Lucky in Love (11 page)

And yet she could. She had.

A few hours later, the storm was raging as he came back through Lucky Harbor. At a stop sign, he came up behind a stalled VW. Through the driving rain, he could see a woman fiddling beneath the opened hood, her clothes plastered to her. Well, hell. He pulled over, and as he walked toward her, she went still, then reached into the purse hanging off her shoulder.

Ty recognized the defensive movement and knew she had her hand on some sort of weapon. He stopped with a healthy distance between them and lifted his hands, hopefully signaling that he was harmless. “Need some help?”

“No.” She paused. “Thank you, though. I’m fine.”

He nodded and took in her sodden clothes and the wet hair dripping into her eyes. Then he looked into the opened engine compartment of the stalled car. “Wet distributor cap?”

Her eyes revealed surprise. “How did you know?”

“It’s a ’73 VW. Get the cap wet, and it won’t run.”

She nodded and relaxed her stance, taking her hand out of her purse. “I was going to dry the cap on my skirt but it’s too wet.” She shoved her hair back from her face and blinked at him. “Hey, I know you. You’re Mysterious Cute Guy.”

Christ how he hated that moniker. “Ty Garrison.”

“I’m Grace Brooks. One of your three guardian angels in that freak snowstorm last week.” She flashed a grin. “I’m the one who called 9-1-1.”

“Then the least I can do is this.” He came closer and took the distributor cap from her, wiping it on the hem of his shirt, which hadn’t yet gotten drenched through. When he had the inside of the cap as dry as it was going to get, he replaced it and got her off and running.

Back in his own car, he ended up at the diner. Amy and Jan were there, Jan’s gaze glued to the TV in the far corner.
American Idol
was on, and she was very busy yelling at the screen. “Okay, come on! That
sucked
. God, I miss Simon. He always told it like it was.”

Amy rolled her eyes and met Ty at a table with a coffee pot. Guardian Angel Number Two, in a pair of low-slung cargoes and a snug, lacy tee. Normally she was alert as hell and on-guard but tonight her face was pale, her smile weak. “Pie?” she asked.

“Sure.”

She came back two minutes later with a huge serving of strawberry pie. “You’re in luck,” she said. “It’s Kick Ass Strawberry Pie from the B&B up the road. That means Tara made it,” she explained to his blank look. “Best pie on the planet, trust me.”

That was quite the claim but one bite proved it to be true. Ty watched Amy refill his cup, then gestured to the towel she had wrapped around the palm of her left hand. “You okay?”

“Fine.”

Bullshit. Her other hand was shaking, and she looked miserable. But hell, if she wanted to pretend she was fine, it was none of his business. Especially since he was the master at being
fine
.

Problem was, there was blood seeping through her towel. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No.”

He nodded and ate some more pie. Good. She was fine and didn’t need a doctor. And God knew, he sure as hell didn’t want to get involved. But when he was done, he cleared his own plate, bringing it to the kitchen himself.

“Hey,” Jan yelled at him, not taking her gaze off the TV. “You can’t go back there. It’s against the rules.”

“Your waitress is bleeding. That’s against the rules too.”

This got Jan’s attention. Jan glanced into the back at Amy and frowned before turning back to Ty. “You going to patch her up? She has an hour left on her shift.”

He had no idea what the hell he thought he was doing. He hadn’t “patched” anyone up in a damn long time. Four years, to be exact. He waited for the sick feeling to settle in his gut, but all he felt was a need to help Amy. “Yeah. I can patch her up.”

Amy was standing at the kitchen chopping block, hands flat on the cutting board, head bowed, her face a mask of pain. She jumped when she saw Ty and shook her head. “Guests aren’t supposed to clear their own dishes.”

“I’m going to ask you again. Do you need a doctor?”

“It was just a silly disagreement with a knife.”

Not an answer. He unwrapped her hand himself and looked down at the cut. “That’s more than a silly disagreement. You need stitches.”

“It’s just a cut.”

“Uh-huh. And you need the ER.”

“No, I don’t.”

There was something edgy in Amy’s voice now, something Ty recognized all too well. For whatever reason, she had a fear or deep-rooted hatred of hospitals. He could sympathize. “You have a first-aid kit?”

“Yeah.”

He drew a deep breath, knowing if he didn’t help her, she’d go without it. “Get it.”

The diner’s first-aid box consisted of a few Band-Aids and a pair of tweezers, so Ty went to his car. He always kept a full first-aid kit in there, even though he hadn’t ever cracked this one open. He returned to the kitchen and eyed Amy’s wound again. He had Steri-strips but the cut was a little deep for that. “Trust me?” he asked her.

“Hell no.”

Good girl, he thought. Smart. “Me or the hospital, Amy.”

She blew out a breath. “All I need is a damn Band-Aid. And hurry. I have customers.”

