Her Secret Love

by Paula Altenburg

  “I mean about me being a downer,” he said, recovering. “And letting life pass me by. You’re wrong, you know. You always wanted to be an actress and I’m actually impressed as hell that you followed through, even if it didn’t work out the way you expected. At least you tried, and that’s more than most people can say. I wish I could be more like you, sometimes. But I don’t have a rich grandfather willing to help bail me out. I can’t afford to leap into things without thinking them through. So I’ve been following my dream in my own way. I’ve been more practical about it, is all.”

  The comment about her rich grandfather was a lit match against a raw nerve. It was true, but also not. She’d been far from certain of her reception. She’d disappointed him too many times. He loved her, yes, but was he happy with her? Proud?

  Not at all. And she hated the reminder that she’d struck rock bottom not once already, but twice.

  “Your dream is to run a gas station in Cherry Lake and be in debt up to your eyeballs?” she asked.

  She was teasing, of course.

  Mostly.

  “See, that right there is another one of those thoughts you should maybe keep to yourself.” He took his hands from his pockets and skipped a few steps backward, light on the balls of his feet for such a tall man. The truck’s engine was humming behind him, its lights on high beam.

  “When you come to work Monday morning I’ll show you my dream.”

  *

  Monday morning, Jess was ready bright and early for Damon to pick her up.

  When they arrived at the gas station, he hustled her past the customer service counter and into the bay.

  At first all she saw were twisted hunks of metal and a mess on a table and the floor in the far corner. Then she realized the metal was twisted into actual shapes. When she moved to take a closer look, she saw the shapes on the table were, in fact, intricate designs.

  Next to the table, an old milk can had been scrubbed of rust and filled with metal sunflowers and pussy willows. Every shiny petal, every tiny catkin, had been individually soldered into place.

  She touched the tip of a finger to one delicate catkin. “Oh, how pretty!”

  She looked around to see what else he had. Propped against the wall was the metal framework of a partially complete tractor, about three feet tall and five feet wide, a three-dimensional piece obviously meant as a wall hanging.

  She spun on her heel to face Damon. “You made these?” Her eyes widened. “You made the sectional of the cherry tree hanging in your office too, didn’t you?”

  The expression on his face was cautious, as if he were uncertain how to interpret her reaction. “I started off making specialty doors and gates for high-end homes and estates. A few of the ranches over Marietta way commissioned gates from me, too. That’s how I got the money for a down payment on the gas station. Now I concentrate on pieces that are more detail-oriented.” He looked away, fixing his gaze on the debris on the welding table as if he’d found something fascinating. Now that she knew what he was doing, she could see that the scraps of metal were more unfinished flowers. His cheeks reddened. “The MountainWorks Gallery in Missoula calls them art.”

  “Of course they’re art.” She looked around. “You must have more pieces.”

  “I do. This is just what I was working on over the weekend. Everything else is at home.”

  “Where on earth did you learn how to do this?” she demanded. It wasn’t a talent he’d picked up overnight.

  “Shop class in high school, for starters.”

  And Jess, who was supposed to have been his friend, had known nothing about it. A tight knot formed in her stomach. She’d been even more horrible to him than she’d thought.

  “The flowers are a gift for my mother,” he was explaining. “They’re nothing special, but people seem to like them and those are what she asked for.”

  Nothing special?

  Jess couldn’t believe that was what he believed. They shimmered with light. He’d used different types of metal for texture, yet each tiny piece was welded to the stem with impeccable precision. She didn’t know much about welding, but she knew that took talent.

  “I don’t get it,” she said. “If you were making money doing something you enjoy, why buy a gas station with it and drive yourself into debt?”

  He shrugged. The bare overhead light captured the blue of his eyes. “I wasn’t going to make more than a living with welding and even that was no guarantee. If something ever happened to me, then my family would end up with nothing. Again. I don’t mind working hard if it means I have something to show for it. But it’s got to make sense.”

  “But if your dream is to be an artist…”

  “No. I want to be able to look after the people I love and help them reach their dreams. My art is my hobby. It brings me personal satisfaction.” He grinned. “Right now it’s buying my groceries. But I take more pride in my business.” He waved a hand around the service bay. “This place is my challenge. I want it to succeed. I want to use it to help my community. I plan on doing whatever it takes to make sure that happens.”

  She admired what he was trying to accomplish, but in the back of her head, all she could hear was John’s wistful voice—I wish I’d made more time for me.

  And Jess wished he’d had more time with her. Some things people had no control over. Others, they did.

  “All I was trying to say to you the other night was that you are as important as anyone else. You don’t always have to be so responsible. Sometimes you should grab an opportunity, even if it seems all wrong for you, just because it looks like fun.”

  The smile left his face. “I tried that once. It didn’t work out so well.”

  There was no mistaking his meaning. He’d just put the past out there, and she had no idea what she should do or say in response other than to choose her next words with great care. “Perhaps it wasn’t worth the effort involved.”

  “I thought it was. At least at the time.”

