Set the Night on Fire
Page 14
Laughter lurked on the edges of Wyatt’s voice and face. Sutton made him happy, and that’s all Mack cared about.
Mack scratched at his neck. He hadn’t had the wherewithal to clean up his beard that morning. Dreams of Ella had left him confused and exhausted. “I’ll shave at Easter like normal, so she’ll be pleased. The tuxedo I’m not enthusiastic about.”
“It must be done. I know you’ll do it for me.”
It was true, of course. He would do anything for his brothers. After Wyatt left, Mack swiveled back and forth in his chair and wondered when he had excluded Ford from that circle. It was only a matter of time before guilt and responsibility and love wore him down, but he wasn’t quite ready to face his mother or his brother.
Ella sidled in the door looking untroubled and well rested. Her hair was pulled into an artfully messy, sexy-as-hell updo, and she was dressed in a crisp pink-and-white striped Oxford tucked into a pair of hip-hugging jeans. Pink Chucks completed the ensemble. She was a spring breeze teasing his hibernating heart.
She bypassed the office without even a glance in his direction and headed toward the coffeemaker. A twinge that might have been hurt feelings had him abandoning his earlier declaration to ignore her. He circled the desk and followed her.
He cracked the waiting room door open. She was stirring her coffee and staring at the wall. After a good thirty seconds, he broke the silence. “Morning.”
She jerked and splattered coffee across the counter. “You scared me.”
He strode forward, grabbed a napkin, and swiped up the mess. “You were lost in thought.”
“Was I?” Her gaze was stuck somewhere around the collar of his chambray shirt.
Now that he was closer, the circles under her eyes were visible and the blush racing up her neck was like hoisting a red flag. “Listen, about last night—”
“Let’s pretend it never happened. Otherwise, this”—she gestured between them—“isn’t going to work.” The fact that she suggested following the same plan he’d laid out for himself didn’t make a dent in his outrage.
“What do you mean ‘this’?” He made the same gesture and their hands bumped. She pulled back as if he had a communicable disease.
“We need to remain professional.” She turned to fiddle with her coffee before taking a sip.
“Do we?” He couldn’t stop the question from popping out.
Acting on a weirdly powerful attraction to the woman who had something he desperately wanted to wrest from her was a terrible idea. He wanted her percentage of the garage back in Abbott hands. Pursuing her was counter-productive to his goal. If anything else happened between them, she could accuse him of manipulating her with sex.
The situation was complicated. But his desire for her was simple and basic and primal. He wanted to strip her down, explore every single one of her curves, and bury himself inside of her. It had nothing to do with the garage.
“Mack.” Her husky whisper went straight to his groin. “Why do you even want me? Is it because of the garage?”
“Why do I want you?” It was impossible to keep the incredulity out of his voice. He spun and paced the short length of the room.
She was smart. She didn’t take his crap. Her backbone was steel to survive a marriage with the biggest dillhole in Mississippi. Her sentimental love of cars, if not the expertise to fix them, was sweet. She had a heart that recognized the need of someone she’d just met, and even more amazing, the drive to do something to help. The fact she had a killer body made it a no-brainer.
“That’s the dumbest question I’ve ever heard.”
His statement woke something inside of her. If he wasn’t afraid whatever he’d poked to life might burn him to ash, he would have been in awe.
“How is that a dumb question? You hated me not a week ago, you jerk. Am I supposed to think you succumbed to my charms?” She air-quoted the last word. “Men are all the same. Users until they get what they want. Then, they’ll walk away for someone better. You can go to hell, Mack Abbott.”
She eviscerated him with her glare on her way to throw the door open with a dramatic flourish. It bounced against the drywall and slammed shut behind her.
She was amazing. Her anger had stoked admiration in him. She embodied the beauty and energy of a thunderstorm, and he wanted to lie under the onslaught. Instead, he stayed planted and wondered if he was possessed and needed an exorcism.
