Chapter 11
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
REBEL
I’d rather swim in a shark-infested ocean during my monthly than sit for a meal with Stewart Kinsey.
He made his disdain for us at The Pink Garage abundantly clear. So clear, in fact, that Chance set up a security system at the garage to keep an eye on April when she’s locking up at night.
I do think that’s overkill. My mom worked for Stewart Kinsey in between planting and harvesting season at the apple orchard. I grew up in his mechanic shop, so I mean this when I say…
Stewart Kinsey is a grimy, selfish, manipulative human being.
I despise his creepy smiles, suggestive comments and, I will never forgive his outrageous ‘advice’ to April after her ex cheated on her. However, he never crossed the line with my mother or me.
Not that it means anything.
Kinsey may not have done anything illegal, but I doubt that’s for lack of trying. He’s a ticking time bomb. The question isn’t if, but when the explosion happens and who’ll be in his path when it does.
“Maybe another time, Uncle Stewart,” Gunner growls.
I swing around to watch my fake boyfriend.
Nothing’s out of place.
Gunner’s leaning back in his chair, so tall that even when he slouches he still looks intimidating. His square jaw is relaxed. Blue eyes bored as ever.
So what’s with the tension I’m picking up here?
“Why not? Don’t want to eat with your old uncle now that you have a pretty lady at your side?”
“Rebel and I are on a date and we’d prefer to be alone,” Gunner says firmly.
Stewart’s playful smile drops a smidge.
I glance between the two of them. Gunner Kinsey is as cold and hard to read as always, but there’s no mistaking the warning in his tone. It sends a chill down my spine. I thought the Kinseys all loved and covered for each other.
Does Gunner know something about his uncle that I don’t?
“Rebel doesn’t mind.” Stewart flashes me an oily smile. “She’s been running around in my shop, getting underfoot since she was knee-high. Why, we’re practically family.”
My fingers coil into fists. “With family like you, Stewart, who needs enemies?”
Stewart Kinsey bursts out laughing.
Gunner arches a brow at me.
Mauve clears her throat. “C-come this way, Stewart. I’ll see if I can find you another table.”
“No need, Mauve. I’ll sit with my nephew.” Leaving no room for argument, Stewart pulls out the chair next to me and plants himself firmly into it.
I scoff in outrage.
What on earth does he think he’s doing?
“Stewart—gah!” The chair I’m sitting on suddenly lurches to the side. I flail my arms to keep my balance as the ground shifts underneath me and my body jerks to the left.
The chair legs scrape the floor so loudly that the entire diner stops to watch us. Pink stains my cheeks and I frantically look down at the hand gripping the underside of my chair.
My eyes drag up that pale hand, to the tattoos peeking out from Gunner’s wrist, up to his neck and finally to his face. Gunner pulls me steadfastly around the table until I’m so close to him that my arm brushes his massive shoulder.
He says nothing. Not a word. And yet, the statement he made in that one move is so loud that my ears ring.
Stewart struggles to smile. “Calm down, Gunner. Do you think I’ll bite your girlfriend or something?”
“Or something,” Gunner mumbles.
My eyebrows fly up in surprise. There’s definitely animosity between the Kinsey’s. But why? It can’t be because of someone as irrelevant as me.
Stewart turns to Mauve. “I’ll have a burger with onion rings, Mauve. Burn the onions and hold the ketchup. You know how I like it.”
“Let me set these down first and I’ll put in that order for you,” Mauve says, her eyes darting between me, Gunner and Stewart.
As Mauve sets down plate after plate filled with delicious burgers and fries, my stomach turns. It was hard enough eating with one Kinsey. Now, I’ve got two in my sight. They’re multiplying like cockroaches.
Stewart moves his hand in a circular motion. “Don’t worry about me. Eat up!”
Gunner grumpily chomps on a French fry.
I don’t think I can stomach a bite of food, but I came here for a rootbeer float and I’m not going to let Stewart Kinsey take that simple, sugar-rush pleasure from me.
Gripping my straw, I drink so fast that pain slices through my head.
I wince.
Gunner pounces on me like I sawed my leg off and blood is spurting everywhere. He says nothing, but his frantic eyes and hands on either side of my head scream his concern.
“I’m fine,” I mumble, squeezing my eyes shut. “It’s just brain freeze.”
