“If you ask me, you all stink.” High heels crinkled her nose.
“Well you know,” the parts counterman answered, “Tyler forgot his perfume, maybe he could borrow yours. Something from Paris? He has a thing for France.”
“You should know,” Tyler replied. He returned to Amanda. “So how are you holding up after your bumpy ride last night?”
She shrugged. “Same as usual. Let me know if you need help breaking a trunk latch on an Infiniti.”
They chuckled.
High Heels chimed in. “Wow. I would’ve been so scared. I mean, what if you hadn’t escaped?”
Then I would be as helpless and pointless as you. Amanda looked at the others and said, “Anyway, back to work, boys,” and headed for the door.
Laughter followed as she returned to the dimmed lighting of the shop. She had cars to put together again and could do it without King Ryan’s horses, men, or help in general. She’d made the mess, not him.
~ ~ ~
With the rate Rebecca’s legs pumped, the brisk morning air cleansed her lungs, teased at the sweat on her brow and neck beneath her low ponytail. In her thin gray sweats and loose, purple jersey shirt, she stretched her stride. By the time she returned to the marsh pond, she slowed where the geese stirred from their temporary shore beds. They were due back in Canada after taking a break in Colorado. If only she could migrate out of trouble.
She shook her hands loose as reality mixed and diluted her physical rush. What a soap opera. Amanda denied her problems, covered up her past, and acted indifferent to being kidnapped. She must think she had control somewhere.
After a quick survey of Federal, Rebecca jogged across the four-lane avenue.
Then there was Ryan, the somewhat silent type. He’d shown up, found Amanda safe and sound but didn’t head back to Bayfield. Why?
Questions, she sighed, all she thought up were more questions. If only it’d stopped there. But besides questions, Ryan had stirred more. She’d sparked at the locking of their eyes, the calm coolness in his green-hazel depths. Her heart flipped when she replayed the image of their directness. She had also witnessed the strain around them. Amanda had refused his cut-to-the-chase request.
She climbed the steps to the apartment then took a deep breath and bent over into a final leg stretch. As she held the pose, her muscles teased relaxation. The short, stained carpet brushed at her fingertips. She closed her eyes and thought of the air inside. Ryan had already filled the apartment with his hard-working aroma mixed with mountain evergreens.
Outside, she felt cool, collected. Maybe her body’s reaction last night was a fluke, anxiety from having to play hostess.
She straightened. Time to see if he was awake yet and then she’d see he had no effect on her whatsoever. She fished out her key and sighed, grasped the doorknob. A fluke.
Inside, she spotted the blankets tossed up over the sofa back. Yep. He was awake. She inched forward cautiously, peeked around the corner to the shallow hall. The bathroom door leaked a sliver of light at its base. He currently occupied the only bathroom in the apartment. Fine.
She turned back and closed the door, deftly slipping off her jogging shoes in the process. Maybe he’d want coffee. It sounded good to her. She headed for the kitchen.
Her hands came up before she fully processed the naked, male chest as her momentum propelled her forward. Her walk had stopped in mid-step. Her balance was lost. When she stumbled, muscular biceps fell into view as his arms came up and steadied her.
She closed her eyes and her lungs renewed their heavy breathing from her jog. An invisible cloud of scrubbed pine swallowed her.
His chest lifted under her hands as he inhaled. She peered up, met eyes swirling like a rush of leaves in a hot breeze. His heart rhythm wasn’t exactly relaxed either. She discovered from the pulsing sensation sizzling into her palms.
A coffeemaker puffed dry bursts as it finished brewing. She still existed in time and place. Her brow furrowed as she struggled to focus on the bathroom door. “I thought—”
“Me, too.” Her gaze zipped to his face.
He let her go, took a step back. He sent one hand through his damp hair. “I mean, when I woke, I thought you and Amanda had left for school and work.”
She offered a slow nod as her eyes roamed down his wide chest to a trim waist. Diagonal tendons guided her gaze lower, but the skin display terminated by the top of his jeans. Her face grew warm. It wasn’t from jogging. “My first class starts at ten today.” She returned to his face.
The corner of his mouth lifted. A dimple came into existence. She realized she’d not been the only one assessing a body, aware of her baggy clothes, her hair plastered to her forehead by sweat. She wasn’t giving him much worth appreciating.
Feeling a need to bail, she moved past him and went for the orange juice in the fridge, felt his eyes throughout her trip.
“I take it you’re done with the shower?” It should be safe to dare a glance now.
He nodded and rubbed the stubble along his narrow, sharp-angled jaw. “I was going to shave after I got the coffee started.”
His large, stroking hand riveted her attention. She smiled. “Well, please. Feel free to proceed.” Down, woman. Focus!
The sexy twitch to his lips reappeared. “I won’t be long.” When he returned to the bathroom, she let out a long sigh as if she’d been drug through a battle of wills.
“Does Amanda ever come back here for lunch?” He’d left the bathroom door ajar. Water splashed in the sink.
“No.” Rebecca grabbed a glass out of the cabinet. “She pretty much goes all day.”
“Why is that?”
