Chapter 2
The last week of September
Leah
How could I have forgotten? I pause a step inside the open bay door as memories flood in like it was only yesterday, not six years gone by in the blink of an eye.
It’s kind of silly to think after all this time it wouldn’t affect me, but just like that early nineties ballad about a song remembering when, so do the sounds and odors of the past.
The high-pitched burr of the air wrench, the rumble of the compressor kicking in, the aromas of engine fluids and vehicle exhaust mingling in the air with the burnt tang from welding rods and metallic-flavored smoke from a cutting torch bombard my senses, as memories and images flicker through my mind.
I reach out to steady myself against the door frame, closing my eyes, trying to come to grips with the riot of memories converging with the present.
“Miss, are you okay?”
Miss. Not ma’am or the exasperated masculine bark of my name, but a silky honey-butter question that is neither bass nor tenor but a lovely timber falling somewhere in between.
Raising my eyelids, I stare into the darkest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, with irises so dark they appear black.
I fidget beneath the intensity of his gaze.
As I shift, the late-day sun shining over my shoulder illuminates the rich chocolate orbs, causing them to glow with an amber fire.
It isn’t the color that causes my breath to catch, it’s the warm concern and the sparkle of curiosity shining like a beacon.
Wow.
“Uh… hi… umm…” What the hell is wrong with me? I shake my head.
Get it together, Leah, you’re too old to be acting like a teen with her first crush. Do you want him to think you’re an idiot?
“The camp host out at the campground said you repair more than cars and trucks. I was wondering if you had a fuse kit for RVs or fifth-wheels?”
There, that sounded intelligent and straightforward as I take in the coveralls tied at the waist of his lean build.
He isn’t overly tall, but his bare forearms are sculpted perfection with raised veins disappearing beneath the sleeves of his thermal shirt like routes on a roadmap leading to sloped shoulders and the defined muscles of his chest.
I lick my lips. “Um, and I need maintenance, too…” I hear a snort from the next bay over. Oh, lordy, that sounded like a come-on. “Uh… for my truck, I mean. I don’t need maintenance.” I point to my chest and shake my head. “I mean, I do…”
Oh, Jesus, take the wheel. What am I saying?
Smacking my lips closed, I look everywhere but at the man in front of me.
I tug at the collar of my sweater as a heated flush of embarrassment crawls up my neck into my cheeks, and I break out in a sweat.
I pray I’m not turning as red as it feels, but I doubt I could be that lucky.
When I finally find the courage to make eye contact with him again, I blink at the tiny smirk tugging at the corner of sexy full lips, and oh my gosh… please, please, please don’t smile. That’s the last thing I need.
White teeth flash, and then a masculine rumble of laughter pours from his mouth.
Mortified, I slap my hand over my traitorous mouth and spin on my heels.
I need to get the heck out of here before I get arrested for sexual harassment.
Gah! I noticed the cop shop right next door when I pulled into the parking lot.
Officers are probably on their way to toss me in the pokey already.
This is what living alone with only myself for company has gotten me.
“Hey, hold up.” A gentle but firm grip settles on my arm.
I skid to a stop, my hair swinging forward into my face as I bow my head in embarrassment. There’s no running from this; I owe the poor guy an apology.
Blowing out a huge sigh, I shore up what little dignity I have left. “I am so sorry.”
“Me too.”
What? I mean… what? Why? I push my hair aside and peek at his face, trying to figure out what he’s up to.
I can practically spot a con a mile away thanks to my ex-husband, Bucky, but this guy’s smile is sweet and seems sincere.
I can’t resist moving with him when he holds out a hand and guides me back into the garage.
“I’m Emanuel Candelaro, but folks call me Manny,” he offers.
My fingers tremble as I reach out and take the hand he’s holding out for me to shake. I almost groan at the roughness of his skin against mine.
“Leah,” I offer in return.
He gives my hand two quick pumps and then pulls away. I almost cry at the loss of contact.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Leah. Let’s head into the office.
I’ll check our supply on the computer. I doubt we have a whole kit in stock, but we can special order it for you.
While we’re at it, we’ll schedule an appointment for your vehicle.
Are you looking for preventative maintenance, or are you experiencing a problem? ”
Again. Wow. A man who takes charge, is professional without being patronizing while he’s doing it, and can ignore my lack of tact? Especially while I’m behaving like a neurotic twit? Wintervale, Montana, must be a magical place because I think I may have just discovered a unicorn.