And a pain in the ass to boot.
“Not real good at taking no for an answer, are you?” he said.
Something flickered in her eyes, then her face went utterly blank.
“You’d be surprised.” She shifted her attention to the car for a second, then back to him. “You won’t find a better car for the money.”
It was possible she was right, of course.
“I’ll think about it,” he said again. He dipped his head in acknowledgment and walked toward his car. He could feel her watching him all the way, the awareness like a prickle on the back of his neck. Yet when he got to his car and glanced over his shoulder she had already disappeared into the workshop.
Right.
He gave himself a mental shake. He needed to get going if he still wanted to check out the commercial car lots before meeting his lawyer. Then there was the grocery shopping to do, and the last of the unpacking—all before the kids were out of school at three.
He started the car and threw it into gear. As he had last night, he pushed his encounter with Hannah Napier out of his mind. She was nothing to him, the barest blip on his radar. Less.
Still, he glanced back one last time before he drove away, but Hannah was nowhere in sight.
HANNAH WAS SUPPOSED to catch up with her friend Mikey for dinner after work, but he canceled on her at the last minute, leaving her at loose ends. She figured she’d head home instead and put in some hours fixing the muffler on the bike—quietly, of course. No doubt Joe Lawson would come after her with an elephant gun or a lynch mob if she dared disturb his peace again.
The memory of his dismissive attitude over the car had risen up to bite her on the ass all day. How she hated narrow-minded men like him. She’d seen it over and over—the cautious look in their eyes, the doubt as they listened to her tell them what was wrong with their cars. As though having breasts made her less qualified to understand the workings of the internal combustion engine. Please.
She was hungry and more than ready for a shower when she rode into the street. She stopped short of pulling into her mother’s garage, however, her attention caught by the car sitting in Joe Lawson’s driveway—a Mazda SUV, same model as the one she’d shown him today, dark navy instead of black. She switched off her bike and kicked the stand out before dismounting. She tugged her helmet off as she walked the distance from her mother’s front yard to inspect the car. So much for I’ve just started looking. She’d been absolutely right—he hadn’t been able to bring himself to buy a car from her.
She narrowed her eyes as she surveyed the rear of the SUV, then dropped into a squat to peer under the wheel arch. She did a slow lap, squatting once again when she reached the left rear wheel arch, craning her neck to confirm her suspicion.
“I assume you won’t be billing me for the inspection?”
She started, then glanced over her shoulder. Joe Lawson stood there, one eyebrow raised. Her gaze dropped to his bare feet. No wonder she hadn’t heard him sneak up on her.
“Did you get a warranty on this thing?” she asked, standing and jerking a thumb toward the car.
He crossed his arms over his chest but didn’t say a word.
“I’m only asking because you’re going to need it. This car’s been in an accident,” she said.
He glanced toward the Mazda. “It’s been fully inspected by the automotive association.”
“Which just confirms my opinion of those idiots.” She gestured toward the wheel arch. “Take a look yourself. Something big ran into the back of this thing, ripped the chassis open. It’s been welded back together, but you can see the repair if you look closely. And the shock absorbers are all new. No one puts new shocks on a two-year-old car unless they have to.”
His hands dropped to his sides. He looked annoyed. Then, as though he couldn’t help himself, he knelt beside the car and craned his neck to see under the wheel well. She knelt beside him and leaned in to point out the line of the weld.
“They’ve driven around a bit to dirty it up some, but you can still see it there.”
“Shit,” he said, so low she almost didn’t hear him.
He was so close his shoulder brushed hers when he shifted his weight. She stilled, then stood, dusting her hands down her jeans.
“It’s not going to fall apart or anything, but you’ll probably have issues with panel fit and rattles. Once a car’s bent out of whack, it’s almost impossible for them to get it straight again even when they put it on the rack.”
He stood. “I suppose I should thank you for sharing your expertise,” he said grudgingly. She could tell it hurt.
“That’s very gracious of you,” she said dryly.
He crossed his arms over his chest again and widened his stance, as though he needed to brace himself for what came next.
“Thank you,” he said more sincerely. “I really do appreciate the heads-up.”
She smiled. She couldn’t help herself. He was so damned truculent, like a surly teenage boy being forced to apologize. “Don’t mention it. It was my pleasure.”
He raised an eyebrow and she shrugged a shoulder as if to say, “Hey, what did you expect?”
“You should take it back,” she said, turning to look at the car one last time. “Most of those big dealerships have cooling-off clauses in their contracts. Tell them you don’t appreciate being ripped off and make them give your money back.”
His chin lifted a little—not much, but enough to tell her that there was no way he was taking the car back. Not now that she’d told him to.
She could almost admire him for his dedication to his own point of view. Almost.
“Suit yourself,” she said.
“Oh, don’t worry, I will,” he said. He beeped the car open, then reached into the back and collected a grocery bag. For the first time she noticed the long, curling scar that ran from the base of his left thumb, around the back of his hand and up his strongly muscled forearm to disappear beneath the pushed-up sleeve of his sweater. Where on earth did a man get a scar like that?
It hadn’t occurred to her before to wonder what he did for a living, or why he’d moved into the neighborhood, but suddenly both questions were on the tip of her tongue. She bit down on them. As though he was going to answer anything she asked him when she’d made him look like a fool. She might not be an expert on men, but she knew that much.
He shut the back of the car with a firm click. The grocery bag rustled in his hand. She realized she was hovering for no good reason whatsoever.
“Anyway,” she said.
“Yeah.”
“See you around.”
He didn’t bother responding. She could imagine what he was thinking, though: not if I can help it.
He
