Unraveling Him: A Small Town Family Romance (The Bailey Brothers Book 3)

by Claire Kingsley

  “Okay. I’ll get that going for you.”

  One of the guys from the kitchen paused by my table on his way back inside. “You all right?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m fine. I’m just waiting for my order, then I’ll get out of your way. I’m really sorry about all that. I don’t know what happened.”

  “It’s all right. Not your fault.” He eyed me for a second. “You need any help?”

  “No, I’m really okay. But thank you for asking.”

  He nodded and went back to the kitchen.

  I watched Evan out the window while I waited for our breakfasts. He took Sasquatch out of the truck and walked him over to a grassy patch again, then put him back inside. I sipped my coffee. I could tell he was angry—I could almost feel it from here. But it wasn’t my fault he’d gotten kicked out.

  The waitress came back with a bag and the check.

  “I know it’s none of my business, but was that your ex-boyfriend or something?” she asked.

  “No, that didn’t have anything to do with me.”

  She raised her eyebrows like she didn’t believe me. “Huh. Well, your guy sure is protective of you. Must be nice.”

  “Oh, he’s not my guy. We’re not together. We’re traveling together, but not because we’re together.”

  She glanced out the window toward where Evan stood next to his truck, her eyes sparkling with interest. No, not interest. It was undisguised attraction. Lust, even. Her tongue darted across her lower lip and I had the sudden urge to start a scuffle of my own.

  I cleared my throat. “I should get going.”

  She blinked her eyes back to me and set the bag and the check on the table. “Sure. Have a nice day.”

  I scooped up the bag, wondering what was wrong with me. Who cared if some waitress had just eye-fucked Evan Bailey through the window? We were leaving and he’d probably never see her again. And even if he did, what did that have to do with me? I barely knew him.

  I left some money on the table to cover the check—and a good tip for their trouble—and went outside.

  Evan scowled at me as I walked toward his truck. There was a little bit of blood on his lower lip, but otherwise, he looked okay.

  “How’s your face?” I asked.

  He licked his lip but missed the spot. Without thinking about it, I reached up with my thumb and rubbed it away.

  His body went completely still and for a second, all I could feel was the small space of skin on the pad of my thumb, pressing against the dip just beneath his lower lip.

  He stepped back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the fuck took you so long?”

  I held up the bag. “I was getting our breakfast.”

  “Ours?”

  “Yes, I ordered you something. I figured you’d be hungry.”

  He grumbled something incoherent and opened the driver’s side door.

  I went around to the other side and got in. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about, or do I have to make up my own version?”

  “That was Luke Haven. We don’t like each other.”

  “Really? You acted like best friends.”

  He glared at me.

  “Come on. What happened?”

  “His family and my family have hated each other for generations,” he said.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s like some kind of feud or something?”

  “It probably doesn’t make much sense if you’re not from Tilikum. But yes, it’s a feud.”

  “What started it?”

  “No idea.”

  “So you’re telling me you got in a fight in a diner hundreds of miles from home because your families have been feuding for generations and no one knows why?”

  He was quiet for a moment. “No.”

  “No? I’m so confused.”

  “The feud is a thing, but we mostly just prank each other. My issues with Luke are… personal.”

  “Why?”

  “None of your goddamn business.”

  “It’s because you guys are competitors, isn’t it? His shop restores cars and builds customs just like you. It’s a turf war.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Or is there more to it? Is it about a girl or something?”

  I chewed on the inside of my lip, immediately regretting the question. I really didn’t want to hear him say he hated Luke Haven because of a girl. Why? I had no idea. An unrequited love story from Evan’s past shouldn’t have mattered to me any more than the eye-fucking waitress.

  “No, it’s not about a girl. Luke’s a salesman more than anything. He gets off on chasing down a deal. And he loves trying to screw me over. He plays dirty.”

  “Do you play dirty too?”