“They’ll wait.” She was looking a little greener now. He pushed her onto the lone stool in the kitchen. “Put your head down.”

She dropped it to the counter with an audible thunk. He disinfected the wound, then opened a tube.

Head still down, she turned it to the side to eyeball what he was doing. “
Super glue?
” she squeaked.

“
Skin
glue. And hold on tight, it stings like hell.” He started, and she sucked in a breath. “You okay?”

She nodded, and he worked in silence, finally covering the wound with a large waterproof bandage.

“Thanks.” Amy let out a shuddery sigh. “Men are assholes. Present company excluded, of course.”

With a shrug—men
were
assholes, himself included—he gestured to her hand. “How’s that feel?”

She opened and closed her fist, testing. “Not bad. Thanks.” She watched him put everything back into his kit. “Does Mallory know that you’re as good with your hands as she is?”

“I don’t answer trick questions.”

She started to laugh, but choked it off at the man who suddenly appeared in the kitchen doorway.

It was Matt, still in uniform, brow furrowed. “Jan said you’re all bloody and—” His eyes narrowed on the blood down Amy’s white tee. “What the hell happened?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Jesus Christ, Amy.” He picked up the bloody towel and jerked his gaze back to her, running it over her body, stepping close.

Amy turned her back on him, on the both of them, and Matt looked at Ty. “What happened to her?”

“She’s declined to say.”

“A knife,” Amy said over her shoulder. “No big deal. Now go away. No big, bad alpha males allowed in the kitchen.”

Not even a glimmer of a smile from Matt, which was unusual. Ty hadn’t any idea that Matt had something going with the pretty, prickly waitress, which was telling in itself. Usually the affable, easygoing Matt was an open book, not the type to let much get to him. But there was a whole bunch of body language going on, all of it heating up the kitchen.

Then Amy made an annoyed sound and walked to the doorway. For emphasis, she jerked her head, making her wishes perfectly clear. She wanted them out.

Matt waited a beat, just long enough for Amy to give him a little shove. She wasn’t tall by any means, though her platform sneakers gave her some extra inches. Still, Matt was six feet tall and outweighed her by a good eighty pounds. She could push him around only if he allowed it, but to Ty’s shock, Matt acquiesced, and with a softly muttered “fuck it,” he left.

Ty followed him out, telling himself that he wasn’t here to get involved. If he had been, he’d have talked himself into Mallory’s bed tonight—and he could have.

Easily.

That wasn’t ego, just plain fact. She wanted him. He wanted her right back, more than he could have possibly imagined. Right this minute, he could be wrapped up in her sweet, warm limbs, buried deep. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” Matt muttered as they strode out to the parking lot side by side. “Shit.”

“What was that back there?” Ty asked him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why the fuck does that work for you and not me?”

Matt ignored this to stare in appreciation at the Shelby. “You get the suspension done?”

“Yeah, but there’s still a lot left to do. I’ve been busy on your Jimmy. Almost done, by the way.”

“Good. So how’s this baby running?”

“Better than any other area of my life.”

Matt laughed ruefully and slid into the passenger seat of the Shelby. Apparently Ty was getting company for his late night ride tonight. Silent, brooding company, but that suited him just fine.

Eat a square meal a day—a box of chocolate.

O
n Saturday, the doors of the HSC opened to the public. The town hadn’t exactly been on board, but enough tentative support had trickled in that Mallory had been able to talk Bill into giving her the one-month trial.

Mallory knew she had Ty to thank for starting that tentative support. After the town meeting, a handful of locals had pledged money for certain programs. Ford Walker and Jax Cullen, co-owners of the local bar, had donated money for a Drink Responsibly program. Lucille was donating supplies from her art gallery for an art program. Lance, Mallory’s favorite CF patient, had donated time to help counsel the chronically ill. Every day someone else called. Bill decided it was too much money and goodwill to turn away and had given Mallory approval. But things had to go smoothly or it’d be over.

For now, they’d be open five days a week for services providing crisis counseling, and education and recovery programs. And on Saturdays, the HSC turned into a full-blown medical clinic.

They saw patients nonstop, thanks to their first attending physician, Dr. Scott. As Mallory began to close up at the end of the day, Josh came out from the back.

After a long day, Josh looked more badass ruffian than usual. His doctor’s coat was wrinkled and he still had his stethoscope hanging around his neck. His dark hair was ruffled, his darker eyes lined with exhaustion. But there was a readiness to him that said he wasn’t too tired to kick ass if needed. He’d worked a double shift to volunteer his time today, but Mallory knew his day wasn’t over, not even close. He still had to go home to more responsibility—a young son, not to mention his own handicapped sister, both of whom he was solely responsible for.

“Nice job today,” he said to Mallory.

“Thanks to you.”