  They stared at each other—an old-fashioned, gunslinger showdown. He was waiting for her to offer some explanation, to at least say she was sorry, but she couldn’t draw first. He was the one who’d had to turn what should have been a fun, no-strings-attached night into something deep and meaningful. Something she hadn’t wanted.

  And okay, so she’d handled things poorly. But he’d been older and more experienced. The way she recalled it, he’d ruined her first time.

  It should have been with him.

  The bell over the front door in customer service let out a tinkle.

  “Hello? Anyone in here?” A woman with long dark hair twisted into a knot stepped into the service bay. Sparkling brown eyes swept past Jess to fasten on Damon. “Just the man I was looking for.”

  He was the one who should have taken up acting. Despite the two red spots high on either cheek, no one looking at him right now would guess they’d interrupted a standoff. The pleasure lighting up his eyes was unfeigned. “Lil. How are things at the school? You remember Lilian Reynolds,” he said, drawing Jess into the conversation. “She’s the librarian at Cherry Lake Elementary these days.”

  Yes, Jess remembered her. The two women hadn’t been friends. There was nothing wrong with Lilian, but she’d been one of the smart girls Jess had poked fun at. Now she was a librarian. All that studying had paid off for her too, same as with Emma—while for Jess, no matter how hard she’d tried, she hadn’t been able to pull off decent grades. Not on her own.

  She’d envied those girls, even if she hadn’t understood why. She envied them still, although not as much and not in the same way. They seemed to have found themselves while she continued to flounder.

  “Imagine that,” she replied. “How nice to see you again.”

  “It’s nice to see you, too.” If Lilian detected a lack of warmth she’d opted to ignore it. Her platitude sounded far more sincere. While Jess?

  She sounded like the girl she’d been at eighteen.

  “Jess is home for
a few months. She’s giving me a hand while she’s here,” Damon explained.

  “If you’re helping Damon out, maybe you can help me as well.” Lilian’s bright gaze encompassed them both. “I wanted to know if the gas station would be willing to sponsor a carwash next weekend as a fundraiser for the school library.”

  “A carwash?” Damon’s eyes lingered too long on Jess in a speculative way that made her nervous. “I think that’s a great idea. We were just talking about how important it is to help out the community. Right?”

  “Absolutely.” The bell rang, signaling a car at the pumps. The morning rush was beginning, and she seized her chance to escape. “I’ll leave you two to work out the details.”

  From her station behind the counter, instead of the carwash she could hear Lilian exclaiming over Damon’s pieces of art, paying all the compliments Jess should have given him. Jess’s spirits took a nosedive. Rather than tell him how beautiful his work was, how special, she’d asked why he’d wasted his money on a practical plan for his future.

  Stupid.

  Damon wasn’t John.

  Still, while he might never look back on his life with the same level of regret, he seemed to have no one who worried about him as much as he cared about others.

  That wasn’t right.

  *

  Damon jerked the rattling and now useless heat shield off the car on the hoist and tossed it aside with a clatter.

  Whenever he turned his head to the right he could see Jess, rearranging the shelves Aaron had carefully stocked. As usual, she looked too pretty for words. She must have done laundry over the weekend because she was wearing jeans and that pink top he liked. The color brought out the exact same shade in her cheeks and glossed lips. She had long legs for such a tiny package, too.

  And those curves… Every time she bent over he lost his train of thought. Meanwhile, he was covered in grease and had a hole torn in the side seam of his coverall.

  Talk about contrasts.

  The scene from that morning played out over and over again in his head, on auto rewind. Jess had known full well what he was talking about, and yet she’d had nothing to say to him. He should never have brought up the past. She was a butterfly and always had been—flitting from one thing to the next with no thought for the consequences—and he’d known it. But her thoughtlessness gnawed at him. There was more to her than that. More substance. If she tried putting herself in other people’s shoes for a change, maybe she’d realize it.

  A fundraiser for a children’s library was a great opportunity for her to figure that out. Wearing tight shorts and a snug t-shirt with the CHERRY LAKE AUTO logo on it rather than some fancy designer label wouldn’t kill her, either.

  His conscience pinched him but he ignored it. Sure, this was also about revenge, but he was entitled to something.

  It wasn’t like he expected her to thumb a ride naked.

  Later that afternoon, the parts came in for Jess’s car. He drove it onto the hoist and set to work. It was too much to hope for that she wouldn’t notice.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded, rushing into the bay. She didn’t stop until she was up close and personal, her left toe to his right heel. She nudged the back of his leg with her knee.

  All his fingers turned into thumbs and he dropped his torque wrench on the cement floor. “Son of a b—” He bit off the rest as he stooped to retrieve it. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m fixing your car.”

  Now that she had his attention, she moved a few steps away. A panicked look filtered into those thick, blonde-tipped-lashed, hazel eyes. “I can’t afford it. You know that.”

  “Relax. I’ve got it covered for now. I figured your independence was more important.” To both of them. He needed to reclaim some of the space she kept invading. It messed with his head.

  She frowned up at him. “If your art is paying for your groceries, how can your business afford to cover my car?”

