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She gave him a quick look. “Why?”
“I pushed him,” was all he said.
She absorbed that as she drove the rest of the way through the quiet town. She made a U-turn on the street to park in front of Tiff’s, and winced a little when one of the wheels bumped up over the curb and then back down again. So much for impressing the man.
The evening was officially a total bust.
She turned off the engine and climbed out, joining Wood on the sidewalk. He took her arm as they walked toward the house. Probably because he was afraid she’d fall on her face or something.
The front door was unlocked, as it always was, and she pushed it open. But Wood didn’t release her arm right away when they entered, and she looked up at him. The porch lights behind him set off auburn glints in his hair. “Something wrong? Other than a genuinely unpleasant evening, I mean?”
He pushed the door shut until it latched softly. “Don’t go back to the Tipped Barrel,” he said. “The place is a complete dive.” Then he lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers.
She went stock-still. Shock, surprise, amazement. All three whisked through her with lightning speed. Then his hands—cool against her skin—cradled her face. Heat, want followed.
A soft sound rose in her throat and she leaned into him, nothing else existing but the feel of his lips softly caressing hers. “Wood—”
He broke the kiss with a soft oath. “For the record, Wendell Pierce isn’t the only one to find you appealing.” Then he stepped back from her. “Good night, Hadley.”
Thank heavens for the wall behind her. It held her up. “Good night, Wood.”
But he probably hadn’t heard her shaking response. He’d already disappeared down the hallway.
Chapter Five
“Heard there was something of a ruckus last night at the Tipped Barrel.”
Dane looked up from the bumper he was removing from the Shelby. Shane Golightly stood in the sunlight streaming through the open bay of Stu’s garage. “So?”
Shane’s jaw cocked to one side. He looked over his shoulder to where Stu had his head under the hood of Hadley’s pickup, then walked closer, ostensibly studying the Shelby up on the rack. “Why are you still in Lucius?”
Dane pulled off the safety goggles Stu had loaned him, letting them hang loose around his neck. “You treat all visitors to such a welcome? No wonder this town is no bigger than my thumb. Chamber of Commerce must love you.” He jerked his head toward the window between the office and the service bays. “Your sister is in there, talking to Riva.”
“Stay away from her.”
“I’ve never been one to follow other people’s orders.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Shane kept his voice low. “It may suit me, for the moment, not to run you out of town, but don’t expect that to last. Hadley doesn’t need someone like you messing in her life.”
“Maybe she doesn’t need her brothers messing in her life, either. Ever thought your attention might be better focused on Evie?” As far as Dane was concerned, it was the blond-haired sister who needed some intervention in her life, not the thoroughly engaging Hadley.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Dane donned the goggles again and picked up the crowbar. “Ask Hadley. I’m just a guy trying to get his car fixed.” He knew Evie had retrieved the SUV early that morning, because he’d overheard the sharp words the woman exchanged with her sister and had barely contained his urge to interrupt them and defend Hadley since Hadley didn’t seem to do much of it on her own.
The sheriff snorted. “Yeah, and I wear a pink tutu on Friday afternoons.”
“Whatever floats your boat, Sheriff.” Dane attacked the mangled bumper again.
Shane leaned in a little closer. “Just a warning here, Tolliver. You’re hiding something and we both know it. If you hurt my sister, you’ll regret it, I promise you.” Then he straightened and headed around the car toward the cramped office.
Dane finally found purchase with the crowbar, and the bumper peeled away with a screech. He dropped the crowbar and caught the ruined bumper and dumped it to one side.
The god-awful racket he created felt curiously satisfying.
He pulled off the work gloves and goggles and left them on the workbench. He lifted a hand in a wave to Hadley, who was watching him through the office window, and told Stu he’d check back later on the car’s progress.
Stu nodded. He’d already agreed to get Hadley’s truck fixed before putting his attention to the Shelby with the provision that Wood loan some of his elbow grease to the autobody repairs. Lord knew Stu didn’t want him having any reason to be in Lucius a minute longer than necessary.
