CHAPTER TWO

WES GALLAGHER

Laughter hangs in the air as I enter the waiting room, scrubbing away the grease on my hands with a ragged hand towel. Alex is kneeling on the floor and petting a familiar German Shepherd while flirting with its owner—the pretty stranger, Grace Thompson.

Typical.

"I don't pay you to fucking flirt, Alex." The growled words cause Grace to jump in surprise, her skin flushing red as she brushes a loose curl off her cheek.

Dammit, I didn't mean to scare her.

Attempting a more civil tone, I add, "Get back to work. I'll handle this."

Alex waves goodbye to Grace with a wink before muttering under his breath, "Whatever you say, boss man," and the sarcastic note in his voice grates on my nerves.

We were friendly acquaintances before I hired him to work at Dusty's, but he needs to learn to respect me at work. Otherwise, our friendship, and his position, will be in jeopardy. Because I don't tolerate attitude from those working for me. I get enough of that from certain townspeople already.

Forcing the issue of Alex aside, I focus on Grace and admire the thick thighs encased in her skintight jeans before dropping to her trim ankles covered by suede. I still can't believe she hiked here in those boots. She's lucky if blisters don't form from the long trek.

"Everything should be fine now. We replaced your tire and inspected the rest of the vehicle to double-check everything else."

Because I couldn't resist ensuring it was safe for her to drive.

Because, for some reason, I feel protective of Grace.

You barely fucking know the woman. Not to mention you don't do relationships.

And ensuring a car's safety beyond what's necessary?

Seems like the kind of thing a man does for his woman.

After collecting payment, I gesture out the window to where her car is parked. "Your keys are in the driver's seat. If you need anything else, give us a call." Maybe if I hustle Grace out the door, my mind will stop wandering to images of those thighs wrapped around my shoulders as I eat her out on the hood of my truck.

Fuck.

It's obvious I need to get laid if a customer is affecting me this way. I never mix business with pleasure, although technically, I suppose our business is done…

"Thank you so much! I really appreciate how quickly you fit me in and finished everything." Her face brightens with a blinding smile, distracting me from my wayward thoughts.

Damn, she's like a ray of fucking sunshine.

"Just doing my job." Uncomfortable with her gratitude for something I would've gladly done no matter how busy we were—and no, I'm not about to analyze the reason why—I broach the topic that's been on my mind since she walked into my shop. "Are you just passing through, or visiting someone in town?"

I would remember if I'd seen her around Suitor's Crossing before, so this is definitely her first visit. But how long will it last?

Grace opens the car door to let Shadow jump into the backseat after I walk her outside. "I'm actually moving here. My friends Elsie and Avery live in town and helped me get a job at Casey & Sons."

Fuck Casey.

My usual rejoinder to hearing about those douchebags resounds in my head, and I bite my tongue to keep it there. The Casey family thinks they're hot shit because they're one of the original inhabitants of Suitor's Crossing—at least, I assume the entire family is full of pretentious pricks to match the two younger sons. The twins, Andrew and Brandon Casey, and I attended the same schools from elementary to high school, so I witnessed them evolve from class nuisances to first-class bastards.

I hate that Grace will be working with them.

Jealous they'll get to see her every day.

You don't get jealous over women, remember?

"Congratulations," I grit out, fighting to remain neutral in the face of the conflicting emotions suddenly bombarding me. "Elsie… Do you mean Elsie Hawkins? A teacher at Scott Key Elementary? Had a dust-up with a parent last year?"

Could there be more than one Elsie in Suitor's Crossing? Sure, we're not that tiny, but we're also a town of magical coincidences, so it wouldn't surprise me if the one Elsie I'm aware of is Grace's friend.

Her blue eyes widened, and it's obvious I guessed correctly. Gossip is hard to miss in Suitor's Crossing, even for a guy like me—someone with a record that people tend to avoid. And a tale like Elsie's? One that includes Sheriff Lawson's ex-wife? Well, there was no way that wasn't spreading like wildfire to where I reside at the very edge of town.

"This really is a small town, huh?"

"You have no idea." A small town with a big attitude. At least towards those it deems unworthy of their esteem. Like me. Sure, we've got Hallmark charm with a bustling Main Street and events scheduled for practically every holiday, but everything— and everyone —ain't always sweet as a gumdrop.

"Guess that means we'll probably see each other around." Grace chuckles before settling in the driver's seat. "Thanks again for fixing my car. Have a good day!"

Right, we can't stand outside all day chitchatting. I've got work to do, and she's got a new life to start in town.

Her car disappears around the bend, and despite her optimistic remark, I doubt we'll see much of each other at all. Elsie runs in a certain circle of Suitor's Crossing, one I'm not a part of. Not that she's ever been anything but friendly towards me, but our paths don't often cross.

Which means mine and Grace's won't either.

It shouldn't bother me.

But damn if her sweet honey scent doesn't linger in Dusty's waiting room and make me wish I had more time with her.

***

It's never good when my mom calls, so when her name appears on my phone an hour later, I immediately ignore it. We have a dislike/hate relationship—I dislike her, and she hates me.

"What?"

"Is that any way to greet your mother?" I don't respond to her comment, and she huffs on the other end of the line. "Are you planning to come home for Thanksgiving? Your brother would like to see you."

Step-brother.

He's from my mom's second marriage after she had enough of slumming it with my dad, a truck driver on the road ninety-percent of the time.

Jordan is a decent kid, which I can only attribute to his father's influence, but there's no way he enlisted our mom to invite me to Thanksgiving.

The last time I went to their house—because that's not my home—was for Jordan's sixteenth birthday in February.

"I'll let you know."

"Make sure you're here, Wesley. I don't know what Jordan sees in you, but you'll be a big disappointment if you don't show."

"I thought I already was one, Mother."

She snickers. "Yeah, well, your sweet brother hasn't learned yet." With that snide remark, the call ends, and I shove the phone back into my pocket with a curse.

And that's why I've never been interested in relationships.

My mom grew up in an upper middle-class family before falling for my dad in high school and ‘downgrading'—her description, not mine.

Frankly, lust seems more likely than love, but either way, my parents ended up together and had me at the ripe old age of eighteen. Even as a kid, I recognized how different my mom and dad were from each other, and when Mom packed her belongings and hightailed it out of the trailer park? Well, I can't say I was surprised.

Doesn't mean it didn't sting like a motherfucker those first few years.

Until it became obvious how selfish she was on the rare times she deigned to visit me.

Then I got smart and vowed to never let another woman fuck around with my heart again.