Читать книгу Braving The Heat - Regan Black - Страница 12
ОглавлениеStanding at a prep counter in the Escape Club kitchen, Kenzie Hughes stuffed the last bite of her sandwich into her mouth and added her plate to the rack loaded for the dishwasher. She thanked the cook and slipped the strap of her backpack over one shoulder. Pausing at the doorway to the main floor, she scanned the empty stage, looking for Grant Sullivan, owner of the establishment.
The extra personnel Grant had brought on for the summer concert series were resetting for the evening show. Leaving them to cover her workload through the afternoon changeover didn’t sit well with Kenzie, but her landlord had called. She had only a few more hours to clear out whatever she didn’t want exposed to termite fumigation and the dust and debris from the repair process.
If she hustled she could get to her apartment and back again before the doors opened for the evening session. That would please her as much as it would please Grant. It wasn’t as if she had anything better to do with her time, other than finding an affordable place to crash for a couple weeks.
Though her pay from the Philadelphia Fire Department had continued during her current administrative leave, storage units and short-term room rentals added up fast. She’d asked both her union representative and her lawyer if she could visit her mom in Delaware while her apartment was out of commission, and been told she had to stay in Philly. Both the union rep and her lawyer implied that her leaving town could be perceived as an admission of guilt.
“Can’t have that,” she muttered to herself.
If there was anything Kenzie dreaded more than the potential outcome of her current legal trouble, it was having nothing productive to do while she waited out the process.
She had, in fact, been cleared of any wrongdoing during a PFD investigation that followed a complaint from a man she’d rescued from a fire. He’d claimed her incompetence had resulted in minor injuries that could have been avoided. Just when she thought she’d be back on the job, the victim had filed a civil suit against her personally. She knew she wasn’t guilty of any error in the process of saving his life. The victim disagreed. Loudly, publicly and constantly.
Stop, she ordered herself. Dwelling on the negative situation only fouled up her mood. The jerk didn’t have a case at all. If he had, the PFD would have fired her outright weeks ago. Her lawyer assured her most civil cases settled out of court; it was simply a matter of working the case and being patient with the system. Oddly enough, the only place Kenzie successfully exercised patience was while working emergency calls and fires.
Unable to find Grant, she tracked down Jason Prather at the bar. The latest full-time addition to the Escape Club, Jason was the closest thing Grant had to an assistant manager. Tall and wiry, bordering on skinny, he, too, had a few years with the PFD on his résumé. Whenever she looked at him, she thought he could pass as a front man for one of the bands that came through if he’d let his thick black hair grow out.
“If Grant asks, will you remind him I went to clear out my apartment? I should be back in time for opening tonight.”
Jason gave her a long look over the tablet he was using to record inventory. “You need any help? I can send—”
“No, thanks. I’ve got it,” she managed to reply. If she said anything else, she’d probably break down in a puddle of frustration. Grant was doing enough for her already, keeping her busy with this job. She refused to impose on anyone else.
Hurrying out of the club and across the street, she cringed at the sight of her road-weary compact sedan. Though the primer-and-rust color scheme was a fright, it ran, and that was the important thing. And it was paid for. She’d sold her car and paid cash for the rust-bucket sedan so she could redirect her previous car payment to her legal fees for the civil case. When she didn’t have those extra expenses anymore, she could go back to a better car. One with a powerful engine and serious sex appeal, she thought, indulging in a quick fantasy of a classic American muscle car.
As if. Although owning a classic Camaro was on her bucket list, this case meant it would be a long time before she’d be able to make that kind of investment.
After unlocking the driver’s door, she tossed her backpack into the passenger seat and slid behind the wheel. She turned the key in the ignition, expecting the sputter and catch of the small engine, but hearing silence instead.
“No.” She dropped her head to the steering wheel, almost ready to give in to the threat of tears she’d been fighting off all week. Her apartment closing, if only temporarily, the civil suit claiming she was unfit for firefighting, and now a car that wouldn’t start.
Crying over this heap of metal was pointless, but it was one obstacle too many right now. She ruthlessly swiped away the lone tear rolling down her cheek. It wasn’t the potential expense of repairs, though cash was currently tight. No, what upset her more was the idea of asking another friend or family member for more help. Her independence had taken enough of a beating lately. Here she was at thirty years old, feeling less self-sufficient now than when she’d crossed the stage for her high school graduation. Unlike so many of her peers, back then she’d had clear goals and a clear path planned to reach them.
“This is not happening.” She tried the ignition again, got the same result.
