of her shampoo. It was clean and soft.
Just like she was.
“Come on,” she said. “We’ll get you settled in your new room.”
There was a touch of huskiness in her voice that he was smart enough to take as a warning. She might be useful for his purposes right now, but he didn’t tangle with innocent women.
They were too easily hurt.
He nodded and followed her past the staircase and around to the far side of the house. “I’m afraid you’ll have to share a bathroom,” she said as she pushed open a door and went inside. She picked up an old-fashioned key from the dresser and handed it to him as he entered. “And believe me, considering how nice you’ve been about the accident and all, I’d be happy to keep you in the tower, but—”
“I’m no Rapunzel,” he murmured.
She flushed a little, glancing at his hair. “Prince Charming, maybe.” Then she flushed even brighter. “You’ll be warmer down here, so that’s one advantage. Did you have any luggage?” Her words came so fast they nearly tumbled over each other.
“A duffel. I’ll move it right now. I didn’t unpack or anything up there, so you shouldn’t have to do much to get ready for your other guest.”
“That doesn’t matter,” she assured him quickly as she stepped back into the hall. As if she weren’t comfortable being in his room while he was in it, too. “Except for the regulars, I change the sheets and towels and stuff around here. One more doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”
It wasn’t smart of him to think of Hadley and bed sheets. Not when the conceivable reasons for that combination dragged at him in a painfully tantalizing way.
He looked over her head at the door adjacent to his. “That the bathroom?”
She slid her foot backward, putting even more inches between them. It amused him. And relieved him from having to do it himself.
“No, actually.” She tucked her hair behind her ears, but the rich brown strands fell forward again almost as quickly. “It’s my bedroom. The bathroom we’ll be sharing is between the rooms.” She ducked her head and mumbled an excuse before darting up the hallway. Seconds later he heard a phone ring somewhere in the house, only to be quickly answered.
He eyed the two doors.
Too close together.
Dane scrubbed his hand down his face. Christ.
He was in Montana to settle a score that—in his opinion—could never be settled enough. He didn’t have time for distractions.
No matter how beautifully she filled a pair of snug jeans.
Chapter Four
Stu Golightly didn’t just phone with the estimate for the repairs to Dane’s car. He brought it by himself that evening during dinner. When the man shook his head at Hadley’s invitation to stay and eat, Dane excused himself from the dining room table and followed Stu from the room.
The other man didn’t stop until he reached the front door, and then he looked as if he’d have preferred to shove Dane through it, than discuss the estimate.
Dane didn’t particularly begrudge Stu his attitude any more than he did Shane’s. He knew what it was like to feel protective. After all, he was in Montana in the first place because of that very trait. So he looked down the detailed list. “You can get a better deal on the parts. By ten percent, at least.”
Stu visibly bristled. “I don’t pad my charges.”
“I didn’t say otherwise. Call—” Damn, he very nearly said Wood Tolliver, and blamed his unusual distractedness on the pain in his head, rather than the brunette who’d been the cause of it. “Call RTM out of Indianapolis. I’ve done a lot of work with them.”
Stu’s gaze narrowed, obviously recognizing the name of the company. “They’re pretty high end.”
R & T Motor works was high end. It was also the business Dane and Wood started when they were in college and making names for themselves on the circuit. Wood may have been in charge of the day-today operations for years, now, but Dane still kept his hand in.
Some days he thought it was one of the few ways he stayed sane—focusing on something that wasn’t part of Rutherford Industries. “Ask for Stephanie,” he said. “I’ll let her know to expect your call. If she doesn’t beat your prices, don’t use RTM. Simple enough.”
The man looked as if he was trying to come up with an argument. In the end he nodded and settled his ball cap back on his head. “Tell Had that she needs to fill in for Riva on Monday morning.” He stepped out the door, hurriedly closing it against the cold evening air.
Dane slowly folded the estimate, tucked it in his pocket and returned to the dining room.
Mrs. Ardelle was chattering away again. The woman never seemed to run out of things to say. In a way she reminded him of Marlene. The new guest, Nikki Day, had arrived shortly before dinner. The auburn-haired newcomer was beautiful and well dressed and probably about Hadley’s age, he guessed. She was also pregnant, though not as far along as Joanie. Nikki sat beside her, and he gave the new guest credit for getting Joanie to lighten up enough to actually smile a little. Vince was nowhere to be seen.
Dane sat down again. He was sitting across from Hadley. Suited him. The view of her was as fine as her cooking. “Your brother said Riva needs you to work for her on Monday morning.”
She immediately nodded her head.
“Thought you said you’d be filling in at your dad’s church in the mornings for a while.”
“Right.” She passed a platter of roast beef to Joanie, murmuring that the girl needed to eat more protein. “I’ll just have to do a few hours at the garage, then a few hours at the church. Hopefully, it won’t inconvenience either one of them too much.”
Dane wondered if her father or brother had ever considered whether she’d be inconvenienced. Not that any of it was his business anyway. He deliberately focused on his meal, letting the various conversations roll over him.
“Wood Tolliver,” Mrs. Ardelle said. “The more I think about it, the more that name seems familiar to me, somehow.”
Dane smiled noncommittally. Unless she had some insight into the world of custom racing, she wouldn’t have been likely to have heard of Wood Tolliver. “Tolliver isn’t an unusual name.”
Joanie snorted a little at that. “Please. It’s not like people call you Bob Smith.”
Hadley laughed. Dane looked across at her, smiling despite himself. “I’m not the one with the unusual name,” he said. “Not compared to Ms. Golightly here.”
“And your mother’s name was really Holly?” Nikki Day asked, resting her elbows delicately on the edge of the table. “My, um, I had a friend whose parents stayed here at Tiff’s for their wedding night,” she explained. “Your mother had just recently opened for business. They were charmed by her.”
“Most
