Chapter 22
TUCK
RYDER’S GARAGE is on the outskirts of town, close to the turnpike, on a few acres of land.
Next to the garage is a fenced yard full of cars with orange stickers on their windows.
When cars break down on any of the highways in and out of town, as well as the turnpike, he is the one the city calls to pick them up, so he has a fenced yard specifically for those next to his garage.
If the cars aren’t claimed, he takes possession and fixes, sells, or piece-mills them out. It’s a pretty lucrative business.
In one of the other bays, Ryder is leaning over the open hood of a sedan. He looks over his shoulder as I pull up. His ball cap is on backward, and his work shirt is lying over the fender of the car.
Ryder and I have known each other since we were kids, we grew up together and were friends up until our high school graduation. We lost touch after I enlisted, but since I’ve been back, we’ve had a few beers on more than one occasion at Stony’s.
As I walk up to the garage, he pulls his long frame from under the hood and wipes grease off his hands with a rag that looks like it has enough black grease on it to make it useless. “Hey, Tucker, what’s up?”
He steps away from the car to meet me just outside the garage. “Just want to check on the car I called you about a few weeks ago, see what’s wrong with it and what’s the total so far.”
He huffs and looks over his shoulder at the pretty gray SUV.
“I don’t know when people will learn that if you don’t live in Germany, don’t buy German cars.
” He turns back to face me and stuffs the greasy rag into the back pocket of his jeans.
“That particular model has a history of engine issues when the mileage gets high and the warranty is expired. To be honest, I’m thinking about outsourcing it to someone who specializes in those.
The parts are a bitch to get, and taking it apart is a fucking nightmare. ”
Fuck. I know those cars are hard to work on, and I wondered if that would be a problem. “Have you ordered parts for it yet?”
He pulls his cap off with a wince and scratches the bill against his head before setting it back on.
“They’re fucking back-ordered, which I called and let her know, but she wants this car fixed.
For the amount of money she’s paying to have it repaired, she could get a comparable running vehicle, which I offered to hook her up, but she turned it down. ”
I look back toward the SUV sitting in the shop over his shoulder and drag my hand down my mouth and chin. I’m willing to bet her ex took care of the maintenance, and since she’s been on her own, the mileage has caught up with her. “Okay. Let me talk to her, and I’ll get back to you.”
On the drive back to town, I think about how fast Nora turned on Trudy last night.
She went from zero to sixty faster than a blink.
Trudy would have deserved anything she got had I not intervened.
I don’t know if Nora has it in her to go all out catty, but it looked like it could have gone in that direction.
I knew what Trudy was doing when she stopped the nasty glares she usually gives me and leaned over in front of me to put that beer on the table. So, I made sure Nora knew she had nothing to worry about, especially with her track record with cheating men, and what she’s been told about me.
One thing about Nora that I fucking adore is her gentleness. She’s soft in every sense of the word, her voice, her body, her reactions, her passion. She’s gorgeous inside and out.
To see her fall apart, to become so angry, because of a jealous, nasty woman was something I wasn’t going to stand for. I’ll protect her from anything that threatens the qualities that make her beautiful.
But behind that gentleness is so much fucking strength. There are few women who could go through what she’s been through and still get up every day with the determination she does. Hell, there aren’t many men who could.
My phone rings through the speaker system of my truck, and Callum’s name flashes on the display panel. “Harlow.”
“Well, that’s something I’ll have to get used to. You and your brother have the same phone voice.” Callum says, humor laced in his comment. “I got your message. You want to come take a look around?”
Choosing to ignore that I sound like my brother or any other chit-chat, I jump right into why I messaged him in the first place. “Yes, it’s one reason I reached out. The other is that I need help finding a guy, and I only have his first name and a few details.”
“Finding people with few details is part of what we do. What’s up?” Paper crinkles in the background, and a muffled thump sounds like the phone being set down so he can put me on speaker.
“There’s a woman here in town hiding from her ex-fiancé, her name is Nora Abernathy, car plates are from D.C. I know his first name is Matt. He had bogus charges brought against her in the last six months. I want to know everything I can about him. Including where he lives and works.”