With a colorful oath, she removed the key and pulled the hood release. After slamming out of the car, she raised the hood and stared into the filthy engine. Her father, a car aficionado and passionate weekend race car driver, might have wept at the sight. He’d taught her everything he knew about cars and engines, and when she’d bought this one, it had been functional, if ugly. The new battery she’d installed after the purchase was the only clean thing in view. With a critical eye, she assessed the rest of the machinery, looking for an obvious problem.
“It has to get better,” she said aloud, willing herself to believe the words.
Life hadn’t been perfect. She’d experienced her share of sorrows to offset the celebrations and happy milestones of being an independent adult. Overall, she’d been content through both the highs and lows. Until the last fire she’d worked, three months ago, turned into a difficult rescue and ongoing nightmare. Though she tried to ignore it, a small voice inside her head wondered again if that would be the last fire she ever fought.
“All of this will pass.” Just like every other pain, challenge and setback she’d faced. She calmed herself with the assurance that she’d be back at the firehouse, back with her crew on the truck soon. She couldn’t afford to let her mind wander away from anything less than her ideal outcome.
Returning to the driver’s seat, she turned the key again, listening for clues. Was it the alternator or starter? It couldn’t be a broken fuel gauge. She’d just filled up with gas yesterday. “Come on, baby, tell me what’s wrong,” she said to the car. “We’ve got things to do.”
If she didn’t figure this out, she’d leave Grant shorthanded during what was sure to be a packed house tonight. She shook the steering wheel. Sure, Grant might understand, but that wasn’t the point. Letting people down, shirking commitments wasn’t how she operated. Besides, working at the Escape Club distracted her, filling all the empty hours while the PFD kept her off the job.
As tears threatened again, she jerked the rearview mirror around and glared at her reflection. “You are a firefighter,” she said to the moody face in the mirror. She pushed the wisps of hair that had escaped her braid behind her ears. “You’re one of the best,” she said, willing away the doubt in the blue eyes staring back at her.
And if you lose the case and your career is over, who will you be?
She was really starting to hate that pesky negative voice that kept sounding off. Shoving the mirror back into place, she tried to start the car once more. Instead of getting anything out of the engine, she heard a knock on the window. She jumped in the seat, startled to see Mitch Galway on the other side of her open door. Her friend, part-time Escape Club bartender and fellow firefighter, Mitch had suggested she ask Grant for a job to help her through her current crisis. Momentary crisis.
“Car trouble?” he asked, tipping his head to the exposed engine.
“It won’t turn over.”
“Let me hear it.” He signaled her to try again. Mitch knew cars and often helped his older brother with custom restorations at the Galway Automotive shop over in Spruce Hill. At the lack of response, he frowned and walked out of sight behind the open hood.
She silently prayed he could help as she checked the time. If she didn’t make it to her apartment soon, all her belongings would be out of reach for at least two weeks. The last thing she needed was the expense of buying a new wardrobe.
“Any ideas?” she asked as she joined him. “I know it has gas in the tank.”
He frowned at the engine. “In that case, my first guess is an alternator,” he said. “You need a good mechanic?”
“I am a good mechanic,” she reminded him. Or she had been when her dad was alive. With the right tools and time, she could probably sort this out on her own. Too bad she didn’t have either.
“True.” He dropped the hood back down and dusted off his palms. “You know I can hook you up,” he said with a quick smile.
“What I need is a good car.” She explained the dwindling time issue to Mitch. “I never should’ve waited until the last minute to do this.” She didn’t share the still more embarrassing fact that she had no idea where she would stay tonight or any night until she could go back to her apartment. Mitch had offered his spare room to her last week, but she’d turned him down. Newlyweds, he and his wife didn’t need her underfoot.
Mitch tossed her the keys to his truck. “Go get your stuff,” he said. “I’ll call my brother and get your car towed to the shop.”
Dollar signs danced through her head. Maybe she could trade labor for parts or something if his brother was amenable. “I’m not sure—”
“We’ll figure it out,” he said, waving off her concerns before she could name them all. “Get going.”
“All right.” Arguing with him to save a smidge of pride only robbed her of more time. “Thanks.”
She grabbed her backpack and dashed over to Mitch’s truck. She appreciated his generosity as well as his gracious acceptance of her circumstances. Everyone on the PFD knew she was in over her head with the civil suit and working every available hour at the Escape Club to pay for a decent lawyer to defend her.
A former firefighter himself, the plaintiff, Randall Murtagh, knew better than most people what should be done during a rescue. That he’d made it nearly impossible for her to save him didn’t seem to have any relevance to his injuries, in his mind. A card-carrying member of the old guard who believed only men were capable of pulling people out of burning buildings, he made no secret of the fact that he wanted women drummed out of the ranks. If he couldn’t get all the females off the PFD with this case, he seemed hell-bent on making her a prime example against equal opportunity employment.
