Her Secret Love

by Paula Altenburg

  He’d never had a woman quite so insistent on protecting his reputation. All things considered—especially considering the source—it was cute.

  She’d been painting all day. After weeks of her nagging, he’d finally given in. The wall behind the customer service counter looked good in green with a silvery tone to it that would no doubt show the dirt, but brightened up the entire area as she’d assured him it would. She planned on painting the shelves in a pale gray accent. Right now those shelves were stacked in his office.

  “Awesome,” he heard Aaron say when he came in for his shift, his tone indicating it was anything but. “I hope I’m not the one who’ll have to keep these walls clean. Oh, wait. Yes. Yes, I am.”

  Damon abandoned the car and went to the door so he could watch the afternoon entertainment. He wasn’t about to miss this. He hadn’t figured out if they liked or hated each other. Probably a combination of both. Either way, they’d both met their match when it came to bickering, and he found it hysterical.

  Aaron was giving Jess the evil eye. “Way to keep adding to my workload, Blondie. Raise that bar high.”

  She bent at the waist, scooped the aforementioned blonde hair in her hands, twisting and refastening the curls on top of her head with a big plastic clip. “Don’t worry, Red. I saved fun stuff for you, too. You get to redo the lettering on the sign over the door. I can’t reach it.”

  “Let me guess. We’re painting it pink?”

  “No,” Damon interrupted from where he was standing at the door to the service bay. “I draw the line at pink.”

  “You should have drawn the line long before this,” Aaron replied. He stowed his backpack in a corner that hadn’t yet been painted. “You a man or a mouse?”

  “I’m a man who knows how to pick his battles. Watch and learn, grasshopper.”

  “You guys are hilarious,” Jess said. “But you have to admit, it looks better in here.”

  “It does look good,” Aaron conceded, eyeing the paint. “What does that say about me?”

  “That you’re in touch with your feminine side,” Damon said, helping him out.

  “You own the place. I think it says more about you touching yours.” Aaron cast a sly, knowing look at Jess. “Or someone’s.”

  Jess stuck her nose in the air, all uppity and adorable. “The only thing touching my feminine side right now is impatience. This place looks fantastic, and you both might as well admit it.”

  Aaron held up his hands. “I already said it looks good. Damon’s the one with no taste.”

  Damon never grew tired of Aaron’s sharp sense of humor. He was smart, did well in school, and had his future mapped out. He’d applied to six different universities but swore he favored Montana State, although he was waiting on scholarships to see where he’d get the most money. When it came time to replace him it wasn’t going to be easy.

  Replacing Jess wouldn’t be any easier, and he’d rather not think about it. A lot could happen before November rolled around.

  She followed him back to the service bay. She took a seat on one of the tool boxes, propping her elbows on her thighs and resting her chin on the backs of her knuckles while she stared into space.

  Something was going on inside that complicated head. He didn’t know what it was, and it made him uneasy. He hadn’t been paying enough attention to her. She’d been asleep when he’d crawled into bed last night and he’d been too tired to wake her.

  Only a few more weeks and all his free time would be hers.

  Still, he couldn’t help feeling guilty. And as if he was missing something that might be important.

  “Want to give me a hand?” he asked, casting a glance over his shoulder at where she was sitting.

  Even though he wasn’t serious, she jumped to her feet. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  At least she’d dressed for practicality today. She wore a pair of jeans torn at the thighs and knees, and an old college sweatshirt of Carrie’s. They were already stained from painting. It wasn’t as if she could ruin them any more than they already were if she got dirt and grease on them.

  He’d raised the car enough for him to reach under it, but he had to stoop to do so. Jess, a great deal shorter, could stand upright. Her hair clip, however, immediately got snagged on a chunk of rusted metal.

  Damon reached over and nudged it free with a finger. Old clothes or not, she didn’t look like the type of girl who’d be interested in the underbelly of old cars. And yet, she looked right at home.

  “Remember when you first walked in here and were all ‘Where’s the hand sanitizer?’” he asked. “Look at you now.”

  “I was wearing a six hundred dollar dress. These are old jeans Carrie planned to throw out.” She looked at her sleeve, which was spattered with dabs of green latex. “Let’s hope she doesn’t want the sweatshirt back, either.”

  “The dress was pretty enough. I like the jeans more.” He lowered his voice, aware Aaron was trying to eavesdrop. “I don’t have to worry so much about getting you dirty.”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “I’d forgotten what sweet talkers you Montana men are.”

  “What sweet talk we talkin’ about, princess?”

  “Well, now.” She could give as good as she got. She dipped a finger inside the open collar of the shirt he wore under his coveralls, then dragged its tip up the side of his throat to his lips. She fluttered her lashes. “Maybe the sugar coming out of this cowboy mouth. And I know a good place for you to be putting that mouth tonight.”

  Holy Hell.

  Everything next happened fast.

  He’d had his hand on the rusted bolt for the oil pan. It flew off in a gush of cloudy, yellowish liquid, hit the concrete floor, and bounced away. Thick liquid shot over Jess. She squealed, trying to shield her face with her arms, turning her back, but the damage was done. Dirty motor oil dripped off her face and clothes. He caught her chin in his palm, turning her face to the overhead light.