  Jess might be a princess, but she wasn’t stupid, and she paid attention. She also had ears. There’d been phone calls between him and suppliers. He’d taken a hit on a recent change in gas prices, too. The only thing she couldn’t possibly know was that he’d paid for her parts by selling some of his art.

  He tried to turn it into a joke. “My business can’t afford you, and yet, here you are.”

  She bristled with indignation. “I earn my keep.”

  “And you’ll be earning those tires.”

  “I have a bit of money, but it’s tied up right now. I’ll pay you back by the first of next week.”

  He’d been angry with her all day, yet she was showing a little consideration, and he got this warm and fuzzy sensation inside. It really was true. Men didn’t think with their brains. “Seriously, princess. Robbing a bank isn’t necessary. We’re good.”

  “No, we are not.” She tugged at one of those pink-tinted lips with her teeth. “You don’t need to do me any favors. Any more favors,” she amended, cutting him off before he could point out—again—how she’d come to be working for him.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “You seem to have this invisible line when it comes to favors. Unfortunately, you’re the only one who knows what it is.”

  “Maybe I’m trying to be a better person. Ever think of that?”

  He started to laugh. He couldn’t help it. She sounded so sincere.

  Her lips quivered, then stretched into an answering smile. “Okay, so maybe I’m not trying to be a better person—I’m trying to turn you into a worse one.”

  “Corrupting others sounds much more your style.”

  “It really is. But I’ll have the money for you on Monday,” she insisted. “Minus the labor, of course. One of the perks of the job.”

  His laughter subsided. She had a reason only she knew for not wanting his help, and he was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt as to what it might be, because honestly, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had argued in favor of giving him money. Whatever her ulterior motive was for the gesture, right now it felt good.

  Better, in fact, than it should.

  Her gaze fell on the welding table he’d dragged off to one side, out of the way, and the can he’d filled with metal flowers for his mother.

  “I didn’t get a chance to tell you how beautiful your work is before we were interrupted this morning,” she said.

  An awkwardness normally reserved for the cab of his truck drifted into place like so many floating particles of dust. There were more important things she could have told him that morning. He’d wanted an explanation. An apology.

  He was never going to get either, because somewhere in that pretty, blonde, complicated head, she’d had her reasons.

  He drew in a deep breath and prayed for patience. Past all the grease and the rubber, she smelled amazing—a combination of vanilla and woman, delicate and fresh. His truck smelled like her, too. Whenever he drove anywhere now, whether she was with him or not, she was all he could think of. It drove him crazy. Knowing that in a few months she’d be leaving didn’t help. He wondered how long it was going to take to get her out of his head a second time round.

  “I’ll let you pick out a piece as a going away present,” he said.

  She pushed a curl that had escaped from its elastic behind one ear and went uppity princess on him. “I don’t want some generic piece you’ve already had on display. I want a sculpture made especially for me.”

  He wasn’t sure whether or not she was serious, or how he’d feel about it if she were. He tested the waters. “I don’t know about that. You’d have to promise me you aren’t going to sell it.”

  Her eyes lit up with pleasure as if she, too, had been sounding him out, and given an unexpected reward in return. “I swear I’d never sell anything you made for me.”

  He believed her.

  That was the problem.

  Because ten years ago, whether she’d admit it or not, they’d meant something to each other. They’d already been more tha
n friends. She hadn’t loved him—not the way he’d loved her—but he could have sworn she’d been close. Everything that night had been damned near perfection. That was why he’d never been able to figure out why she’d done what she did. He could only assume she’d intended to make a fool of him all along.

  And that just didn’t add up.

  She’d been spoiled, she’d been selfish, and often, a little too quick to lash out when she thought she’d been wronged—but she’d never been deliberately mean. Not to him. She’d reminded him more of a wounded animal, protecting herself, afraid to let anyone close.

  He wasn’t going to ask why she’d left him like that—he’d never mention it to her again, not even a hint—but inside, for his own peace of mind, he had to know. Had he meant something to her or not?

  Or had it all been one-sided?

  This wasn’t a star-kissed cherry orchard on a warm, golden-mooned summer night. It was late afternoon in a run-down, debt-ridden garage. The weather was dreary and gray. His coverall wasn’t the cleanest and his hands could use soap and water. Nevertheless, he reached out and traced one knuckle down the side of her cheek. He then used it to tip her chin upward.

  He leaned in and kissed her.

  The world didn’t stop dead on its axis. Nothing fell from the sky. It was a gentle meeting of flesh, not a melding of souls. Yet the taste of her lips was everything he remembered, and more. Without moving a muscle—without batting an eyelash—she managed to take ten years of simmering frustration and dissolve them as if they were nothing more than a spoonful of sugar in a pot of hot water.

  He straightened. A series of expressions tripped across her face in rapid succession. He caught shellshock, bemusement, and then a faint trace of…sadness.

  Definitely not one-sided.

  But not what he’d been looking for, either.

  He picked up the torque wrench, unsettled in ways he couldn’t begin to describe.

  “Go find something to do so I can get back to work,” he said. “You’re going to have to wait until I’m finished with your car before you can leave and this might take a while.”