She shrugged, couldn’t help it though he couldn’t see her. “She’s Amanda.”
“You said the same thing last night. What do you mean?”
“It means I can’t explain her at all. Want some eggs?” She rinsed her glass, washed her hands.
“Sounds good. With what?”
She pulled out a pan then went for the eggs in the fridge, observed the absence of food besides bread. “Something eggs can’t go without—toast.” The bread followed the eggs onto the counter.
“Of course.” His words sounded enhanced by a smile. Shame she couldn’t see it. “Amanda doesn’t share much.”
“Even less.” She found the trash and tossed the eggshells. “I don’t get it. She acts like . . .”
“Like what?”
She swallowed her gasp but couldn’t stop her whip around to locate from where the suddenly very close, almost intimate voice came. He leaned against the entryway to the kitchen, his arms crossed. No crashing into his chest this time, though the fact he kept it bare caused her body distress and she fought control of her eyes from drifting along carved lines. He maintained the relaxed look while she kept trying to camouflage her hypersensitive body.
“Well,” she shrugged. “Sometimes Amanda gives me the impression I feel like I’m talking to a photograph—nothing underneath, nothing worth looking into.”
His head tilted slightly as he seemed to consider her words. “That sounds about right.”
She handed him a plate. “It’s easier to stay on the surface.” She grabbed a fork, left the drawer open for him, and headed for the couch.
The drawer closed. From about two steps behind her, he asked, “What’s your major?”
Inwardly, she groaned. “Haven’t decided yet. Maybe I’ll follow Mom in agricultural science.” She shoveled food in before words could take away being strangers.
When he sat, those worn jeans outlined long legs with plenty of iron-rich muscle stretched out along them.
“And your dad?”
He kept going, digging. “He . . .” She glanced at the tool clock on the wall. “Oh! I gotta go.” She finished off the last
bites on her way into the kitchen, ran water over the plate, and then gulped down the rest of her juice. Past the living room where he remained seated, she shut herself up in her bedroom.
After gathering up a change of clothes, clutching them to her chest as a protective barrier, she hedged her way from the bedroom. Her stealthy moves weren’t necessary.
Ryan had left the couch. She heard dishes clinking in the kitchen. She slipped into the bathroom and eased the door shut. A sigh passed from her lips.
The previous attraction hadn’t been a fluke from playing hostess on such short notice. Oh, how the warm, dense air wrapped her in his masculine scent. She closed her eyes and pictured his large hands back on her hips like earlier when he’d restrained her from an all-out collision in the kitchen.
Her back leaned into the door. The cold metal of the knob jolted her skin. She opened her eyes, scanned the room.
The sooner Ryan finished his business with Amanda and Denver, the better. She wouldn’t let her imagination play at what might happen should he stay much longer. Education was her goal here, and she couldn’t allow a time slot for a very temporary romance. It was best to leave feelings unstirred.
~ ~ ~
Ryan leaned against the counter, coffee cup in hand. He sipped as his left arm came around his chest and under his shoulder. The warmth of his arm proved poor substitute for the lingering outlines of pressure Rebecca had left on his chest.
Her hands had branded him while her widened, storm-swirling eyes had absorbed him.
His mouth curved at one corner. The flush in her cheeks had revealed embarrassment. She must’ve compared his half-naked cleanliness to her baggy clothes and sweaty self. Chestnut hair tendrils had plastered to her face. His fingers had ached to push them away and caress the soft skin on the way. The sweat hadn’t deterred him. Her wild raspberry scent had strengthened. If anything, her appearance had enhanced the wild, natural effects, less sweet, tartier, better flavor, he imagined.
His eyes had dropped to her mouth. Her hard breathing had left pink lips parted. His own lips had grown too light. They’d needed to feel the pressure of hers.
Below his belt buckle, space grew limited. He yanked hard on the reins of his physical response, gained mental traction. Who cared what he needed or wanted? Even if it seemed like Rebecca wanted the same, it didn’t matter. He had to protect Amanda.
She’d clearly shown she wasn’t interested in his concerns. But she didn’t even have a clue why he was here. His hand pushed through his hair, feeling unnervingly frustrated.
He glanced at the bathroom door. What he wanted had to go to class. So he’d do what he needed and get Amanda to listen. She was rushing around and giving herself no time to think. It was time she started.
He pushed off the counter, rinsed his cup. Digging out a fresh black t-shirt, he tugged it on then zipped up his bag.
With said bag over his shoulder, he headed down the stairs to the parking lot.
After he climbed into his truck, he paused with the key near the ignition. Even if Amanda hadn’t lived with guilt these last five years, he had. He deserved some closure. Amanda would answer to him.
He cranked the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. Even with city traffic and stoplights, Ryan still made it to the dealership in record time. As the dealership fell into view, he took the side street where Amanda’s Jeep stood out from the anonymous herd of parked employees’ cars.
Remember why you came. He moved thoughts of Rebecca to the back of his mind, to the side of the situation. Alarmingly, Amanda stood in front of the blinding white, flat-faced building, trademark uniform of gray shirt and industrial blue pants cutting a stark outline. Her eyes found his truck. They widened into perfect, pale blue discs. He turned into the employee parking lot, slipped into an open spot near her Jeep. The rearview mirror reflected Amanda cutting across the street, hurrying toward him.