The sound of a pen scratching on paper travels through the line before he says, “I’ll get Spits to look into it today, this info should be easy to find.
” Spits is their tech guy, who is constantly eating sunflower seeds by the same name, so that’s become his call sign. “Is this your girl from the pub?”
Is she my girl?
Yes, there’s no question. A lifetime of considering myself a forever bachelor has been squashed by a gentle redhead in just under a month.
I can’t say I didn’t enjoy seeing her temper when she turned on me last night, it was fucking adorable, but there is no scenario in my mind where she’s not mine.
“She is. He might be a threat.”
“Understood, I’ll get Spits on it ASAP.”
“Appreciate it.”
“Sure. Just let me know when you want to come down here and I’ll take care of the flight arrangements.”
“Will do.”
Back at the ranch, there is a brand new blue truck with a paper tag still attached to the back, sitting in front of the main house.
My first thought is that one of my siblings bought a new truck, but when I walk into the kitchen, I see a familiar head of shiny black hair standing at the kitchen island talking to my father and brothers.
He turns when he hears my boots scraping on the hardwood and grins.
“Fuck me, Mato, is that you?” I say as I walk toward him.
“In the flesh.” He chuckles as we embrace and slap each other on the back.
Stepping back, I look at the man who was like a brother to me for the first half of my life.
His black hair, which he used to wear long in the traditional Native American style, is growing out from a military cut and touching his shoulders.
His dark brown eyes still look like he’s constantly laughing at an inside joke, and his skin is still tan like it’s the middle of summer.
There was a time when I was taller than him, and I would tease him and call him shrimp, but now, he stands at my height, and he has the physique of a fighter.
“Mason told me he saw you in town, I was wondering if you’d stop by.”
He slides his fingers into his front jeans pockets and looks around the room. “How could I not? The best years of my life were on this ranch.”
Leaning against the kitchen counter next to Dad, I cross my arms over my chest. “So, how are you? What have you been doing?”
“After Dad died, I followed your lead and enlisted in the Marines when I turned twenty. Eventually worked my way up to the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program and became an instructor, been doing that for the past eight years.”
“That’s a bit of a cush job to walk away from.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “I left a few things unfinished before I enlisted that I need to take care of.”
“Mason said you’re renting, are you living in town?”
“Yeah, you remember old lady Sander’s place down by the train station?” When we all nod, he continues. “The new owners remodeled the apartment over the barn that they turned into a garage. It’s pretty nice. I’m looking for a place to buy, but I’m taking my time, I want to find the right one.”
The sound of a diesel engine rumbles out front, and I look at Dad. “Breanna?”
He nods. “Yeah, she’s coming to check on Frost since she started her on meds last week.”
Mato steps away from me, angling his body more toward the entryway into the kitchen from the hall, and pulls his hands out of his pockets to tuck under his arms in an at-ease stance, his gaze on the floor. He looks tense, and I wonder what that’s all about.
The front door opens, and Breanna yells, “Who got the new truck? I love that color of blue.” Her boots clomp on the hardwood down the hall, but when she steps into the kitchen her eyes land on Mato and she freezes, eyes locked on him.
She’s in her usual jeans, t-shirt, and boots that she wears for work. Her long curly hair is pulled back into a ponytail and threaded through the back of her ball cap. On the left breast of her jean jacket, the logo and name of her vet clinic are embroidered into the material.
Silence hangs heavy in the room, so heavy you could hear a pin drop as they stare at each other for several seconds.
Breanna’s eyebrows knit together as her eyes narrow, and I see her throat move as she swallows.
I can’t remember there ever being anything between them.
We let her play with us a lot since friends on a ranch are scarce, but it was always kid play.
However, she was only twelve when I left.
“Hey, Breanna. How are you?” Mato breaks the silence, but his tone is tentative. We are all watching, trying to figure out what’s going on.
Breanna stares another moment longer before she takes a deep breath. “Hey.” She looks around the room at everyone looking at her and without another word, she steps through us to the back door.
The four of us swivel our heads back to Mato, but he is watching Breanna walk to the stable through the big window over the breakfast nook. After a few seconds, he turns to us and says, “Excuse me.”
Without another word, he follows the path she just took, leaving us wondering what the hell just happened.