And there she was dwelling on the negative again. She couldn’t control his issues, only her response, and she wouldn’t let a jerk like Murtagh take any more chunks of her life.
Fortunately, she was soon distracted, packing all the belongings she cared to take as swiftly as possible. She crammed clothing and linens into two suitcases, boxed up her stand mixer and kitchenware, and filled two more boxes with family pictures and hand-me-downs that were irreplaceable. Per the instructions from the landlord, she labeled her bed and dresser, the only furnishings she’d added to the apartment when she moved in, and locked the door.
An intense, inexplicable sadness came over her as she secured the last box in the truck bed. This wasn’t an ending. It wasn’t as if she’d been evicted. That would come later, if she lost her job. This was one more untimely circumstance in a life that had suddenly been filled with high hurdles.
With a final glance at the lovely old building she’d called home, she headed back to the club and a long shift that would keep her mind and body busy for the rest of the night.
* * *
At Galway Automotive the phone rang, a shrill sound interrupting the throbbing pulse of the heavy metal music filling the garage. Under the back end of a 1967 Camaro SS, Stephen Galway used the voice control to lower the volume on the music. At an hour past closing on a Friday, he wasn’t obligated to answer the phone, but a heads-up for what problems might be showing up tomorrow never hurt.
“Pick up, Stephen. It’s Mitch.” His brother’s voice wasn’t nearly as soothing as the heavy metal had been. The oldest of Stephen’s younger siblings, Mitch was the one who consistently refused to let him stay off the family radar for too long.
“I know you’re there,” Mitch pressed.
Where else would he be?
“He’ll come through,” Mitch promised in an undertone to someone on his end of the call.
“Not your job to make promises for me, little brother,” Stephen muttered.
“Pick up,” Mitch said, bossy now. “I’ve got a friend here at the club with car trouble. Tow it out of the employee parking lot and we’ll come by and look it over when I have time tomorrow.” He gave the make, model and license plate number of the car.
Huh. Stephen rolled out from under the Camaro, wiping grease from his hands. His brother knew as much about cars as he did. If Mitch couldn’t get his friend’s car rolling, there was a serious problem. Still, he didn’t pick up, waiting to see if his brother would sweeten the deal.
Mitch swore. “Come on, Stephen. The club has your kind of group onstage tonight. I’ll buy you a beer and help you hook up the car.”
Stephen picked up the handset. “I’ll head over.” He glanced down at his stained T-shirt and jeans. The customer waiting on the Camaro wasn’t in any rush, preferring this rebuild and restoration be done perfectly rather than by a specific date. If only they could all be that patient, Stephen thought. “Give me an hour or so.”
Dropping the receiver back into place, he scowled at his stained hands and T-shirt. Promised beer or not, if he wanted inside the Escape Club during business hours he had to clean up. He put his work space to rights and lowered the bay door. The Camaro would be waiting when he returned.
He walked through the office and around to the refurbished camper he’d parked behind the building. Not that long ago, he would’ve headed to the house he once shared with Mitch, but his brother and Julia, his recent bride, had eventually settled there after their honeymoon.
Stephen had promised his mom he’d find a decent house somewhere near the shop. It was a good neighborhood. Instead, he kept taking on more work, limiting his time to search. The last time he’d gone house hunting had been with his fiancée, Annabeth. Even after three long years he still couldn’t walk a property without hearing in his head how she’d react.
Last year, when his parents had suggested he move back home with them, he’d bristled. He hadn’t taken it any more gracefully when Mitch and Julia swore he wouldn’t be in their way. The newlyweds didn’t need a big brother crowding them. His parents didn’t need him returning home when they could all but taste the empty nest. His youngest sister, Jenny, was almost ready to spread her wings.
Although they meant well, there were days when he was sure he’d drown under all the love and good intentions of his family.
Losing Annabeth before they’d had a chance to experience the life they’d dreamed of didn’t make him an invalid. He maintained a successful business and supported the PFD and other causes in the community that mattered to him. Stephen continued to give special attention to the after-school program where his fiancée had worked, and where three years ago she’d been shot and killed for having the audacity to help kids avoid gangs and drugs.
He’d long since given up on shedding the melancholy that hovered like a storm cloud over his life. What his family wanted for him and what he knew he could handle were two different things. He didn’t bother trying to convince them anymore. Work was all the sunlight he needed. Cars and engines he could understand, fix and make new again. People were too fragile, himself included. In his mind, that was all the rationalization necessary for the old Airstream trailer he’d purchased. After months of work, inside and out, he considered it home, though he wasn’t yet brave enough to use the word within his mother’s hearing.
