Love At First Ink: A Woodbine Valley Romance (Tate Family Book 1)

by Bridgid Gallagher

  "I don't live like a monk," Justin argued.

  Evan snorted. "Yeah, I've seen that shack you live in." He shook his head.

  "It's a toolshed," Justin said.

  "Whatever. You're a handyman, for Christ's sake. A few years ago you wouldn't have been caught dead in anything less than Armani."

  I’m not that man anymore, Justin had thought. But he didn't say it.

  Evan watched his brother. "Is this about Adam?"

  Justin gave his brother a warning look, one that said, "Don't go there."

  "Okay, okay. Damn." Evan shook his head. "I just don't get it."

  And he wouldn't. When Justin’s best friend and business partner had died, their business died too. His friend had hidden a sizable debt, and even after selling everything he owned, Justin had barely made the final payments. He’d come back to Woodbine Valley, broke and unemployed, and his mom had given him exactly what he needed to put his life back together. Purpose.

  Now, Justin watched the window wipers swish back and forth. Evan simply didn't understand. He was convinced Justin needed to get out of the small mountain town, then he'd want everything Evan wanted. A bigger job. A better car. The prestige of owning a company.

  It was everything Evan loved about his work, and nothing Justin wanted.

  But try telling that to his big brother.

  No, Justin wanted to buy the inn for his mom, he needed to—helping her had brought him out of a dark hole two years ago. He’d never forget that, and buying Oak Bramble was the only way he knew how to even begin to pay her back. Evan would just have to deal with it.

  The only problem was Old Man Vanhelt. Justin had saved what should have been enough for a down payment, but Vanhelt wouldn’t sell to him. So Justin came up with the idea to offer more. With Evan’s help, he could make an offer no sane person could turn down. Surely Vanhelt would cave.

  Oak Bramble should belong to him, to his family. They'd brought it out of ruin, and each year their profit grew. It wasn't because of Vanhelt's efforts, the man was like a ghost and left everything up to Justin and his mom. No, the inn was a success because of Jess's hard work in the kitchens and Justin's sweat on the grounds and in the office.

  Damn it, they'd earned the right to own the place.

  The rumble of his truck's engine slowed from a halting cough to a deep purr. It was a pickup he’d inherited from Oak Bramble’s last handyman, a truck that had seen over two hundred thousand miles but kept on going. The thing was covered in rust. The seats had been torn to shreds by the last owner’s dog but were now covered with a blanket or two. Justin thought they added character. His truck was a far cry from the slick two-seater he’d owned in L.A., but he couldn’t imagine driving anything else.

  Justin flicked on the lights and eased out of the parking lot. Already feeling more at home, but no more eager to pick up the guests. They’d be livid by now, he'd bet.

  But even with everything going on with Evan, the inn, the money he didn't have, Justin was still thinking about her.

  Elle.

  The expression on her face after her luggage spilled all over the other passengers made him laugh out loud. Man, she'd been pissed. It had surprised him. She had surprised him. She acted so buttoned up, and maybe she was, but he'd seen glimpses of something else. Someone feisty.

  And he didn't mind looking at her, that was for damn sure.

  He took off his hat and flicked it onto the seat beside him.

  What was wrong with him?

  These were the thoughts of a man who needed … something. Something Justin didn’t want to admit.

  She was high maintenance. A snob.

  But she was also ... compelling. He didn't like women who took ten hours on their face, and when he'd first met her he'd pegged her as that type. But once she'd come back from the bathroom, she looked softer. Younger. Like she might know how to laugh.

  Justin ran a hand over his face.

  He'd seen the way she eyed his tattoos. Like they might leap up and bite her if she weren't real careful. He smirked at the thought. She had no idea what that did to him, how it made him want to mess with her perfect southern belle routine.

  He circled the maze of airport roads until he swung around to the arrivals. Far from the light of the main doors, a small figure hunched on the side of the road.

  A single lamp illuminated a pool of golden light in the rain. He slowed down and squinted to make out the figure. His brain registered the denim cutoffs first. Tan legs. Not long, but nice enough to make him look.

