by Zoe Dawson
“Yes, that sounds wonderful. I’ll have to let you know when I get back. Hit a snag.”
“What snag?”
“This fabulous little sports car broke down. I’m waiting for a tow. If I was back in Manhattan—”
“It would be twice as long,” she said wryly. “Isn’t that car new?”
“It sure is. It just went clunkity-clunk and stopped working.”
“Hopefully it’s not something serious and you’ll have something to look forward to when you get back. So, other than the unresponsive car, how is your escape from Manhattan going? You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to see the sunrise, and it was spectacular. All pink and purple watercolor streaks. Montana is breathtaking, but damn this state is big, filled with guys wearing cowboy hats, tight jeans, and sexy boots, which as far as I’m concerned all go in the plus column. I see trailers on the road hauling horses, cattle, and other stinky livestock. Con column.”
“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.”
“That is the honest truth. I have never seen so many cattle—”
A shiny white-and-chrome tow truck pulled in front of her with Black’s stenciled on the side in black. All she caught was a glimpse of a black Stetson. She did have to think again that Montana, or Cowboy Central as she was starting to think of it, was chock full of plenty of sexy men to take her mind off how lonely she felt.
The door to the truck opened, and a leg appeared. But all she could focus on at the moment was his thick, jean-clad thigh. He reached down to unsnag the hem that had caught on the top of his well-worn black cowboy boot, the hat obscuring his features, but the glimpse she’d gotten of a hard, clean-shaven jaw made her stomach jump and heightened her interest.
She followed his movement back up as he swung out of the truck, giving her the full view of his slim-hipped, broad-shouldered body, but then he raised his head, and the shadow caused by the brim disappeared from his…Ohmigod…face.
The sight of him sucked the breath right out of her. Her mouth went slack and Susan’s voice was nothing but a buzz in her ear.
Brown hair curled around his ears and tickled his neck, dark brows arched over a set of blue eyes that were a knee-melting deep cobalt. She tightened her hand on her phone as she took in his Roman nose, and a mouth with lips that were made to be kissed, the bottom lip fuller than the top.
His blue work shirt stretched over an impressive wide chest. Stitched on his left pocket was his name, TRACE, and on the other pocket, BLACK’S GARAGE.
He moved with a sexy, rolling gait filled with confidence. When he saw her get out of the car, he slowed, his eyes going over her. The way he gazed at her made her breath hitch. Even when she looked down and away from that stare, she could feel his scrutiny. For the first time since she’d signed those divorce papers and walked out of her lawyer’s office, she felt exposed and vulnerable all over again. Those…blue…oh-so-blue eyes. What was she supposed to do about them when all she wanted to do was look back, deeply back, and ask questions?
“The mechanic is here. I’ve got to go.”
“If you need me, just let me know,” Susan said.
She needed a big bucket of really cold water right now, wanting not to be affected by him at all. “I’ll call you with an update,” she said, disconnecting the call and tucking her phone into her bag. She eyed the driver again and tried to remember that oxygen was an important, life-giving requirement.
Maybe Laurel Falls was a perfect place for both breakdowns.
Chapter 2
His attention had switched to her car, and he frowned, taking in the sleek lines.
“Howdy, ma’am,” he said, and the closer he got, the weaker her knees got. “A foreign car?” His voice was a slow, meandering drawl with all kinds of husky in it.
Tapping the brim, he knocked the Stetson back a bit, rubbing at his chin and jaw with a hand that showed the grease around his fingernails as if he were contemplating a very difficult math problem. Dark hair spiked across his forehead. “British.”
He cocked his hip and stared at it some more.
She found amusement both at his scrutiny and his puzzled look. “Do you stare at your cars until they are intimidated enough to fix themselves?” she said with a teasing smile.