As the oldest, he really should get more respect for his good judgment, if only by default.
Having washed off the pungent smells of the shop, he debated briefly about clothing. He’d prefer shorts on a summer night, but since he was going to hook up a car, he opted for jeans and a red polo shirt. When he finally reached the club, he found room for the tow truck near the back of the employee parking lot across the street. With the Escape Club perched at the end of the pier, few cars were granted the prime spaces on busy nights. No one emerged from a parked car or otherwise expressed any interest in his arrival, so he walked down to the club.
On the rare occasions his brother got him here, Stephen couldn’t help but admire what Sullivan had made out of his forced early retirement and an old warehouse. He’d never heard anyone question Sullivan’s choices, or express worry over what he was or wasn’t doing with his life. Though admittedly, a club naturally was a more social environment than an auto shop. People came from all over for the bands the Escape Club drew to Philly.
Striding straight to the front of the line, Stephen realized maybe he had more in common with Sullivan than he thought. Galway Automotive was building a solid reputation and people were calling from all over the region to get their cars on his restoration schedule.
“Unless you hire a female mechanic, you’ll never meet a nice girl under the hood of a car.” His mother’s voice broke into his thoughts. Myra Galway had a way of saying things that slid right past his defenses and lingered, mocking him with her maternal logic. If only his mom would admit there was more to life than filling lonely hours with pointless chatter with women who sneered at his stained fingernails and the rough calluses on his palms.
At the burly doorman’s arched eyebrow, Stephen gave his name and was quickly waved inside.
The bold, heavy sounds of the metal band onstage slammed into him and battered away at the discontent that persistently dogged Stephen since his fiancée’s death. He leaned into the music, weaving through the crowd until he reached Mitch’s station at the service end of the bar, closer to the kitchen.
His brother eyed him and popped the top off a bottle of beer, setting it in front of him between serving other patrons. Good. Stephen wasn’t in much of a talking mood. The delayed conversation was no surprise, considering the sea of humanity supporting the band from all corners of the club.
“Took you long enough,” Mitch said at the first lull between customers. “You might be here awhile.”
Stephen checked his watch. He’d said an hour or so and had hit the mark precisely. “How come?” he asked, though he didn’t care about the time, since the band was as good as Mitch had promised.
“No way I can get out there right now. This set just started.”
Stephen shrugged and swiveled around on the bar stool to watch the band. They were good, from the sound to the showmanship. He was enjoying the music, the process of being still and people-watching. Waitresses in khaki shorts and bright blue T-shirts emblazoned with the Escape Club logo brushed by him with friendly glances and quick greetings as they exchanged trays of empty bottles and glassware for the fresh orders Mitch filled with startling efficiency. From Stephen’s vantage point everyone in the club seemed to be focused on excellent customer service. Sullivan had definitely created an outstanding atmosphere.
“Do you always ignore the signals?” Mitch asked when another waitress walked off, tray perfectly balanced.
“What are you talking about?”
Mitch shook his head. “Signals from interested women,” he said. “If you’d pay attention, you’d see it for yourself.”
“Please. Not you, too.” Stephen glared at his little brother. “You know I’ve got too much work to spare time for dating.”
“Uh-huh.” Mitch slid another city-wide special across the bar to a customer and marked the tab. “Then I’m sorry I called you. Another beer?”
“Water,” Stephen answered, then checked his watch again. The band would probably take a break soon. He drained the glass of water Mitch provided and pushed back from the bar. “Tell your friend I’m waiting out in the truck. No rush. Thanks for the beer.”
“Stephen, wait.”
Not a chance. What was it with married people? His parents and married siblings were ganging up on him lately, and being relentless about it. Was there some statute of limitations on grief he didn’t know about? He’d tried believing that crappy philosophy of it being better to have loved and lost, and couldn’t pull it off. He’d loved, he’d lost everything and it sucked.
They kept wanting him to be happy, checking in on him week after week, never letting it rest. Was he happy? He didn’t know. At this point he wasn’t sure he cared about happiness. Business was good. Booming, in fact. If that was enough happiness for him, his family should back off. Not everyone got a happy ending. He’d accepted that hard truth; why couldn’t they?
“Hey! Stephen Galway?”
Nearly to the truck, he turned at the sound of his name. Recognizing the waitress uniform, he was tempted to ignore the slender blonde jogging his way with a long, ground-eating stride. His brother earned points for tenacity. Stephen made a note to punch him at the earliest opportunity.
“You are Stephen, right?”
“That’s right. And you are?” The lamp overhead cast her features in shadow, illuminating pale hair pulled back from her face. He remembered seeing her in the bar. She was the one with the long braid that fell to the middle of her back, and great legs anchoring that willowy body.
