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She answered with a big yawn. “Yeah, what?”
“You still in bed?”
“How’d you guess?”
He grunted. “Just checking to see if maybe you went to Denver with Paige.”
“Uh-uh. Too early for me. You coming to make breakfast?”
“I’m on my way.”
He made French toast and tried to be subtle when he asked Dawn if she’d noticed anything different about Paige in the last few days.
Dawn groaned. “Oh, yeah. Something’s on her mind. But every time I ask, she tells me there’s nothing.”
He felt instantly vindicated. And then he frowned. “So...you don’t know what it is, either, huh?”
“I’m clueless. Seriously. But how awful can it be, really? I mean, she got up at two-thirty in the morning to spend the day shopping. I don’t think it’s an incurable disease or anything.”
“A disease?” That kind of freaked him out. “It didn’t even occur to me she might have a disease...”
“Carter. Pull yourself together.”
“Well, I’m worried about her, okay?”
“She’s just feeling down about something.”
“It’s not like her,” he grumbled.
“Everybody feels low now and then. Eventually, she’ll tell you. She always does.”
“Yeah,” he said, feeling marginally better. “Of course she will. She always does.” He knew everything about Paige, all the little things—that she thought she looked bad in purple and she liked ’70s rock.
He knew that she’d been in love with a loser named Jim Kellogg when she was in college. She and Jim had been talking marriage, but he dumped her when her parents died. He said he didn’t want to follow her to some Podunk small town and help her raise her sister. Since then, she’d only dated casually.
He asked Dawn, “What time did she say she’d be back from Denver?”
“Five or six—and, Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“Let it go. She’ll tell you when she’s ready to tell you.”
“You’re right. I will...”
After breakfast, he took Sally home and then headed for Bravo Custom Cars, thinking about Paige the whole way. About him and Paige, about how they’d hit it off from the start.
He’d met her at Romano’s Restaurant, where she’d started working after her parents died. He’d liked her right off and he used to eat there at least a couple of times a week, partly because Romano’s had the best Italian food around. But mostly because he loved to sit in Paige’s section and give her a hard time. He’d asked her out more than once. She’d turned him down over and over, but he kept trying.
Finally, she’d told him gently and regretfully that she was never going out with him.
She hadn’t told him why she wouldn’t date him. Not then. The truth had come out later, as their friendship grew. About how she was happier on her own, that her heart had been stomped on but good by that Kellogg creep when she was already in bad shape from losing her parents.
But that was later.
He could still remember her way back at the beginning of their friendship, still see her so clearly, standing by his favorite booth at Romano’s, her hands in the pockets of her waitress apron. “I don’t need a date, Carter. But I could sure use a friend.”
“Then you got one,” he’d said.
The overhead fluorescents had brought out red lights in her dark brown hair, and her soft mouth kicked up at the corners. “Does my friend need another beer?”
When he opened BCC, she’d answered his ad for an office manager. He hired her on the spot and she got right after it, moving the furniture around in the office for better “work flow,” as she called it, setting up the front counter and the customer waiting area so she could see everything from her desk. He knew cars. Paige knew a whole lot about systems and how to set up the front of the shop. Not only did she seem to have a knack for running the place; she’d been a semester away from getting a BA in business when her parents died and she quit to come home.
The woman knew her way around a spreadsheet. He’d figured out within the first few weeks that he needed to keep her around. So every year at Christmas, he gave her a percentage of the company as her Christmas bonus. Five years after they opened BCC, they were best friends and she owned 25 percent of the business.
They had a good thing going. And somehow, now that she’d cut herself off from him, suddenly everything in his life seemed all wrong. Best friends were supposed to communicate. Paige knew that. Or at least, she always lectured him about communication whenever he got feeling down and wouldn’t say what was bugging him.
He unlocked the gate at BCC and sailed onto the lot. Stopping the Lincoln in front of one of the bay doors, he climbed out and went around to the shop’s side door, where he turned off the alarm and let himself in. A button by the bay sent the accordion door rumbling up. He pulled the Lincoln into the open bay, got out again and shut the bay door. It was sunny out, but only in the midthirties, so he turned on the heat.
The Lincoln, which he’d customized in a number of pretty cool ways, needed a little fine-tuning. He needed to let all this worrying about Paige go. She would talk when she was ready to talk. And when she did, he’d be there to listen.
