Page 3 of Working for Her Heart

“Well now, I didn’t say that at all.” My lips turn down. I might have fleetingly thought it, but I sure as hell would never say such a thing aloud. I may be male, but I’m not completely stupid when it comes to females, and I absolutely value my family jewels more than that.

She rolls her eyes again. “Didn’t have to. It’s written all over your face. Same as the rest of the male species.” She swings around, slamming the hood on the old car before stomping to the driver’s door and calling over her shoulder, “No assistance needed.”

The car starts with a roar, throwing gravel as she speeds off, leaving me staring after her, jaw hanging open.

What the fuck just happened?

And why the hell is my dick harder than rock?

Chapter Three

Lane

A yawn cracks my jaw as I step down from my pickup. I chug from my stainless steel coffee mug in an attempt to get more caffeine into my system. I haven’t been sleeping for shit the last two nights.

Restlessness has plagued me since I came across the woman with pillow-soft curves and a razor-sharp tongue who literally left me in a cloud of dust with a raging hard-on. She has haunted my dreams, leaving me harder than hell and hornier than a fucking preteen boy discovering the joys of masturbation.

And just like that boy, I’ve jerked off more times than I can count to the thought of those plump lips wrapped around my hard cock. My head drops back with a groan as I adjust my growing erection. I need to get a fucking grip.

Or more likely get laid. Find a willing woman to sink my dick in and get the sharp-tongued woman out of my head. But just the thought of any other woman has said dick instantly deflating.

Apparently prickly, unattainable women are now what turns me on. The good news is I’ve been so obsessed with thoughts of a woman I met for all of three minutes I haven’t been brooding over my sister’s move to Idaho.

I traded one obsession for another.

Gulping down more coffee, I grab my lunch box and head into the office to get my schedule for the day. The squat, square, light blue building sits off to the side of a chain-link fenced yard, which holds all the heavy equipment repair trucks for Masterson’s Mobile Repair, where I work as the lead mechanic. At the back of the yard is a large, dark blue metal shop where we can do repairs inside if needed.

Marnie Masterson is sitting at her desk to the right of the door when I swing it open. She and her husband, Bill own the company, having started it from the ground up over thirty years ago. Her short dark hair is threaded with silver streaks, glasses perched on top. The grooves around her eyes and mouth deepen when she smiles warmly.

“Mornin’ Lane.” Her lips press flat as she studies me. “You look tired sweetheart.”

It’s surprising how well she has mothering down for never having children of her own. Not for lack of trying, according to Bill, but the couple was plagued with fertility issues. They couldn’t afford treatments back in the day and remained childless.

I shrug a shoulder. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”

She humphs at me. “Not letting floozies keep you up all night now, are you?”

A chuckle breaks free at her guess. “No Marnie, floozies are definitely not my problem.”

“Oh good, you’re here.” Bill stands in the doorway of his office, coffee mug in hand. He rubs his hand across his spreading paunch. “Got a new hire starting today. Knows their stuff, but is new to the area, so I’m gonna have the two of you team up for the first couple of weeks. Need to get paperwork done this morning, so we don’t have you scheduled for anything off-site until this afternoon. You can work on the CAT in the shop while we take care of that. Maybe you can figure out what’s wrong with the damn thing, because I’ve had my fill of it. I’ll send Jess out when the paperwork’s in order.”

“Sounds good. I’ll get on it.”

Bill nods. “Thanks Lane.”

Marnie smirks at me as I turn to leave. “See you later Lane.”

My brows pinch, not entirely sure what the look she’s giving me is for, but too tired to care at the moment. “Later.”

I head back outside, stopping at the service truck I normally drive to grab my dark gray coveralls with Masterson’s Mobile Repair printed on the back and my name on a patch over my left pec. We all wear them over our clothes when crawling around the equipment to fix it.

The lights buzz to life when I switch them on after entering the cavernous shop, bathing the space in a dim glow. The building is huge, able to fit three large pieces of heavy equipment in at the same time. The walls are lined with toolboxes and parts. The scent of grease, motor oil, and diesel linger the air.

It’s warm enough out that I don’t need to start the woodstove tucked into the corner to heat the space. During the winter we have to keep it going twenty-four seven to prevent it from being an icebox in here.

I set my lunchbox on the counter next to the sink before I pull on my coveralls. I start the coffeemaker and grab the clipboard hanging on the wall. Bill’s chicken scratch writing on the work order tells me what’s been fixed already and what is still causing problems. After reading through it, I toss it on the counter and dive in.

The rhythm of inspecting connections and parts absorbs me. Time passes without notice. I’m bent over the side of the track with my upper body wedged in between the blade and the hydraulics, attempting to loosen a rusted bolt, when a woman’s voice rings out. “Hello?”