Personal Assets (Texas Nights) (20 page)

“I look forward to working closely together on this committee.” That was what she’d said to him just before she smiled and strolled out of the restaurant.

Adrenaline and confusion had kept Cameron stuck to his chair.

Push a woman into a corner and you were gonna get scratched—or seduced. Well, that was what he got for accusing her of simultaneously playing kiss-and-tell and keeping him a secret.

After she kissed him, every other café customer and anyone strolling by on the sidewalk knew he and Allie were involved.

Which meant in approximately forty-seven seconds Robert Shelby also knew. How had Cameron put himself squarely in the middle of what was obviously a father-daughter power play?

Holy hell, he’d made a bargain with the devil. Possibly two of them.

The real hell of it was he genuinely liked Allie. But he needed to make a decision. Was he willing to continue their physical relationship when he knew it was likely to blow up on him? Then again, she wasn’t the one who thought she wanted more than a relationship that played out in bed. From the heat of her kiss, she was still interested in their original agreement, but she’d also admitted she liked him. Not just the hot sex, but him as a person. Did that mean she might want more too?

There was that old saying, the one about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer.

Why hadn’t all those old military dudes said anything about your lover?

What a mess. Kinda like Charlie’s car. She wasn’t exactly the cherry Cameron had admired in Houston a few weeks ago, but if the car were perfect, she wouldn’t be a hell of a lot of fun.

He assessed the damage and gauged the time he’d need to invest to get her back out on the road.

This, this he knew how to do, but heal a wound between a man he didn’t particularly like and a woman he did? A hell of a lot harder. Possibly out of his league.

That wouldn’t stop him from trying.

Why hadn’t he stuck to cars instead of getting sucked into Shelby’s damned EcDev committee?

Pride. Which was exactly why Charlie’s car would be perfect when he finished with her. Charlie probably had no intention of racing the classic muscle car, but Cameron would make sure she performed as well as any on the tracks. He’d seen worse. Hell, he’d resurrected way worse than this.

Was his obsession with high-quality work his way of compensating for his father’s past?

He might deny it if asked. He might resent it. But he was man enough to admit, at least to himself, he never wanted people to think he inherited his dad’s worthlessness.

First thing was to determine if the GTO’s previous owner had taken care of the coupe before he lost a game of chicken to a highway guardrail. Cameron popped the hood and winced at the screech of metal. He secured the hood and leaned in to get inside the car’s heart and soul. His fingers stroked over the alternator and fan belt the way some men might touch a new lover, learning her body’s flaws and secrets.

God help him, he wanted to learn the rest of Allie’s secrets. Having her in his bed for one night had only revved his appetite. His hunger for her gnawed at more than his gut. It was messing with his head and heart to the point where he stood here staring off into space instead of doing his damned job.

He laughed to himself. How would Allie react if she knew he was comparing her to a coupe with dents, putrid green paint, and trailing tailpipe? Maybe she’d appreciate that a little loving care could transform something that looked hopeless from the outside into a real thing of beauty.

All his philosophical bullshit wasn’t going to clean this engine and inspect for leaks, worn belts and low fluid levels. He’d handle the engine problems before moving on to the messy paint and bodywork. Just as he pulled his metal toolboxes into position, a loud thud and howl of pain streamed from his parking lot. He hoped like hell his liability insurance had already kicked in.

He stalked to the open overhead door and spotted Allie’s softball boys. “Shit.” One kid and his skateboard were sprawled on the asphalt with two other boys standing around him, laughing so hard they were in danger of ending up on the ground too.

“Oh, man. That was classic.” The short kid who’d brought Allie the Popsicle—Tiny—was doubled over, trying to catch his breath.

Cameron stood there until they finally wound down and noticed him.

Tiny straightened like someone had rammed a flagpole up his back. “Hey, Mr. Wright. Remember me? Tiny, from the softball field.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

The third boy said nothing, but hooted like an asthmatic owl as he leaned down to give his buddy a hand off the ground.

Cameron walked over to see if the other kid had done any real damage to himself. “You okay?”

The kid did a little hop-step, keeping weight off his right leg, and lied manfully. “Yeah, no problem.”

Sure, he was fine. Blood oozed down his gravel-studded shin, but he didn’t need stitches.

