His Hometown Girl. Jillian Hart
onto the step beside her. Grease smudged his cheek and was smeared across the front of his otherwise white T-shirt.
He certainly was a handsome man. Her heart kicked at the sight of him. He looked tough as nails, as if growing up the way he had could never quite be taken out of him. But she knew Zachary Drake was as strong and dependable as the day was long.
He pressed a folded handkerchief into her hand. Only then did she notice that her car’s hood was up. He’d been taking a look at the troublesome engine and she hadn’t noticed him.
Ashamed and embarrassed to be caught crying, she rubbed the cloth across her eyes and down her face, wiping away the wetness of her tears. “Don’t tell me you have bad news about my car.”
“Okay, I won’t.” He caught hold of her right wrist. His touch was hot and unsettling. “You’re bleeding.”
“It’s nothing serious.”
“I’m not too sure about that. Looks like a lot of blood to me.” He stood and strode down the steps, his big body moving with an athlete’s power and ease. He disappeared in the shadow of his tow truck, parked behind her car in the alley.
She heard the click as he opened his truck’s door and the crunch of his gait on the gravel as he returned.
Even without his motorcycle, which he frequently rode through town, Zach still looked a little untamed as he’d always been in school. Maybe it was the way the wind caught his dark hair and whipped it across his brow, or the slight swagger to his walk.
“Let me clean this up and we’ll see who’s right—if it’s nothing or not.” He knelt before her, opened the first-aid kit on the step between them and reached for her injured hand.
At the first touch of the gauze to her cut, she winced.
“Sorry about that. It’s got to hurt.”
“It does,” she lied, because that was the easiest explanation. She felt jumpy, as if every nerve had been laid open from his touch.
It’s only Zach, she told herself. I’ve known him forever. But her heartbeat picked up as he leaned closer, his fingers a warm touch on her skin.
He swabbed the blood away from her cut with careful brushes of the sterile gauze. Each swipe was gentle. Soon he’d exposed the two-inch gash along the side of her palm.
“See? I was right.” His words were a smile of victory, but his gaze felt like something else, something deeper. “This is going to require some expert care.”
“You’re a mechanic, Zach, not a doctor.”
“No, but I get a lot of scrapes, so I know how to take care of them.”
“That makes you an expert?”
“It ought to make me something.”
“Clumsy?”
“Watch what you call me. I’m the only mechanic around, and let’s face it, Karen, if your car’s any indication, you need me. Badly.” He dug through the small plastic kit and produced a sealed packet of antiseptic.
The air caught in her chest when he leaned even closer and rubbed the salve across the tear in her skin. Like a bee’s sting, sharp pain traveled the length of her cut. “I hate to break it to you, but you’ll never be a doctor. That hurts.”
“Is that so?” He lifted one brow as he laid a butterfly bandage across her wound, his voice warm with teasing. “What are you? A wimp who can’t take a little pain?”
“Thanks. I suppose you’re one of those tough guys who never admit to a weakness like pain.”
“You’ve got that right.” He tore open another package and removed a bandage, a wide pad that covered her entire wound. His fingers were a warm pressure in the center of her palm as he made sure the adhesive stuck. “There. An expert repair job.”
How could it be that she was smiling? The weight on her chest remained, but it was easier to breathe, easier to find a way to face what she had to do. All because of Zach. “Now I owe you two favors.”
“Good. I like it when pretty women are in my debt.” He snapped the kit closed.
When he straightened, unfolding his six-foot frame, he towered over her, casting her in shadow. The sun gilded his hair and the width of one shoulder. The wind caught in his brown locks and tousled them.
He held out his hand. “You look like a woman who needs a friend. Lucky for you, I just happen to be available.”
“Is that so?”
“Absolutely.”
Karen fit her good hand to his. Her pulse jumped, leaving her shaken.
Normally when she was with Zach, she didn’t react like this. But today, everything was off balance. She didn’t know what was wrong with her.
“Thanks, Zach.” The words caught in her throat, and the lump of tears was back, thicker and hotter than ever. “I appreciate the patch job. Now tell me what’s wrong with my car.”
“I’m still working, but I can tell you it looks like a cracked head. We’re talking about a whole new engine.”
The strength went out of her knees and Karen leaned against the banister post. She stared at her poor car.
A new engine. There was no way she could afford that. No way at all. “It’s still working, right? How much longer can I drive it?”
“Hard to say.” Zach raked one hand through his thick hair, stepping closer, casting her in his shadow again. “I’d say you have anywhere from an hour to a week. It just depends. I can find you a rebuilt engine if money’s a problem.”
“Money’s a problem.” This was the last thing she needed. “Are you sure it doesn’t need a new belt or hose or anything cheaper?”
“I’m sure. I can order a rebuilt engine and have it here in a couple of days. Since you’re my favorite customer, you wouldn’t have to pay for it all at once. I trust you.”
“A dangerous move. I could be a bad credit risk. I’ve got a balloon payment on the building coming up at the end of next month.” Karen sighed, feeling the weight of stress clamp more tightly around her chest. “Even if I scrape everything together to pay for it, it’ll be tight for a long time.”
“I know what that’s like.” He lifted a big round car part from the ground and dusted it off. “Take some time to think about it and let me know if you want an estimate.”
She looked at the raised hood of her poor car and the grease-coated engine beneath. “How long will it take you to get all these parts back where they belong so my car’s running again?”
“Ten minutes tops.”
“I have a few errands to do. I’ll be back. Thanks again, Zach.”
“That’s what I’m here for. Hey, Karen, are you going to be okay? Do you want me to call someone for you? Your grandmother or your sister Kirby?”
“No, I’m fine.” She had to be. She had no other choice.
But she suspected Zach didn’t believe her as she hurried down the alley.
She didn’t believe it herself.
Chapter Two
An emergency call came when he was finished with Karen’s car. The early ’70s model with a rusting olive-green paint job managed to start after several attempts. There was no doubt about it—the car needed serious help.
He shut off the ignition, tucked the spare key back into place behind the visor and climbed out into the scorching sunshine.
Karen’s scent from her car seat—a combination of baby shampoo and vanilla—clung to his shirt. A sharp ache of longing speared