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“Really?” I’d never have guessed that in a million years. “Where in Missouri?”
“Little place called Sycamore Hill. You know it?”
Chapter Three
Ash
“Know it? That’s where I’m from, too.” The excitement in Charlie’s voice revs me up like a shot of espresso. Maybe it’s just from being out of my routine or usual locale, but I can’t remember the last time a woman captured my attention this much. Her eyes take on extra sparkle and her whole face glows. “Did you ever run across my grandfather? He loved to work on cars. Elliot Brickton?”
“Seems I do remember hearing that name. Why didn’t he come with you to the car show?”
The open smile dims, and she looks away. “He died last month.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Charlie,” I murmur.
I reach out to comfort her, but stop myself. As skittish as she’s been around Taylor and me, she’ll probably freak if I lay a hand on her, even in sympathy or comfort. Besides, I have no business opening up to a woman I’ve just met, no matter how intriguing I think she may be. Especially not one who’s stranded and vulnerable. I steer the conversation to safer ground. “You and your granddad worked on this car together?”
“That’s right.” Her throat bobs on a swallow. Tears well in her eyes. She blinks several times and inhales slowly to regain composure.
“So this trip’s a labor of love.”
She sniffs and swipes a stray drop of moisture off her cheek with the back of her gloved hand, careful not to get flea powder anywhere close to her eyes. Drooly-Julie shoves her nose at Charlie with a whimper and licks her, which doesn’t help the moisture issue. I can tell how much they both miss Elliot Brickton.
“That’s partially right,” she says.
I wait, scanning her face, trying to figure out what else she’s going to add.
“I made him a promise.”
Ah. “That you’d bring this car to the show.” I nod. That explains why she’s out here alone. She has something to prove. To her grandfather? Or to herself.
She nods, too. “It was our project, his and mine. That’s why I have to do everything myself. It’s the only way I’ll get closure.”
“I get it.” Her grandfather must have been something, taking time to teach her how to work on a car, encouraging her to travel outside of Sycamore Hill and Missouri, take some chances.
Her head turns so she can look at me full-on. “I’ve never said the words out loud before.”
Her eyes are mesmerizing. I thought they were green, but in this light, they’re bluer. And her leftover tears give them a golden sheen. The overall effect reminds me of a custom paint job I did on a customer’s Porsche. Gorgeous.
Hmm. Your eyes look like a car’s custom paint job. Maybe not the most charming compliment a guy could pay. Unless she’s a fellow car enthusiast?
There’s that weird feeling in my chest and throat again. The one I’m afraid to decipher and don’t know what to do with. “Sometimes it’s easier to say things to a stranger.”
Her smile is tentative, trembly, as sweet as a rosebud. I’m not used to being anybody’s confidant. I’ve never allowed the time or energy. But being out here in the middle of nature is like being in a different world. It feels sort of like being in church. Private. Intimate.
Exposed.
Sweat prickles the back of my neck. My DNA is made up of balance sheets, not Valentine’s cards. She’s the picket fence, two kids and a dog type of woman. I’m a digital-meeting, fast-car kind of guy, always on the go. Together, we’re oil and water.
And yet…I visually trace the spray of light-colored freckles dotting her cheeks and wonder if they’re as kissable up close.
Taylor’s been quiet, taking it all in. “Ash—”
Spell broken. As in crash and burn.
“Yeah?”
“Sorry to butt in, but daylight’s burning, and it’s still four hours to Denver.”
