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  “Who said I needed advice?”

  “You did when you just told me you’re drinking a beer on a Monday night,” she sighs. “Look, Walker, you need prodded along. I know you’re all ‘I’m fine,’” she says, mocking me, “but you’re not. You’re bored as hell. You’re grumpy. You’re stuck in a cycle that—”

  “Blaire.”

  “What?”

  “Stop it.”

  “This has gone on long enough, Walker.”

  I know where this is going, and I’m not heading that direction. “I swear I’ll hang up on you.”

  She groans in the line. “If Mom were here, she’d tell you the same thing.” With the reference to our mother, the octave of her voice drops and you can almost hear the mortal side of her that we don’t see often.

  “But she’s not,” I almost whisper.

  “I miss them, Walk.”

  Blaire’s admission makes me gulp. Of course she misses our parents. We all do. None of us expected them to not come home that Fourth of July. We didn’t know they’d be hit in their boat and capsize, losing their lives on Lake Michigan. I know she misses them. I do too. But to hear her, the stoic one, the real badass of the family despite Machlan’s attempts to prove otherwise, say it out loud throws me for a loop.

  “I thought of her yesterday,” she says, a lump clearly in her throat. “There was a woman her age with the same long, black hair in the courthouse. She laughed a high, almost singing sound, and my stomach hit the floor. I couldn’t stop looking at her …”

  “It’s almost her birthday,” I say softly. “Dad would start bugging her right about now, asking her what she wanted.”

  “And she’d say she already had it.” Blaire sighs into the phone. “I gotta go. I’m meeting a client in twenty minutes and I haven’t even found a cab yet.”

  “It’s ten o’clock at night, Blaire.”

  “So it is,” she sighs again. “Talk to you later.”

  “Be careful. Love ya, sis.”

  “Love you. Bye.”

  The phone slides across the counter, hitting the napkin dispenser before stopping. The stranger takes another long draw of his drink, his fourth since I got here. Maybe I’m just not going at it hard enough.

  Picking at the label on the bottle in front of me again, I allow my mind to go to the place it wants to go every time I stop purposefully focusing on something else—to Sienna.

  I can’t make heads or tails of this woman. She’s too easy. Too sweet. Too confident. I’ve never seen a woman with the guts she has to do things like she does. I just don’t know what to do with her.

  The money is one thing. There’s no way I can afford to go in the red on that kind of cash on a regular basis, although I see why she did it and I kind of love her heart for it. I wouldn’t have charged Dave anyway and MaryAnn’s husband would’ve worked off whatever their insurance didn’t pay. But I’m still on the hook and can’t afford to be out this much again. My customers’ money keeps the lights on.

  All of that is fair enough, but not the reason I try to shove it out of my mind. I try not to think about it because as much as I tell myself to be angry with her, I can’t. Every time I tell myself to find a way to get a hold of her and tell her not to come in tomorrow, I don’t. Each attempt I make to convince myself she’s a potential thorn in my life that I really don’t need right now, I fail.

  The proposition of her coming into Crank to help is idiotic and driving me mad. Will she come? Will she not? Will she be even more impossible to shake off or finally bare some flaw I can’t overlook? All afternoon, it’s been a series of questions, of “what-ifs,” of the dumbest fucking scenarios that I have no business toying with.

  “Fuck it,” I mutter, tipping the rest of the beer back. It slides down my throat with ease, the cool liquid pooling in my gut and joining the churn.

  “Fuck what? Actually, let me guess. Peck gave me a head start,” Machlan snickers. “Seems as if you’re gonna have a helper in the shop.”

  “Not my idea,” I point out. “It was Peck’s.”

  “He said you weren’t exactly against it. And I can’t see what there is to be against if he painted the picture accurately.”

  Ignoring his leading, I keep things factual. “She owes me a lot of money,” I explain. “And it just seemed …”

  “… like a good idea. You don’t have to admit that out loud because I might tell somebody, I get it. Lips are sealed.”