  “Did you get any in your eyes?” he demanded.

  She sluiced oil off her cheeks with her hands. “My eyes are fine.”

  After personal safety, containment was the next priority. He grabbed a rubber mat hanging from a nail on the wall and threw it over the drain on the floor. He then seized the bright yellow spill kit that was stashed in a corner.

  Aaron came to see what all the commotion was over. He skidded to a halt in the doorway. “What the—Uh oh.” He took one look at Jess and fled. No doubt he expected fireworks.

  He didn’t, however, know Jess that well. She had a thing about neat and tidy, yes. But she also had a way of rolling with the punches that Damon adored.

  “This is like a scene from a Stephen King movie, except this isn’t pig’s blood,” she said as he cleaned up the mess with the kit. “So if you think about it, things could have been worse.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I could have had to report the spill to the Department of Environmental Quality. In which case, pig’s blood would be less of a hassle. But I think I got most of it.” He looked her up and down. “Or maybe you did.”

  “I’d normally pay a fortune for a hot oil treatment. But the oil would be hot. And smell a lot better. At least this is free.”

  “It is now. I’d planned to take it out of your pay.”

  Oil dripped from her clothes. She was a mess.

  But not, it suddenly struck him, the hot mess she’d been when she arrived in Cherry Lake. She had a smile in her eyes even now that hadn’t been there the day she’d come to him, desperate for work.

  As hard as it was to believe, she really liked working here.

  And something else struck him too, like a punch to the gut. He loved her and everything about her. The way she looked covered in oil, or first thing in the morning with her hair all in tangles, or in fancy, inappropriate dresses. He’d loved her in high school and he’d love her when she was ninety. The thought of her leaving terrified him.

  But if she stayed, it would have to be because she
wanted to and not because he asked. She had to do what made her happy, not him. All the sparkle inside her—everything that made her Jess—he didn’t want to lose that. If she couldn’t be happy here, it would kill him to watch that part of her slowly die and know he was the reason.

  Maybe that was what she was worrying about.

  He grabbed a clean pair of coveralls off a shelf. She’d be lost in them, she was so tiny, but she only had to wear them as far as his house.

  So much for the art show. Tonight, he was focusing all his attention on her.

  *

  The MountainWorks Art Gallery in Missoula wasn’t far from the Center for the Performing Arts and the city’s public library.

  Jess would have liked to park her beat-up old car as far away from the gallery as possible but she had her grandfather with her and didn’t want him to have to walk. Her heels also made it impractical. Being short was a curse.

  “The dress is pretty. Who are you trying to impress?” her grandfather had asked when he got in the car.

  She wore a simple black Armani cocktail dress with a twisted front. It wasn’t meant to impress anyone. She didn’t want to look as if Damon were paying her to be with him tonight. She wanted the show to go well.

  He’d been working so hard.

  “You’re my date,” she replied. “So it would have to be you.”

  She found a parking space and took her grandfather’s arm. She’d hoped to arrive at the same time as Damon because she knew he was nervous, but they were a few minutes late.

  The show was on the main floor of the gallery. The black-tiled ceiling muted the glow from the directional lights strung across the entire length of the room. Damon’s freestanding sculptures had been arranged with careful attention so as not to block anyone’s ability to examine the wall hangings more closely.

  His height made him easy to find. He stood with his back to them as they entered, next to a pillar, speaking with someone Jess assumed was with the gallery. He’d had his hair cut. He looked comfortable in the charcoal gray Italian suit she’d convinced him to buy even though he’d protested he couldn’t afford it. It was a business expense, and he couldn’t afford not to, she’d insisted. It wouldn’t go out of fashion for a few years.

  Suddenly, she felt as if she were intruding.

  “Go on,” her grandfather said, giving her a discreet nudge in Damon’s direction. “An artist needs arm candy and you’ve had plenty of practice.”

  She shot him a look. “Thank you. That’s not offensive at all.”

  “It’s only offensive if it’s not true.” He lifted both grizzled brows in a challenge. “Are you saying it isn’t true now, either? And that’s not why you’re here?”

  She wasn’t saying anything. “If I’m here as the arm candy, why are you tagging along?”

  “I’ve got a checkbook and I know how to use it. Do you think I don’t know how to work a room, too?” He winked at her. “You can be my arm candy or a handsome young fella’s for a change. Take your pick.”

  She and her grandfather were more alike than she’d realized. He planned to make himself noticed. She wondered what else he had planned and how worried she should be.

  “I won’t do anything to embarrass you if you don’t do anything to embarrass Damon,” she warned him. “This is important to him.”

  “I think I know what’s important to a boy from Flathead County a lot better than you seem to.” Her grandfather prodded her again. “Now go.”

  A smile spread across Damon’s face when he saw her, crinkling those gorgeous blue eyes. He introduced her to the gallery’s owner. “This is Jessica Palmer. A good friend of mine.”

  The introduction threw her a little. It was as important to her as ever that they were friends, first and foremost. But she’d thought—hoped—they’d become…more.

  How had she expected him to introduce her, however? As the woman he was sleeping with?