“Kenzie Hughes.” She stuck out her hand, then let it fall when he didn’t reach out to meet her halfway. “You probably don’t remember me.”
“Should I?” The name wasn’t ringing any bells.
“Guess not. I was in the same high school class as Mitch.”
Stephen was ready to march back into the club and punch his brother right now for orchestrating this elaborate setup. He had work to do without dragging the tow truck out on a wild-goose chase. What bad idea or wrong impression had Mitch planted in her head? He stared at her, struggling for a polite way out of this. It wasn’t her fault his brother was an idiot.
“Um, anyway,” she continued, “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” She pulled keys from her pocket. “The car’s right over here.”
Now he felt like a complete jerk. Stephen had assumed he’d be helping out one of Mitch’s male buddies. “Great.” He fell in behind her and put his mind back in car mode. “Let’s take a look.”
He tried not to wince when he saw the vehicle. Not his business what people chose to drive, and people who drove rust buckets like this one made up a core segment of his business. He let her explain Mitch’s opinion of the situation while he listened to a whole lot of nothing going on in her engine. Something didn’t smell right under the normal scents of oil and gas.
“If Mitch couldn’t get you running here, we’re better off hauling it in.” He dropped the hood, checked the latch. “Do you have a way to get home?”
She climbed out of the car and he noticed the interior was packed with boxes and suitcases. He couldn’t imagine Sullivan allowing any of his employees to live out of their car, and if she was doing so, she hadn’t left much room for herself.
“I’ll be fine,” she said, her gaze sliding to the crammed interior. “Here.” She handed over the keys. “I’ll get your number from Mitch and call you tomorrow.”
“One second.” Hughes, PFD, female. It all clicked into place and embarrassment flooded through Stephen. “You’re Mackenzie Hughes.”
Her entire body went on the defensive in one fluid movement. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
“No.” He couldn’t believe he didn’t recognize her in the club. Her name was at the center of a public debate about the ability of female firefighters. In person, her height and poise were evident and she looked far more capable than she did on television, where the images provided focused on her photogenic and fine-boned, feminine face.
“Of course not,” he reiterated, when she cocked an eyebrow at his long perusal. He’d heard his brother rant more than once in Kenzie’s favor. Like most people of his acquaintance, Stephen thought the gender bias was in the past. “I’ll take good care of the car,” he promised. “What’s with all the boxes?”
Now her shoulders slumped. “Do I have to unload them for you to tow the car?” She looked around as if a storage shed would appear out of thin air. “I didn’t think of that.”
“If you don’t have a problem with it, I don’t. Things might get jostled as I load and unload the car.”
“No. My stuff will be okay.” She backed away. “Thanks so much. I’ll pick up the boxes tomorrow.”
He trailed after her as if someone had set him on automatic pilot. “How?”
She skidded to a stop. “Pardon me?”
“If I have your car, how are you getting around?”
She gave him a weak smile. “I’ll figure it out.”
He blamed it on having sisters. Only her car was his business, but he still felt compelled to get a better answer from her. “What time are you off tonight?”
“Two.”
“Have Mitch bring you over to the shop.”
She gaped at him. “You can’t be serious. At two in the morning?”
Something about her response had him changing his mind. “Good point.” His brother had a wife waiting at home. “I’ll bring over a loaner car for you.”
“At two in the morning?” she repeated, incredulous.
He rolled his shoulders and resisted the urge to shift under that intense blue gaze. “That’s when you need it, right?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“Then I’ll be here. Unless you won’t have time to drop me back at my shop on your way home?”
She snorted. “No, I can do that.”
“Good. We’re all set.” He turned away before she could argue, and went to load her car onto the flatbed tow truck. Being near her put an odd pressure in his system, as if his heart was a half-beat too slow. He glanced back over his shoulder and caught her staring at him.
Couldn’t blame her; he barely recognized himself in his actions since she’d caught up with him. For his own peace of mind, he chalked up his uncharacteristic behavior to Mitch’s frustration on Kenzie’s behalf. According to his brother, she’d had a rough time of it since the PFD put her on administrative leave after a victim blamed her incompetence and weakness as a woman for his minor injuries.
She hadn’t looked the least bit weak to Stephen, and if Mitch vouched for her, she could handle the job. That must be why he was so determined to do more than the bare minimum of towing in her car for an evaluation and repair.
* * *
Kenzie worked the rest of the night with a little more spring in her step. Hope flashed bright and hot though her system at odd and unpredictable intervals. It was nice to feel a genuine smile on her lips. Maybe the recent circumstances hadn’t permanently smothered her courage and optimism, after all.
