Cowboy's Pride (Welcome to Covendale Book 1)

by Blaze, Morgan

  Two doors opened, and two figures came around into the glow of the headlights. She recognized both of them with a sinking heart. The big bear Luka had called Ellis…and Cam Thatcher.

  This was the last thing she needed.

  Cam approached her open window slowly and stayed far back. “Sydney,” he said. “Never pegged you for a racing fan.”

  “I’m not. I came here with—” No, she wasn’t going to say that. Besides, the sneer on his face said he knew what the next word would’ve been. “I’m fine,” she said. “I was just about to call my dad and have him give me a jump.”

  “From the sounds of it, you need more than a jump.”

  She stared at him. “How could you know that from a sound?”

  “Pop the hood.”

  “No, really, it’s just the battery. I’ll call Dad…”

  “Sydney.” Cam folded his arms. “This the first time it wouldn’t start on you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Any of your lights been dimming before now?”

  She sighed. “No.”

  “Pop the damned hood.”

  “All right.” She reached down and pulled the hood latch. The pop sounded loud as a shotgun, making her flinch a little.

  “Thank you.”

  Cam walked away. As he opened the hood and propped it, the big man wandered over to the window and grinned at her. “I’d listen to him,” he said. “The man knows his engines. He’s practically a mechanical savant.”

  Something clanked under the hood. “Shut up, Ellis,” Cam said.

  “Sorry. We’ll stick with genius.” He stuck a hand toward the window. “Hi, I’m Jack Ellis,” he said. “Saw you outside earlier.”

  “Yes. I’m Sydney.” She shook and offered a tentative smile.

  The truck bounced, and Cam swore loudly. “Gotta get my toolbox,” he said. “Be right back.”

  Cam straightened and stalked toward his truck, and Ellis shook his head. “I guess you’re lucky he’s lost his mind,” he said. “Otherwise he wouldn’t be out here tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been offering to buy that bike of his for three years and change. He finally decided to sell.” Ellis shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Just called me out of the blue this afternoon. Said he’d meet me tonight with it.”

  “His bike?” Sydney said. “You mean the Harley?”

  “That’s the one.”

  A sudden chill moved through her. Cam had loved that bike forever. One of her clearest memories of that day back in middle school was him showing her the not-yet-restored version, and the way his face lit up when he talked about it. It’d been years before he finally got it going, and he rode it everywhere. “Why would he do that?” she said.

  “He wouldn’t say why.” Ellis furrowed his brow. “Look, uh, Sydney. Are you his friend?”

  “Absolutely not,” she blurted before she could think it through. “I mean…well, I went to school with him. We haven’t talked in years.”

  “Too bad,” Ellis said quietly. “Because I think he could really use a friend right now.”

  “Ellis. Shut the hell up.”

  Cam spoke in tight, controlled tones from a few feet away, where he’d apparently materialized with his toolbox. At once, Sydney felt lower than dirt. Had he heard her insisting that she wasn’t his friend? It might’ve been true, but she still shouldn’t have said it like that.

  If Cam did hear, he gave no indication. “You’re going to miss your boy’s race,” he said to Ellis. “Just put the money in the truck. I’ll unload the bike for you when I’m done here, all right?”

  “Sure.” For a long moment Ellis didn’t move. “Look, this is an open-ended deal, understand? Any time you want to buy it back, it’s yours.”

  “I don’t back out of deals, Ellis.”

  The big man looked about to say something more, but the cold in Cam’s voice must’ve stopped him. “Whatever you say, Thatcher.” He frowned and glanced past Sydney at the beacon of the raceway. Then he met her eyes and said, “Well, it was nice meeting you, at least. Hope you get home safe.”

  “Thank you. Nice meeting you, too.”

  She watched him walk away, and then turned to Cam—but he was already banging away under the hood. She really hoped her truck would survive his wrath.

