Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Luke

C hris Stapleton’s “Starting Over” hummed through the car speakers. I’d turned the music down low when I noticed Isla’s eyes drifting shut. She’d reclined her seat back to take a much-needed nap. It seemed her days were spent bouncing from job to job, and in between she experimented with recipes, so when her big dream of owning a bakery came true, she’d be ready to go.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what she said before she drifted off to sleep. It was true. I was paying her to be a barrier, a neat little excuse for why Mom couldn’t force her usual disastrous date choice on me. I should never have asked her to do this. What was I thinking?

The road in front of me was straight and boring. I drove past very few cars going the other direction. About the only exciting part of the drive was when I came upon a slow, rambling truck, and I had an excuse to push the pedal and pass it.

Isla mewled softly in her sleep. Her long lashes fluttered over her soft pink cheeks. She was nothing short of an angel, and I’d selfishly dragged her into my ridiculous scheme.

An unexpected bump in the road woke her with a jolt.

“Sorry,” I said. “Didn’t see the dip.”

She stretched out her elegant, thin arms and lifted them over her head before lowering them. A gasp followed as she reached for her mouth. “Was I drooling? Snoring? Talking gibberish?” She closed her eyes. “It’s all right. I can take it. Tell me just how bad it got.”

“You look like something dropped from heaven when you’re sleeping.”

There was that amazing blush again. Sometimes it seemed I was going out of my way to make it happen.

“You’re being kind. That’s all right. Don’t tell me.”

“Really, like a perfect angel.” I looked over at her. Our gazes had a tendency to smack into each other and then hold on, as if something magnetic was keeping them there.

Isla smiled. “If you wanted to nap, I could get behind the wheel if you trust me with your George Jetson mobile.”

I laughed. “I’m never going to get that analogy out of my head now. But I’m fine. And I definitely snore, so I’ll save myself that embarrassment. We’ve got about three hours to go. In about an hour, we’ll be passing by a town with a little beer joint that serves great nachos if you’re interested. And the grit on the floor is actual mud from cowboy boots. Not people’s bones.”

Isla shivered as she glanced down at her shoes. “Do you think we tracked any along with us? I’m afraid to look.”

“I think those were shells. Everything about that place was Hollywood horror movie set fake.”

“I sure hope so.” She turned energetically under the seatbelt to face me. I was glad to see her sadness was gone. “Did you ever meet the great wearer of mutton chops and your apparent namesake, Lucas Evan Greyson?”

“I have vague memories of the man. I remember that he always smelled heavily of aftershave and pipe tobacco, and he had a laugh that could rival Santa Claus’s. He was quite old when he married Hazel, my grandmother. Hazel was almost twenty years younger.”

Isla crinkled her nose. “Big age difference. Was it an arranged marriage?”

“Actually, no. While my dad went the traditional route and picked my mom from a short list of suitable matches, my grandfather followed his heart. And when you meet my grandmother, you’ll see why he was so smitten. She’s eighty and is still the coolest person I know. She was a bit of a rebel in her day, and she wasn’t the least bit suited to the persnickety world my grandfather pulled her into. But she managed to dazzle people with her personality, even if they probably spent a lot of time gossiping about her behind her back.”

Isla listened intently as I spoke. I’d already noticed that about her. She made you feel as if all your words and comments and ideas mattered.

“My granddad grew up in an old money family, and back then, it was expected that old money marry old money, or, at the very least, if the match was tolerable, new money. Hazel was painting the scenery at the park across from my grandfather’s office building. He walked past her several times and finally worked up the courage to say hello. Hazel said he was nervous and fidgety and kept tugging at his tie. He loved the painting so much he offered her fifty dollars, which was a lot of money back then. The next day she’d moved on to a different location five blocks away, but he found her. He asked her to dinner, and they fell madly in love after one date. My grandmother’s words. Not mine. Of course, that didn’t go over well with my great-grandparents. They quickly tried to set him up with a more suitable wife, but Lucas insisted it was Hazel or no one. He was the only male heir, so that meant the Greyson genes would die with his generation, and that was unthinkable, so they allowed Lucas to marry his sweet Hazel.”

“I love that story,” Isla said dreamily. “I can’t wait to meet her. Do you think she’ll know that I’m just a decoy?”

Her question reminded me that I was a total heel. “I’m sorry, Isla. I shouldn’t have brought you into this. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive. I went into this clear-headed and with dollar signs in my eyes. I need money for a bakery, especially now that I’m down one job.”

“That’s my fault, too.” I raked my hair back with my fingers. “I’ll find you another job. I’ve got tons of contacts. It’ll be the least I can do. I promise to do everything to make this weekend bearable, and I’m going to up the pay to ten grand.” I was sure that would make her happy, but a weak, sad smile curled her lips. “That was the wrong thing to say. Damnit … I grew up in a family where money was always the answer.”

Isla placed her hand on my arm. I could feel her touch radiate through my entire body. “Stop tying yourself up in knots. It’ll be fine. I’m glad I said yes to this, and we’ll stick with the original price. I don’t want a pity payment. Seven grand will get me seven thousand closer to my dream, and I’m having a lovely weekend so far. After all, I can’t remember the last time I walked on crushed human bones.”