As she cashed out and split her tips with the rest of the staff, she realized she’d earned enough on this shift to cover an economy motel for the night and give Stephen some money for the tow and repair. Every penny left over would go to the lawyer fund.
“Grant’s looking for you,” Mitch said, as he walked into the break room. “And I have a text for you.” He held out his phone.
“For me?” Who would text Mitch to reach her?
“About your car,” he said.
Belatedly, she realized she’d been in such a hurry to get back to the club that she’d forgotten to give Stephen her cell phone number. The text message asked Mitch to tell her he was waiting outside. Kenzie replied with her cell phone number and let him know she needed only a few more minutes. She rolled up her apron and shoved it into her backpack, then headed for Grant’s office.
Rapping a knuckle on the open door, she stepped inside when Grant turned from his computer monitor. He smiled and waved her in, asking her to close the door. His constant energy belied the gray salting his hair. She suspected the creases bracketing his warm brown eyes were a result of laughter as much as the challenges he’d faced in his career as a cop and a nightclub owner. He reminded her of her dad, she realized with a prickle of nostalgia. Not in appearance—Grant had a barrel-chested, stocky build and her father had been tall and slim. The similarities were in the general demeanor of both men. Grant cared for his club and his employees with the fatherly affection and protectiveness she remembered her dad exhibiting every day of his life.
The chair squeaked as Grant leaned back. “Was it a good night?”
“Yes. Thanks again for giving me so many shifts.”
“I prefer employing people who are willing to work,” he said. “You know, you remind me of your dad in that way.”
“I didn’t realize you knew him.” She knew she was overtired and overstressed when tears stung behind her eyes. Fifteen years had passed since they’d buried him, and she usually didn’t feel melancholy anymore unless it was the anniversary of the warehouse fire or Christmas. Her mother had been determined her daughters would smile with hearts full of happy memories when they remembered their father. She insisted living well was the best way to affirm all the love and gifts he’d given them.
Grant nodded. “There are few circles in Philly tighter than those of us who worked the front lines.” His thick eyebrows drew into a frown over his assessing gaze. “I heard about your car trouble.”
The swift change of topic helped restore her composure. “Mitch called his brother for me. Stephen came out and towed it to his shop. He, ah, offered to loan me a car until mine is fixed.” She still wasn’t sure how she was going to cover the extra expenses.
“That’s good.” Leaning back in his chair, Grant drummed a quick rhythm on the edge of his desk. “Here’s the thing. I just got off the phone with Stephen.”
“About my car?” That didn’t make any sense. “Why?”
“You may not know it, but he likes to stay busy,” Grant said. “He took a look at your car as soon as he got back to his shop.”
“Did he find the problem already?” She braced herself for the worst, assuming Stephen had mentioned parts, labor and prices.
“Yes. He says he can fix it fairly quickly, though he’s not sure that’s the wise choice since the car’s a rolling wreck. His words, not mine.” Grant sat upright suddenly and the chair squeaked a protest. He ignored the grating sound, massaging at the scar tissue in his shoulder, the way he often did when he was thinking. “Any chance you forgot how your dad taught you to care for a car and accidently dumped sugar into your gas tank?”
What? “Of course not.”
Grant’s intent brown eyes turned weary from one blink to the next. “Didn’t think so.” He blew out a breath and rubbed his temples. “Stephen can explain all the details, of course. I just wanted to be the one to give you the big picture.”
“Which is?” she prompted when he hesitated.
“Everything Stephen found suggests that someone sabotaged your car.”
“Sugar in the gas tank is hardly the problem people think it is,” she said, latching on to the one factor she could comprehend in this bizarre situation. It was a fairly affordable fix to change the clogged filters and flush the tank and fuel lines. “Maybe the previous owner pissed off someone who didn’t know keying a car was a better form of revenge.”
“Maybe,” Grant allowed. He looked as if he wanted to believe her theory as opposed to the evidence that contradicted it. “How long have you had the vehicle?”
She gripped the straps of the backpack, resisting the logic and implications he was forcing on her. “Three weeks.” He arched an eyebrow. She didn’t need him to say it for her. “If I’d bought the thing with sugar in the tank it would have given me problems long before now.”
“So you bought the car at the same time you had to hire an attorney for the civil suit?”
“Yes,” she replied, grudgingly.
“Then whoever dumped sugar in the tank was targeting you.”
“Unless they didn’t realize the car had been sold.” She rushed on when Grant rolled his eyes. “It’s an inconvenience, that’s all.” She could do the repairs, assuming Stephen would let her borrow space and the tools.