  Chapter 6

  Cam didn’t say a word for a long time. Sydney couldn’t see him, though she heard him clanking around somewhere beyond the glow of the flashlight he was using. Eventually he came around to the window holding a little hose with a metal clip at one end, and what looked like an oversized thermometer at the other.

  “You might have a bad spark plug,” he said. “When I tell you, crank the engine. But only for a few seconds. You keep grinding it over, your battery’s going to die.”

  She nodded. “What’s that?”

  “A spark tester.” He started back for the engine.

  “Cam?”

  He stopped without turning. “What?”

  “I…” It was on the tip of her tongue to apologize for what she’d said. But she didn’t know if he’d heard it, and maybe he didn’t want an apology. It might even piss him off more. So she settled for saying, “Thank you.”

  “I haven’t done anything yet.”

  He kept going, and Sydney leaned back against the seat with a sigh. She really didn’t know how to take this. After all this time, to have Cam Thatcher help her not once, but twice in the same day was disconcerting at best. It galled her even more to think that Tommy had tried to forbid her from talking to him.

  He’d been right about one thing, though. Cam didn’t have any friends. And for the first time, she started to wonder why—how much of it was Cam keeping to himself, and how much was the whole town assuming he wanted it that way.

  “Okay. Crank it.”

  She started, reached for the key, and gave it a single hesitant twist. The engine barked once.

  Cam leaned over and stared at her. “A few seconds. Not half a second.”

  “Right, sorry. Tell me when.”

  He disappeared behind the hood again. “Okay, go.”

  She turned the key and counted to four before she switched it off. Cam didn’t stop her, so she figured that must’ve been right. Then he muttered under his breath, and she heard him rustling through his tool box.

  “Cam? Was that it?”

  When he didn’t answer, she took a deep breath and got out of the truck. “Hey,” she said as she headed for him. “Can I help…”

  She caught sight of him in the wash of the light that was settled on the edge of the hood, and her heart skipped a beat or three. He knelt in front of the tool box on the ground, looking up at her with a tight expression. And his eyes were burning.

  “No. You can’t.” He grabbed the biggest socket wrench she’d ever seen, then stood and stared at the engine. “I can probably get it going,” he said without looking her way. “Just need to clean and gap the plug. But you should get it replaced as soon as possible. I don’t have the right size here.”

  “Okay.” The single word sounded lame and pathetic. She wanted to say something more—anything, really. Thanks for rescuing me. Sorry I said that. Why do you hate me so much? But he didn’t seem in the mood to listen, so she stepped back to give him space.

  He picked up the flashlight and stood there another minute before he tucked it under his arm and leaned forward. As he fitted the socket over one of the spark plugs, the flashlight dropped and hit the edge of the frame with a hollow clunk. It bounced off and rolled across the ground a few feet.

  Cam hung his head and sighed. “Could you hand me that?”

  “Sure.” Sydney grabbed the light and hesitated a second. “I can hold it for you,” she said. “It’d probably be easier.”

  “Fine. Just keep it still.”

  She watched him work the wrench, trying not to pay attention to the way his arms flexed with the movement. The rhythmic ratcheting sound was alm
ost soothing, and definitely a lot more pleasant than the bitterness that etched his every word. There was no trace of the easygoing, quick-to-smile person he’d been in high school—up until the end, at least. Not that she’d paid any attention to him after he humiliated her.

  Well, maybe a little. And hadn’t she been just the tiniest bit satisfied that he seemed to be losing his popularity? He’d gone downhill pretty fast over the last month of his senior year, even before he lost his father.

  “Got it.” Cam straightened and extracted a mostly black spark plug from the socket. “Christ, Sydney. When’s the last time you had this thing tuned up?”

  “Um. It was around…never.”

  “What a surprise.” He knelt to the toolbox again, sprayed something all over the plug from a small, clear bottle, and then started wiping it with a rag. Black grime slowly gave way to off-white. “Listen, you have to replace this plug, and get your truck in for a tune-up,” he said without looking at her. “Engines are like people. They need some TLC, or they’ll up and quit on you.”

