Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Cruz
“Yeah, she’s gonna need a new engine.” Lane’s voice drifts out of the speaker I have connected to my phone in his shop.
I knew going in that Elodie’s car was toast, but I still looped in my brother, though I have to be his eyes and ears.
Not that there’s much to pass on. It has no oil.
“I can get her some times and pricing for shipping. The labor’s no issue. I won’t charge her.”
For Lane, it’s like a day of play. He doesn’t have to tell me that; I just know he misses being a mechanic. He loves ranching and he enjoys distilling, but his zen is grease-filled hands and engine parts lying around. The pickup he’s restoring is parked at the back of the shop.
My happy place is not being a degenerate.
I scrub all the grime off my hands. Ranching and the distillery are better than a lot of things I could’ve ended up doing, and they’re both fun while keeping me productive.
I like keeping busy, and when one is slow, the other will pick up.
I can always count on cows getting out when I think it’s time to relax, and the distillery participates in enough street fairs, craft fairs, and holiday shows to fill in the spare time.
I wave to law enforcement these days instead of hiding from them.
“I’ll let her know,” I tell him, and dry my hands, inspecting my nails while I do it. Good. They’re spotless. “Hey, you mind if we help her get to Billings and back?”
“Why would I?”
“Just making sure.” I cleared it with Haven, and he gave me the look Lane is probably wearing now. Why would we mind helping another business owner, one we like, when we know she’s in a bind? “Talk to you later,” I say before hanging up.
I’m asking because she may do everything in her power to keep me from lending her a hand. I don’t know what I did, but every time I get a glimpse into Elodie Palmer, she slams the window shades down like I’m a Peeping Tom.
Yet the woman still intrigues me. The way her laughter takes her by surprise, her abandon when she finally lets go. Her eyes light up and joy dances across her face. Elodie is one reserved woman, but she doesn’t want to be that way. I don’t know how I know, but I do.
I try to call the bakery, but it goes to voicemail. Her brusque but chipper voice drifts over the line. It’s Tuesday, and after being closed Monday, she’s probably busy.
A message pops up on my screen.
Haven: Bootleg at 7?
Durban must be working the tasting room tonight.
The bakery closes at four. I could stop by and talk to Elodie before I jaunt over to Bootleg.
Yeah, it’s an excuse to see her again. I should quit trying to get a key to those gates she’s put up, but I can’t.
Besides, I’m just helping with her car. Lane and I have been stranded with no way to get anywhere often enough in our lives, I know how it feels.
Cruz: I’m in.
I check the time before tucking my phone away. It’s not quite four. I have time to run through the shower, grab a bite to eat, and stop in to talk to Elodie before meeting Haven.
A few hours later, I don’t stink like exhaust and grease, and I’m pulling up by the back door of Dee’s Sweets. My hair’s still damp, but I push it off my head and hop out of the pickup.
I’m almost to the door when it whips open. I have to step aside before I’m run over by an angry baker.
“I heard you the first time.” Elodie’s livid voice rings out and the screen bashes open.
“How long do you think I can sustain this? Oh, you don’t care?
What about when the well runs dry? Huh? What about that?
” Her flashing gaze collides with mine and goes wide.
“I’ve gotta go.” Fury passes through her eyes before she spins to put her back to me. “Guess what? I don’t care.”
She stuffs the phone in the pocket of her loose linen shorts, her oversized shirt getting in the way. I take a step back to admire strong legs that could crush me and make me ask for more. She locks the door so roughly it’s amazing the key doesn’t snap.
“Didn’t mean to intrude.” But I’m glad I did. Irate Elodie is a sight to behold. Who the hell is upsetting her? Before she faces me, I yank my gaze off her legs.
She shakes her head to get some hair out of her eyes. “It’s nothing.”
That sounded like something. “I was headed to Bootleg and wanted to stop and update you on the car.”
Her face falls and the stress swelling in her eyes guts me. “How bad?”
She doesn’t play games, so I’m blunt. “New engine. Sorry.”
She drops her head back, the slender column of her throat elongating in despair. The picture is wrong. It should only do that to let someone in, to make room for a man to lick from her clavicle to her sweet cherry lips.
“Lane’s going to do some checking, see how much everything costs and when it’ll all come in. Once he has the parts, it won’t take him long.” I don’t tell her he won’t charge for labor. Seems like that kind of thing won’t go over well right now.