  Then she lifted her head.

  Justin swore.

  Elle.

  Of course, it had to be her.

  Tell me I'm not taking her home.

  The thought sent an unwelcome brush of energy through him. Quickly followed by annoyance. He wasn't supposed to see her again. She was a complication. One he didn’t need, dammit.

  For a long moment, he debated speeding up and pretending he hadn't seen her. He'd meant what he said on the plane. She was a pain in the ass. And ... she was hot. It was a terrible combination.

  Rain hit the windshield in thick splats, and he sent up a prayer for patience.

  His mom would tan his hide if he let anyone—most especially a woman, but a guest on top of that—sit outside in the rain.

  Justin rolled down the window, letting in a splatter of rain. His truck rumbled and he lifted his voice to be heard.

  "You going to Oak Bramble?" he demanded, his voice gruff.

  Elle eyed his truck the same way she'd eyed his tattoos. She was soaked through, sitting on her ridiculous luggage, looking as though she'd been crying.

  "I have mace!" she said.

  He swore again. "It's Justin," he said. "Not Jack the Ripper."

  She leaned closer, squinting to see his face.

  "Oh, it's you." She didn't sound happy about it. In fact, she sounded downright mad. Then she said, "How did you know where I'm staying?"

  He shook his head. "I'm not your stalker, Princess. That's where I work. I'm your ride."

  She looked horrified. "You pick up guests in this thing?"

  He laughed. "Don't talk bad about my truck. But no, we have a different car. A different driver too. There was a change of plans."

  She looked skeptical. "Well, I'm not getting in that piece of junk. It looks like it might curl up and die any minute."

  "Suit yourself," he said. "You can sit out here all you like."

  The rain continued to fall. It dripped down her face. Her clothes were drenched.

  He waited.

  Motion in the airport lobby caught his attention. "Your boyfriend is coming," he said. "Maybe he'll have a better idea."

  She turned to look, then stood with a start.

  "Forget it," she said. She hurried over to the truck.

  He raised an eyebrow as she pulled open the door. “Leaving Prince Charming behind?" he asked. “But he doesn’t have his trusty steed. Whatever will he do?”

  She hopped into the truck, her luggage in tow, but paused to give him an icy glare.

  He grinned.

  “Guess it’s just you and me, Princess."

  Elle folded herself as small as possible into the passenger seat of Justin's truck. If it could be called a truck. The thing was a rust-covered beast. Riding in it took the term slumming it to a whole new level.

  Justin drove in silence away from the airport and down the dark highway. As he pulled away from the pickup area, Elle pretended not to see Carter standing just inside the airport lobby. She knew he must have seen her hop in the pickup. Let him think what he wanted. She didn't care.

  The rain fell harder, smacking into the windshield and coating the road in a silver-wet sheen. Elle dug around in her luggage for something to dry off with and pulled out a cotton shirt. She patted her face and neck but gave up when it came to her hair and clothes. Her stomach rumbled, loud enough to be heard in the next county, she’d guess.

  "Did you want to stop for dinner?" Justin asked with
a smile. "We'll pass through Asheville on the way to the inn."

  Dinner with him?

  "No," she said quickly. "No, thank you.”

  He gave her a quick look. "You embarrassed to be seen with a 'tattooed country boy'?"

  She was grateful for the dark and hoped it hid the flush racing up her cheeks. "I'm sorry I said that."

  "No," he said. "You're not.” He said it without accusation, which only made Elle feel worse.

  “It's a simple question," he said. "I know a place where no one will bother us. Doesn't need to be complicated."

  "I'm not making it complicated." She huffed. “And I’m not hungry.” Her stomach rumbled again, sounding a bit like a cat being strangled.

  Betrayed!

  She couldn't remember when she'd last eaten—breakfast, maybe? Even so, she'd been too nervous about the trip to eat much. Would it be so terrible to go out to dinner with the man?

  Although Elle’s parents were already in Asheville, most of the wedding party wouldn’t arrive until the next week, she reasoned. So the chances of her running into someone she knew—not counting Theo and her family—were slim to none. Especially if the restaurant wasn’t the type to attract people like her mother.

