my work,” he finally said as if she’d tied a rope to his vocal chords and was pulling the words out of him. “And I’m good at it. But mostly, I was lucky. All I wanted was a part-time job so I
’d have enough cash to buy cigarettes, beer and condoms.”

  “The holy trinity of teenage boys?”

  His fast, appreciative grin was unexpected. And so appealing she was glad they were side by side so it hadn’t hit her full force. “For me it was. But I didn’t have much luck with the local businesses. There weren’t many employment opportunities for a juvenile delinquent. By the time I walked into Eddie’s I was sure he’d give me the same runaround everyone else had. Instead he hired me on the spot, told me I had a job there as long as I worked hard and stayed out of trouble.”

  “He gave you a chance,” she said softly. Gave him an opportunity to be more than his reputation, more than Dale York’s son, when no one else had done so.

  Maybe it wasn’t so surprising after all, him not wanting to talk about his dad.

  “Yeah.” Griffin shifted. “He taught me a trade and after he sold me the garage, he still came in every day, put in four hours of work. He told me he was bored but I think he wanted to make sure I didn’t run the business he’d started into the ground.”

  Stopping at an intersection, she waved ahead a white truck. “I bet he’s proud of how well the garage is doing.”

  Griffin lifted a shoulder. “He moved to Ohio about four years ago to be closer to his daughter and granddaughter.”

  “You must miss him.”

  “That’s life. People come and they go. Best not to get too attached to them while they’re around because eventually, everyone moves on.”

  And that was just about the saddest thing she’d ever heard.

  “You’re good at that,” she said, glancing his way.

  His glower deepened. “What?”

  “Good at acting all scary and untouchable. My God, it must be exhausting, being so cynical and angry all the time. Must be lonely.”

  “I don’t have time to be lonely,” he grumbled. “Between customers and my half brother being at the shop all the time, I’m surrounded by people.”

  She refrained from diving into a dissertation about the differences of being alone and being lonely. “I didn’t know your brother worked with you.”

  “Half brother.”

  “Which half are you claiming? The right half? Left? Top half?”

  “Do you ever stop talking?” he asked grumpily.

  “Rarely.”

  She had too much interest in other people. Everyone had a story and she enjoyed hearing their tales. Plus, she had a way with words, if she did say so herself. Of course, her family accused her of always twisting those words—hers and theirs—to ensure situations and conversations worked out to her advantage. But so what? Everyone had their special talents.

  Besides, the quiet made her nervous. There were too many secrets in silence, so much left unsaid.

  “Why the clarification about the status of your relationship with your brother?” she asked. “Seems like a sibling is a sibling to me.”

  “You would think that. You probably also believe in unicorns, fairies and campaign promises.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I would never be so gullible as to believe a campaign promise.”

  She could’ve sworn she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. Maybe he wasn’t as humorless as she’d thought.

  “So, your brother. I take it he’s younger than you? What’s his name?”

  “Tanner.”

  She waited but he didn’t elaborate. “Has he been working for you long?”

  “No.”

  “It’s nice of you to hire him. I waited tables at the café under Tori one summer and let me tell you, it was hell. Pure. Hell. Working with family can be tricky.”

  Griffin slouched in his seat, all bad-boy attitude and sex appeal. “He doesn’t work for me. I’m helping him restore a car and he’s paying me back by putting in a few hours around the shop.”

  “Wow, that’s—”

  “Whatever you do, don’t say I’m sweet again,” he warned.

  “I’m that predictable?”

  “Pretty much.”

  That sucked. Guess she wasn’t meant to be all mysterious and secretive and sexy like her sisters, who kept their thoughts inside their heads. Unless it came to her, of course, and the mistakes they deemed she’d made. Then they couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

  “What’s Tanner like?”

  “Why?” he asked, sounding suspicious.

  “It’s called having a conversation. But if it’s too much for you, I’m more than happy to keep quiet.”

  “Promise?”

  She pressed her lips together. He didn’t want to talk to her, even about subjects that had nothing to do with his father, her mother or the past? Fine. She had better things to do than try to engage him in pleasant chitchat.

  She was good with people, damn it. She slid a glance at Griffin. Usually. Then again, he probably hated everything that was right and decent in the world. Rainbows. Kittens. Pretty blondes.

