Whatever It Takes (A Saratoga Falls Love Story Book 1)

by Lindsey Pogue

  “You spoil me,” he says and spears a piece of egg and hashbrowns into his mouth.

  I take a bite of toast, licking the butter from my lips. “Yeah, well, I won’t be home for dinner tonight. Mac and I have a date. I know what you’ll eat if I’m not here, so I figured you’d need at least one real meal today.” I lift a shoulder. “Plus there’s putting up with me, especially these past few months . . . and the house. I figure you deserve to be spoiled, just a little bit.” I wink at him.

  Reilly nods, all too compliant. “You’re right. I should be spoiled a lot, and I can think of a few ways you can do that.” His mouth quirks into a wolfish grin.

  My eyes narrow and I try not to smile. “I’m sure you can.”

  “There are nightly foot rubs, shoulder massages, you could iron all my clothes—”

  I bark out a laugh. “You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. I know you’re Mr. Neat and Tidy, but ironing’s completely pointless. In fact, Cal might even fire you if you showed up in an ironed and starched uniform. He’d think you’d lost your mind.”

  Reilly shrugs. “I didn’t say you had to starch my laundry.” His eyebrows dance as he looks at me askance, biting off half a piece of bacon. “Don’t worry, there are other ways you can thank me. Many of them, actually.” His eyes darken, his smile turns delightfully predatory, and he can’t seem to set the plate on the bedside table fast enough.

  I shriek the moment he turns to me, and in my attempt to scamper away from him, I fall out of the bed and onto the rug on the floor. I can’t suppress my laughter at the hilarity of it all—the thrill. I screech as Reilly, booming with merriment of his own, crawls down onto the floor after me. His arms wrap around my waist, and the growl that rumbles from deep in his chest makes my insides warm and hum with excitement. “You have to finish your breakfast,” I squeak through a laugh as he playfully tickles my sides.

  “I’m suddenly hungry for something else,” he says into my neck and his arms lock around me, preventing me from squirming away.

  Reilly’s morning scruff tickles my jaw, and I wriggle in his hold. His breath is hot and rapid against my neck, and I long for the weekend when we can play around in bed all day. Then something dawns on me, and I still. Playful panic is gone and a feeling so overwhelmingly good overcomes me. I feel my heart filling and my chest constricts.

  Reilly lifts his head, his smile wanes, and his breathing slows. “What’s wrong?” he asks quietly, his eyes assessing me intently. “Are you hurt?”

  I stare at Reilly a moment, taking the sight of him in. “Not at all,” I say happily, and his outline shimmers a bit. “Everything’s perfect.” Things have never felt so right—so fated—that I can’t imagine any possible life different than the one I’m living.

  “Good,” he breathes, and he brings his lips down so that they’re barely touching mine. The blue pools of his eyes soften and fill with what I hope is a happiness and love equal to my own. Then he smirks. “Now comes the tricky part.”

  “Yeah?”

  He nods. “I just have to keep you that way.”

  I bat at his shoulder. “Jerk,” I grumble, my smile growing to match his. “Whatever it takes, right?” I say, throwing his words back at him.