The door opened. Wyatt and Jackson poked their heads through. Wyatt swept an exaggerated glance around the room. “I expected to find a smoking crater.”
That about described the pit Ella had left in his stomach. “Did she leave?”
“Laid a twenty-foot strip of rubber down the road. What did you say to her?”
“Something idiotic.”
“Per usual, then,” Jackson said, an unusual sparkle of humor in his eyes.
“You think this is funny?” Mack backed up until his butt hit the counter. He needed the support.
Jackson had the decency to look sheepish. “A little. Is that wrong?”
“It’s not very Christian of you, Jackson,” Wyatt said in a voice reminiscent of Aunt Hazel. “We need to support our brother in his time of need.”
“All I need is for my life to get back to normal.” Even as Mack said it, he recognized the lie. His life before Hurricane Ella blew through the door had been pathetic and sad and lonely.
“Normal is safe and familiar. I get it. But you can’t fight change after it’s already happened.” Empathy softened Jackson’s words.
Mack was older. He should be wiser. Except both Wyatt and Jackson had outpaced him while he had concentrated on the garage. Just like their pop. Through the years, women had pursued their pop with casseroles and offers to mother them, but he had rebuffed them all. He’d been focused on the garage to the detriment of every other relationship in his life—even with his sons.
After their mother left, had it been easier for his pop to commit to the hunks of metal that rolled in and out of his life than attempt to traverse the dangers of a flesh-and-blood woman? Had he been afraid of being hurt again?
His pop had been a good man, but if not for the connection forged under the hood of a car, would he and Mack have been as close? Ford, with his interests outside of the garage and cars, had suffered through a no-win situation. If he’d pursued his own dreams at the outset, he would have effectively cut himself off from their pop’s approval, if not his love. Yet, Ford had not been able to bury his resentment after being manipulated home to work at the garage after college.
“Pop didn’t want anything to change, did he?”
The detour in topic didn’t seem to faze either of his brothers. They exchanged one of their unique looks that was indecipherable to anyone else but seemed to speak volumes. Wyatt’s expression was unusually grim. “He didn’t. Don’t make the same mistakes he did.”
“The garage has to survive.”
“It will, but it doesn’t have to go on exactly the same as it always has. You know that or you wouldn’t have pushed us into the restorations. Everyone and everything has to grow and transform or it will eventually cease to matter,” Jackson said.
“Damn, you sound like Dr. Phil.” When had his brothers attained a clarity and insight that he could only grasp at?
“He’s paid the big bucks to be on TV, so he must be good.” Wyatt’s smile contained a huge helping of sympathy with a side of pity.
“I owe Ella another apology.” The question was whether or not she’d accept it. Or even if he deserved to be forgiven. “When did I become such an asshole?”
“The fact you’re even asking means you’re not actually an asshole. Assholes aren’t self-aware. You’re just prone to idiocy, is all.” Wyatt knuckle-punched his shoulder.
Mack barked a laugh. “I’m not sure which one is worse.”
“Idiocy is fixable if you work at it hard enough. I mean, look at Wyatt.” Jackson dodged a shove from his twin and barked a laugh. “I’ve got
to run to pick up some parts for Marigold’s car. You need anything while I’m out and about?”
“Can’t think of anything.” As Jackson opened the door, Mack said, “Actually, speaking of Marigold, we need to talk. Could you call Willa in?”
Jackson brows scrunched, but he hollered for Willa to join them. Her curious gaze landed on Mack even as she aligned herself with Jackson.
Wyatt half-sat on the table in the middle of the room. “Do you have a plan?”
“Ella had an idea on how to help Marigold and Dave. It’s brilliant but it will be a lot of work and require some upfront expenditure from the garage.”
“Lay it on us,” Wyatt said.
“She suggested we host a classic car show in downtown Cottonbloom. We would give out prizes for Best Muscle Car or Best Convertible or whatever. Participants would pay a fee and the proceeds would go toward defraying Dave’s medical bills. If we want to get ambitious, we could host events over an entire weekend. Ella had some good ideas.”