With the Golightlys seemingly occupied, Dane returned to his room at Tiff’s where he spent a few solid hours on the phone with his assistant, Laura. It didn’t matter that it was a Saturday. Most weeks they worked seven days straight. What was inconvenient, though, was dealing with business without aid of a fax or computer or anything other than his cell phone and his own notes spread across the foot of the bed. But they managed to keep the necessities under control. And dictating letters was pretty much the same regardless of the setting.
“Oh. One more thing.” He told her about his conversation with Mandy Manning at the Tipped Barrel.
“Be sure and wire her the funds today to cover the damages,” he said when she finally started winding down. “And don’t send enough that someone accuses anyone of bribery,” he muttered. A soft knock on his bedroom door interrupted the annoyingly fresh memory of Shane Golightly’s accusation of bribery. He ended his call and pulled open the door.
Hadley stood on the other side, her arms filled with linens. “Hi.”
He’d done no more than wave hello and goodbye at Stu’s garage, and had deliberately gone to the Luscious Lucius for breakfast in order to avoid her.
Not exactly chivalrous behavior, nor adult. But kissing her the night before hadn’t been the smartest thing he’d ever done, either. One of the most pleasurable? Yes. Smart? No.
“What’s all that?” He gestured to her burden.
“Emergency candles and clean linens. And an extra blanket for your bed. The temperature’s supposed to drop again in the next day or two.” She didn’t quite meet his eyes as she looked past him into the room. “If it’s not an inconvenient time, I’ll get you all set up.”
He knew there was no way she could see the contents of his notes spread on the bed from where she stood, or the engraved Rutherford Industries logo topping them. But he didn’t intend to chance a closer look from her, either.
“I won’t get cold.” Particularly not now, knowing that her lips tasted sweeter than they looked. Or knowing that she slept as close as the other side of a wall. That when she’d risen that morning, he’d listened to the sound of water running in the old-fashioned bathroom tucked between them and had cursed his imagination that had never before plagued him with such painful vividness.
“Are you sure? It’s no trouble. And I know how many blankets are on your bed, Wood. Same as were on everyone else’s.”
“Yours?” He was a glutton for punishment.
She blinked. “Well, yes. And truly, the weather forecasters are all saying the temperature—”
“Fine. Give me the stuff.” He reached for the blanket and she tried handing it to him, but the entire bundle in her arms fell in the process. Fat white candles rolled across the hall and yellow terry cloth towels, white sheets, and soft blue wool surrounded her, an ocean of color. “Sorry.” He knelt and she knelt and their heads knocked.
He cursed, feeling the slight impact against his injured forehead with the force of a sledgehammer.
“Oh, Lord.” Her hands caught at his shoulders. “I can’t believe I did that. Sit down.”
He didn’t have much choice with her tugging at him the way she was. He sat down, leaning his head back against the doorjamb. He’d never really seen stars before, but when he closed his eyes, pricks of light sparked behind his eyelids.
He was vaguely aware of Hadley stepping over him, dislodging the jumble of linens. He heard water running and then she returned.
“I’m going to take off the bandage, okay?” Her fingers were cool and gentle on his face as she peeled it away, then she sucked in her breath. “Oh, Wood.
This cut looks terrible. Come on. I’m taking you to the hospital, right now. We should have done it right after the accident, no matter what you wanted.”
She pressed the wet, cold washcloth to his forehead, then tucked her hands under his arms, as if she fully intended to lift him up if he didn’t cooperate.
“I’ve had worse cuts.” And he hadn’t seen stars then because he’d generally been out cold after the fact. He stopped her efforts by closing his hands around her slender waist. “Stop.” He pulled her down, and her slight weight settled over his thighs. It went some way to alleviating the throbbing in his head, since his blood immediately headed south. He kept her in place with one arm and held the cloth to his head with the other.
Nirvana.
“Worse cuts from what?” Her voice was breathy. Soft.
He opened his eyes a slit and looked at her. “From a long time ago,” he admitted. “Racing days.”
She sucked in the corner of her lip for an infinitesimal moment that nevertheless felt indelibly etched in time. “Horse racing? Foot racing? Car racing?”
“Car.” NASCAR, to be exact. And one of the happiest times in his life. Time that had been too short because other responsibilities had taken priority. Responsibilities that grew with each passing year.
