Tempt Me Tonight (19 page)

Joe nodded knowingly. “I get that. But I can’t change the past. And I’ve grown up a lot since you last knew me.”

Now Henderson turned to glare at him some more. “You run around with a lot of women.”

They don’t matter to me.
But how good did
that
sound? Not very. Since he couldn’t deny it, he said nothing.

Henderson’s gaze narrowed on him. “Don’t hurt her again, boy, do you hear me?”

Joe was six-foot-two and thirty-two years old, and it had been a long time since anyone had called him a boy. He didn’t like it—but instead of reacting, making things worse, he quietly curled his hands into fists at his sides and swallowed back his anger. “Don’t worry,” he said. “There’s nothing like that going on.” Which was a lie, he guessed, considering their sex. But it wasn’t so much a lie when he considered Trish’s feelings on the subject.

“See that you keep it that way,” Henderson demanded.

And Joe bristled further. He figured he still didn’t stand a chance with Trish, but if he got an opportunity to get closer to her, more than just physically, he’d be taking it. And for today, anyway, his motives were pure; he’d come to help her get the hay in and that was all. “Don’t worry,” he said again, his voice tight.

“Come and fix yourself a plate, Joe,” Trish’s mom called from the table, and he pushed to his feet. He’d hardly made peace with Trish’s dad, but at least he’d been man enough to try.

As Joe settled at the table, Trish came down the stairs wearing a faded pair of blue jeans with rips at the knees and another cute little T-shirt—this one buttery yellow—that sweetly hugged her breasts. She’d pulled her long hair back in a ponytail and couldn’t have looked more different than the woman he’d met at the Last Chance on Friday night. Warmth spread through him at the sight of her, at realizing he got to spend the whole damn day with her, even if it did mean some hard work.

But wait. He’d come to get the hay in. That was all.

Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that, buddy.

The scent of hay filled Trish’s senses as the sun grew hot on her back. They’d taken her dad’s old farm truck down the dirt road that led to the barn, where they’d exchanged it for the tractor and wagon. Now they meandered through the bumpy field, stopping every hundred yards or so to gather the surrounding bales, one by one, wearing heavy gloves to protect their hands from the baling twine and sharp, prickly hay.

She’d let Joe handle driving the tractor and she rode on the wagon behind. It was easier that way, because if there were only a few bales in any particular spot, he could jump down, toss them up to her, and she could stack it, making for quicker work. And it was also easier because it put some distance between them.

Thank God the job was laborious and tiring, she thought as she rode bumping along behind him. And thank God the sound of the tractor’s old motor made it hard to exchange much conversation. Now, if only the work weren’t so darn time consuming. She wished they could just finish it up, thus ending the torture of watching his muscular torso on the tractor ahead, his broad, tan shoulders glistening with perspiration, the snake on his arm twisting and slithering with each bale of hay he tossed up onto the wagon.

Okay, was that torture—or pleasure? She hissed in her breath, glad he was facing away and couldn’t see her reaction to him simply driving a tractor. Oh boy, this was sad.

Think of Kent. You like him, remember? You might go home and start dating him. You’ll be extremely well suited. Life will be pleasant.

Only…Kent would never look like this on a tractor.

Hell, he’d probably never
seen
a tractor.

Which wasn’t his fault; he’d been raised in the suburbs.

But
damn,
Joe looked good on a tractor.

And this job was going to take all day? How would she ever survive?

Just then, though, a vastly conflicting thought hit her. As slow as the work was with just the two of them, how had her father managed it by himself all these years? A fresh wave of guilt for not being here more often assaulted her. After all, Indy wasn’t
that
far. And a little hard work never hurt anybody. And maybe all this farm stuff was actually sort of nice—soaking up the fresh air and the scent of newly mown hay, really feeling the earth beneath her feet again.

Much to her surprise, the thought of selling the diner and returning to her loft in the city left her feeling oddly wistful. As complicated as her encounters with Joe had made her homecoming, in another sense, it remained strangely peaceful to only check e-mail once a day or make the occasional business call. It was sort of like…being a girl again.