  She wouldn’t take it personally.

  But, okay, it bugged her. She was a very likable person. Cheerful and amusing and more than intelligent. Some would say charming. Utterly so.

  Who was he not to notice?

  “Do you want to know what I think?” she asked, her knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard.

  “Can I stop you?”

  “I think you’re sort of an ass. I mean, yes, initially I came to you with a request that didn’t sit well with you. I wanted you to help me find the man suspected of killing my mother. How dare I? But really, you need someone to knock that chip off your shoulder.” She flipped her head but the effect was lost because her hair was up. “I mean, who are you not to like me?”

  “That what this is about?” he asked, sounding amused. Of course. The one time he’s not growling and it’s at her expense. “Your feelings are hurt because I’m not falling at your feet, giving you the adoration you think you’re due?”

  She blushed. Did he have to make her feel like such an insecure princess?

  “Of course not,” she said. “It’s about you being so damn angry. I get that you had a tough life and I’m sorry for that—”

  “You feeling bad for me, angel?” he asked softly.

  His gravelly tone raked over her skin, causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms. Had something heated and heavy settling in her stomach. “It’s not pity,” she said, sounding a bit breathless. “It’s understanding. Compassion.”

  “Exactly how compassionate are you feeling?”

  Frowning, she glanced at him. “What?”

  His mouth curved up but his eyes remained hooded. “I’m wondering what I can get out of you. What are you willing to do to show me how you…understand…what my life was like.”

  “Seriously? You’re going to try to frighten me with some lame attempt at sexual intimidation?” She jerked the wheel hard, pulled into the parking lot of his garage with her tires squealing. She slammed on the brakes and he had to reach out and brace his hands against the dashboard. She wished she’d been going faster. “I realize that living with an abusive father was awful—”

  “Don’t go there.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you have to be such an asshole.”

  “Such an ugly word from such a pretty mouth,” he murmured.

  She glared. “I have quite an extensive vocabulary. And I’m thinking of many, many adjectives to describe you. But let’s part ways here before I lower myself any further. Thanks for fixing my car so quickly and for bringing it to me. Have a nice life.”

  But he didn’t get out. She stared straight ahead at the large building, her heart racing. Finally, thankfully, he moved and the tension tightening her shoulders loosened.

  Griffin climbed out of the car but before she could peel out of there in all her pissed-off glory, he leaned
back inside, one arm on the roof, the other holding the top of the door.

  “What?” she snapped, unnerved to have all that intensity focused on her.

  “Tanner’s seventeen,” Griffin said.

  She blinked. “It doesn’t mat—”

  “He’s a good kid. Bright. Quiet. Shy. He loves basketball, dreams of getting a scholarship to play at one of the big universities. He’s good enough to make it, too. And the reason I call him my half brother,” he said, his mouth a thin line, “is because I want to make sure no one thinks, even for a moment, that he came from Dale York.” He tapped the top of her car. “Thanks for the ride.”

  Crap. Crap, crap, crappity, crap-crap.

  Just when she thought she had Griffin figured out, that he was nothing more than an angry, bitter, scary, emotionally stunted man, he had to go and act like a real live human being. Had to make her wonder.

  Damn him.

  * * *

  “ARE YOU STALKING me?”

  At the sound of Jessica’s voice, Tanner raised his head from where he was lining up sugar packets on the tabletop. He’d planned this, he reminded himself. Knew exactly how he wanted to play it. Cool. Confident.

  But then he realized what she’d said.

  “What?” he asked then winced. Brilliant dialogue, dude.

  She set a hand on her hip. “I asked if you’re some sort of deranged stalker. Because, in case you are, I think I should remind you that my uncle is the town’s police chief.”

  He should probably smile to try to put her at ease but he’d never been one to force an emotion he didn’t feel. “I’m not a stalker.”

  “Just deranged, then?”

  His face heated. Shit. He cleared his throat, picked up a sugar packet. “No. I’m here… I wanted to…” But he met the blue of her eyes and his mind blanked, simply wiped clean like an eraser over a whiteboard.

  “Get something to eat?” she prodded when he stared at her like a complete loser.

  “Yeah.” He straightened, rolled down the top of the sugar packet. Unrolled it. “I’m here to eat.”