  “Touché.” Reilly laughs and rolls over, pulling me on top of him. “I’m willing to take one for the team.”

  ~~~~~~

  “So,” Mac says, her heels clacking as we walk from her desk toward the back of the shop. She scans the warehouse-esque building and hurries into Mr. Carmichael’s office across the shop from where she spends most of her time at the parts counter. I rush to keep up with her.

  “It’s been a couple months,” Mac continues. “How are things?” We stop in front of rows of filing cabinets that line the wall. I look down at Mr. Carmichael’s desk, small and cluttered with papers and car parts. “Reilly won’t tell me much when he comes in, says I’m being nosy.”

  I laugh. “You are nosy. How does your dad find anything in here?” I wonder aloud, peering at the grease and clutter. The whole place smells like lingering exhaust. “And being cooped up in here cannot be healthy.”

  “He lost his sense of smell years ago,” Mac says, waving my question away. “Don’t change the subject, Sam.”

  Mac pulls out the top drawer of the filing cabinet. Lifting to the balls of her feet, she slips a piece of paper between her lips and flips through the drawer.

  “Things are good,” I say honestly. “Great, actually. I’ve been at Reilly’s mostly, but we get together with Alison for dinner most nights. She finally came to Reilly’s and saw the place a couple weeks ago.”

  Mac finally pulls out a manila file folder, slips the pieces of paper into its place, and closes the drawer again.

  “My dad ran into Alison the other day, says she seems better, too. So, it must be helping.” Mac looks behind us, out toward the shop, then opens the manila folder and beings searching through the papers inside.

  “Yeah. I think we’re both doing a lot better.”

  “Are you still seeing Dr. Weiss?” she asks, but I get the feeling she’s barely paying attention to me.

  I hear the sound of an engine a few blocks away but don’t think anything of it until Mac glances behind us again.

  “Yeah. She helps put things in perspective. It’s actually a relief being able to talk about things with Alison . . .” I squint, realizing Mac isn’t even listening to me. “Mac, what’s going on? Your nervous or anxious or something. Are we doing something illegal right now?”

  Mac snorts. “What? No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Hmm.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m just busy, is all. We’ve been slammed since Stan quit. We’re still trying to catch up.”

  “But I thought you said your dad hired someone to replace him? And now you have Reilly helping out.”

  The rumbling sound of a motorcycle echoes off the building outside and Mac stiffens.

  “I thought you guys were closed—”

  “We are,” she grumbles, then turns on her heels and heads back out to the parts desk.

  As we pass the roll-up doors, I can’t help but take a peek. “Oh, it’s a hottie on a motorcycle.” I say it playfully, nudging Mac, though I can’t even see the rider. The bike looks fast and dangerous, whatever it is. “A new client, maybe?”

  The rider climbs off the motorcycle with ease, like he’s done it a thousand times, and removes his helmet. Not really aware I’m staring, I watch him, curious, wondering what he’s doing here, being that the sign is clearly flashing CLOSED.

  He runs his fingers through his brown hair and heads toward us. I flick Mac without looking back at her, since she’s clearly too busy to see for herself. “He’s totally your type, Mac.” His eyes are piercingly blue, his face so chiseled and smooth I think he might be airbrushed, but then I see tattoos furling up his neck. “Oh, he looks dark and dangerous,” I whisper.

  When he catches me staring I give him a tight smile, waiting for Mac to tell him that they’re closed. But, bike boy walks right into the shop, past her desk. I look at Mac in time to see her wipe her palms off on her black pencil skirt before she starts shuffling paper around again.

  Intrigued by the pieces of this puzzle falling into place, I look back at bike boy. He sets his helmet down at the work station closest to us, unzips his riding jacket, and drapes it over the blue toolbox that rests against the corrugated siding of the building. He is definitely dangerous. And Mac knows it.

  I smile when our eyes meet. He nods to me in greeting, then starts walking toward us.

  “Who is that?” I whisper.

  Mac swallows and turns her attention to her computer. She’s clicking and scrolling, but I have no idea what she’s actually doing.

  “You’re ridiculous,” I say quietly, laughing.

  Bike boy stops at the desk.

  “Sorry for staring,” I say. “I was confused. I didn’t know you worked here.”

  M
ac finally looks up from her computer, but I think it’s only because she has to. “Colton,” she says, “this is my friend, Sam.” To anyone else, Mac would sound like her normal self, but to me, she sounds nervous, her voice a little too reedy.

  “Hey,” he drawls.

  “Hi,” I say with a small wave and his attention darts to Mac. The tension between them is so thick I can almost see it.