In the meantime, BCC was closed for Black Friday and he had the whole place to himself. He could get the Lincoln purring like a kitten and ready for the day trader from Boulder who’d commissioned it from him. And then he might even get started on the already cherry ’68 Shelby Cobra GT-500 Fastback that Deacon wanted pimped out with a whole new sound system and all the modern conveniences, including GPS. Deacon also wanted a rear spoiler, a modified grille and monster wheels with some really garish rims. It kind of seemed a shame to do that to a work of art like the Cobra. But Deacon didn’t pay him the big bucks to suddenly get squeamish over messing with the classics.
Carter had a killer sound system in his shop. He turned on the radio to a hard rock station. As ZZ Top roared out, he zipped up his overalls and got down to it.
He didn’t notice he had company until about an hour later, when he rolled out from under the Lincoln and headed for the inner door to the office and the little table in front of the window, where Paige kept one of those K-Cup machines. He had a nice hot mug of coconut mocha on his mind and had all but forgotten that he’d failed to relock the side door to the shop when he came in.
Whipping a rag from his rear pocket, he wiped the worst of the grease from hands and switched off the radio. He loved vintage Bruce as much as the next man, but sometimes a little silence was good for the soul.
As he turned for the front-office door, he registered movement out of the corner of his eye.
And then he saw her: Sherry Leland, his ex-girlfriend.
Sherry had taken the cover off the metal-flake candy-apple-red ’67 Firebird just back from the painter’s on Wednesday, and draped that killer body of hers across the hood.
“Hello, Carter.” She gave him one of her come-and-get-me smiles. The smile matched her outfit: a red thong, a Santa hat and sky-high stilettos.
It was a testament to how over Sherry he really was that his first thought had very little to do with her being nearly naked. His first thought concerned how those pointy heels of hers had to be screwing up the Firebird’s high-dollar paint job.
“Sherry,” he said and tried not to sigh.
“I thought you’d never come out from under that car.” She stuck out her plump lower lip in a sexy pout and tossed her long blond hair. “I’m starting to get kind of chilly.” She fluttered her eyelashes and glanced down at her bare breasts. Yep. She was chilly, all right. “Come on over here, baby,” she cooed. “Come here and warm me up.”
“Sherry, I...” He really wanted to ask her to please get off the hood and be careful while she was doing it. But showing concern for the paint job right at that moment would only send her through the roof.
Her pout started to get kind of pinched looking. “What is the matter with you? I missed you. I’m here in this smelly garage of yours practically naked and it’s all for you.” The big blue eyes suddenly brimmed with fat tears. “I’m here to get past this little problem we’ve been having. I’m here to prove to you how much I want to work things out.”
There was nothing to work out. They were done and she knew it, had been done for months now.
He spotted her black trench coat. She’d tossed it on top of the cover she’d whipped off the Firebird. So he stuck his rag back in his pocket, crossed to the coat, grabbed it and held it up for her. “Sherry, come on.”
She sniffled. “How can you be so cold? You’re breaking my heart. How can you do this to me?”
“Put your coat on,” he coaxed.
“Fine. Sure.” Sharp heels digging in, she scrambled off the hood. He tried really hard not to wince at the sight. She tossed her hair some more. And then she came at him, hands raised in frustration. “I hate you, Carter Bravo!”
“Sherry, there’s no point in—”
“Hate you!” And she hauled back and bitch-slapped him right across the face. That shocked him. She’d never physically attacked him before.
Then all the fight went out of her. She crumpled, burying her head in her hands. The sobs started.
He gently wrapped the coat around her. “It’s over,” he said quietly. “You know it is.”
She sobbed harder. “But I love you...”
He took her to the counter at the window between the shop and the office and whipped a few tissues from the box there. “Come on, now. Blow your nose.”
She snatched the tissues and swiped at her cheeks.
He said sincerely, “I’m sorry, Sherry. For everything. Let me drive you home.”
“Forget it.” With a furious sniff, she shoved her arms in the trench he’d draped on her shoulders and tied the belt, hard. Then she raked her acres of hair off her face and aimed her chin high. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He had no idea what to say next, so he said nothing. She wheeled on one of those pointy heels and stalked toward the side door, flinging it wide when she got there. That door was made of steel. It banged good and loud against the wall. “That does it, Carter. I am through. Finished. I hope I never see your face again.”
He kept his mouth shut. He had a feeling that even the sound of his voice right then could have her storming at him all over again. Uh-uh. Better to keep quiet and stand still.
At his extended silence, she fisted both hands at her sides, threw her head back and let out a yowl of frustration. A second later, she disappeared from sight.