But all this touchy-feely-earthy mumbo jumbo is probably just because you’re so stupidly wrapped up in
him
right now
. She focused again on Joe’s strong shoulders, the tips of his dark hair growing wet around the edges under the back brim of his hat.

And as soon as she left she would become
un
wrapped, because life would be busy and normal and stressful again, and men in tailored suits would become attractive to her again, and her heart would return to the even keel where she was comfortable having it.

And where she intended to keep it from now on—as soon as she was able to get away from him.

Joe took off his hat and lay back on the blanket they’d spread on the wagon, letting his gaze focus on the blue-white sky. It had seemed the smart move to make before Trish realized he was gaping at her breasts, something he’d had a hellacious time stopping today. But when she worked, her top stretched over them so nice and tight, giving him no choice but to recall having them in his hands, his mouth…he wanted to groan at the memory, but held it in.

Because he was here to help her with the hay, that was all.

They’d taken a few wagonloads to the barn and filled the rafters with it. And now they’d stopped for lunch—Trish’s mom had packed sandwiches, chips, fruit, and a small cooler with water and soft drinks.

“Thank you,” Trish said softly when he least expected it. The only other sound was a bird singing in a tree somewhere at the field’s edge. “I doubt I could get this done without your help.”

He sat up and met her green eyes—they sparkled beneath the sun and tightened his chest. “You’re welcome,” he replied, trying not to look like a wolf on the prowl.

“You…” She looked tentative as she unwrapped a ham and cheese sandwich, dropping her gaze. “You’ve done really well for yourself, Joe.”

He didn’t know what she was getting at. He lowered his chin, tilted his head. “I guess.”

She raised her eyes back to his. “I just meant…the garage. I’m…glad for you. And proud of you, I guess. Although I’m not sure I’ve been in your life enough to have the
right
to say I’m proud.”

She lowered her gaze again, but he reached out to gently lift her chin with one bent finger. “If you want to be proud of me, I’ll take it.”

“The garage is impressive. And Debbie’s told me what a good mechanic you are.”

He just shrugged. He liked her praise, but he had to give credit where it was due. “Old Mr. Shermer had a lot to do with
all
of that. Guy looked out for me in a big way.”

She nodded. “Yeah, I knew even then that you were fond of him.”

“It’s more than that, though. Besides teaching me a hell of a lot about cars and getting me interested in foreign makes, he gave me the courage to believe I could run the place on my own when he was ready to retire. It was a big investment and I was young, but he had so much confidence in me that I started having confidence in
myself.
” He stopped, paused, remembering. “And besides all
that
…he gave me the Cobra.”

Maybe he’d made that last part sound overly dramatic, but the car had changed his life in a way. It had been the first time he’d so totally applied himself to a project, partly for himself—and partly for Shermer.

“So this car,” she said, looking less sheepish now and smiling softly as she popped the top on a can of Coke, “you like it well enough to have a symbol of it tattooed on your arm.”

“It’s…more than a car to me, cupcake.”

She lowered her chin, looking curious. “But it’s pretty valuable, too, right? One of the partners in my firm had one, and I think it was worth around sixty thousand bucks. Which I guess isn’t outrageous for a sports car, but still…”

He smiled indulgently. Most people who saw his Cobra thought it was a hell of a cool little roadster, worth about fifty or sixty K, but they didn’t realize they were actually looking at a true automobile classic, a
real
Shelby Cobra. “Most Cobras you see on the road are kit cars—and yeah, they can price out at anywhere from thirty to sixty. But mine’s an original.”

Her eyebrows knit slightly. “What does that mean?”

“Kit cars are just replicas of the real thing. A guy buys a Cobra kit and builds it himself. But mine is an authentic 1967 Shelby Cobra. Very rare. It’s been appraised at half a mil.”

Her mouth dropped open. “
Dollars?
Half a million
dollars?
”

He gave a single nod.

“Whoa.” She blinked, then gave her pretty blond head a light shake. “That must be a hell of a car. And…no offense to Mr. Shermer, but…dare I ask how a mild-mannered old guy like him ended up with a car worth that much money?”