  “My engine is a person,” she said. “Got it.”

  “Why do I bother offering advice? Especially to you.” He slammed the rag back in the toolbox and stood. “Just hold the flashlight over here.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. I was trying to make a joke. A bad one.”

  He sighed and leaned on the truck. “Okay. I guess I’m sorry, too.”

  “For what?”

  “I’m sorry your jokes are bad.” He smiled, just for an instant—and her heart stopped. God, what was wrong with her? “And I could be a little nicer,” he said. “So let’s get this beast started.”

  “All right.”

  She managed to hold the flashlight without letting her hands shake. All of a sudden, being this close to Cam seemed dangerous. She had to forcefully remind herself that she hated him.

  It only took a minute for him to get the spark plug back in. “Okay,” he said. “Hand me the light, and go ahead and give it a try.”

  She nodded, leaned into the truck and turned the key. The engine started right up.

  “Oh, God,” she said. “Thank you so much. You’re…you really are a genius.”

  “I just know machines.” He closed the hood and stood back. For a long moment he looked at her, but she couldn’t read anything in his expression. Finally, he said, “Make sure you get that serviced. It’s not going to stay running for long.”

  “I will. Cam…”

  He raised an eyebrow. In that split second, she could’ve kissed him.

  And a huge part of her wanted that more than anything.

  “Thank you,” she said on an exhale. “I really appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  After they exchanged awkward goodnights, Sydney climbed in the truck and waited until he moved his. She headed out of the parking lot and forced herself not to look back. The last thing she needed right now was to remember just how sexy Cam Thatcher was, and how badly she’d wanted him.

  She was practically a married woman. And that was just the way she wanted it.

  * * * *

  Cam parked next to Ellis’s car and waited until the glow of headlights was completely gone. Damn it, this was why he didn’t want to see that woman around anymore. What she did to him, the way she made him feel…it should’ve been illegal.

  And he couldn’t have her. Not then, and definitely not now.

  He gave himself a few more minutes to calm down, and then got out of the truck and headed around the back. Leaving his bike here was really going to sting. But hell, what was one more hurt on top of all the rest? The only thing he could do now was keep the ranch. He’d do whatever it took to make sure that happened.

  While he adjusted the ramp and walked the Harley down, he told himself he wasn’t going to think about Sydney Davis. And he especially wasn’t going to remember the conversation with Ellis he’d overheard, the one where she’d said she was absolutely not his friend. That really shouldn’t have been a surprise—so he’d been shocked when it felt like a slap to the face.

  It was her tone more than her words. Like Ellis had asked her if she enjoyed drinking mud or rolling around in cow shit naked. Was he really that offensive to the so-called good people of Covendale?

  Well, if he was, he couldn’t afford to care. None of them had given a damn about him for the past six years, and he was more than willing to return the favor.

  He propped the bike alongside Ellis’s car and got back into his truck, intending to drive straight home and drink himself to sleep in the loft. But he ended up sitting there for a few minutes as he made one last attempt to figure a way to get the money that didn’t involve selling the Harley.

  That was when he saw someone familiar stop under the glow of the light pole in the next row over. His jaw clenched at the sight of Tommy Lowell, staggering drunk and hanging all over a girl who was definitely not his fiancé. She was blonde, buxom, and younger than Sydney—and clearly into Tommy sticking his tongue down her throat.

  “You son of a bitch,” Cam growled under his breath as he watched Tommy and not-Sydney climb into the car parked next to the light together. He considered going over there and confronting the bastard. But right now, there was no way he’d be able to keep his fists under control.

  Last time, Tommy hadn’t reported it out of humiliation. Cam had taken them on three to one and come out ahead. If he tried it again, he was sure to find himself jailed for assault.

  So he’d just tell Sydney. She wouldn’t believe him, but he didn’t really have anything to lose there. She couldn’t hate him any more than she already did. At least this way, his conscience would be clear.