Carter stayed right where he was, hardly daring to breathe, until he heard the Camaro he’d rebuilt for her start up. She gunned it and then roared from the lot. He gritted his teeth, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t run into anything, wouldn’t hurt herself or anyone else.
As the sound of the engine faded into the distance, he let himself breathe again. And then, reluctantly, he took a good look at the Firebird.
Yep. Dents and gouges all over that hood. Resigned, he whipped the cover back in place. Monday, he’d get it back to the paint booth and tell the customer he’d need a few more days before the car would be ready.
It would be okay. Sherry would get over him and eventually move on.
He just wished he knew what was wrong with him. He just wished he could someday find a sane woman to get involved with. His mother had it right about one thing. He’d always known that someday he wanted a family.
Well, the years were going by. And someday was starting to look a whole lot like never. But what the hell was a guy supposed to do? He’d tried over and over and it always ended up the way it had with Sherry. This time, he had zero desire to find someone else and try again.
Chapter Three (#ulink_4f25d205-45a8-5ccb-96d9-1dfc9321ffb7)
Paige had a great day shopping in Denver with Carter’s sisters and sister-in-law. She found a bunch of fabulous deals, giving her a serious head start on her Christmas list. The stores were all decked out for the holidays, and Christmas music filled the air, so the day really kind of put her in the holiday spirit. It was good to get out of town and it helped her achieve a little much-needed perspective.
She realized she needed to stop avoiding Carter. It wasn’t his fault if she’d suddenly started thinking she might be in love with him—might being the operative word.
It was a magazine quiz, for God’s sake. What fool took a magazine quiz seriously?
The next morning, there he was as usual when she came downstairs. Her heart leaped at the sight of his handsome face and sexy smile. She thought of how good he was to her and her sister, showing up to walk the dog and fix the breakfast even when she’d been avoiding him for days. That made her misty-eyed.
But Paige didn’t let a leaping heart or misty eyes keep her from trying harder that morning. She made an effort to join the conversation, remembering to thank him, to praise his cooking and his coffee. More than once, she caught him glancing her way, questions in his eyes.
She waited until Dawn went back upstairs to call Molly and make plans for their Saturday, before she said, “I’m sorry I’ve been moody the last few days. Hormones. They drive me crazy sometimes.” Yeah, it was a stretch. But not a total lie. She had been on her period.
“But you’re okay now?” He looked so hopeful.
She promised him that she was. He poured himself more coffee, sat down beside her—and his cell rang. It was Mona, already at the shop, with some unexpected issue that needed his okay.
He said he’d be right over and hung up. “Gotta go. You coming in today?”
“I wasn’t planning to.” Paige had Saturdays off. Mona took Mondays and they were closed Sundays.
He was already reaching for his jacket. “Talk later? We’ve got lots to catch up on.”
Paige answered him vaguely, “Yeah. Later. Sounds good.” Did that mean he’d be over that evening? Was she ready for that? And speaking of talking, she needed to talk to someone about all this, get her head on straight when it came to Carter—and keep it that way.
He clicked his tongue for Sally. “Come on, girl. Time to go.” Leveling those clear green eyes on her, he said softly, “Glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks.” She gave him her brightest smile.
Sally at his heels, he left through the back door. Biscuit watched them go from his favorite throw rug at the end of the snack bar, dropping his head to his paws when they were out of sight.
With a grim little sigh, Paige got up and started clearing the table. She was busy wiping counters when Dawn reappeared, fully dressed this time in jeans and a thick blue sweater patterned with a band of snowflakes across the front.
“Molly’s coming over in half an hour. We’re going to practice together for the Christmas concert.” They were both in the school band and in the orchestra, Paige on B-flat clarinet, Molly on flute.
Paige tossed the sponge in the sink—and made a decision. Dawn might be only eighteen, but she had a level head on her shoulders. Paige trusted her absolutely. Who better to confide in than her own sister?
Half an hour should be plenty of time.
Dawn was frowning. “You okay?”
Paige went ahead and answered honestly, “No, not really.”
Dawn leaned her head against the doorframe. “You’ve been acting strangely for days now.”
Paige marched to the table and pulled out a chair. “Got a few minutes?”
Dawn joined her, taking the chair next to hers. “Want me to call Molly, tell her to come later?”
“Nah. Half an hour should do it...” Where to even begin?
Dawn braced her chin on her hand. “I’m here. I’m listening.”
Paige waded in. “So, last Monday Carter and I went to Denver to meet with one of our biggest customers. We had to wait awhile to see him and Carter decided I needed to take this stupid quiz...”