I laughed and shook my head. “You are something else, Isla Lovely. I’ve gone through thirty-four years never meeting anyone like you.”

“I’ve never met anyone like you either, Lucas Greyson. And to answer your much earlier question. It’s a yes to nachos and beer. I’m starved.”

T he Ridge Rider was the quintessential dive with shabby décor, wobbly chairs and tables and, most important of all, great beer on tap. There was a jukebox in the far corner that usually played country, but Mick Jagger was belting out “Satisfaction” as we walked in. Four cowboy boot-bedecked men were at the far end of the bar, near the jukebox. It would explain the trucks in the parking lot. These weren’t off-the-trail cowboys, dusty and parched from a day on the range. A few of the trucks were shiny, six-figure, right-off-the-lot beauties. A couple of guys were playing a game of pool at the single pool table at the back of the room. The rest of the bar was empty, so we pulled a lot of attention our way when we stepped inside. I instinctively curled a fist when the four patrons at the end of the bar went out of their way to look Isla up and down.

I realized I’d never walked into Ridge Rider with a woman. I was usually on my own, biding my time before having to face the family. “This might have been a mistake.”

Isla didn’t pay any attention to the men leering at her. She probably dealt with it a lot. “You said the nachos were good. And a cold beer sounds good, too.”

“Right.”

The bartender, an older man with wire-rimmed glasses, was behind the bar drying glasses. “Have a seat anywhere. Two cold ones?” he called to us.

I nodded, and we sat at one of the tables. The top of it was sticky and the words “ you suck ” were etched into the wood. I forced a smile. “The nachos really are very good.”

She laughed. “Good thing this isn’t our first date. By the way, how long have we been together? Where did we meet? Maybe we should come up with some details so our stories match.”

I blew out an exasperated breath as I sat back. “You’re right. Jeesh, I guess I didn’t think this through much.”

“Two beers,” the bartender yelled as he slammed two mugs down on the bar. I walked over to pick up the beers. The four other patrons were starting to get on my nerves. They glared my direction. “Uh, could we get an order of nachos and two plates?” I said.

“Coming right up.”

I got back to the table and set the beers down.

“I’m thinking six months is a good number,” Isla was continuing the discussion. “Not long enough to expect an engagement ring but long enough to let other people know that things are solid.” She rubbed her chin. “And we met, hmm, let’s see. Something unique, but plausible. We were both on a train in Iceland and a moose stepped on the tracks and it derailed and we nearly froze to death and the adversity and danger of it all brought us together and we quickly fell in love.”

I arched a brow at her. “I was thinking something like we met at a local coffee shop when we both reached for the same cup of coffee at the barista’s counter. We smiled at each other, struck up a conversation and the rest, as they say, was history. Do they even have moose in Iceland?”

“Seems like a place that moose would like.” She sipped her beer and licked the foam off her lip. She managed to make even a gesture as simple as that adorable. She harrumphed. “I guess we’ll go with the coffee shop scenario. It’s just not very romantic, not one of those stories you can tell your grandchildren.” She sat up straight and searched in her pocket. “That’s right. I tossed my emergency quarter into Boris’s jaw. I was hoping to pick a song on the jukebox.”

I dug in my pocket and came up with two quarters. “Why was that your emergency quarter?”

Isla smiled shyly. “Nonna always made each of us carry an emergency quarter in our pockets in case we needed to make a phone call. She thought there were still phone booths all over. Anyway, I guess it just became a habit, and I can tell you it’s come in handy a few times. Like today, with Boris and—did the guy ever say his name?”

I picked up the beer mug. “I think he kept his identity secret, so it would be harder to identify him to police.”

Isla laughed as she tossed the two coins around in her palm. “I’m going to go glance at the song selection.”

The bartender brought over a sizzling pile of nachos and two plates. I drank a few gulps of beer and turned back toward the jukebox. Stupidly, I’d forgotten about the four jerks sitting at the bar. They hadn’t forgotten about the petite blonde. They’d all spun sideways on their barstools, and they were watching her over the rims of their pints. Isla was focused on the song titles. I, on the other hand, was working on tamping down the adrenaline as I watched them grin and ogle the woman at the jukebox.

Isla pushed some buttons and then spun back around, her amazing smile lighting up the otherwise dingy barroom. She headed back toward the table. Before I could loosen my jaw, one of the men reached out and took hold of her arm. She gasped and tried to pull away from him.

The chair shot back as I flew across the gritty floor to the four grinning fools at the bar. “Let her go,” I said before I reached them. The guy ignored my command. I was outnumbered, but that didn’t matter. His fingers wrapped tighter and Isla winced. That was all I needed to see.

My fist slammed into the man’s face. I felt his nose soften beneath my knuckles. He released Isla, and his hand flew to his face. Blood began to drip between his fingers.

I could hear the bartender meekly saying he didn’t want any trouble as the guy’s three friends dropped down from the stools, landing solidly on their shiny cowboy boots.