  Because the look in his eyes, and the way he slid his arm around her waist, made that point loud and clear. She tried to relax.

  The gallery owner shook her hand, then spoke to Damon. “Let me get you each a glass of wine and I’ll start introducing you to people.”

  “I’m glad you’re here,” Damon whispered into her ear as soon as the owner was gone. “I’m nervous as hell.”

  “You don’t look it. And you nailed the metro look,” she teased him. “We’ll talk more later about you getting that tattoo. I have some ideas.”

  More and more, as the evening progressed, she found she wasn’t necessary to him—not as arm candy, moral support, or anything else. He was a listener, and therefore, a good conversationalist. He liked learning about other people. The ones here tonight were interested in his art and that was a subject he knew inside out.

  And, too, a number of his friends and family made an appearance to show their support, leaving her presence unnecessary. His sister Alayna arrived, looking tall and beautiful in a bright dress and boots, a wilder, more feminine version of her equally attractive older brother. Together, the pair drew every eye in the room.

  Jess drifted away to find her grandfather.

  Tonight was proof that she’d worried for nothing about Damon working too hard. She’d always admired the way he could zero in on what was important. He’d never have any regrets. He wasn’t like John, who’d worked solely for money. Damon loved what he did, both here and at his gas station. He did this for himself as much as for anyone else. Maybe more so.

  Being with him was far easier for her than on him. She went off in all directions. He kept her grounded. She’d loved him when she was eighteen but been too scared to admit it. Too afraid to accept what was offered because she hadn’t done a thing to deserve it and had no idea what to do with it even if she did.

  She wasn’t scared any longer.

  But this time, if she stayed, she was staying because he wanted her here and not because she’d talked her way into his life. He had to ask her.

  And that was something he’d never done. He had too many other things in his life that were equally important to him.

  *

  Jess’s grandfather had been into the wine.

  Damon wasn’t his keeper, though. And he seemed to be having a good time.

  The show was winding down. His friends and his sister had already left. He’d been half afraid Jess would leave too, but she’d stayed. Right now she was charming a tall, silver-haired man with a moustache.

  That little black dress had proved to be a distraction. All Damon could think about was what would happen after the evening was over. He’d asked Aaron to open the gas station in the morning. It was the weekend, so the service bay was closed. Tonight and tomorrow were going to be all about her. They’d sleep in. He’d cook breakfast for her. He had a bottle of her favorite wine in the fridge.

  And maybe they’d finally get around to discussing whatever she had on her mind. Even now, he could see she was fretting about something.

  “I like that sectional of the Swan Mountain Range,” Nate said. “But I was told it wasn’t for sale.”

  Damon dragged his attention back to the older man. “No. That piece is from my personal collection.”

  The older man’s face lit up as if he were betting on a horse race he knew was fixed. “I’ll triple your asking price.”

  Damon appreciated the offer but he didn’t need any more of Nate’s charity. “It’s part of my personal collection because it’s an early work I was experimenting with, trying out a new welding technique that didn’t turn out quite the way I wanted. You don’t need to buy anything. I’m doing well enough on my own. These days I can look after my family myself.”

  “It’s not charity.” Nate drew himself up straighter. His eyes turned to steel. He wasn’t as tall as Damon, but still managed to make him feel small. “And even if it were, there’s nothing wrong with accepting a helping hand when it’s needed, or for me to be supporting one of my own, either. I’ve been down and out, boy. I had help along t
he way. Now that I’m old I can do as I please.” He patted his checkbook, in the breast pocket of his sport jacket. “I don’t care if the welding’s not perfect enough for you. I like that piece the way it is. It’s an investment. Someday, when you’re famous, I can say I’ve got one of your earlier works. Name your price.”

  Damon gave in. “Consider it a gift, then.”

  “I’ll talk to the owner. He’ll set the price.”

  Damon’s gaze kept wandering to Jess. Every once in a while she’d turn her head, catch him staring, and smile at him. His brain’s synapses misfired.

  Nate saw what was distracting him. The steel in his eyes crept into his tone. “Now that we’ve got the matter of the artwork out of the way, I’m a little curious as to what your relationship is with my granddaughter. She’s a bit flighty and her judgment’s questionable, but I’m fond of her all the same. I’m not really keen on her going back to LA, but she’s got her own money now and I can’t tell her what to do with it. I was hoping you could talk her out of it.”

  That caught his attention. “Jess is going back to LA?”

  “So she tells me.” Nate prattled on, not appearing to notice how stunned and confused Damon was by the news. “Something about doing commercials.”

  Her grandfather had already given her the money. She was heading back to LA. That was what she’d been keeping from him. Hurt, hot and knife-sharp, sliced through him. No matter how busy he’d been, she’d had plenty of time to tell him something so important.

  He’d thought he’d been prepared for this. But right about the same time he’d realized he couldn’t help loving her, a part of him had begun to assume she loved him back and that November would never come. That wasn’t the case. November had arrived early, blowing in like a blizzard in June.

  Blood roared in his ears as more synapses misfired. He heard his own voice, but as if from a great distance.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “I’ve got to go say goodbye to some people.”

  Chapter Fourteen