Joe loved telling this story. “Found it, believe it or not. When he retired, he bought an old farm about an hour south of here in an estate sale. The old lady who’d owned it had died and had no surviving relatives, and it hadn’t been a hot property—only a couple of people even showed up for the auction.

“He found an old fallen-down barn way back on the property, and the Cobra was just sitting inside. God knows how long it had been there—the woman obviously didn’t know what she had on her hands. It had been neglected, but Shermer still knew exactly what
he
had on his hands.

“Carroll Shelby was a race car driver who had to quit for health reasons, so he started
building
cars instead. He had a vision, wanted to make a race car from a lightweight European chassis with an American V-8 engine under the hood. He even dreamed the name one night—the Cobra. When the first one was made in 1962, it was the fastest car on the planet and, in my opinion, the Cobra was the greatest sports car ever designed. And like I said, there are all kinds of replicas out there, but mine’s an original 427, one of the last Cobras built, in 1967. It’s a classic.”

Trish titled her head, looking duly awed as she ate a bite of her sandwich. “So Mr. Shermer just
gave
you this car?”

Hell, he’d gotten so wrapped up in talking about the car itself that he’d left out the most important part. “Yeah, he did.” But he had to swallow a small lump in his throat then. “He found out he was dying. Lung cancer, too far progressed for much hope. He gave me the car because he knew I would love it as much as he did. And he asked me to restore it, even though he knew it would take a long time and he wouldn’t be around to see it.” He glanced away, remembering the sadness that had consumed him at the old man’s passing, then returned his gaze to Trish. “I would have restored it anyway—I loved that car the second I saw it, and I knew its value, too. But maybe I wouldn’t have restored it with…quite the same care…if I didn’t feel like…” He stopped, dropped his gaze. He didn’t usually tell anyone
this
part—it had just started coming out. “This sounds hokey, but maybe I felt like he might be watching from somewhere, and like maybe each turn of the wrench was a way of giving him a little something back.”

Shit. What the hell was he doing, spilling crap like that? At the very least, he’d created an awkward moment since Trish probably hadn’t expected him to announce he thought his old boss was watching him from the big repair shop in the sky. He closed his eyes briefly, wishing he’d shut up a few seconds earlier.

So when he opened them back up, the last thing he anticipated was to see her face filled with awe, as she offered a soft little “Wow” that echoed all through him. “That’s…pretty incredible, Joe.”

It was? Damn.

And thank God.

“He was a good guy,” was all he said in reply.

But then he reached for a potato chip from the bag between them, and since she’d just grabbed for one, too, their hands touched—and he felt it in his groin. And he got bold, more like his usual self. “Maybe you’ll, uh…let me take you for a ride sometime.”

Their eyes met and he realized what he’d said.

“In the car,” he added with a grin that—no doubt about it—had come out wolfish.

But she only laughed, even as her cheeks pinkened lightly. She glanced away yet still smiled as she said, “Maybe.”

No maybe about it,
he thought, her blushing answer killing any doubt. He was definitely going to take his cupcake on a nice, long ride—very soon.

“By the way,” he said, “sorry I pissed off your dad this morning.”

She shook her head. “It’s
his
problem. And no matter how he feels about you, he should have been more appreciative.”

He shrugged. “Still, the guy’s nursing a back injury, so he’s probably irritable. And it’s only ’cause he cares for you.”

Trish rolled her eyes. “I know that, but I’m all grown-up now, Joe.”

Oh yeah, you definitely are.
“Even so…” He focused his gaze on her, just enjoying the fact that he was with her, they were
talking,
and this was really Trish—
his
Trish—a fact that he maybe hadn’t really quite adjusted to yet. “It’s good, the way they watch out for you. Look at this—a picnic lunch and your dad still worried about who you’re with. In my family…well, it wasn’t like that.”

She pursed her lips lightly and he realized the sun was starting to turn her nose red. “It wasn’t?” she asked, hesitant.

He removed the hat from his head, settling it onto hers. “Face is getting pink,” he said softly. “And, uh, no.” He narrowed his eyes just a bit. Even now, after being apart from her for half his life, he was finding there were still things he could say to her that he couldn’t say to anyone else. “Come on, Trish, you knew my family.”