CHAPTER TWO
ASHER PEYTON WAS lost in the process of staining the cherry sideboard in the work area of his shop, rubbing the finish to a satin sheen. Back and forth he went with the ball of cheesecloth, working in long strokes with firm pressure. It was a task that took a lot of time and very little thought. Clapton’s bluesy guitar was coming through the speakers mounted on the wall, and Asher was totally in The Zone, focused only on the fine grain of the wood coming to life under his fingers. Until a car alarm went off outside.
At first he figured someone set off their alarm by mistake, but when it kept going, he tossed the finishing cloth onto the workbench in disgust and grabbed his lukewarm cup of coffee. He walked to the plate glass window at the front of his shop to see what was going on.
There was a tiny red Mini Cooper nudged up against a big Cadillac right in front of his shop. Whoever owned the Caddy had to know they’d blocked that little car in completely, since their car was halfway into the street. An older couple came running out of Cathy’s shop, waving their arms all over the place like idiots.
Asher took a sip of coffee and watched in amusement as it took three tries for the guy to silence the alarm with his key fob. From all the yelling, you’d think the red car just totaled their gas hog instead of barely bumping it. The door of the red car opened slowly, and he caught a glimpse of pink.
Of all the rotten luck. It was that nosy little brunette from the grocery store. The one with the sweet accent and the compulsion to save people. The Fixer.
She got out of the car and faced Mr. and Mrs. Cadillac with a tight smile. Her chin-length hair was tucked behind her ears, revealing bright spots of rosy red high on her cheeks. A small crowd was gathering—the joy of small-town life. Asher drained his coffee. The Fixer was having one hell of a day. First he’d barked at her in the store, and now this. He started to turn away. Her little parking drama was none of his business, and he had work to do. Then he heard Cadillac Man yelling.
“Did you not see my car sitting right there? That must be a dye job on your hair, ’cuz you’d have to be a blonde to be this stupid...”
His wife tugged at his coat sleeve, cell phone in hand. “Should I call the cops, Herbie?”
Oh, hell, the last thing Deputy Sheriff Dan Adams needed was to get called to Main Street to deal with this nonsense. Before he could stop himself, Asher was outside. He glanced at the bumpers to confirm there wasn’t so much as a scratch on either car. The Fixer had rocked the Caddy just enough to set off the alarm, but not enough to do any damage.
“Okay, folks, let’s all calm down, okay?” He stepped forward and faced the older man, forcing him to look up to meet Asher’s eyes. The considerable difference in their size and age wasn’t lost on the guy. Good. “Sir, there’s no harm done to your car. Your parking job didn’t leave the lady much room to maneuver. Why don’t you just pull out, and then she’ll be able to leave, too?” And Asher could get back inside his quiet shop, away from all these curious faces.
The Fixer was handing her insurance card to the fur-clad wife while babbling at the speed of light.
“I’m terribly sorry, but really, there appears to be no damage, except to my pride, of course.” She forced a laugh, but it fell flat. “Feel free to write down my insurance information, though I’m sure you won’t need...”
The old guy snatched the card from her hand before she could finish, and Asher’s fingers curled into a fist. He didn’t have a lot of patience on a good day, and today was not a good day. He thought about Sheriff Dan and forced himself to relax again as Cadillac Man spoke.
“Your name’s Randall?”
“What? Oh, no. The car belongs to my cousin Amanda Randall.”
“So you don’t even own this car? Maybe we should call the cops.”
She put on a bright, tight smile. “I really don’t think that’s necessary...”
Asher sighed. Miss Fixer was connected to the resort, which meant this jerk was wasting his time trying to cause trouble. He pulled the guy aside as if he was doing him a favor, going so far as to drape his arm casually across the man’s shoulders before digging in firmly with his fingers.
“Here’s the deal. The Randalls own the Gallant Lake Resort. They also own half the waterfront. You’re not winning this one, pal. Just drive away and let it go, okay?” The words were spoken calmly and quietly. It was a technique he’d seen Dan use many times on hotheads, including during their first meeting, when he’d used it on Asher. To the casual observer, everything looked friendly, but Cadillac Man flinched under the pressure of Asher’s grip.
The man nodded and shrugged away from him. “Get in the car, Helen. Maybe if we move, she’ll be able to figure out how to drive.” Helen harrumphed but obeyed, slamming the passenger door shut. The big car pulled away. People were dispersing when he looked to the Fixer. Why hadn’t he noticed how unusual her golden-brown eyes were before now?
“I had that handled, you know.”
Okay. That wasn’t exactly the thanks he’d expected.
“You could have handled two people screaming in your face and calling the cops about driving a car you don’t own? Yeah, I could tell. Great job.”
She squared her shoulders, tipping her chin up. “I had it handled. I was being nice, I was cooperating and I was working on getting them to like me. I didn’t need you to swoop in and save me.”
“The only thing you were handling was getting the sheriff’s office called. And the sheriff’s deputy would have called Blake Randall, and Randall would have rushed down to resolve your little mess. With an audience. In the middle of town. Was that the plan you had in mind?”
The red dots on her cheeks got brighter.
They glared at each other for a heartbeat before something in her seemed to snap. “You know what? I tried to be nice to you in the store, and instead of thanking me, you insulted me and questioned my parenting skills. And now you show up here... Where did you swoop in from, anyway?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. Every time she said that word—swoop—her mouth formed a perfect little kiss. Her eyes narrowed and he noticed the hazel sparks for the first time. She had the eyes of a cat, and she was ready to hiss and spit at him.
“You didn’t need my help this morning, and I certainly didn’t need yours now. I had it handled. I’ve got this whole damned day handled.” Her hands gestured wildly. He had a feeling she didn’t get worked up like this often. “Now crawl back to whatever cave you live in and let me get on with my perfectly handled afternoon.”
Sarcasm dripped from her words, and he realized he was smirking at her. A smirk was just one step away from a smile, which meant he was in dangerous territory. But who would have guessed the sweet, Southern Fixer had a backbone?
He reached up to touch the imaginary brim of the hat he wasn’t wearing and backed away, giving his best Clark Gable impression. “Whatever you say, ma’am. Because frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn about your day.”
He turned away, pretty sure he heard her call him an “arrogant jackass” as he walked off. He was glad she couldn’t see the rare smile that brought to his face.
*