I grabbed Isla by the hand. “Nachos are overrated, anyhow,” I said as I tossed some money on the table and pulled her toward the exit. My sister would never forgive me for ruining her wedding photos with a black eye or busted nose. Isla squealed with a sound that was half laughter, half scream as we pushed out the door and into the parking lot.

“Come back here!” one of them yelled as we got in the car.

The car's tires chirped as I hit the bump at the end of the gravel driveway. I turned onto the road and drove off. It took a few seconds to absorb what’d happened. “What a road trip. I don’t know if we’re Bonnie and Clyde or Tom and Jerry,” I said.

Isla laughed, but it was still edged with fear.

“Are you all right?” I glanced down and saw the red handprint fading from her skin. My jaw clenched again as I thought about that jerk wrapping his big fat fingers around her arm.

“I’m fine. A little stunned. I’ve never had anyone grab me like that. Thank you,” she said, then gasped. “Your knuckles.”

I lifted my hand off the wheel. My knuckles were starting to swell. “I guess I hit the guy hard.”

“I think you broke his nose. So, well done, you. And I think since Bonnie and Clyde were ruthless killers, we should stick with Tom and Jerry. Obviously, I’m Tom.”

“Oh, really, and why is that?” I was glad to see the tension and fear leaving her face. I never expected our nacho pitstop to end so wildly.

“Well, many years ago, for one whole week, my name was Tom. Actually, more accurately, it was Tommy.”

“This sounds like a story I’m going to need to hear. It’ll take our minds off the last few minutes.”

Her blue eyes had a soft sparkle as she looked at me. “I don’t want to forget it. The horrid men and their showy boots, yes, but I’ve never had someone, particularly someone like you, come to my rescue like that, and while I’d like to avoid ever being accosted like that again, I will always remember you throwing your fist into that man’s face and erasing his smarmy smirk.”

I looked over at her. She looked small in the passenger seat, slim and petite with that incredible flaxen hair, but she had such a huge personality that she filled the entire car. Something told me it wouldn’t be easy for her to just fade away in the wedding chaos. She exuded too much energy. “I’d do it again. I’d come to your rescue every time, Isla.”

There was that amazing blush again. She coyly tucked her hair behind her ear. “Well, my foray into Tommy-hood all started with a strange dream. Nonna told me it was the pepperoni pizza, chocolate cake and ice cream I’d eaten at my friend Ashley’s twelfth birthday party. She was probably right. Nonna always seemed to be right. Anyhow, in the dream, I was stuck in this weird castle where almost all the walls were mirrors. I was there with, of all people, the school librarian, Miss Crumfeld. I don’t know why she was there, but earlier that week, I’d suffered one of her embarrassing and tedious lectures after I’d folded the corner of a book page to keep my place. The two of us, Miss Crumfeld and me, were trying to escape something, not even sure what, but the whole time we raced around the mirrored castle, she kept calling me Tommy. No idea why. I stupidly told my sister, Aria, about the dream, and she told the others. All my sisters called me Tommy for a week. The joke was on Aria because I kind of liked it. It’s fun to pretend you’re someone else once in a while. For that week, I was Tommy, the girl from the mirrored castle. Nonna finally put an end to it. She told us she had a hard enough time calling us by the right name—” Isla nodded. “It was true. Normally she went through all five of our names before she got to the one she intended. But that was my week of being Tommy, and so it follows that I would be Tom. Wait—is Tom the cat or the mouse?”

“Good question. I think he’s the cat.”

She sat back with a satisfied wriggle. “That works.” She sat forward suddenly. “Pull off for that gas station. We need some ice for your hand.”

I lifted my fingers. They felt stiff and were starting to throb. “It’s fine.”

She looked over at me. “Really, and how will you explain those gargantuan-sized knuckles to Margaret?”

“Hadn’t thought of that. There’s a charging station off this ramp, too. The car needs a zap.”

We pulled off the highway, and while Isla went inside the mini-market to get some ice, I hooked the car up for a charge. She came out ten minutes later with a bag of ice, two cold sodas and two giant pretzels. “I figured since we left the plate of nachos behind, and since that was mostly my fault?—”

“How was that your fault? All you did was pick some songs on a jukebox, Isla. None of it was your fault.”

“You’re right.” I realized I was getting thoroughly hooked on her smile. “Here’s a pretzel for being a big, brave knight. And here’s the world’s tiniest container of nacho cheese dip.” We stared at it on her palm. “See what I mean? I asked the woman for two cheese dips, waving the massive pretzel to remind her that it was not a lot of dip for such a big pretzel, but she told me she was running short on the nacho dip, and that was all she could spare.”

“There’s a picnic bench on the side of the market for some shade.” We carried our pretzels and soda to the table. Isla went back to the car for a few minutes and returned with one of her linen napkins, bulging with pieces of ice.

We nibbled the pretzels while she gently held the ice-filled napkin on my knuckles. Something about the gesture felt so intimate, so intense, I could feel it through my entire body.

“How far are we from your parents’ house?” she asked.

“Less than an hour.”

“That close,” she said quietly. She put down the rest of her pretzel and sighed.

“Isla, you’ll be fine. My family is going to be impressed with you.”

She tried to smile. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ve only spent one, long, adventurous day with you, and I’m impressed as hell … Tommy.”