and who would otherwise not have drawn her notice had made her all-ears at the repeated mention of his name.
Not that the conversations about him had been particularly enlightening. They’d been basically speculation and curiosity about whether or not he would go to the big pre-Thanksgiving dinner his friends were having Wednesday evening at The Rib Shack, the new restaurant Dax’s brother, D.J., had just returned to Thunder Canyon to open at the ski resort. There was particular concern about a recent fistfight between the brothers and whether it might be repeated if Dax did go.
There was also concern about Dax himself. Apparently, none of his old friends knew what was up with him lately or how to bring him out of his funk, or whether it was better to leave him to sort through his problems on his own, whatever those problems were—and no one was completely clear about that, either.
There was something she was perfectly clear about, however, Shandie thought as she stood at the dryer folding towels. When she added the information she’d gathered about Dax Traub—vague though it was—to the other things she’d heard through the grapevine, she knew it was that much more ridiculous for her to be giving the man a second thought.
So why had the image of him, the memory of the sound of his voice and every word he’d said, followed her through the past twenty-four hours like a stubborn ghost determined to haunt her? Why had she seized every opportunity to come into this laundry room and peer out the window at the alley and the rear of the motorcycle shop?
And, each time she had, why had she felt a hint of hope that she would catch a glimpse of the man himself, and then been let down when she hadn’t?
It doesn’t matter why, she told herself as she suffered the gazillionth wave of that disappointment when—in the course of folding the towels—she’d just gone through the whole process once again. It didn’t matter why she’d been so distracted by thoughts of Dax Traub or that she’d been peeking out at his shop to catch sight of him—it just needed to stop.
“So stop it,” she ordered under her breath even as her gaze drifted through the glass to the rear of his place.
She wanted to. She honestly did. Thunder Canyon was a fresh start for her. Leaving Denver and all the reminders of Pete was a big step, and she’d finally been able to take it because she was ready to move on. The past three and a half years had been rough, but she’d made her way through it all and she honestly felt as if she’d come out on the other side of a mountain. She’d even talked to Judy about maybe dating once she got to Thunder Canyon.
But maybe dating—down the road, at some point—some ordinary nice guy who Judy might possibly set her up with or who she might meet here, was different than being consumed with thoughts of a guy she’d only exchanged a few words with. A guy who—although he was hellaciously handsome—was clearly complicated. Who apparently didn’t have a good relationship with his own family. A guy who might have a chip on his shoulder and who—at the very least—obviously didn’t have much staying power when it came to women if he already had a divorce under his belt and had impulsively become engaged and then unengaged to someone.
That was not just some nice, ordinary guy she might possibly, under the right circumstances, consider going to dinner with or seeing a movie with as her first dip-of-the-toe into the dating pool again. That was a guy to stay far, far away from. For her own sake and for Kayla’s.
Especially for Kayla’s sake, she told herself firmly.
She absolutely would not put her daughter in the vicinity of anyone Kayla might come to care about or depend on, only to have that person turn his back on them.
No, Pete was a hard act to follow. He’d been a genuinely, thoroughly good man. A trustworthy, caring, unselfish, dependable, feet-on-the-ground man. A man she and Kayla could have counted on forever, had fate not intervened.
A man who couldn’t easily be replaced and would have to be lived up to if ever anyone was in the running to replace him.
And not only was Dax Traub not in the running to replace Pete—nor was there any evidence that he wanted to be—but even if he was, Dax Traub was about the most unlikely man to ever take the place of Pete Solomon.
So, she really did need to stop thinking about Dax Traub. And picturing him and his dark, deep eyes and how she’d felt as if they could heat the surface of her skin when they were aimed at her, and how sexy he was when he smiled.
No, Dax Traub was just someone nice to look at. But only from a long way away. Like lions at the zoo. He was a sight to see, to gaze upon, to appreciate the glory of from a distance. But only trained lion tamers should get in the cage with him.
“And that isn’t me,” Shandie muttered as she folded the towels.
She was just the mother of a three-year-old who was going to put the towels away once they were folded and take Kayla home for dinner and a quiet evening. Just the two of them. Safe and sound and secure and comfortable.
Far outside the lion’s den.
“I wan’ a peanut butter and marsh’allow sam’ich for dinner.”
Shandie would have taken issue with her daughter’s announcement as she applied the car key to the ignition, but when the engine didn’t start that became the priority.
“Just a minute,” she told her daughter, postponing the conversation as she tried again.
But again nothing happened.
“Uh-oh,” she said. “Something’s wrong with the car.”
“Turn it on,” Kayla suggested logically.
“I’m trying,” Shandie said as she did just that, making four more attempts. All with no result. “Great.”
For the first time since Dax Traub had been popping into her head for no reason, Shandie welcomed the intrusion. Because it suddenly occurred to her that the man owned and operated his own motorcycle shop. That he repaired the things. And if he could make them run, maybe he could make her car run, too.
If he hadn’t closed up for the day and gone home already.
She quickly got out from behind the wheel of her sedan, took Kayla from the car seat in the back and carried the little girl for a fast return trip to the Clip ’n Curl.
“You said we wuz goin’ home,” Kayla complained. “And I wan’ peanut butter and marsh’allow—”
“The car is broken, and we need some help.”
Kayla accepted that without further comment, and Shandie wasted no time rushing with her daughter through the dark beauty shop, through the laundry room to the utility space behind it.
The door that connected the motorcycle shop’s garage was closed but—gratefully—not locked. Much as she had the day before, Shandie knocked and went through to the garage without waiting for a response.
“Hello? Are you still here?” she called.
Dax Traub appeared at the doorway that connected the showroom, pulling a black leather aviator jacket on over a Henley sweater and jeans. “You lookin’ for me?” he asked.
Too many times today, Shandie thought.
But