  He looked at me again and the fire in his gaze made my heart race and a very surprising sense of arousal bloom in my core. He turned back to the road without answering.

  Wow, was the heat on in here?

  It was time to change the subject. I pulled one of the to-go containers out of the bag. “Do you want your breakfast? I just got you a bunch of meat and toast so it would be easier to eat on the road.”

  The glance he gave me this time was softer, his eyes flicking from my face down to the food. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

  I smiled and passed the food over. “You’re welcome. And don’t worry about Luke Haven. This is why you have me.”

  He grunted and I decided to pretend it wasn’t arousing.

  It wasn’t easy.

  Because everything he did, from the way he gripped the steering wheel to the way he’d stood up for me to Luke, was stupidly hot.

  9

  Evan

  I opened and closed my hand a few times, feeling the dull ache leftover from hitting Luke yesterday. It fucking figured that he’d be hot on the trail of the same car as me. Ever since I’d opened my shop, he’d been there at every turn, ready to screw me over. We competed for clients. For parts. For deals. And now he thought the 1970 Pontiac GTO was his ticket into America’s Car Museum.

  It wasn’t going to happen.

  Although the fact that my success rested on a girl who wore too much black eyeliner and talked to her plants wasn’t doing much for my confidence.

  And where the fuck was she?

  I’d gotten up early to take Sasquatch out for some exercise, then picked up breakfast from a fast food place down the road. We were about thirty minutes from the old guy, in a town that made mine look like a thriving metropolis. But it had a couple of restaurants and a not-too-disgusting motel, so as far as stops went, it wasn’t terrible.

  Fiona had called the old guy last night and he’d said we could come see the car this morning. I was anxious to get over there. The last thing I needed was to find out he’d already sold it to Luke because princess mascara had taken her fucking time getting ready this morning.

  She came out of her room—finally—carrying her houseplants with that damn smile plastered on her face. I didn’t know what she was so happy about all the time. Her life was in shambles but she acted like everything was sunshine and rainbows.

  No huge winter coat today, but she was dressed in yet another oversize sweatshirt. To be fair, it was unnaturally chilly for northern Arizona. This one had a hood and a pocket in front. And I was not the least bit intrigued by the shape I could just make out underneath her clothes. It was hard to tell, but she might have been hiding some banging curves under all that fabric.

  Not that I cared.

  “Good morning, Mr. Scowlypants.”

  Sasquatch jumped down and trotted over to her, his tail wagging.

  “There’s a good boy. I’ll pet you when my hands are free, buddy.”

  “What have you been doing in there? Dying your hair a darker shade of black?”

  She laughed. “It’s not black, it’s chestnut brown with purple lowlights, and it’s a semi-permanent, so it’ll fade back to my natural color without giving me roots.”

 
“I don’t care. We need to get going.”

  “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I overslept a little.”

  “You overslept? Luke is probably down at the old guy’s farm right now badmouthing me.”

  “His name is Mr. Browning. Walt Browning.”

  “What?”

  “He’s not the old guy, he’s Mr. Browning. It would probably help your cause if you remember his name.”

  I groaned. “For fuck’s sake, can we just go?”

  She smirked at me—fucking smirked. “You’re very lucky you have me, Prince Not-Charming.”

  “Yeah, it’s worked out great for me so far.”

  She just laughed again and carried her stupid houseplants to the passenger side.

  I hesitated for a second, hearing Gram in the back of my head again. It wasn’t my fault Fiona’s hands were full and she’d have a hard time opening the truck door. Who brought plants on a road trip?

  Rolling my eyes, I went around and opened the door for her.

  “Thank you,” she said in that same cheerful tone.

  I didn’t know what she was so happy about. We hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

  We ate on the way over and the food in my stomach helped take the edge off. But I was still pretty amped. I’d driven a lot of miles for a shot at one of my top five dream cars. The fact that Luke Haven stood in my way made me even more determined to buy it. A bidding war could be dangerous—I wasn’t exactly swimming in cash—but the upside on a build like this was almost limitless. Especially if it got me into the museum.