  I motion for another beer and wait until he places it in front of me. “It’s a terrible idea. There’s nothing good that can come out of this,” I say more to myself than to him.

  “Well, based on Peck’s description, I can think of lots of good things to come out of that,” he grins.

  “You know what I fucking mean.” I stare at him, hoping he drops his angle.

  Blowing out a breath, he nods. “I do. I get it. You get her in there helping out and then you like her and God forbid you like someone. That would totally ruin your reputation as the loner.”

  Glaring at him, I swipe my phone off the counter and jam it in the pocket of my jeans. “I’d hate for people to confuse the two of us.”

  “I was going to suggest letting Peck take a shot at that, but I can see that wouldn’t go over well,” he jokes. When I don’t budge, his lips frown. “Fine. Moving on … Let me toss an idea by you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The two lots behind the bar are for sale. I was thinking about trying to buy them.”

  “For what?” I ask, half in the conversation, half wondering what Sienna is doing.

  “I have lots of ideas. We could build a room for meetings and wedding receptions and that shit. We could build a couple of apartments and rent them out.”

  Machlan’s talking too fast, his eyes darting around too much to be telling the truth.

  “Why don’t you tell me what you’re really thinking?” I ask.

  “That is what I’m thinking.”

  “Sure.” Standing up, I snag a twenty from my pocket and toss it on the bar. “Go get into wedding receptions. Seems right up your alley.”

  I wait for him to give in, but he doesn’t. “Have it your way. See ya tomorrow,” I call out.

  Stepping out into the late summer heat, I stop and breathe in the warm, humid air. It reminds me of nights at the lake with a girl in my arms and barbecues and homemade ice cream. All things that annoy me to pieces.

  Six

  Sienna

  Flipping down the visor, I silently curse the yellow light illuminating my face. Taking a calming breath, I remind myself I don’t need to look my best. I’m just going in to work off a debt. That’s it.

  “Why did I agree to this?” I whine. “You know why you agreed to it. It’s the right thing to do.” Snorting as I run a hand over the top of my head to smooth out a bump in my ponytail, I laugh. “Yeah, it has nothing to do with how sexy he is. Don’t lie to yourself.”

  Stomach sloshing as I pick apart my appearance, I set aside the excitement building in my gut and focus on the reflection in the poorly lit mirror. My skin is decent, except for the pimple that decided to spring up during the night. My makeup is light and casual to go with my strategically ripped jeans and short-sleeved red and black plaid shirt with a lacy white cami underneath that took way too long this morning to choose.

  “Stop,” I chastise myself, working a strand of hair from the center of one of my large hoop earrings. “You’re here to do the right thing. Walker doesn’t even like you anyway.”

  Gathering my phone and lip gloss from the passenger seat, I slip them into my purse and open the car door. If this happened in any normal situation, I would’ve already paid him back by now. But if I tossed him some cash, I think he might actually be offended. Still, knowing enough money is tucked in my wallet to pay for the damage if things go south is a little balm to my uneasiness.

  Confidence is one of my best qualities. I can walk into a room of political powerhouses or professional athletes and hold my ow
n. It’s a regularity of my life in Savannah, how I was raised. So why am I walking into a mechanic’s shop in the middle of Illinois and feeling like I’m naked in Times Square?

  Ignoring the roiling in my stomach, I take the handle and yank the door open. The chimes I’m already starting to hate ring as I step inside. The air conditioning is a welcome reprieve from the heat. It’s almost as nice as the view sitting at the desk.

  A tight black t-shirt grips his muscled frame as Walker sits in the chair and clicks around on a computer. He knows I’m here; there’s no way he doesn’t. But he doesn’t look at me.

  I wait a few seconds before finally clearing my throat. “Hello?”

  “Hi.” His head doesn’t turn, his eyes unmoving from the screen. He couldn’t pretend to be more bored with my arrival if he tried.