  Mac hands him a few pieces of paper and a pen, which Colton accepts without even looking at her. He tightens his jaw and walks back toward his station.

  “I needed to file those, like yesterday,” Mac calls after him.

  “You’ll have them tomorrow morning.”

  When my gaze meets Mac’s, she motions to the breakroom, a smallish off-shooting room besides Parts. I follow her inside without question, skipping in behind her and shutting the door. I let out a laugh. “What the hell was that? I’ve never seen you like that around a guy before.”

  Mac rolls her eyes. “That’s Colton Hughes. He’s Stan’s replacement. My father hired him while we were camping. Do you see why I can’t leave him alone?” she snarls out in a whisper.

  “Whatever. He’s hot and you’re sweating,” I say, giving her a once-over. “Has something happened between you two?”

  She cringes with a little too much effort. “God no.”

  “But you want it to.” I can’t help but snicker.

  “No, I don’t.”

  Shaking my head, I say, “This never happens.”

  “Seriously, Sam. In fact, he’s an asshole.”

  I frown, wondering if her nerves are fearful, not lustful. “Why, what did he do?”

  She waves my worries away. “Nothing, he just makes comments, you know? It’s the way he says things, when he actually says things.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t understand. What does he say?”

  She starts tidying up the coffee station, arranging cups and moving condiments around. “He barely talks to me, like I’m a leper or something, and I know he’s judging me.” She waves her finger at me. “He has that look on his face, you know, looking me up and down, like I disgust him or something.”

  “So . . . he’s never actually said anything?”

  “No, not really. That’s the problem, Sam.” When she looks at me, I cross my arms over my chest, waiting. “He gives me the cold shoulder, barely says anything. He laughs with my dad but acts like I don’t even work here, unless he’s forced to talk to me, like a minute ago. Even then it’s like it’s a chore.”

  Although I feel bad for Mac, I’m also delightfully amused. I put my hand over my chest and bat my eyelashes. “Can I just say that I am honored to be able to witness this groundbreaking event?”

  “What?” Her face scrunches and she shakes her head.

  “This is the first time in history that you haven’t been fawned over and it’s driving you crazy.”

  She jabs her finger at me. “That’s not it.”

  “Yes, it is,” I laugh. “Look, it’s not a bad thing. You can’t help it. I know better than anyone that you don’t always like the attention—I know you have high standards. But I also know that you could have any guy you want and the fact that that guy—one that you’re actually very clearly attracted to—is working here and he won’t give you the time of day has got to be hard to get used to.”

  “You’re enjoying this way too much,” Mac mutters and flings the door open. She waves our conversation away and clomps back to her desk. “Come on, let’s go to dinner before I decide I don’t like you anymore.”

  I stifle a laugh, and I don’t bother to tell her that Colton’s eyes are on her—and that they don’t look condemning, they look dangerously intrigued.

  The End

  Follow the shenanigans of Sam, Reilly, Nick and friends

  in Mac’s story, Nothing But Trouble,

  Keep Reading for a sneak peek at Mac’s story, Nothing But Trouble, and for a special note from Lindsey...

  Author’s Note

  First and foremost, thank you! Thank you for reading Whatever It Takes and giving it a chance through to the end. I truly hope you enjoyed Sam and Reilly’s story—their bittersweet past and hopeful beginning to a brighter future together. I hope you fell in love with Nick and Mac, just as I did while writing them. I hope you felt the sunshine on your face and the heat on your skin as I did while drawing on memories of my childhood. This story has a lot of me in it, especially growing up as a cowgirl, riding horses, and spending my summers on my grandparents’ property, what used to be out in the boonies with wildlife all around. Their “ranch” is very similar to Sam’s, though they never did have any horses. “If you’ll move up here and ride it,” my grandpa used to say. Their place has always been so special to me and I wanted to write about it. I wanted people to be able to experience it the way that I did as a kid—the smells and sounds that surround you during hot summers in Northern California. The lake is real. The oak trees and echoing noise from hillside to hillside is real. The fence lines and gravel roads...

