Page 3 of Hard to Love
“I figured as much.” She didn’t bother to camouflage her grin. “Since, as the fan belt fairy, I don’t normally rescue ungrateful men from the side of the highway.”
“Deserved that.”
“Need help with the belt?”
“I’ve got it.”
“You know you need a fifteen-millimeter wrench, right?” Per Shorty’s instructions to her.
He reached into his back pocket and produced the needed tool. “I’m an expert.”
The way his car looked, he wasn’t an expert mechanic, but Greer didn’t care about that. All she cared about was his expertise at leather tooling.
At least that was what she told herself as she stuck around to watch the darkly delicious Alex Villanueva fix his fan belt.
Chapter Two
Alex pulled into a downtown parking spot in Prophecy, so effing thankful Greer Maddox had only watched over his shoulder for a few minutes before taking off. Because while she’d been standing there on the roadside with him, she’d been getting an eyeful of his shitty car—one of the few things he owned. The discomfort of that and her nearness made sweat wind its way down his side.
It had taken everything he had not to rip off his shirt and scratch his damn ribcage. But he’d restrained himself because any woman who looked like a sexy girl next door and was nice enough to help a complete stranger didn’t want an eyeful of Alex’s torso.
He killed the car, and it sputtered and farted before finally giving up. A hard thump on the steering wheel didn’t do a damn thing for his frustration. He needed this car to limp along for a while longer. Getting another set of wheels would cost him five grand minimum, and even that wouldn’t buy him any more reliability than he had now.
Besides, a car wasn’t the way he planned to spend the cash he’d so carefully stashed away over the years. At first, it had been twenty bucks here. Ten bucks there. Because his first priority had always been mailing a check to his mamá.
Now, he was so fucking close to being able to set up shop for himself in Georgia. His mamá and brother hadbeen safe there since he’d gotten them out of San Antonio, so Alex had every reason to believe his presence wouldn’t threaten that safety the way it would’ve right after…
Right after he’d made a mess of his family.
Don’t forget for a minute the reason you’re in this town is to clean up the mess you made.
His black plastic portfolio in hand, he pushed out of the car, the door protesting with a metal-on-metal scrape. He’d purposefully parked a few doors down from Prophecy Boot Company, enough space for a couple of deep breaths and a quick look around. The sidewalks were clear of trash and fancied up with perfectly shaped trees and what looked like hand-carved benches. If flakes of white had been falling from the sky, Alex might’ve believed he’d stepped into a snow globe.
Places like this had never existed for him. And never would.
Don’t look too close or like it too much, because you sure as hell ain’t staying here.
In front of him was a big window display for Bostick’s General Store. Alex scoped out the scene and couldn’t hold back a laugh. Someone had set up a headless mannequin holding a garden hoe. All around the Ichabod Crane guy were tightly curled water hoses—one tan, one green, and one black, red, and yellow—with their nozzles poking up.
The dude was up to his ass in fake snakes. Yeah, Alex knew exactly how that felt, but the snakes in his life had never been fake. They were flesh and blood and went by the name Tejanos Pintados.
He shook out the tension in his arms and strode toward the boot shop. The sign hanging outside was simple, a wooden oval swinging from black chain, but something about it spoke of stability, reliability. And that was whatAlex needed right now. A stable and reliable way to make more money.
He pushed open the door, and the showroom—a space with a couple of display cases holding belts and what looked like boot-shaped Christmas ornaments, a fitting chair, and a wall full of framed maps—was empty. But he could see through a plate-glass window into the back workroom. Two women, one blond and the other a wild-haired brunette who’d already thrown him off his stride, turned to scope him out.
The light-haired woman hurried out of the back room, beelined between the two waist-high display cases, and stuck out her hand. “You must be Alex. I’m Delaney Shields, the bootmaker here. Greer tells me you had a little car trouble?”
He slipped on the limited charm he reserved for occasions like this and shook. “I made it all the way from Montana before she threw a fit.”
“Long way to drive for a meeting.”
What she meant was a meeting that might or might not turn out the way he wanted, but he gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Not a big fan of planes.”
“Well, c’mon into the workshop. I don’t have any appointments to take measurements, but if someone steps in, I’ll just slip out and let you and Greer go on without me.”
Delaney led him to the back, and Alex forced himself to smile at his fan belt fairy instead of checking her out like he’d done as she walked back to her car on the side of the highway. Dressed in square-toe cowboy boots, jeans, and a white-and-blue embroidered shirt with a tassel tie at the neckline, she had the kind of body that just did it for him. Full breasts, curvy hips, stuff a man could hold on to. Butthe only body part it was socially acceptable for him to touch on this woman was her hand.
He reached out to shake since his own hands were clean now. “I didn’t get a chance to say thank you earlier.”