  I pick at the hem of my shirt, silently begging him to have mercy on me and just speak. But after almost a minute, it’s obvious he’s not going to.

  “Good morning to you too,” I say flatly.

  Readjusting my purse on my shoulder, I wait for him to respond. He continues doing whatever it is that he’s doing, and I’m two seconds from walking back out when he shoves away from the desk. The sudden burst of movement startles me. Large arms cross his chest, and his eyes are darker than I’ve ever seen them before as they settle on me.

  “I didn’t expect you to come today,” he says simply.

  “I’m a woman of my word.”

  A hint of a smile plays on his lips, but never quite breaks free. I want to ask him why he’s so constrained, why that sentence amuses him, why he didn’t expect me—but I don’t. Instead, I just stare back at him, giving as good as I’m getting.

  He gives nothing away with his steady gaze, two-day stubble, and wild hair like his hands have been in it all morning. My heart strums in my chest, each moment that passes without any sort of break in the standoff giving me way too much time to examine him for all the wrong reasons. To smell him. To almost taste the energy spiraling off him in waves.

  If I stand here much longer, I might start to pant.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask.

  One corner of his lips lifts, catching on to my unintended innuendo, before he rolls his mouth around like he’s tasting a sip of wine.

  Blushed, I clear my throat. “Where do you want me to start?”

  “How do I know?” he asks, his voice low and grumbly. “This wasn’t my idea, if you’ll recall.”

  “If you’ll recall,” I start back, “it’s your business and you agreed to this. I assume you want a say in how I work off my debt.”

  “I can make suggestions,” Peck laughs, coming out of the bathroom. “Wanna hear them?”

  “Get to work.” Walker shakes his head as Peck walks by. “The fuel injector came in for the car in the back. Can you get that thing on so we can get it out of the way?”

  “Yeah. Got it.” Peck leans against the door to the garage bay. His boyish grin is adorable, a dimple set deeply into his right cheek. A mop of blond hair sticks out from under a navy blue cap. “Nice to see you, Slugger.”

  “Go on, Peck,” Walker rumbles as I release a little giggle that only seems to annoy him more.

  Peck’s chuckle remains a few seconds after the door swings shut, leaving us alone. Walker scoots his chair back and stands, sending a whiff of a woodsy cologne through the room. “There’ll be a delivery this morning from the auto parts store. Just sign for it if you happen to be out here, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Easy enough.”

  Moving around the desk, he stops just a few inches from me. I tilt my head up to look him in the eye, breathing in the masculine scent that I’ve already committed to memory. He’s close enough that I could touch him, could run my hands down the sides of his face or trace the lines of his shoulders pressing against the cotton of his shirt.

  His eyes narrow, his lips part slightly, as he takes me in. There’s no uptick in his breathing, no tell-tale sign that he’s thinking anything remotely like what I am. There’s just a hint of intrigue buried deep in his eyes that only fuels my need to make him react.

  “Anything I should or shouldn’t do today?” I ask, a little kiss on the words to hopefully drag some sort of response out of him.

  “Don’t give anything else away.”

  My shoulders fall. “Really? That’s your answer.”

  “Yup. That’s my answer.”

  “Fine,” I grumble, sidestepping him. I don’t mean to brush against him as I turn the corner of the desk. I don’t really even know how it happens because I move far enough out of the way to not make any contact at all, yet it happens.

  Ever-so-lightly, my arm slips across his as I move. Not-so-slightly, a shiver rips through my body as his sturdy body doesn’t flinch. It doesn’t give at all. It’s as if it needs the contact as much as mine in its refusal to get out of the way or at least recoil as any normal person would when touched.

  He’s hard and steady and I imagine him enveloping me with both arms.

  My eyes flip to his immediately and are rewarded with the faintest glimmer of desire. It’s there, just masked with a look of annoyance that is more tolerable knowing the other emotion lies just below the surface.

  His nostrils flare, almost a taunt for me to press the issue. Like he’s asking me to verbalize whatever the hell that was that just sparked between our bodies so he doesn’t have to.