Once he stepped down, she was at his side. The tool bag she carried bumped against his leg.
In between breaths, she asked, “Did you see it?” Her eyes refused to focus on one spot. They darted around the parking lot.
“See what?”
“Someone said one of the desk girls got into an accident. Right out of the parking lot. You didn’t hear anything?”
He shook his head. “No, I—”
Sirens wailed into earshot. They waited. The flashing lights flew by them and turned a right at the corner coffee shop. The sirens quieted, blue and red lights disappeared behind the building.
No other employees came out of the dealership. The unclouded sun turned the parking lot’s rows of cars into glinting solar panels. Growing warmth amplified the smell of a black rubber river, tires under cars rolling nonstop along Broadway.
He studied Amanda. Her face lacked color, and she still hadn’t caught her breath. “She should be fine,” he offered. “She couldn’t have been going very fast out of the parking lot.”
She nodded. “Right.”
“Friend of yours?”
“No. She’s in sales.”
He nodded. When else would he get the chance to talk to her? “Let me guess, the high heel type?”
Chapter 8
Amanda whipped around, blue eyes blazing. Her tool bag banged against the side of his truck. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He saw no depth in her eyes, just shallow, defensive anger. Shields up and holding or she had no idea what he had meant. He shrugged. “I remember them not being your type. Have you had a change of heart?”
She peered down the block. “I was caught off guard, Rye. You keep bringing up ancient history.”
“And you look like you could use a break. How about grabbing lunch?”
“Pass. I don’t work well on a full stomach.”
He crossed his arms, tried a smile. “I remember differently.”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes, didn’t make it past the heat in her rounded cheeks. “Getting old, I guess. Metabolism’s not the same.”
“You ever miss Bayfield?”
“Geez, Rye—save the chitchat. I gotta get back to work.” She turned toward the dealership.
“Amanda.”
She paused by the truck’s rear bumper. “What?”
“Do you remember why you left Bayfield?”
She stiffened. With her back to him, she shook her head. “No, Ryan. I don’t.” She gazed back at him, eyes wide and anxious. “Would it help?”
The pained confusion in her face tore at him. She couldn’t remember, and if nothing he said triggered anything . . . He attempted one of Josh’s charm-infested winks. “I don’t want you forgetting me.”
Her return smile dropped. “Is that why you called?”
“I—what?”
She faced him. “Right. It was you, wasn’t it? Why?”
“I don’t—”
“Why, Ryan? After all these years, and then you pretend to be a telemarketer? What’s your problem?”
His hand went for his hair, but he stopped and lowered his arm. “My problem? You’re the one obsessed with high heels.” Her eyebrows lowered, gaze darkened to navy twilight. The words fell out of his mouth. “A Gaudy Clip came into my shop.”
Her mouth formed a silent O while her eyes drained of emotion. “So?” she tried uselessly.
“You remember, don’t you?”
Employees had begun filtering out of the building. A skinny boy with greasy black hair and a tousled version of Amanda’s uniform hurried to her side.
“Amanda, did you see the wreck? Is Tiff okay?”
Amanda’s dead eyes stayed on Ryan. “I’m going back to work.” She turned from both of them.
“Amanda,” Ryan began. “I need to talk to you.”
“Save it.” She shook her head, kept
walking. His fists clenched. Great job, Ryan. Keep pushing. It seems to be paying off.
“She gets like that,” the kid, name tag—Tyler, advised. “Give her a few hours.”
“Thanks.” Ryan headed for his truck.
Inside, he stared at the plastic, gray-blue dashboard. Based on her reaction to his mention of the Clip, she did remember, at least something. She used to tell him everything. He should go after her, demand and . . . she’d just push him off in the middle of her work day. He sighed. He’d wait, again. She did need a cooling-off period. Besides, he knew where to find her. Waiting at the apartment wasn’t an unwelcome idea either. What time would class finish? He pulled out of the spot, glanced at Amanda’s Wrangler. He’d see it again soon enough.
~ ~ ~
Yeah, he’s staying with us, Rebecca texted from her seat on the light rail in response to Uncle Jay’s inquiry whether she knew anything about Amanda’s visiting friend from Bayfield. She paused, and then added, sleeping on the couch. Another pause. For just a few days.
Their uncle could take worrying about his nieces to the nth degree. All those mystery stories seemed to cloud his perception. He seemed to suspect every one of evil deeds, whereas Rebecca suspected Ryan of being sincerely concerned for Amanda with no ulterior motives.
Is he there now? Her uncle pressed.
Could be. I’m not there yet.
K, thank you. See you on Saturday. Take care.
At the stop, she climbed into her car and devised a plan during her twenty-minute drive to the apartment. Beneath her dark blue, deep opening blouse and beige, capris-length slacks, her skin itched for some personal space. The air rushing in through her car’s opened window stirred loose tresses of hair kept from her face with a simple headband, but it wasn’t enough.
A Running Heart Page 9