  I wrote the original manuscript in high school—my first ever completed story titled, Reilly. I regret that I didn’t publish it sooner. Sam’s Papa (her father) is loosely based on my relationship with my grandpa, on the fact that I lost him to cancer and how brokenhearted I’ve been ever since. So I guess you could say working on this story was therapeutic for me. While the plots and content have changed a bit since I was in my teens, it’s still very much the same story I wanted to tell: the woes of growing up, falling in love, and hard lessons learned in life that aren’t always in our control—real life ways of dealing with things that often go unspoken. How broken we can get. The list goes on. I think I finally decided to publish this story because of the at-risk youth I work with at an amazing organization, On The Move. Foster youth, probation and mental health youth, homeless and searching for acceptance whether it be their sexual orientation, their heritage, the color of their skin... Through them I’ve realized my “bumpy” childhood was easy in comparison to what these underserved populations have to go through on a daily basis. So, for me, this story embodies reality in some ways. Pain and struggle is real, people are flawed, something we can all relate to, so I wanted to write a story that was both bright and gloomy, warm and prickly. But with a happy ending, because that’s what all of us want, right?

  Mac’s story is already in the works and I’m enjoying getting to know her better, what her insecurities and fears are, but also what brings her the most joy. I can’t wait to share Nothing But Trouble with you. Thank you for reading my author’s note and keep scrolling for links to stay in touch. I love chatting with readers!

  Happy reading adventures!

  Stay in Touch!

  WEBSITE: www.lindseypogue.com

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  FACEBOOK: Author Lindsey Pogue

  TWITTER: @LindseyRPogue

  A sneak peek at Mac and Colton’s story, Nothing But Trouble

  Prologue

  Mac

  I pull my Jeep into the parking lot outside of Cal’s Auto, a tan, boxy eyesore of a building in the middle of a craftsman-style neighborhood where homes boast history and uniqueness in comparison. Nirvana is only steps away—a small tube of burn relief shoved inside a drawer somewhere in the shop. “Thank God,” I mutter with acerbic anticipation.

  I tug my turquoise blouse away from my sunburned chest, trying not to cringe at what feels like sandpaper against my skin. I mumble and groan as I lean into the passenger seat for my clearance Coach handbag and my Batman lunch pail. Growing up with two brothers has always afforded me the very best in superhero merchandise, hand-me-down pajamas, Halloween costumes, and school supplies included.

  Precariously draping my purse strap over my shoulder, I move to step out of the Jeep, only to be gracelessly yanked back inside when my silver bangles get caught on the stick shift.

  “F—” I pause, squeeze my eyes shut, and press my lips together as firmly as possible to bite back bo
th the pain and my favorite four-letter word. Carefully, I unhook my bracelet and climb out with my purse and lunch pail in tow. I might shut the driver’s door with more vehemence than is probably necessary before I rush toward the office, but I’ve never claimed to be a saint in any sense of the word.

  The clack of my heels echoes in the empty parking lot as I stop in front of the glass door. The morning mist feels soothing against my face and my exposed, burning skin, but just the thought of how hot it will turn within the next few hours is enough to make me squirm.

  My keys tangle as I search for the proper key on my ring. Generally, I don’t mind being the first one to arrive at the shop each morning, especially on Mondays with all the weekend drop-off order forms and keys that pile up in the after-hours box. There’s vehicle processing to be done—a triage of sorts, making sure the jobs are divvied up appropriately, ready and waiting in the guys’ boxes when they finally drag themselves in. But today is a particularly bad day to be fumbling with my key in a lock that’s older than me and refuses to work half the time.

  “Mornin’, Mac.”

  “Christ!” I drop my key ring on the pavement and stifle a curse. I whirl around to find Mr. Sanchez getting dropped off by a woman I would assume is his wife. She glares at me before she pulls away. My purse slips off and scrapes down my skin, making my shoulder scream, but I smile through it, forced though it may be.

  “I’m here to pick up the Tacoma.”

  “You’re a little early, Rey,” I say, breathing out my agitation, and finally unlock the door. “You’ll have to wait out here for just a sec while I open up.” I nearly woot with glee when the door finally flings open. My skin is officially on fire now, and thanks to my brother, Bobby, I’m running a tad later than usual. While waking up an extra thirty minutes earlier allowed me time to sneak in a quick morning run before I popped into the shower, I didn’t account for his ripped jersey that needed mending for practice today or the clothes in the washing machine that smelled like wet dog.

  “I’ll be right back, Rey.” I rush inside and toss my purse and lunch pail onto my desk without stopping as I head through the office. The moment I open the connecting door to the shop, the sharp tinge of metal in the air fills my nose, though I barely notice it. This has been my life for the past twenty-four years. The scents, the grime, the noise . . . it’s all ingrained in me and mostly comforting.