Chapter 4
chapter
four
Cruz
The garage smells like old coffee and hot metal. A box fan rattles in the corner, doing a whole lot of nothing against the Texas heat. Despite the fact that technically it’s Fall. Texas didn’t get the memo.
Wrenches hang on a pegboard in soldier-straight rows, floor striped with cords and shadow. If I had sense, I’d come at dawn, drop the van, and avoid the one person who makes me forget every good intention I’ve stacked like sandbags.
But I evidently don’t have any sense. Bringing Flynn along isn’t helping; he’s already distracted, talking to Jude about a security upgrade. Tech nerd.
Juliette Winslow is half-folded into the engine compartment of a lifted F-150, one knee on the bumper, grey-grease-stained coveralls tied at her waist, revealing a clingy black tank.
She doesn’t see me. Good. I should back out. Go talk to Jude myself and not stand here staring at her ass.
“Need something, Romeo?” she calls without turning. Bright voice, full of sunshine and a grin I can actually hear. She heard the guys calling me that once, and it’s been her name for me ever since.
“Just a once-over on the van,” I say. “I’m heading south tomorrow to pick up some refugees.”
She straightens and tugs a pale blonde braid over her shoulder. Wide blue eyes meet mine, a genuine smile in place.
Fuck she’s pretty.
Too young! I try to repeat that in my head like a fucking mantra.
But her lips are moving, which means she’s talking.
“How many?” she asks again.
“Technically, four on the manifest. But one of them was rescued from a puppy farm and she’s pregnant.
They think she could deliver any day now.
” I swipe at the back of my neck. “So it could be more than four.” I keep my words clipped and my gaze anywhere but on the smear of grease on her jaw that my fingers itch to wipe away.
“Copy that.” She gives me a salute with her wrench. “I’ll get you road-ready. Jude!” she yells toward the office. “Cruz is here.”
So she does know my actual name. Having her call me Romeo rankles, but hearing my given name on her lips is way worse. A door creaks, and her brother steps out, wiping his hands on a rag.
“I can see that, Juliette,” Jude says. He jabs his thumb in Flynn’s direction. “Flynn is here too.”
“You’re so cranky when Emory is out of town,” Juliette says. “Next time, go with her.”
“And leave you and our idiot cousins in charge? I don’t think so.”
“Romero,” Jude says. He clasps my hand and I swear he squeezes just a little too tightly. If Flynn said anything to him, I will kick his ass.
“Winslow,” I say. “Just need the van looked over before I leave town in the morning.”
Jude looks back at his sister. “You want me to do it?”
“I’ve got it,” she says, already lifting the hood to take a peek.
“There’s coffee,” she says, her voice partially muffled. “Fair warning: it’s awful. I tried a new brand because Sofia said we needed to ‘elevate the experience.’”
“Cruz only drinks girly coffee,” Flynn says.
Juliette peeks at him over the hood. She quirks one eyebrow.
“No offense.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I mutter to him.
Dane: ETA for Beaumont run tomorrow?
Me: Wheels up 0600. At the garage now getting her checked over.
Flynn: He means he’s checking her out.
I shoot him a glare.
Dane: Intake room is cleared. 4 crates set. I’ll be there to help you unload. Don’t let Liam reorganize my labels again.
Liam: Your labels are a crime scene.
Evan: Remember to get shelter records signed. If the shepherd is the heartworm-positive one, I left meds in your go-bag. Dosage is highlighted.
Beau: Got you a full gas card in the visor, my dude. And I put a case of the good jerky under the bench seat. Not that peppered shoe leather you pretend to like.
Me: I like the peppered shoe leather. Copy on meds, records, crate count. Gas card noted.
“Bad news?” Juliette asks. Somehow, she’s standing close now.
“Just the guys,” I say. “They get chatty when they know I’m leaving town.”
“Bunch of mother hens,” she teases.
“Something like that.” Found family doesn’t begin to cover it. None of us are good at goodbyes, even for twelve hours.
Jude’s voice floats up from beneath the van. “Everything checks out from here.”
“I told you I was taking care of it,” Juliette says.
Jude slides back out, and his sister kicks his shoe. “Hey,” he says, coming to his feet. “Be nice.”
“I’m always nice,” she says.
“You used to be nice. Now you’ve gotten mean like your sisters.”
“They’re your sisters too,” she says.
Jude shudders, then looks at me. “You got sisters, Romero?”
“Nope. Only child.”
“Lucky bastard.”
Juliette leans in over my engine from this side of the van.
I should move. Go for a walk. A swim. Anything.
But I’m too late. Her sweet scent of oranges and spice hit my nose, and I swallow a groan. I move quickly away. “Gotta make a phone call,” I mutter, then step out of the garage bay and back into the heat.