As if coming out of a daze, his eyes shifted to hers, then he grinned in response. Oh God, it knocked her socks off. It should be registered with the local authorities as lethal. The man was carrying a deadly weapon…two deadly weapons with those eyes, maybe three with that voice. A trifecta of dangerous. No doubt about it. He was packing some heat. “No, ma’am. Just not sure whether it’s one with the engine in the front or the back.”
“You don’t know how to fix my car. Do you?”
His eyes flashed. “Never said that. I can fix anything, sure as shootin’.”
Something went all soft inside her at those really cute words. They were flavored with his special brand of soft, slow voice. Had her knees completely melted yet? “But you’ve never worked on a foreign car?”
He tilted his head back slightly. “Now, don’t go all skeptical on me yet, Miz…?”
“Hamilton. Rafferty Hamilton.”
“Rafferty,” he mused, and, man, did her name sound good on his lips.
“Old family name. I take it yours is Trace.”
He nodded. “Shirt gives me away. Last name is Black,” he murmured and reached out his hand. She grasped it, his warm, calloused palm sliding against hers sent shivers every which way.
“You own the place?”
This time his smile was slight. “Yes, ma’am, I do.” He turned and she got a nice, very nice, view of his backside in those jeans. “I’ll hook her up and take her to my garage. That suit you?”
“Yes. That’s fine. Thank you.”
“Why don’t you get out of the chill, ma’am, and sit in my truck while I hoist her up?”
She headed for the truck, surprised that he followed. He reached and opened the door for her. Rafferty stared at him a moment. He was a gentleman, and that was something she wasn’t used to. Sean was as liberated as she was, and she handled opening her own doors and her own chores. This was…she was thinking novel, but that downplayed it too much. It was uniquely small town, and very cowboy. “Thank you, Trace.”
The cab of his truck was warm and neat. Very neat. That surprised her. She wasn’t sure why she expected it to be dirty and messy. That wasn’t fair, and she always tried to be fair. Just because he worked on greasy car repairs for a living didn’t mean that translated to him being a slob.
She watched him in the rearview skillfully hook up her car. The car was complicated. Expensive British makes could be temperamental. If he couldn’t fix it, she’d have to fly. She really didn’t want to make the rest of her trip to California by air. She was really enjoying the open road.
His shoulder muscles tightened and bunched as he bent down. Forget it, Rafferty. You’re just passing through, and there was no way a man like that wasn’t being pursued by dozens of women, or he could be married, at least had a girlfriend. Not something she would have wanted to deal with anyway. But, oh my, he was nice to look at.
As he rose and turned, their eyes met in the mirror. Lifting her chin, she kept her gaze steady. Bold and Brash were her middle names. He tipped his hat and gave her another one of those cute smiles. Oh, yeah. She figured Dangerous and Heartbreaker came after Trace and before Black.
With that sexy saunter, he climbed back into the truck, pulled around to the back of the convertible, and pushed switches, watching what he was doing in the rearview.
Making sure there was nothing coming, he pulled onto the highway. He took the exit for Laurel Falls and continued on.
“So, you’re from New York?”
“Yes.”
“The city, I bet.” His eyes went over her, and they cooled suddenly, his mouth tightening a bit. Just like he’d done when he’d looked over her car.
“You’d win that one.�
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“Thought so, fancy sports convertible, fancy clothes. What brings you through here?” His voice held just a slight whiff of censure. Hmm, what happened to that easygoing guy?
“Glacier,” she replied. As the VP of development, it was Hamilton’s policy never to reveal when the company would be scouting land in the area. There were many steps involved in purchasing land and the final decision to place a hotel or resort. The land might end up not being suitable, it could have serious environmental impacts that made it too expensive to develop, the purchase could fall through, and, on rare occasions, locals might be hostile to big corporations coming into their area and disrupting the pace of life and the economy.
“Tourist, huh? You drove all this way to take in the park? That’s quite a trip.”