  I almost do. I almost give him the opening I think he wants, but think better of it.

  “Where can I put my purse?” I ask, gesturing towards the desk. Again, I wait for a response I don’t get. “I’d be happy to figure it out if you’ll get out of my way.”

  He cocks his head to the side, twisting his lips together. “Why is it that when you come in here, I feel like you forget who’s in charge?”

  “Because I think we both know who’s the calm, level-headed one here.” I toss my purse on the desk.

  “You?” he bursts, the word floating on a laugh. “The one who bashed my truck with a baseball bat?”

  “That’s a poor example. I was thinking more like the way you stomp around and try to snarl all the time.”

  It’s a gamble calling him out, and I hold my breath while I wait for his response. I’m shocked when he laughs, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all morning. “I don’t stomp.”

  “But you do snarl,” I wink. “So, purse?”

  He hesitates, his features smoothing as he resolves himself to some decision I’m not apprised of. Closing the distance between us, he stops when he’s beside me. Reaching across my body, his arm intentionally brushing my shoulder as it passes, he lifts my purse up with two fingers.

  Boxed in between the wall and his forearm, roped with a mass of veins and muscles, I keep my vision pinned on the calendar taped to the desk. As he drags the purse towards him, his bicep swipes against me again, stealing my breath.

  He leans close, his lips a hair’s breadth away from the shell of my ear. “It wouldn’t be wise,” he says, his voice a few decibels above a whisper, “to leave your shit lying out and getting stolen.”

  When he pulls back, it’s like oxygen is freed up in the room again.

  “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?” I ask, my cheeks heating. “From the truck to the stuff yesterday to this—you think I’m just a stupid girl who doesn’t know anything.”

  He doesn’t answer, just holds my canary yellow purse in his hand.

  “Well, I’m not. The truck thing was kind of stupid,” I admit, “but I didn’t mean to do that. I just …”

  Scrambling for words, completely thrown off by the mixed signals from Walker, I snatch my purse from his hand. He watches me, a confused look etched on his face.

  “Let me just pay you and get out of here,” I say, searching for the bank envelope.

  “I’m not taking your money.”

  “Why? I owe it to you.”

  “Because I’m not.”

  The finality in his voice
startles me and I look up. He runs a hand through his hair, the spikes changing position but still sticking up. The irritation doesn’t leave his face, but it changes—from what and to what, I’m not sure. All I know is that the hand holding my purse drops to my side as I wait for him to find the words he’s so obviously searching for.

  “I, um …” He forces a swallow. “Put your purse in the cabinet back there. No one can get into it but me and Peck, and while he might be a dumbass, he’s not a thief.”

  “Okay,” I say quietly. There’s a shift in the air, one that swirls between us and leaves us both a little wobbly.

  “Otherwise, just, um, do whatever you think needs done. There’ll be a few customers coming in this morning. Just knock on the window and Peck or I will come in and take care of it.”

  “You trust Peck over me?”

  “Damn right I do,” he replies.

  “So I should just assume I’m not to take any payments or deal with invoices?”

  His attempt at biting back his chuckle fails. “No. I can’t afford to get behind anymore.”

  If I couldn’t tell he was playing, I would be pissed. But the way his lip curls on the side dissolves it before it gets started.

  “My business skills are on fire,” I tell him. “You’re making a mistake, Walker.”

  “I’m confident in my decision-making abilities, Slugger.”

  “Your loss,” I shrug, heading towards the back cabinet. I lay my purse on a box and close it. When I turn around, he’s still there. “You gonna work today or watch me?”

  Shaking his head, he heads towards the door to the garage. “Behave.”

  ***

  Walker

  “Are ya even listening to me?” Peck bumps my shoulder as he walks by. “I get it. She’s hot as hell. But we still have to get shit done.”

  “Shut it.”

  “Just speaking the truth,” he cracks. “You’ve managed to make it two hours without going back in there. I’m impressed.”