He lifted a shoulder, like it was no big deal. He was a big guy, over six feet and built like a bull in a china shop, which made his talent all the more impressive. He might be serious and just a little scary, but he was the most approachable doctor she’d ever met. He was also her favorite because he treated the nurses with respect. Such behavior should be automatic in doctors, but so often wasn’t. This conduct also tended to land him on Lucille’s
Most Wanted Single Male
list on Facebook far too often, which drove him nuts.

“I’m glad you got approval for this,” he said. “You’re doing something really good here.”

She glowed over that as she locked up behind him. As the last staff member there, she walked each of the rooms, cleaning up a little as she went. They had two exam rooms, a very small staff kitchen, and the front reception area. There was a back walk-in closet being renovated for their drug lock-up, but for now the drugs and samples were kept in one exam room in a locked cabinet. The reception area was big enough to host groups, which was what they would likely have to do during the week.

Tomorrow night was their first scheduled AA meeting. Monday night would be Narcotics Anonymous—NA. Wednesday nights would host a series of guest speakers, all aimed at teen advocacy programs.

It was all finally happening, and it made Mallory feel useful. Helpful. Maybe she hadn’t been able to help Karen, but she could reach others.

By the time she locked the front door and got to her car, yet another storm was rolling in. Night had fallen, and the lot wasn’t as well-lit as she’d like. She was on the back side of the hospital, the entrance leading to a narrow side street. She made a note to get the lighting fixed tomorrow and slid into her car just as the sky started dumping rain. She inserted her key in the ignition and turned it.

Nothing, just a click. She tried again anyway and got nowhere. A dead battery, naturally. She peered out her windshield and sighed. Walking home would be a five-mile trek in the pouring rain, which she was far too tired for. Plus her feet hurt from being on them all day. With a grimace, she pulled out her phone and called Joe.

“Yo,” her brother said. “Bad time.”

“Bad time for me, too. I need you to come jump my car. I have a dead battery.”

“You leave your lights on again?”

“No.”
Maybe
. “You owe me, Joe.” She had to put that one out there right away to start the negotiations. Joe was a deal maker and only dealt at all if the odds were in his favor. “I let you and your idiot friends borrow my car, remember?” she asked. “You needed more seats to get to that stupid trail party out at Peak’s Landing. Maybe this is somehow your fault.”

“No, the crack in the windshield is our fault. Not the battery.”

She stared at the small crack in the windshield on the passenger’s side and felt an eye twitch coming on. “Come on, Joe. I could really use your help tonight.”

“Christ. Hang on.” He covered the phone and murmured something to someone.

A muted female voice laughed, and then Joe was back. “Mal, if all you need is a jump, ask anyone around you.” He lowered his voice. “I’m on a date. With
Ashley
.”

She had no idea who Ashley was but she was assuming it
wasn’t
his blonde. “What happened to whatshername?”

“That was so last week.”

Mallory let out a disgusted sigh. “You’re a man ho.”

“Guilty,” he said. And hung up.

Grinding her teeth, Mallory called him back.

He didn’t pick up.

“Dammit.” She scrolled through her contact list again. Her mother was out of the question. Ella wouldn’t have a set of jumper cables, not to mention she’d want to talk about Mallory’s social life. Maybe Tammy, she thought, and hit her sister’s number. “Can Zach come give me a jump?”

“Honey,” Tammy said. “He’s a little busy jumping
me
right now.”

Oh, for God’s sake. Mallory hung up, her usually dormant temper beginning to steam. She would drop everything for any one of her family, and not a single one of them could help her. This depressing thought didn’t change the fact that she was still wet, cold, and stranded in a dark parking lot. Again she thumbed her contacts and stopped at one in particular.

Mysterious Cute Guy, aka Ty Garrison
.

She had the stuffed animals he’d won at the arcade sitting on her bed, like she was twelve and in middle school, going steady with the town bad boy.

Except would the bad boy really have stood up at a town meeting in front of everyone and defended her? Would he have stopped and helped a stranded woman on the side of the road? Grace had told her what he’d done. And so had Amy, saying that he’d patched her up with calm efficiency.

Yeah, Ty was far more than just some mechanic, though hell if she could figure him out.

She shouldn’t call him for help. For one, they’d had inappropriate sex without involvement. To compound that mistake, she’d discovered she liked him. A lot. And to compound
that
mistake, she was dreaming about sleeping with him some more.

All really good reasons not to call him.

But then there was the one really good reason
to
call him.

He would actually come. She hit his number and held her breath. He picked up on the fourth ring, his voice low and calm as always. “Garrison,” he said.

“Hi. It’s Mallory.”

He absorbed that information for a moment, probably wondering how she’d gotten his number, a conversation she absolutely didn’t want to have so she rushed on. “I’m at the HSC,” she said, “and my car won’t start, and I’m the only one left here, and the stupid parking lot lights aren’t working and—”

“Lock your doors. I’ll be right there.”

