But just because his brother had showed up unexpectedly didn’t mean he could quit for the day, even if he was the boss. Especially because he was the boss. “I’m just finishing up the carb on this one,” he said, nodding at the Camaro. “Wanna gimme a hand?”
“You gonna pay me for my time?”
He snorted. “Not a chance.”
Chase’s lips quirked. “Some things never change. But all right, since I’ve got nothing better to do and I’m bored, I’ll help y’out for a while.” He grabbed a spare pair of coveralls from a hook on the wall and pulled them on.
“You finished that latest movie yet?” Bowie asked as he bent back over the parts laid out on the workbench and resumed his task.
“Wrapped up two days ago, over a week ahead of schedule. I have to be on location in New York for another one at the end of the week.” He came to the workbench and peered down at what Bowie was doing. “So what’ve we got here?”
Time and distance fell away as soon as they began to work together, and within minutes it was like they hadn’t been apart at all for the past seven months. They’d always worked together well, even back in the days when they used to help their dad on old cars before the heart attack had taken him, shattering their world.
He and Chase slipped back into that same easy rhythm now, his brother anticipating what tool he needed before he could even ask for it. Bowie was solitary by nature, except with family.
His brother and sister meant everything to him. Didn’t matter how long they went without seeing each other. They all kept in touch, and their bond was unbreakable. No matter what else Bowie did with his life, that bond would be the legacy he was most proud of. So Harper’s recent silence was weighing heavy on his mind.
“You keeping busy here?” Chase asked later as he helped install the air filter under the Camaro’s hood.
“It’s been steady.” He made enough to pay all the bills and put some aside for the future.
Not that he got excited about that or the prospect of retiring one day, since work was all he had now. But it was better that way. It’s what he deserved, and he’d made peace with that a long time ago.
“What about you, they doing up a star for you on the Walk of Fame yet?” he teased.
Chase chuckled, holding the filter steady while Bowie anchored the lid in place. “Not yet. Hopefully soon.”
Bowie was damn proud of both his siblings and all they’d accomplished after leaving home. He didn’t regret choosing to stay here while they left to follow their dreams. All he’d ever wanted was to help them realize their dreams and keep their family unit strong. “You heard from Harp lately?”
Chase looked up at him. “Not for about a week now. You?”
“Same.” It didn’t feel right. Harper had retreated into herself since her husband had been killed overseas a little over a year ago, but it wasn’t like her to be out of contact with them for this long.
They stared at each other a moment. “Think something’s wrong?” Chase asked.
“Hope not. Might take a few days off and go up there if I don’t hear from her soon.”
“If you do, let me know. I’ll see if I can carve out enough time in between filming days to meet you.”
He nodded and paused in the act of setting his wrench down on the workbench at the sound of an old motor outside, driving along the side of the garage. He and Chase looked at each other, both of them trying to figure out what it was, an old game they’d played since Chase was young.
Chase pursed his lips in thought. “Mini?”
Bowie shook his head. “Nah. Wrong pitch.”
A minute later, Barb appeared in the doorway in her shorts and tank top. She aimed a megawatt smile at Chase, twirling a lock of her long blond hair in her fingers before turning her attention to Bowie. “There’s a lady here to see you about her car.”
“Be right there.” He wiped his hands on a rag and followed her, Chase right behind him. No surprise. His little brother was notoriously nosy.
The instant Bowie walked around the corner and saw the woman in question, his feet stopped moving. Chase was so close behind him he had to veer to the side at the last second to avoid hitting him. “You forget how to walk or something?” he said to Bowie on a laugh.
Bowie didn’t answer, too busy staring at the newcomer. Because it was impossible not to.
She was a bit younger than him, maybe early thirties, dressed in a black, fifties-style halter dress with cherries on it, the fabric hugging incredibly lush curves before stopping just below her knees. Both rounded arms were covered in colorful tats from shoulder to elbow. Her shapely calves were bare, leading his eyes down to the sexy, lipstick-red heels on her feet.
With effort, Bowie dragged his gaze back up to her face. Her long, deep brown hair was pulled back from her face in a red cloth headband, except for a shock of white that fell over the right side of her forehead. Heavy black eyeliner defined her upper lids, emphasizing incredible pale green eyes that had him frozen where he stood. A small gold hoop glinted in the side of her nose, and her lips were slicked with glossy red lipstick.
When he didn’t say anything she raised her eyebrows at him in question. “Mr. Davenport?”
Her accent instantly told him she was from somewhere out west, if he wasn’t mistaken. And shit, he was staring like an idiot. “Yeah, that’s me. How can I help you?” he managed once he got his brain back in gear.
“My car needs some work. She’s old.”
“You came to the right place. I’m his younger brother, by the way. Chase,” his brother said, hurrying forward to extend his hand.
She shook it, gave him a polite smile and then dismissed him, focusing back on Bowie. It surprised him as much as it did Chase. His charismatic, Hollywood-handsome brother wasn’t used to being dismissed by the ladies. “I just got into town a few days ago. When I asked around, your name kept coming up as the best with old cars. I don’t have an appointment, but I thought I’d come by and see if—”
“What kind of car?” Bowie asked, more intrigued by her than the mystery car parked outside. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.
“’59 Morris.”
British car. Chase hadn’t been that far off after all. “Sure, I’ll take a look.”
She turned away and started for the door, the full skirt of the dress swaying with each step. Bowie followed, unable to tear his eyes from her hips and the tantalizing indent of her waist emphasized by the shiny red belt around it. Damn, those curves should be illegal.
He beat her to the door by a second and held it open for her. She was pretty tall. In her heels she was almost at eye level with him, and he was six-two.
“Thank you,” she murmured and stepped through, giving him a whiff of delicious, sweet-tart citrus on the way past.
He darted a glance back at his brother, who grinned at him, and fought a smile. Wasn’t every day a woman like that walked into his garage.
The noon heat hit him as soon as he stepped outside, and found the lady standing beside a fire engine-red Morris Minor Traveller. “A Woody,” he murmured, unable to hold back a smile. The quintessential surfer vehicle, its back half framed by iconic wood accents.