  "Okay. Fine," Elle said grudgingly. “But I’m soaked. It’ll have to be someplace no one will care.” And a place I won’t run into anyone I know.

  "Is that a yes, Princess?"

  "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

  The corner of his mouth quirked.

  Elle sighed. "Yes," she said. "Dinner sounds great."

  Her phone buzzed, and Elle excused herself before answering. "Hello?"

  "Have you landed yet? Why didn't you call?"

  "Yes, Mother. We landed," she hedged. "How are you? How's Daddy?"

  "Well. Your father and I are settled into the place we rented. It’s hideous, of course. Honestly, the way people decorate! But it'll do.”

  In their not-so-regular phone conversations, Elle’s job was to listen, not partake.

  “Listen, sweetheart,” her mother was saying. “There's something important I need to speak with you about. How's that handsome date of yours? I told Abigail—Lucy's soon-to-be mother-in-law if you can believe it—all about him. She was impressed. Going to be a big affair. It would be the perfect time for an engagement, you know."

  "Carter's fine," Elle said, avoiding her mother's unsubtle hint. She thought he would be fine, too. The man was likely celebrating getting rid of her. Probably had that redhead on speed dial.

  Justin flipped the turn signal to change lanes, and she eyed his forearms. In the flashing light and shadow, his tattoos stretched and flexed with his skin. She wanted to see what the rest of his tattoos looked like, which made her think about whether or not she could ever expect to see Justin without his shirt.

  Justin glanced at her with a knowing smirk—he couldn't know what she was thinking about, right?? She forced her gaze in the opposite direction.

  Elle blamed Caroline. Speaking with her mother never failed to make Elle want to misbehave. And Justin had misbehave written all over him in many-hued ink. She pulled her attention back to her mother.

  “We're looking forward to meeting him," Caroline was saying. "It's good to see you finally getting serious. I hoped this would be your wedding, you know. I know how hard it must be to see your little sister getting married before you." And Elle did know because Caroline took every opportunity to remind her.

  “How is Lucy?” Elle asked. She and her little sister weren’t close. Not because Lucy wasn’t a complete sweetheart, kind and generous, elegant and well-meaning. No, Elle couldn’t find fault with her sister … except for the fact that Lucy was too perfect. With her height and dark hair, she was a younger version of Caroline, and now she was marrying into the kind of family that made Caroline gloat more than ever. Beyond that, any time Elle tried to get to know her sister, her mother would find a way to intrude.

  “Well, you know how she is. She wanted you at her shower, in her heart at least. Don’t take it personally.”

  Elle’s invitation to Lucy’s shower had come with a phone call from Caroline, who gently let her know that Lucy would prefer Elle not attend. As Lucy was too sweet to be honest about her feelings, Caroline had carried the message for her. Elle told herself she was glad to be out of the shower—Lucy’s friends were sure to be empty-headed society women—but a small part of her had been disappointed. She wished she could have the kind of relationship with her sister that she had with her college roommates, but what came naturally with Theo and Isabelle simply didn’t happen with Lucy.

  "It's not natural for Lucy to get married first,” Caroline was saying. “I tried to tell her to wait, but you know how she is. Perhaps wedding bells will be in order for you two soon, hmm? You know, since his family is from Charleston we could have the wedding there. I'm sure they have a beautiful home. Have you asked?"

  While her mother prattled on, Elle remembered the reason why she’d been tempted to keep Carter around.

  How was she supposed to tell her mother?

  She had to say something. Now, before things got out of hand. Surely her mother would understand.

  "Mother," she said, interrupting her mother’s one-sided discussion about property values in Charleston. "There's something I need to tell you."

  "Oh my God, you've gained weight. I knew it. I just knew it. Didn't you get those articles I sent you?"

  "Mother, no."

  "I told you to stop eating carbs. Didn't I tell you?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I haven't had a carb since 1984," Elle deadpanned. Lying, obviously.

  Justin laughed.