She blows out a breath and looks down the path that leads out of the makeshift alley behind her shop.
When she brings her attention back to me, it’s on my chest, stroking over my shoulders and down my arms. My skin tingles like a feather is stroking ever so softly over it.
That invisible touch travels to other places, like my nosy dick that always stirs when I’m thinking about the curves Elodie hides inside her baggy clothing.
“Right.” She nods like she’s reconciling something with herself. “I know you gifted the Butter Barrel, but I need the invoice for the spirits you gave me for the fair recipes.”
“Those are for a joint promotion.” She displays our logo and spirit information with each recipe and we do the same for Dee’s Sweets, featuring her baked goods in front of each spirit.
She shakes her head. “No. I’m paying for what I use.”
“Should we charge you for our mash bill?” When she frowns, I want to smooth out the divot between her dark eyebrows. “It’d be weird, right? That’s why it’s a joint effort.”
“Okay. I just need to pay my own way,” she says in a small voice.
“I know the feeling.” I really do, and this small glimpse into her tells me a lot. She wants to make her own way because at one point, some asshole must’ve held it over her.
“Yeah?”
I nod.
Her face is tilted up, looking at me. There’s a dusting of flour close to her ear. What if I cupped her cheek in my hand? Rubbed that little spot off her velvety skin? Is there a world where she’d let me do that?
It’s pointless to go down that road.
Speaking of road, where’s she going? “You need a ride somewhere?”
The distance in her eyes is back. This little dance between us is two steps forward and one step back. “No. I’m walking to my parents’.”
The Palmers live on the other side of Bootleg Tavern, on the fringes of town. The sidewalk ends a good half mile from the bakery. It stays lighter out longer this time of year, but she still has to walk on the highway for a while or in the ditch, where she’ll pick up ticks.
“It’s a nice night,” she says as if reading my mind.
“I know, but I’m handy. What about the return trip?”
“No. I’ll be fine.”
I nod and stuff my boot into the ground.
She’s so damn evasive, and I’m going to worry all night about her walking that highway with no shoulder.
There’s got to be a way. An idea pops into my head.
It’ll work for one way only. “It’s too bad you’ve gotta get going.
I was going to tell you what the guys thought about your recipes. ”
Her gaze sharpens. “What did they think?”
I cock my head toward my pickup and shoot her a grin. “Hop in.”
She stuffs her hands on her hips. “You’re manipulating me.”
Shit. I am. Shame burns through me, but it’s different this time.
She’s calling me out for how I’m treating her, and I keep stepping over the line.
I’m better than my parents and it’s time to prove it.
“I’m sorry. They liked them and the oatmeal raisin cookies were a hit.
Durban and Iverson of course had to share theirs with Jamison and Campbell, and they gave each kind two thumbs up.
” I give her a tight smile. “Watch for traffic. Drivers aren’t expecting to see pedestrians on the highway. ”
She doesn’t even nod, it’s like she’s frozen, but I walk away. The last thing I want to be is manipulative. I know exactly what it’s like to grow up with someone like that.
I’m about to open my pickup door when I hear a quiet, “Cruz?”
“Yeah?”
She’s opening and closing her hands at her sides. “Would you, um, mind giving me a ride home? It’ll be after sunset.”
I would ordinarily be elated, but I don’t want her to think I’m guilting her into spending time with me. “What time?”
“Whenever you’re leaving Bootleg. I help my parents with some cleaning and weeding, so I can find plenty to do until you’re ready. And if I’m getting a ride, it won’t matter if I stay past dark.” Her tone isn’t quite flat. Is she feeling guilty? Scared? Afraid to trust me?
“Haven and I don’t stay out long. I’ll text when I’m ready.”
“Okay. Thank you.” The vulnerability in her voice, in her stance, isn’t right. Who put it there?
She’ll probably never let me close enough to find out.
Elodie
The sun has barely set and the sky is a blue gradient, growing darker the farther from the horizon it gets. My pulse climbs higher as headlights shine in the distance. I got a text from Cruz a few minutes ago telling me he was leaving Bootleg. I thought he’d stay later.
I thought he’d rather find a woman for the night too, but that’s not why I asked him for a ride.
The way he shut down on me. His abashed expression when I called him on his tactics.
It didn’t sit right with me. I was played by a master and that bastard never showed regret.
If he did, it was just to manipulate me more.