  Then maybe Tommy would come after him—and he could justify beating the hell out of the two-timing son of a bitch who didn’t deserve a woman like Sydney.

  He waited until Tommy and his piece of tail cleared out of the parking lot, and then started the truck and headed home. There was some whiskey that needed his attention.

  Chapter 7

  The next morning, Sydney got an early start. It was Friday and she had a few errands to run, but she wanted to get the truck out to Kenny’s first. Cam obviously knew engines, so she believed him when he said it could quit on her any time. She didn’t want to be without a vehicle all weekend.

  She also wanted to finish everything that reminded her of Cam, so she wouldn’t have to keep thinking about him. Because she couldn’t seem to stop.

  After a quick call to make sure Kenny could do it, she headed out to the garage. He’d said it would take about two hours. Covendale’s only print shop, The Paper Garden, was a ten-minute walk from there, so she figured she’d take care of finalizing the order for place cards and thank-you notes while she waited.

  Maybe if she focused on the wedding, she could scrub Cam’s blazing stare from her mind.

  Kenny’s Garage was a throwback in time, a tall, box-like brick building with two garage bays, and a shorter extension that was the office. Greasy posters and signs covered the windows and the glass door. And across from the entrance sat an island with two ancient, working gas pumps, boasting rounded glass bubble heads and rolling numbers. The gas prices, however, were wincingly modern.

  Only one of the regular old-timers sat on the bench outside the entrance—Gramps Dawson, with his pipe clamped between his teeth. He was Luka’s grandfather, but he’d also been Gramps to Sydney for as long as she could remember. She parked the truck in front of the first bay door, got out and waved. “Morning, Gramps,” she called. “How’s everything with you today?”

  He drew on the pipe and grinned. “Well, if it isn’t the bride-to-be,” he said. “I bet you’re busier’n a bee these days.”

  “I sure am.” She returned the smile, but for some reason wedding talk just didn’t excite her as much as it did before. Must be all the planning stress. “Three more weeks until the big day.”

  “Yep. Whole town’s talkin’ about it.” Gramps winked at her. “How’s
your folks?”

  “They’re fine. Mom’s going crazy hauling out pictures. Is Kenny in?”

  “I suspect he’ll be out directly.”

  Just as he said that, the office door opened and Kenny Morrison stepped outside, wiping his hands on a rag. He bent and mumbled something to Gramps, who got up and went in. Kenny was a short, weathered, 40-something confirmed bachelor who wore his grimed Carhartt coveralls everywhere. She wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up in them at the wedding. “Sydney, right?” he said. “You called about a tune-up.”

  “Yes. Thanks for taking me on short notice.”

  “No problem.” He strolled over to the truck and looked through the driver’s side window. “Keys in it?”

  “They’re still in the ignition.”

  The sound of a slowing engine drew everyone’s attention. Sydney turned and watched in dull shock as a weathered pickup with a wooden slat bed full of feed bags pulled up to the gas pumps—and Cam Thatcher climbed out.

  Damn. She really had to stop running into him.

  He froze when he caught sight of her. “Sydney,” he said stiffly. “I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here, but I am.”

  “Hey, Cam.” She forced a bright tone, determined to stay upbeat. Maybe she could kill him with kindness. “I was just taking your advice.”

  “I see that,” he said through clenched teeth. After glaring at her for a long moment, he turned away and wrenched the gas cover open on his truck. Then he started unscrewing the cap with excessive force.

  “What are you doing here, Thatcher?”

  The angry words came from Kenny. Sydney gaped at him, and then watched Cam stiffen for a second time. “I’m planting trees,” he said without looking around. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”

  “We’re out of gas.”

  Now Cam looked up, with an expression of barely contained fury. “Are you,” he said. “So what was Bill Harding pumping into his Beamer out here when I drove past earlier? Molasses, maybe?”