“I travel a lot for business and I’ve seen most of the U.S. But, from the air, and I wanted to see more of it at ground level.” The sun made the white of the peaks glow where the shade iced them in a smudged blue and etched the crevices and gullies into deep, rich shadows.
“Ah, this is beautiful country.”
She absorbed the view before turning back to him. “It’s breathtaking. I think it was a good decision.”
“So, you’re just passing through, then?”
“Yes, I was headed to Sanderson.”
Rafferty couldn’t believe the ridiculous impact he was having on her. Awareness overload. And yet, there didn’t seem to be much she could do about it. As handsome as he was, he was probably used to it. “Sanderson doesn’t have Laurel Falls tumbling down the side of a cliff or the hot springs.” That was definitely defensive. Sanderson was an upscale town, doing a brisk business in tourism being so close to the park. Excited all over again about seeing Laurel Falls for the first time. She would love to do some antiquing and shopping. “I’m looking forward to something quieter and sweeter, less crowded and chaotic. New York is an energetic city.”
“Laurel Falls is bucolic, even mountain goats roaming around. Shoot. Sanderson is a bit of a drive. Hopefully we can get your car fixed fast so you can continue your trip.”
“You said you can fix anything. Sure as shootin’.”
He chuckled and that husky voice translated into one sexy laugh. “I did. I don’t go back on a promise. And, that’s a promise.” She didn’t like the way his eyes had dimmed and shuttered. What had she said?
Sitting close to this man made the very air in the cab of the truck slam together. There was so much excited friction it brushed along her skin, set a whole field of butterflies free in her belly, and heightened her awareness until it was almost painful.
It was a good thing she was just passing through. No way did she want to get tangled up in this mess. She figured he was charming, a sweet talker, and a skirt chaser. No one could look like that, have that way about him, and be a one-woman man. That’s what she was looking for. Definitely.
But, she’d reserve her judgment for now. Maybe she was off base.
She passed a ramshackle, worn sign that read LAUREL FALLS, POP. 800, and her stomach sank. As they entered, Rafferty saw that Main Street had once been a quaint thoroughfare, but the facades were battered and shabby, the red-striped awnings faded and tattered. There were several abandoned storefronts looking empty and forlorn near Moose’s Feed and Grain, a very large store with concrete stairs, along with a barbershop, doctor’s office, and fire station nicely sandwiched between two branch bank offices. There was an old church complete with a steeple on the small side, a charming park whose equipment had seen better days, and adjacent to it was city hall with wide pillars that really could use a coat of paint.
This town was dying. All that was missing was the tumbleweeds. She’d seen enough of this kind of thing across the United States. Some places pretty close to ghost towns.
“Not exactly what you expected?”
Her head whipped to him. “Um…no. I thought it would be quaint and wholesome looking. Looks a bit downtrodden and…sad.”
“We’ve had some economic decline in the last eighteen months. But we’re hoping that things will turn around. This town isn’t dead yet, and the people here are worth knowing, neighborly and warm. You’ll like them.”
“Probably won’t be here long enough to get to know anyone. I really do need to get back on the road.”
He nodded. “I understand.” He wheeled into a small garage with three bays, BLACK’S lettered on a sign on the white weather-beaten clapboard. Two of the large doors were retracted, revealing a car in each. The last one was empty. There was an old-fashioned Coke cooler outside, a newspaper stand, a stack of windshield washer fluid, and an air machine. Five light blue pumps, one of them diesel, were just as old-fashioned as the cooler, sitting on a strip of cracked and broken concrete. Everything outside was clean and neat, including the big picture windows in the front, just as polished as his shiny tow truck.
“Now this is quaint,” she said.
He gave her a glance and a small smile as he hopped out of the truck and opened the empty bay door. Jumping back in, he expertly backed her car into the vacant spot and then more switch manipulation as he uncoupled her car.
He then drove the truck over to a parking space and pulled in. Getting out, he came around the truck, but she was already opening the door. He reached out and cupped her elbow as she stepped down with her three-inch-heel red suede boots.