She lifted her hand, only to curl her fingers tightly together and drop it to her lap again. “Were you hurt very badly?”
He closed his eyes again, imagining her fingers touching him. “Nothin’ I couldn’t recover from,” he drawled.
“That’s how you got these?”
He went still when imagination became reality and her fingertips gently grazed over the scars near his eye. “Yeah.”
“I’d be too afraid to race a car.” Her voice was whisper soft.
He smiled. “Sweetness, you could race. You’d just have a hard time finding drivers to get on the same track with you.”
Her touch fell away. “I’m really bad.”
He opened his eyes. “You could be better,” he said honestly.
To her credit, she didn’t take offense. “Maybe you could teach me. Give me some pointers. Not for free or anything,” she added hastily. “I’d be willing to pay you.”
“I don’t want your money, Hadley.” He was starting to want something far more personal than that, which was so far out of the question he felt lower than pond scum even thinking it.
It wasn’t a sensation he was used to experiencing.
“Right.” She shifted, but his arm still anchored her in place. She started folding a towel across her splayed legs, her movements jerky enough that he knew she was not entirely comfortable sitting there on the floor in the hallway the way they were. “You just want to be on your way as soon as possible,” she said. “I understand, believe me.”
He didn’t deny it, and knew she’d assume she was correct. “You’ve wanted to leave Lucius yourself?”
“I did leave for a while. For college. Then my mom got sick so I came back home.”
And stayed to run Tiff’s. His palm spread over the small of her back. God, she was so slender. Yet she didn’t feel made of bones and snobbery the way his usual women did.
Hadley’s not usual, and she’s not your woman.
He mentally kicked the conscientious whisper in the teeth. “What’d you study?”
“Hmm? Oh. Business courses.”
“Dull.” He oughta know. Business for him hadn’t been interesting since he’d left behind the company he and Wood had formed to take on the mantle of Rutherford Industries.
She laughed a little and reached for another towel. Her soft breast brushed against his chest, feeling fuller than he’d have expected giving her habitually too-large clothing. “Dull is right. You probably studied something very exciting.”
The pain in his head had subsided to a muted throb. “What makes you think that?”
“Well, you just said you were a race car driver, right? You don’t seem the kind of man who would be satisfied putting on a tie every morning and going to some stuffy nine-to-five.”
“I do wear a tie most days,” he assured dryly. Hell, Darby had called him the king of Armani. And he couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, his business day had been concluded by five o’clock.
“What is it that you do?”
“I own a business.”
“In Indiana?”
“Yes.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. RTM was based there.
“Do you like it?”
“I’m good at it,” he said after a moment. “Liking it doesn’t have much to do with that.”
“Rather be racing?”
“Racing. Building cars. Fixing cars.” Exactly what he and Wood had planned so long ago.
“Hmm.” Her fingers plucked at the tidy stack of towels that had been growing on her lap, and her cheeks looked rosy. “Are you married?”
“Do I act married?” Irritation skittered down his spine.
“That’s not exactly an answer.”
“I kissed you, remember?” Had he read her so wrong, then? Was that moment of insanity only memorable for him?
“And you stopped.” Her cheeks were even redder, but her soft mouth was set. Resolute.
“Would you have preferred I continue?” He slid his palm up her spine. Threaded his fingers through her abundantly silky hair and cupped the back of her warm, slender neck. “Believe me, sweetness, it would’ve been no hardship.”
“You were just being nice. Kind. Because of what Charlie said and all.”
“I’m not nice, or kind,” he said evenly. Nice hadn’t gotten Rutherford Industries to where it was today. Kind hadn’t been the words used by the companies he’d taken over. And nice sure in hell wouldn’t involve lying about his reason for remaining in Lucius. “I’m manipulative and controlling and I get what I want.”
The power of being a Rutherford. The name was pretty much synonymous with American royalty.
She looked skeptical. “It’s not a sin to be kind, you know.”
“It is in my father’s world. There’s no time for kindness there.” Only the business. Always the business. Whether he liked it or not.
Her lashes dipped. She nibbled her lip with the slightest edge of her pearly, white teeth. “I think that’s sad,” she said after a moment.