“And at the same time, the garage gets an influx of advertising and hopefully work,” Willa said.
“Exactly,” Mack said. “Both sides of town will come out for Marigold and Dave, don’t you think?”
“For sure. I’ll bet the track would host an afternoon giving amateurs a chance to drive a dirt racecar,” Jackson said.
“And we could sell the garage T-shirts with the proceeds going to Dave’s medical funds. I bet we’d sell a ton, which means even more people walking around with our name on their back.” Willa snapped. “What if we do a dog contest along with the classic car contest? That would bring out non-car enthusiasts and families with kids. You know, Cutest Dog, Smartest Dog, Ugliest Dog. We could get the mayors to judge.”
“That’s a great idea.” Mack looked at each of them. “Do we need to vote?”
“I can’t see a downside. Plus, if anyone deserves help, it’s Dave and Marigold. I have the feeling people will come out of the woodwork to donate or help,” Wyatt said.
“Exactly what I was thinking. Dave has done projects for a majority of both sides of Cottonbloom, and everyone loves Marigold.” Jackson looked to Willa.
“You know it’s a yes from me, but I’m worried Marigold will balk.” Willa tucked her hair behind her ear and chewed her bottom lip. “Who is going to ask her?”
“I’ll handle her,” Mack said. “I have a feeling she won’t argue with me if I do less asking and more telling.”
“Yeah, women love that.” Wyatt shook his head and looked heavenward.
“How are you going to plan this on top of everything else?” Jackson asked.
“Ella volunteered to be in charge.” Doubts slowed his words. After his verbal bumbling earlier, would she still be willing or would she be just as happy to throw a match on the garage and watch it burn?
“Quit acting like a five-year-old who’s lost his toy. She’s proven herself an asset. You’d better make this right with her.” Jackson’s unusually firm tone reminded Mack of their pop so forcefully that he had to blink.
“I’ll make it right.”
A knock sounded on the door followed by a voice calling out, “You boys in here?”
“Back here, Aunt Hazel.” Wyatt stuck his head out of the waiting room.
Hazel’s heels tapped on the concrete floor. She stopped in the doorway. Wyatt and Jackson slipped out with murmured greetings and busses on her cheeks.
“Where’s Ella?” Hazel shuffled to take a seat, smoothing her skirts over her knee and settling her pocketbook in her lap. “Did you run her off?”
“No.” His knee-jerk response was so obviously a lie, he tried to cover with a polite “Can I get you a coffee?”
His aunt shook her head. “What’s troubling you, son?”
Although he’d never considered Hazel his mother, she was more than his aunt. She was important to him in ways he couldn’t articulate, not least of which was her ability to slice through his problems. “I think you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.” Hazel tapped her fingers against her pocketbook. “What am I right about this time?”
A groundswell of amusement seeped through his troubled thoughts. “I owe it to Ford to make peace.”
“No. You owe it to yourself to make peace,” she said with more understanding than he deserved.
“What should I do about my mother?”
“It’s your decision, but it won’t hurt anything or anybody to go see her. At the least, it would satisfy your curiosity. But, you might just hammer in the first plank of a bridge. Haven’t you wondered what she’s like?”
“Of course, but Pop—”
“Hobart was my brother and a good man, but he wasn’t perfect. None of us are. All we can do in this life is make things easier for the ones we care about.”
Mack wasn’t sure if opening the junk drawer of his past would make things easier or harder in the long run. “Do you have Ford’s address?”
Years kept at bay by the sheer force of her personality weighed on her face, deepening her wrinkles. “I don’t. I pray every night he’ll call, but he hasn’t. I’m afraid he thinks I’ve taken your side.”
Mack dropped his chin to his chest and closed his eyes. Another wedge he’d driven between the people he loved through his own pride. “I’ll find him. Can’t promise that I’ll convince him to come home.”
Hazel reached out and patted his knee. “Not expecting you to. But this family needs to be healed, and you’re the only one to do it.”