  I had to get this car.

  The GPS took us down a long two-lane road flanked by scrubby fields. Walt Browning’s land came up on our left and as we got closer, I was hit with a pang of envy. Fiona had called him a car hoarder, and she hadn’t been wrong.

  At a glance, I could see a ton of cars and trucks I’d have loved to get my hands on. An early seventies Challenger. A fifties Bel Air. Mustangs, Camaros, Chargers. He had hundreds of cars in varying states of decay lined in neat rows. So much potential. For a guy like me, this was basically paradise.

  We turned onto a dirt road that served as his driveway. His house was set back from the road and there were more outbuildings behind it. Several vehicles were parked out front, most of them probably his. Unfortunately, the one I didn’t want to see was there. Luke had beat us here.

  “See,” I grumbled, gesturing toward his truck.

  “It’ll be fine,” she said brightly. “You have me.”

  Although I didn’t share her optimism, there wasn’t much I could do about it now.

  We got out and I clipped on Sasquatch’s leash. My shoes crunched on the gravel. Fiona walked ahead, shoving her hands in her front pocket. The back of her sweatshirt pulled up, revealing two very round ass cheeks in those tight leggings, sloping up to a narrow waist.

  For a second, I couldn’t look at anything else, not even the row of cars we were passing. Just the sway of her hips and the curve of her heart-shaped ass. It was mesmerizing, the kind of ass a guy could sink his teeth into.

  Jesus, what was I doing?

  Forcing my gaze up, I shook my head a little to get rid of the very vivid image of Fiona bent over, my hands on those lush ass cheeks, spreading her open.

  Two days in a truck with her had obviously messed with my head.

  She waved while she kept walking. “Hi, Mr. Browning. I’m Fiona.”

  A grizzled old man with a bald head and a stoop to his shoulders turned with a smile at the sound of her voice.

  And sure enough, Luke was with him.

  Fiona glanced back at me over her shoulder. “Behave yourself.”

  I grunted in acquiescence.

  “Hi there, sweetheart,” Mr. Browning said. “Good timing. We were just heading out to see the car.”

  We stopped a few feet away. I put Sasquatch in a sit and met Luke’s eyes.

  “Bailey,” he said with a slight tip of his head.

  I returned the chin tip. “Haven.”

  “You know each other?” Mr. Browning asked.

  “They’re from the same town,” Fiona interjected smoothly. “Isn’t that funny? This is my friend, Evan Bailey.”

  “Call me Walt,” the old man said. “I suppose I should show you boys what I’ve got. See if you’re still interested.”

  “Lead the way,” Luke said with a smile at Walt, then cast a glare in my direction.

  I returned it.

  Fucker.

  Walt led us toward one of several outbuildings. Inside, he had a few cars covered with canvas.

  He gestured to one and nodded. “Go ahead.”

  I handed the leash to Fiona. Then Luke took one side while I took the other and we peeled back the covering on one of the baddest cars ever made.

  The Judge.

  I drank her in, every line and curve. She needed work—a lot of work. The body was in rough shape and I had no idea whether she ran. Didn’t matter. I’d bring her back to life and make her purr.

  “It has a numbers-matching engine and transmission,” Walt said. “Doesn’t run, but I’m sure either one of you could get her going.”

  “Absolutely,” Luke said.

  I glared at him.

  “How long have you had her?” Fiona asked.

  “Probably twenty years,” Walt said. “I always wanted to get working on her, but I never could seem to find the time.”

  “Totally understandable,” Luke said. “You have quite the collection here.”

  I took slow steps, circling the car, only half listening. I could already see her finished. The way the light would glint off her sleek lines. The roar of that engine. She had the potential to be gorgeous—a true show piece.

  I was fucking in love with this car.