The step was steep and she wobbled a bit. He steadied her with both hands. She was close to him, and he didn’t smell like any mechanic she’d ever met. His eyes were even bluer up close, and she could see the shadow of his beard.
“Whoa, there. That first step is a doozy.”
Who talked like that? She hadn’t believed these kinds of guys even existed, and she really liked it. New York City was full of sophisticated assholes who had nothing but power in mind. Who they could screw over to get what they wanted. Sean was certainly like that. Not Susan’s nephew, Greg Chambers, though. He was the exception to the rule. A lone-wolf graphic designer who was the CEO and powerhouse behind his now-very-successful ad company, #PassionProject. He was a tough businessman, but Rafferty liked his integrity and fair way of dealing with his own business.
She could still feel the warmth of his hand on her shoulder even through her coat. “This way, ma’am.”
He entered the garage through the door near her car and closed all three. It was chilly inside, out of the sun. The bay floor was concrete. There was a tool bench on the side and several caddies nearby. He went through a side door where there was a small waiting room. Nice leather chairs that looked antique, a small coffee table with an assortment of magazines, a coffeepot, and a small fridge. The building was old and she loved the wood counters and floor.
Through an open door, she could see the typical gas station fixtures: glassed coolers with beer and other beverages, candy and snack racks, oil and more windshield washer fluid. A young guy with a pimply face and a shock of blond hair was behind the counter. He nodded to her as she came in.
He went into the front and the guy behind the register gave him a couple slips of paper. Trace looked at them briefly, stuffing them into his pocket. “Would you like anything?” he called.
“Water, please.” He came back through with a cold bottle of water. “What do I owe you?”
“Naw, it’s on the house.”
He walked into the garage, shrugged out of his navy jacket, snagging his Stetson off his head and hanging both on a peg. Grabbing a pair of light blue overalls hanging on the same rack, he slipped them over his clothes, zipping them up.
She watched him as he went around to the driver’s seat and popped the hood. She settled in for a wait. Not ten minutes after he’d opened the hood and was standing there staring at the engine, the front door jingled, and Rafferty saw a petite, well-endowed blonde saunter through. Her blue eyes looked around and she called out.
“Trace?”
She walked through, gave Rafferty a quick glance and just as quick smiled, her eyes going
over her clothes and settling on her feet.
“Nice boots,” she drawled.
“Thanks.”
She entered the garage and immediately slid her hand up Trace’s arm. He turned and looked at her. “Isabelle. Business hours. Unless you got a car repair…”
“What is with you lately? We haven’t seen you down at the honky-tonk in quite some time, and we miss our dance partner.”
“I’ve got things to do.”
“On account of your brother coming home?”
“That and Cadie is graduating from high school. She needs a lot of attention.”
“Well,” she said, suggestively, “so do we…me.”
He smiled at her, something wholly flirtatious, imminently charming. “Ah, darlin’, won’t last forever.”
He seemed to do that as easy as breathing, and it confirmed what she figured she knew. Trace was still playing the field. She was now very glad she was just passing through. Tempting as he was, he was as bad as Sean.
She bent down and picked up a magazine as Trace shooed Isabelle out a side door. He glanced at her, but she pretended to be engrossed in her magazine. She couldn’t deny that she was interested in what his brother had to do with him avoiding the honky-tonk. She’d read over three paragraphs before a brunette came in, same deal, then a redhead. Each of them knew him by name, but he gave them both the brush off with the same excuse.
At least he was consistent.
As lunchtime passed and there were several real customers taking him away from her car, her stomach rumbled. She rose and went into the front. She saw the diner when they’d pulled in, but many of them didn’t have the kind of menu she was used to.
She grabbed a granola bar and a cup of coffee. By mid-afternoon, he was finally poking around her engine. She got up and walked into the garage. “So, what’s the verdict?”
“Do you have a manual?”
“Oh no.”