Jackson and Wyatt had already laid the foundation, it was up to Mack to finish the work. But not today. Today he had to make things right with Ella.
Chapter Twelve
Ella understood irony. In fact, she and irony were intimately acquainted, but her current situation really blew all her other experiences away. Or just plain blew.
She stared at her flat tire, the skinny spare donut on the ground beside her. The mud on the side of the road was smelly and messy. She waved a dirty hand in front of her face to banish the buzzing insects before trying her damnedest to fit the jack in the proper place. Her foot slipped, and she went to her knees, wetness seeping through her denim jeans. Lovely.
Here she was, the part owner of a car garage with four expert mechanics available to call, yet by doing so, she would also summon humiliation. She’d never hear the end of it from Mack. Not after the way she’d stormed out that morning like an immature teenager.
She’d spent her day visiting various investment properties that didn’t involve Mack Abbott and his precious garage. It was a welcome break and a good reminder of her strengths. She might not be able to change a tire, but she could negotiate and close a deal like a boss.
She sat back on her heels and slapped at a bug, transferring stinky mud to her neck. She tried Megan again. No answer. She texted an SOS. After five minutes and as many mosquito bites, she heard the sound of a car coming down the road. Circling to her front bumper, she waved a hand to flag it down, but like an off-duty cab, it barreled by without an acknowledgment. Her foot stomp spattered more mud onto her shoes and only heightened her frustration.
She checked her phone. Still no response from Megan. She could leave her car and walk the two-plus miles home along the muddy, mosquito-infested shoulder or she could act like an adult and call one of the Abbotts. Not Mack though.
She dug her phone out of her pocket and punched Wyatt’s number.
“Hello?”
“Wyatt. It’s Ella. I’ve run into a problem. Actually, ran over a problem. A nail if I had to guess. I’ve got a flat.”
“You need some help?”
“Yes, please. For some reason the jack doesn’t want to stay put.”
“Where are you?”
Her death clutch on the phone eased. Wyatt didn’t sound put out or like he was going to lecture her or make fun of her. “On the other side of the river. About a half mile up Rambling Road.”
“Be there in a jiffy.”
She half-sat against
her hood and fought a losing battle with the mosquitos. Once Wyatt got there, she would casually ask him not to mention her call for help to Mack.
The rumble of an approaching engine skittered foreboding down her spine. That did not sound like Wyatt’s ’Cuda. Mack’s big black truck rounded the curve and pulled in behind her convertible, dwarfing it. She closed her eyes and muttered a curse. Did the universe hate her?
His truck spooled to silence, and he swung himself out. In jeans, boots, and a T-shirt that did amazing things for his chest, he was a slate of blank emotion.
Expecting him to rub salt in the wound of her situation, she went on the defense. “I called Wyatt, not you.”
“I was with him when you called.” His gaze meandered down to her muddy shoes and back to her face. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Were those hurt feelings lurking behind his big, bad persona?
“Because I didn’t want to hear your opinions about how dumb I am and how I don’t belong in a garage if I can’t even change a tire.”
He invaded her space. She shrank back as far as she could on the hood without losing her balance and sprawling over it like a reject from an eighties music video.
“Let me clarify something for you.” He laid his hands on the hood by her hips, looming even closer. So close in fact, he was within kissing distance. “You are not dumb. You’re about the furthest thing from dumb I can imagine.”
She braced her hands behind her and rubbed her lips together. “Then why did you call me dumb?”
“I said your question was dumb. Why do I want you? Let me count the ways.” On the precipice of a smile, his lips twitched.
“Are you butchering Shakespeare to me?”
A slow grin spread over his face, making his eyes dance. “You mean I didn’t come up with that all by my lonesome?”
She harrumphed, but couldn’t control a returning smile. Yes, he could be a stubborn ass of a man, but he could also be panty-meltingly charming and sexy. And at the moment, her panties were in danger of disintegrating on the side of the road.