“How’d you end up on your as...butt?”

The kid swiped at rocks embedded in his skin and mumbled, “Trying to do a 50-50 grind off the pipe around the parking lot.”

Tiny grinned. “Did an ass-grind instead.”

Cameron didn’t know what an ass-grind was, but he nodded anyway.

“By the way, this is Ben.” Tiny hooked a thumb toward the skateboarder and then at the quieter boy. “And that’s Marcos. You said we could come by—”

“And you can stay on one condition.”

The boys gazed at Cameron, eyes wide and hopeful. He wouldn’t get much work done on Charlie’s car tonight. “Whatever you say, Mr. Wright.”

“The condition is you never call me Mr. Wright again. Makes me feel old enough to be your daddy.”

Ben shook the overlong strawberry-blond hair out of his face. “Well, it’s possible—”

“Don’t even go there.” Cameron headed inside. He hauled his cooler to the middle of the semicircle the boys had formed around Charlie’s car. He flung open the top, offering cold drinks to the group. “Don’t touch anything. Especially if you don’t know what it does.”

Tiny fished his hand through the ice and pulled out one of the beers Cameron had stashed at the bottom. The kid quirked an eyebrow.

“Not on my watch, kid.” Cameron grabbed a Big Red and leaned against a workbench.

They all stood around, gulping soda and saying nothing, the way guys communicated best.

Finally, Tiny gestured at the car with his soda can. “That thing’s a heap.”

Cameron set aside his drink. “This, gentlemen, is a 1964 Pontiac GTO, the true American mutt.”

Ben glanced up from his halfhearted effort to clean his leg with an oily rag from Cameron’s workbench. “Sure is ugly.”

“You have no faith.” Cameron tossed the kid another, somewhat cleaner rag and then leaned back under the hood to check the hoses, finding several on the verge of cracking. “And no vision.”

“Hard to see anything with that fugly green paint burning my eyeballs.” Tiny pulled his Oakleys over his eyes.

“I don’t know.” Marcos ventured over to study the engine alongside Cameron. “I think it’s kinda tight.”

“Finally, a man with taste.” Cameron clapped the kid on the shoulder. Damned if this wasn’t what Charlie was talking about when he said they needed to keep bright young people in Shelbyville, give them a chance to make a living there. Responsibility pressed in on him.

Tiny and Ben sidled up to the GTO, apparently not wanting Marcos to gain Cameron’s favor at their expense. “I guess it’s okay,” Tiny admitted.

“Hey, Mr. W—Cameron, I mean.” Ben leaned heavily on the fender. “Can we hang around awhile? Maybe help you with this?”

If they were any more help, Cameron would have to take out an additional insurance policy.

“And—” Tiny did his version of an end-zone dance. Kid had some moves, “—you can tell us about playing ball for UT.”

“Sure, why not?” One thing at a time. Tonight, he’d teach them to appreciate a fine automobile. Tomorrow, he’d worry about their future job prospects. He stretched out on a wooden creeper and slid under the car, confident the three boys would follow.

* * *

When Allie walked into the garage, four uneven legs were protruding from either side of a heap of green metal, making the car resemble a deranged spider.

She would have recognized Cameron anywhere, even from the waist down. Okay, especially from the waist down. Not only the booted feet, but the loving fit of the faded denim between his legs was a dead giveaway. Besides, the other six feet sported tennis shoes of different brands and sizes. And Cameron in a pair of plaid Vans? Never happening.

“You were gonna tell us about how you won the Cotton Bowl for the ‘Horns that year,” the pair of Nikes said. Allie was pretty sure those feet belonged to Tiny. One, because they were smaller than the rest. And two, because Tiny was never afraid to ask for what he wanted.

Another voice, one that had definitely hit puberty, said, “The QB threw me a perfect spiral and it landed in my arms like a baby from heaven. All I had to do was avoid the guys who wanted to take it away from me. The end.”

“What about the next season?”

Cameron didn’t answer immediately. Finally he said, “The next year was pretty decent for the team, and for me, until I ended up strapped to a backboard at Seton Hospital.”

“Oh, man. That sucks a big one.” Tiny again. Allie had to smile.