Grant glanced at the clock over the office door. “You need help, Kenzie. Support.”
She understood it wasn’t a question. Help was what Grant did. He’d never been able to depart from his inherent need to get involved from his days on the police force. He probably hadn’t tried too hard.
She gathered the fraying remnants of her pride. “My attorney has it under control,” she said. “He assures me it’s a matter of wading through the system.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Grant stood up, ending the meeting. “It’s okay to remember you have friends willing to help, too.”
“Thanks.” She hated the idea of dragging her friends into her problems. Besides, there wasn’t anything to do except let her lawyer handle the case.
She escaped the office and the club, relieved and troubled in equal measure. Outside, she paused and breathed deeply. The air at this hour was clear along the river and as cool and pleasant as Philly could be in the summer. The stars in the inky sky above were faint, the lights from buildings on both sides of the river offering more sparkle.
Only a few cars remained in the lot, and she assumed the small SUV parked next to Mitch’s truck was the car Stephen had brought for her. Standing between the two, the Galway brothers turned to her as she approached. She sensed she’d interrupted something important.
“Hi,” she said. “Sorry for the delay.”
“No problem.” Stephen opened the passenger door of the SUV for her. “I’ll drive to the shop and you can take it from there.”
“Okay.” She glanced at Mitch. “Thanks for loaning me your truck today.”
“No problem.” Lines of tension bracketed the stern set of his mouth. It wasn’t a look she often saw on his face. “Be careful, Kenzie.”
“Always,” she promised, before sliding into the seat. He couldn’t be warning her about his brother. “You told him about the clogged fuel filter?” she asked, as Stephen slid behind the wheel and started the car.
“Saves him a trip to the shop tomorrow,” Stephen replied, pulling away from the club.
“That’s...thoughtful.” So why did Mitch seem aggravated?
Stephen’s gaze slid from the nearly deserted streets to her and back to the road. “Practical. I’ve got your car in pieces already, easier for me to put it back together. If that’s what you want.”
“It’s what I need,” she replied. When the case was settled she would take great delight in buying a better car. “You didn’t have to give me a loaner this nice.”
“This was what I had available.” He shifted in the seat as if he wasn’t comfortable with the conversation. “You needed something with better security.”
She could argue the point, though the irritating sabotage spoke for itself. “We don’t even know the prank was aimed at me. It could be someone who thought the car still belonged to the previous owner.” A weak argument was better than none.
He snorted, clearly not any more convinced of that than Grant had been. “Better not to tempt fate again. This one has a tamper-proof tank and hood.”
“Guess that limits someone to cutting the brake lines, slashing tires, rerouting exhaust, planting a GPS tracker or even an explosive,” she said. She’d meant it all as a joke, but the list unnerved her.
“Your safety isn’t a joke. Did you ask Grant for protection?”
“No.” The idea was absurd. She could take care of herself. She leveled her toughest stare at him, the one she saved for those who aimed sexist comments at her when they heard she was a firefighter. There had been far too many opportunities to perfect the expression since Murtagh went public with his complaint and civil suit. “While I’m dressed as a waitress at the moment, you might recall safety is an essential aspect of my career.”
“I only meant—”
“I’m an adult,” she interrupted. “As a firefighter I’m trained to cope with any number of crises, including saving people and property. It’s my job to put out fires.” At least she put out fires whenever lawsuits didn’t keep her on the sidelines. “I’m merely pointing out there’s no way to prevent all forms of trouble. That, too, is an element of my career.”
He didn’t reply and in profile she noticed his jaw set in a hard line. She imagined if the radio were off she would have heard his teeth grinding.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was really rude.” Embarrassed, she toyed with the straps of her backpack. “You’ve gone above and beyond to help me today. Despite the rant, I do appreciate it.”
“Forget it,” he said. “I understand irritable.”
He stopped in front of a wide gate barring the entrance to Galway Automotive. Plucking a key ring from the cup holder, he pressed a button on a fob that must have been connected to his security system. The gate slid back, rolling along the inside of the tall fencing surrounding the business. Rather than put the car in Park, he drove through the opening and the gate slid closed behind them. She caught the cameras mounted at the gate, assumed there were more around the property.
She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the well maintained blacktop pavement surrounding an L-shaped building. What must serve as his office jutted slightly forward from the line of bays stretching to the side. Several cars were parked on a strip of gravel at the far end of the building and the tow truck had been backed into a space near the gate where Stephen could leave quickly if necessary.
Bright security lights mounted around the property were aimed at the building and they came on as he drove by. The manufactured sunlight smothered any hope of shadows. Made of metal rather than stone, the garage didn’t have much in common with a fairy-tale castle, yet Stephen had definitely created a fortress. The only things missing were a moat and a vigilant dragon.