“Okay, thanks—” But he was already gone. She slipped her phone into her pocket and put her head down on the steering wheel. So tired…She thought about that and how her feet hurt. She could really use a foot rub. And a body rub. She’d gotten a massage once, last year for her birthday. It’d been a present from Tammy. Her masseuse had been Chloe Traeger, who worked at the Lucky Harbor B&B where there was a lovely day spa. The massage had been fantastic but Mallory wondered what it would be like to have a man rub his hands over her body.

And not just any man, either.

She knew exactly which one she wanted. Ty. She sighed again, picturing lying on her back on a deserted beach at sunset, Ty leaning over her in a pair of low-slung jeans and nothing else, his big hands all over her bikini-clad body.

No, scratch that.

No
bikini. And Ty in board shorts. Yeah, board shorts that fell disturbingly low on his hips, his eyes creased in that way he had of showing his feelings without moving his mouth. Mmm, that was a much better image, and she sighed dreamily.

He was aroused. She could feel him when he leaned over her. Big. Hard. She smiled up at him.

Instead of smiling back, he flipped her over, face down on her towel, leaving her to gasp in shock, waiting breathlessly for him to touch her. When his lips brushed her shoulder, she wriggled for more.

“Lie still.” His voice was a thrillingly rough command that she didn’t obey, making him groan. He said her name in a warning whisper, running a finger down her spine, then between her legs until she was writhing with a moan of arousal.

He did it again.

And then again, until she was oscillating her hips in small, mindless circles, trying to get more of his fingers. He pushed a thigh between hers to spread her legs, and then pulled her up to her knees and entered her.

She came hard, her cries swallowed when she pressed her face to the forearm he had braced on the towel beneath her. He was right behind her, shuddering in pleasure as he collapsed on top of her—

A rap on her window had her jerking straight up and banging her head on her sun guard.

Mouth quirking, Ty waited patiently while she fumbled to roll down the window.

“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “I was just…” God.
Dreaming about you making me come
.

“Sleeping?” he asked.

Or that. Which was far less embarrassing. She nodded and swiped at her sweaty temple with her arm. “Guess I’m tired.”

“You look all flushed; you okay?”

She pressed her thighs together. She was more than flushed. “Yeah.”

“Try starting it now.”

She realized that not only had she slept through him parking next to her, he’d popped both their hoods and had hooked her car up to a set of cables.

Some nap. At least she hadn’t screamed out his name. She turned the key, and her car started.

Ty turned and bent over her front end, his head buried beneath her hood. Absolutely
not
noticing how very fine his ass looked from that position, she pushed out of the car and stood next to him.

“You’re going to need a new alternator sooner than later,” he said.

She stared into the engine compartment, completely clueless about where the alternator might be. “Is that expensive?”

“Not for the part.” He was still fiddling around. “The labor’s expensive, but it shouldn’t be. It’s an easy thing to replace.”

“So you
are
a mechanic.”

He was still messing with…something. He pulled out her dip stick and checked the oil. “Always been pretty good with taking things apart and putting them back together again,” he said.

She could vouch for that. A week ago, he’d certainly taken her apart and put her back together again. The ease with which she’d come for him in the storage attic still fueled her fantasies. She’d had sex before, even some pretty good sex, but she’d never gone off like
that
. “I don’t think that was much of an answer,” she said.

He looked at her. “You don’t think so?”

“No.”

His mouth curved. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a little—”

“Stubborn? Determined? Annoying?” She nodded. “Yep. Trust me, I’ve heard it all.”

“You need oil. And I work for a government contractor doing the same sort of stuff I did in the military.”

“Stuff?” Her inner slut drooled over the sleek back muscles bunching, stretching the material of his shirt taut as he replaced the dip stick. “Like I’d-tell-you-but-I’d-have-to-kill-you stuff?”

He actually turned his head her way and smiled, knocking off a few million of her brain cells. This wasn’t good. She needed those brain cells.

“Something like that,” he said.

Classified, she thought. Interesting. Disconcerting. But it certainly explained the always-ready air he had and the fact that he looked like a military recruitment poster, only better. She could see him in hot zones all over the world, working on machinery. Tanks. Subs. Missiles. Or maybe his mechanical talents were ship-oriented. He’d said Navy…Her stomach knotted at the thought of how dangerous his life must be. “You patched up Amy at the diner. That was nice of you.”

This yielded her a shrug.

She waited for more information, anything, which of course was not forthcoming. “It’s a good thing you look good in jeans.”

Still beneath the hood, he turned his head and flashed her a quick smile.

“You’re a conundrum, you know,” she told him. “I mean you’ve got this whole hands-off thing going about you, and yet you have no problem putting your hands all over me.”