  Luke said something—I didn’t catch what—and the fact that I wasn’t following the conversation jolted me back to reality. Walt smiled at Luke, nodding along. Damn it. Was I going to have to schmooze this guy into selling it to me? I didn’t want to have to sweet talk him, I wanted to make a goddamn offer.

  “Your asking price is more than fair,” Luke said.

  I was about to tell Luke to shut the hell up when Fiona stepped smoothly in front of me. “So you said it has a numbers-matching engine and transmission, which is such a great find. There’s a lot to be said for authenticity in a build like this. Evan, what do you think about the interior?”

  “This will all need to be replaced,” I gestured to the dash. “But I’d reuse the dials and replace the wood trim so it looks original.”

  Walt glanced between me and Luke, crossing his arms. “What about color?”

  Luke shrugged. “You could go a lot of different directions with a car like this. Black is always classic. Or maybe red.”

  I kept gazing at the car, picturing the work she’d need. “No. Atoll blue, just like when she was new. Matching blue interior. Period-correct bucket seats won’t be too hard to source, and I can reupholster them to get a color match if I have to.”

  “What else?” Fiona asked.

  I was hardly aware that I had an audience. I kept doing the work in my head, seeing each step as it would unfold. “The engine just needs some love to get her humming again. This isn’t a resto-mod; no modernizing her. She needs to be original from the suspension on up. Blue with the red pin-striping. I can get new side mirrors off a similar model. Put in a three-spoke Formula steering wheel.”

  “You’re the one,” Walt said, pointing at me. “You know what she’s supposed to look like.”

  Fiona bounced up onto her tiptoes and clapped.

  I stared at the car. Holy shit.

  Walt turned to Luke. “Sorry, son. When I know, I know. But if you want, I can still try to make the trip worth your while, if there’s something else you see that you like.”

  Luke’s glare at me quickly melted into a smile for Walt. “Yeah, I actually saw a few cars I might be interested in.”

  “Feel free to take a look around,” Walt said. “I
have a ’69 Mustang Boss in the building next door.”

  “That I definitely need to see.”

  “Fiona, sweetheart, I’ll be right back. I’m just going to walk Luke over there, then we can come back and hammer out the details.”

  “Sounds great, Mr. Browning. Thank you so much.”

  Walt and Luke left us alone with the Judge. I caressed the back fender with my fingertips. This car was going to be fucking amazing when I was done with her.

  Fiona beamed at me, flashing those bright white teeth, and it hit me. She’d done it. She’d convinced the old guy—or maybe we’d convinced the old guy—to sell me the Judge, which meant I had to uphold my end of the deal. I had to let her use my space to fix her car.

  I wasn’t getting rid of her when we got back to town.

  And I had no idea how to feel about that.

  10

  Evan

  Fiona pointed out the window. “It’s up there on the right.”

  The sight of the motel sign was a relief. My eyelids had been getting increasingly heavy for about the last hour. It had been a long day on the road, but I’d wanted to cover as much ground as possible before we stopped. Pulling the weight of the car on the trailer slowed us down and I didn’t want the drive back to take longer than necessary.

  But I’d been driving for hours and I needed sleep.

  I turned off the highway and found a spot with space for my truck and trailer. We left Sasquatch in the back seat and went to the office to get our room keys.

  The front desk was illuminated by a broken light fixture on the ceiling. Dated wood paneling and thin carpet meant the rooms were probably shabby at best. But there wasn’t another motel for miles.

  A middle-aged woman who looked as tired as I felt gave us a small smile.

  “Hi,” Fiona said, approaching the desk. “I’m Fiona Gallagher. I called a few hours ago.”

  The desk clerk clicked her mouse and typed something on her keyboard. I stuck my credit card on the counter to cover my room.

  “Let me get your keys,” the woman said. She opened a drawer and pulled out two keys, each hanging from a large black keychain. “You’re in one-twenty. Ground floor, down that way.”