A dragon? The whimsical thought was a clear sign the late hour had taken its toll. She felt a bizarre wish to stay right here in this sheltered place until her troubles went away. Too bad lawsuits didn’t disappear if they were ignored.
He parked next to the office, away from the other cars, and the headlights glanced off the gleaming silver siding of a sleek, bullet-shaped camper.
“It’s bigger than I expected,” she said.
“The trailer?”
“No.” She laughed now, giddy and definitely overtired. “The business.”
He gave her a long look. “I own the block now.”
Impressive. She managed to swallow several prying questions about the man and his work that were none of her concern.
“Do you need anything from your car?” he asked.
Feeling unsettled, she ducked away from his gaze and nudged the backpack with her knee. “I’m set for tonight. Is there a good time for me to swing by and pick up everything tomorrow? I guess I mean today?” The clock on the dash showed it was already past three. “I can help with the repairs to my car, too.”
He didn’t jump on her offer. “Where will you take your things?” He cut the engine and held on to the key.
She had no idea. “I’ll figure something out.” Although she couldn’t leave town, maybe her belongings could. Her mom had extended the offer. Kenzie just needed to make time to drive up there.
The burnished gold eyebrows flexed over his eyes. “You don’t have anywhere to stay, do you?”
She was too weary to fib or bluster through. “I figure there’s an available motel room somewhere in town.” She waved a hand at the clock. “I only need a few hours of sleep. Tell me what time to come by.”
His lips pressed together and he nodded once as if an internal debate had just been settled. “I didn’t think so. You’ll stay here tonight.”
He got out of the car and walked to the camper. She gawked at him through the windshield, trying to make sense of his statement. Trying to catch up as her pulse went racing ahead of her at his abrupt declaration.
When he noticed she wasn’t behind him, he came around to the passenger door and opened it. “Come on.”
She gripped the edge of the seat. “No thanks. If you’ll give me the car key and open the gate I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“As you said, it’s already tomorrow,” he said, completely ignoring the salient point that she would leave and handle her troubles on her own. He reached past her for the backpack, his forearm brushing across her bare knees.
“Hey, that’s mine. What are you doing?” She shifted her leg, pinning his arm. Mistake, a small voice warned her too late. His skin was warm against hers and in this position his handsome face was close enough that the security lights sparked in the dark blond stubble shading his jaw.
The tough, callused palm of his free hand landed on her leg and he extracted his trapped arm and simply lifted her out of the car. He handled her as if she weighed nothing. Worse, he behaved as if he had the right to move her about at will. Where was her fight?
“You’ll stay here tonight,” he repeated, setting her on her feet. “I’ll stay on the couch in the office. We’ll sort out the rest in the morning.”
She dug in her heels as he opened the camper door and waited for her to go inside. “Stephen, this isn’t right. It’s too much,” she added, when he refused to agree with her.
He tipped his head. “Go on in and make yourself at home. We’ve both lost enough sleep as it is.”
Nothing else he could have said would have convinced her to cooperate. Fully aware she’d been a big imposition already, she obediently walked up the steps. She glanced back before he could close the door. “Stephen, why are you doing this?”
He shrugged. “Good night, Kenzie.”
She watched him disappear into the office, bewildered by his unexpected kindness.
Emotions she’d rather not examine churned inside her as she stood in his camper. It was neat and clean, and the evidence that he lived here was everywhere. The plain, heavy white mug stationed near the coffeepot on the narrow counter. The mail tucked into a slim wire basket next to a laptop computer on the shelf behind the table. She passed the bathroom and caught a whiff of the crisp, green scent she’d noticed on his skin.
Why would Stephen give his home to her, even for a night?
Her pride had taken a hard tumble in recent weeks and she’d been so consumed with the lawsuit that she couldn’t ask her friends to let her crash on couches or in spare rooms. Requests like that left her too vulnerable. Her friends, with lives and concerns of their own, didn’t need to hear her worries and fears about her future.
Her backpack slid from her grasp and hit the floor with a soft thud when she spotted the stack of clean towels at the foot of the perfectly made bed. He must have found the trouble with her car and then cleaned up in here, turning his home into a guest house. For her.
Gratitude swamped her. Everyone but Stephen had let her get away with her small fibs about having things under control. He didn’t even know her. They were basically strangers. How had he seen through her defenses so easily?
It was a question she would never answer while she was exhausted. She stripped away the Escape Club uniform and readied herself for bed. As she slipped between the cool, clean sheets, she decided none of the whys and hows of Stephen’s actions mattered as much as figuring out what she could do to make it up to him.
