“Actually…not so great,” his sister said in a shaky voice.
He sat up, instantly on edge. “What’s wrong?” At his tone, Chase stopped working on the ribs and looked at him sharply.
Her sigh cut across the line. Weary. Sad. “I think I… I need to come home, Bowie,” she said, her voice cracking.
He didn’t respond yet, giving her time to talk if she wanted to. She’d always been the talker of the three of them, even more so than Chase, though she was more thoughtful with her words. This past fifteen months had been hell for her. Ever since her security contractor husband was killed overseas in an incident no one seemed to know the details about.
“I’ve been thinking about it a lot. It’s time. I want to sell everything and come back home, pick up the pieces of my life and figure out how to move on. If I even can move on. I know you understand what I mean better than anyone.”
Bowie closed his eyes, his heart clenching. Yeah, he understood all right. He knew exactly how that kind of abrupt loss shook a person’s whole world. How trying to put everything together again after that seemed impossible. He was still trying.
Opening his eyes, he met Chase’s concerned stare and a painful pressure filled his chest. Years ago, in his grief he’d made the mistake of pushing his family away when he needed them most. He was thankful that Harper was reaching out to him now.
“Then come on home, Harp,” he told her. “You know you’re always welcome here.”
Chapter Four
Aspen jerked awake with her heart hammering in her throat and Natalie’s horrific, shrill scream echoing in her ears, blending with the sound of crunching metal and breaking glass. She threw the covers off her and sat up, wrapping her arms around herself as the air conditioning hit her sweat-dampened skin. She wished she could throw off the memories as easily.
A wave of nausea hit her as the dream slowly faded away. She swallowed, struggling to force the enormous lump down her throat, made twice as difficult because of the weight of guilt in her chest, threatening to suffocate her.
It had been her fault. There was no avoiding that. Her best friend was gone because of her, and she would never forgive herself for it.
On wobbly legs, she got up and hurried into the bathroom to shower, letting the hot spray wash away the tears that refused to be held back. When she got out, there was a text on her cell phone, and she realized she’d slept half the morning away. No surprise, since she’d been up until after midnight trying to organize her finances and tweak her business plan.
Priscilla’s ready to roll. I can drop her off around noon if that works.
Bowie. She allowed herself a small smile, the mental picture of him helping to drive away the lingering sadness and grief. While she appreciated his offer to deliver the car, she needed fresh air and some exercise to clear her head.
Thanks, but I’m going to walk up in a bit. Promise I’ll wear sensible shoes, she replied.
She received a thumbs up in response a few moments later, and got dressed. Since she’d be doing manual labor all day, instead of choosing one of the dresses or skirts she loved to wear in the summer, she put on a pair of retro high-waisted pedal pusher jeans and a T-shirt with a pin-up model posing on the front. She pulled her hair into a high ponytail, put on her eyeliner and mascara, then slicked some gloss on her lips.
After downing a crappy cup of leftover coffee she’d warmed up in the microwave and a day-old muffin she’d picked up from a bakery in town yesterday, she slipped on a comfy pair of flip flops and began her walk to Bowie’s garage.
It was already hot out, the salt-tinged air holding a muggy edge that California didn’t have. But it felt good to be outside, and she had a solid day’s work waiting for her at the beach house to take her mind off everything. This neighborhood was nice, the houses and yards well cared for. A few older people were out walking their dogs, and young parents with small kids on bikes or in strollers.
When she reached the garage twenty minutes later, anticipation stirred at knowing she was about to see Bowie again. The blonde receptionist greeted her and went to get him.
He appeared in the doorway a minute later, tall and built in his navy blue coveralls, that sexy dark beard covering the lower half of his face. And when his gorgeous gray eyes locked on her, a rush of heat spread through her belly.
“Mornin’,” he said, his lips curving ever so slightly in the hint of a smile.
Her insides fluttered. “Morning. So, it went well?”
He nodded. “Real well. Replaced the master cylinder and cleaned up a few connections, adjusted the belt tension. Fixed a hole in your tar as well.”
She blinked. Tar? She had tar in her car? “My what?” His accent wasn’t nearly as strong as her new neighbor Jack’s, but she still couldn’t follow him sometimes.
“Your tar.” He frowned a little, then pointed to a rack of tires set against the far wall.
“Oh, tire.” She laughed. “Sorry. My ears are still getting used to the local accent.”
His grin widened. “’S’all right. Priscilla’s a sweet ride.”
“Yeah, she is.” Out of nowhere, a pang hit her at the thought of sweet Uncle Harry. She would always treasure the pieces of him that he’d left her.
“What are you up to for the rest of the day?” he asked, and the surprised look the receptionist shot him told Aspen he wasn’t usually much for small talk.
“I’ve got some work to do at an older house I’m fixing up,” she answered, giving him just enough without a lot of detail, because one, he was a stranger, and two, because he couldn’t possibly be that interested.
Or was he? The way he watched her made her wonder. And she wouldn’t mind if he was.
“Some painting, cleaning and whatnot,” she continued. “I’m still trying to get the lay of the land here as well.”
“If you need any recommendations for local tradespeople, I can give you some names.”
“Thank you.” But her funds were running low as it was, and she’d spent all she dared on repairs. “What do I owe you for Priscilla?” She glanced from Bowie to the young receptionist.
The blonde slid the bill toward her, and the total was less than Aspen had anticipated. Way less.
She eyed Bowie, suspicious. “Is that the going rate for fixing up an old Woody?”
His gray eyes gleamed with humor and a hint of interest, sending a rush of sparks through her. “Yes, ma’am.”
He was lying. She was convinced he’d given her a massive deal. But why? “I don’t believe you, but I’m not going to argue because I really appreciate it. And for you fixing her up.”
“It’s not a problem. She’ll purr like a kitten for you now.”
She got the feeling that Bowie’s hands would make a woman purr as well.
With effort, she yanked her mind firmly from that track and gave him a smile as she slipped the cash across the counter. “Keep the change. I’m betting you won’t take a tip, so at least have lunch on me. And thanks again.”
He dipped his head, his gaze steady on hers. Hot. “You’re welcome. See you around the neighborhood.”
“You bet.” She took the keys and went outside to get into Priscilla, telling herself she was only mildly disappointed that he hadn’t asked her out to lunch.