  "Don't be smart with your mother, young lady. I raised you better than that. Your dress cost more than you make in a month. The fitting alone was astronomical. Now tell me you won’t eat carbs this week.”

  Elle bit her lip.

  “Well?” her mother prompted.

  “I won’t eat carbs,” Elle mumbled. Then repeated herself when her mother demanded she enunciate.

  Next to her, Justin shook with silent laughter.

  Carbs aside, Elle sighed as her mother's second favorite topic, Elle's undesirable employment, came to the table.

  "I will never understand what on earth made you want to work in libraries of all places. They're notoriously dusty and—let's be honest—you don't meet men hiding behind all those books and computers and whatnot. Which is why you needed my help."

  Elle pushed down a surge of annoyance. She might have heard the same thing a million times, but it never failed to make her feel sixteen again. Sixteen and completely incapable of pleasing her mother.

  "I read this article about a book that tested positive for a venereal disease. A book! Like someone got you-know-what on the pages. You'll never guess—"

  Elle held the phone away from her ear for a moment. When she put it back, her mother was saying, "Well at least you have Carter now. Thank God for that. Oh! Which brings me to why I called. What color are his eyes?"

  Elle blinked. The color of his eyes? Shouldn’t she know that?

  Panic beat in her chest. After her mother's tirade, the idea of telling the truth seemed more daunting than ever.

  "It's for the rehearsal dinner," Caroline said. "Your father and I wanted to give him something—I’m thinking a silk necktie—but I wanted to match it to his eye color. You should thank me. People of quality appreciate gestures like this."

  "That's very nice of you, Mother."

  "Stop stalling, dear. It makes you sound un-clever." She sighed. "I don't expect you to have this memorized. This shouldn't be difficult. Just look at his eyes."

  Elle was stuck. She had no idea what color Carter's eyes were, and it didn't even matter. She didn't have a date to wear the tie Caroline was talking about, and with every passing second, the reality of lying to her mother became a little more real. And the idea of telling the truth a little more terrifying.

  Elle could see it now. She would arrive at th
e first event, dateless and pitiful-looking. Perhaps in a cardigan and wearing bifocals on a chain, which would be fitting for the spinster librarian sister. Her mother would take one look and blame Elle for chasing Carter away. Of course, it would be Elle's fault. Because men in love don’t stray. How many times had she heard her mother say that when one of her friends’ husbands cheated?

  Yes, Elle was afraid to tell the truth. Perhaps even with good reason. Even so, she needed to tell her mother something.

  Elle twisted in her seat. The truck cab was dark, but the light from oncoming traffic illuminated Justin's face for a moment. She couldn't see his eye color in the dark but realized she didn't need to. Being the creepy creeper that she was, she had it memorized.

  "Brown," she told her mother. "With little flecks of gold."

  Justin glanced at her. She pretended to study the rain slapping against the windshield.

  "Lovely! Well, must run. Enjoy your little trip—y’all have separate bedrooms, don't you? Men don't marry women who give the milk away for free, you know. Oh, and remember—no carbs until the wedding, and don't show up in one of your little librarian outfits or those godawful orthopedic shoes you like to wear. This is a classy affair. People care about appearances here."

  Elle had a million things to say to her mother. Every single one would be something Caroline didn't want to hear. So, instead of saying what she wanted to say, Elle made empty promises and ended the call.

  Chapter 7

  The rain slowed their progress into Asheville, and Elle was famished by the time they arrived. Justin parked on a side street, and they walked together toward a restaurant he'd picked. Elle’s tank top was wrinkled, but drying fast, and her denim shorts were only soaked in the front. So she would look as though she’d wet herself, but only from the front. Just what she needed.

  The rain had slowed to an infrequent drip. Lamplights gave the rain-drenched sidewalks a glow, and the air smelled fresh. People walked the streets, musicians played at street corners. It was charming. Cozy.

  Romantic.

  Elle edged a little further away from Justin. He walked in a loose, relaxed stride, and his long legs meant she had to walk faster than normal to keep up. Even here, in the open, he took up more space than she expected.