He pushes his glass of water across to me.
Under normal circumstances, I’d never drink from his cup. But even enemies join together in times of war.
So I take a sip.
Much better.
“So, Rebel,” Stewart says in a conversational tone, “I heard your little garage is looking for employees.”
“You heard right,” I say, drinking my root beer more slowly.
Gunner keeps a close eye on me and, when he determines that I’ll no longer try to freeze my brain circuits with ice cream and soda, he relaxes again.
Stewart snatches one of Gunner’s fries. “Interviews going well?”
I raise my chin. “We’ve gotten a few applications.”
“Any good ones?”
I stiffen.
Stewart is totally oblivious and chomps happily. “Word on the street says you got a bunch of clueless kids who don’t know the engine from the radiator. The only decent technicians who applied were…” He cracks his filthy mouth open and cackles. “You know, now that I think of it, they were the ones who couldn’t hack it at mine.”
Annoyance skates up my body. “Finding technicians that fit our vision at The Pink Garage takes time. April and I aren’t in a rush.”
“No, no. Of course not. But let me give you a word of advice.”
I scowl. “I really don’t need it.”
Stewart lifts a fry and shakes it at me. “Businesses need a solid foundation. Every time you turn a customer away, you’re sending them to the competition. Why? Because no matter how famous a mechanic is, if he’s not available to fix your car, he’s not that good of a mechanic.” Stewart raises both hands in mock apology. “I’m sorry. That mechanic might be a ‘she’ or a ‘he’. I know how sensitive you ladies are about these things.”
I’m holding onto self-restraint for dear life, but something inside me snaps at his condescending words.
Shooting to my feet, I glare down at him, “You know what Kinsey? You?—”
“Should take your food to go,” Gunner says in a calm, still voice.
Both Stewart and I whip around to take him in, but the younger Kinsey isn’t looking at either of us. He’s staring at Mauve who’s just tottering to the table with Kinsey’s burger.
“I’m sorry, Mauve. Make that burger to go,” Gunner adds, flashing her a solemn look.
Stewart’s eyes widen and his nostrils flare. “Don’t be acting too big for your breeches, boy. I’m still your uncle. You still need to show me some respect.”
“I’m allowing you to take your food and walk away on your own. That’s showing plenty of respect, Uncle.”
Stewart’s face turns red, all the way to the tips of his ears.
My heart climbs to my throat and pounds so hard, I’m sure everyone in The Tuna can hear it.
Neither of the men move. For a long, tense second, I wonder what Stewart’s going to do. I doubt they’re going to fight. Gunner is Carol Kinsey’s son. Someone of his nobility would never get into a physical altercation with family in public.
And though Stewart isn’t that refined, he’s got eyes. Gunner isn’t loud, but he doesn’t need to be. His six-foot-five height and giant muscles do all the shouting for him.
Stewart laughs bitterly. “I’ll let you two have your privacy then.”
Gunner nods. “Thank you, Unc.”
Stewart slides his tongue over his top teeth, hesitates for a moment and stomps away, his steps rattling the floor as he goes.
Mauve winces and hurries after him.
What just happened?
I remain standing. Stewart’s gone, but my emotions are still raging high.
“Sit, Rebel,” Gunner says in a voice that’s so gentle, it’s hard to believe he was so rough with his uncle only a few seconds ago.
I ignore him.
Gunner wraps his fingers around my wrist to tug me down. His grip is careful and, again, I’m struck by the tender way he’s approaching me compared to the firm way he’d handled his uncle.
I fall into my seat, seesawing between indignation at Stewart and shock at Gunner standing up for me.
He pushes my plate forward. “Eat something.”
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I mumble, glancing away from him.
Gunner takes fries, empties it out on my plate and sprays my ketchup over it in a heart-shape, exactly the way I do it for myself.
Surprise ricochets through my chest as he nudges the plate toward me again. My eyes dart down to the plate and back to him. How does he know I eat my fries like that?
“I won’t talk about my family or the mechanic shop,” Gunner says, quietly setting a knife and fork in front of me. “I won’t speak at all. It’ll be like I’m not even here.”
Giving in to his request, I take a small bite of my burger and then another.
But Gunner doesn’t keep his promise. Because, though he doesn’t say a word to me all through the meal, I’m keenly aware that he’s here.