“Nah, a matter of wrong place, wrong time. Took a bad side hit from a guy twice my size. Should’ve blown my knee. Instead, my ankle crumpled like a wet paper towel.”

“That was it?” Tiny seemed disappointed Cameron hadn’t elaborated.

“Yep, that’s all she wrote.”

Was it really? Allie’d heard he dropped out of UT after his sophomore year. At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it. Now it hit her that he’d quit just in time for Jamie to start college. She’d bet her Promise Keeper XL there hadn’t been enough money for tuition for two.

“You lame now?”

Cameron huffed a laugh. “Not exactly.”

“Then maybe you could...you know...come out and play softball with us sometime.”

Silence from below the car. Allie stepped closer to hear his answer. Finally, Cameron said, “That’s up to Allie.”

“I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“Now that you’ve seen her up close and personal, what do you think about this pretty little lady?”

Allie’s spine went straight, then she realized he was talking about the car, not her.

“I still think it’s a POS,” Tiny said.

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Cameron shifted his booted feet and planted them on either side of the rolling board beneath his back.

Dear Lord, that made his jeans cup him tighter. Allie eyed the taut seam at his crotch. Wasn’t that uncomfortable? She waved a hand, attempting to stir a breeze to cool her overheated face. Watching him sure was making her fidget with discomfort.

“Listen up, you three,” Cameron said, “because I’m gonna tell you a story about an important milestone in American automotive history.”

The kids groaned in unison, but it was obvious they wanted him to tell them about the heap they were under.

“Hey, you can either learn something or get out of my garage and let me get some work done. You know, the kind that pays the bills.” His words were surly, but his tone was amused.

“Okay, okay.” Ben’s Vans tapped out an uneven rhythm on the concrete. “Chill, man.”

“Once upon a time in a faraway land called Detroit, some dumb asses decided a buttload of horsepower was too much of a good thing. That no intermediate-sized car would come standard with anything larger than a 300cu engine. In case you haven’t figured it out already, those were the bad guys.”

Allie muffled a laugh. He was amazing with these kids, and from the lighthearted tone in his voice, he enjoyed their company. One day, he would make a great dad. Allie’s lower abdomen did a little pitter-patter at the thought. She slapped a hand over her ovaries.
Traitors.

Cameron continued, “But the good guys were a pretty smart group of dudes. Figured out they could outwit bigwig stupidity by creating the GTO option for a standard midweight car, muscling a 389 V8 under the hood.”

“So what?” Ben’s Nikes propelled him farther under the car.

“So what? We’re talking 325 horsepower, which was a BFD in a car that size. Better yet, they could get 348hp out of a triple two barrel carb. At first, the good guys did all this with regular bin parts. The GTO wasn’t even a car, just a bunch of stuff thrown on a Tempest to make it the baddest motherf...ah...motherlover on the road.”

Allie’s heart expanded. He was bonding with these boys over car parts and curse words.

“What’s it gonna look like when you’re finished with it?”

“Not
it
, Marcos my man,
she.
And her looks don’t mean a thing if she doesn’t have juice. Then again, you’ve hit on an important detail. A hot car is a girl magnet.”

“I didn’t mean—” Marcos protested.

“Sure you didn’t,” Tiny ribbed.

“Well, I care what girls think about my car,” Ben said. “At least, I will when I get a car.”

“I’m not sure Charlie Pfeiffer gives much thought to picking up women these days, but when I put her to rights, this little GTO would help him in a heartbeat.” Tools pinged against metal. “This sport coupe will get a makeover that’ll convince you she’s a girl again. Black interior with an original paint job in Gulfstream Aqua.”

Tiny asked, “How much would something like this go for?”

“Back when it was new, less than three grand.”

“That’s not bad,” Ben said.

Cameron laughed. “In decent condition, she’d cost you over thirty these days.”

“Dollars?” Marcos asked.

“Try
thousand.
”

“Holy shit.” Only Tiny. That boy needed a language makeover.

This time, Allie couldn’t hold in her laugh.

Chapter Seventeen

Cameron pushed from under the car, overshot and careened toward her. Allie was worried he would knock her down like a bowling pin, but at the last second, he stopped with a skid of his boot heels, so close to her the breeze made her skirt dance around her knees.