Page 10 of Tru Blue
“That would be me,” she said, reaching for the bags. “Some jerk hit me when I was at work and drove off. My insurance company will increase my rates if I file another complaint.”
“Another…?” Amusement filled his eyes.
“I’m a bad-driver magnet. I’ve been hit twice. Well, three times if you include the latest one.”
“Bring it by Whiskey Automotive tomorrow after you get off work. I’ll fix it for you free of charge. No need for the insurance company to get on your case, and it’s the perfect way for me to thank you for your help.”
“That’s way too much for the little help I’ve given you.” Was he crazy? It was at least a few hundred dollars’ worth of work, if not more.
He stepped closer, and her heartbeat quickened again. He seemed even taller and broader against the light of the moon, and so stably rooted he made her feel defenseless and vulnerable. He was studying her, and he wasn’t exactly smiling, but he no longer had that guard-dog look he’d had when she’d first seen him.
“You saved me hours of wandering around Walmart and hundreds of dollars from almost buying the wrong diapers, foods, baby clothes, and God knows what else. Bring your car by the shop tomorrow.” He said the last sentence with staid calmness, leaving no room for negotiation.
She wanted to take her car in, if for no other reason than to see him again, but it felt wrong accepting something so big for the little help she’d given him. “But—”
He pressed a long finger to her lips, successfully disarming her with his sudden and arresting smile. “Bring it by the shop when you get off work. I’ll fix it over the weekend so you have it by Monday morning. It should only take a few hours, but we have loaners at the shop, so you won’t be without a car.”
“Truman, that’s too much,” she insisted. “Won’t it need to be painted?”
“I don’t think so.”
“But how…?”
“I can’t tell you all my secrets. You’re very good with baby stuff. I’m very good with my hands.” A glimmer of heat sparked in his eyes. “Bring it by tomorrow. Now get out of here so I know you’re safe before I take the kids home.”
She nodded and took a step away, turning back to say, “Remember not to lay Lincoln on his stomach when he sleeps. And use the ointment on their rashes. That’ll help a lot.”
“I’ve got it,” he said, watching her unlock her door. “Thanks again. See you tomorrow.”
She felt his steady gaze watching over her as she climbed into the driver’s seat, just as he’d stood sentinel over his siblings. As she drove out of the parking lot, her ice cream long ago forgotten, she’d never been so happy for a hit-and-run.
Chapter Four
TRUMAN WAS CONVINCED he’d just experienced the longest morning of his life, following the longest night of his life. He’d put the kids to sleep in his bed last night, put the groceries away, then set to work putting together the crib. Lincoln had woken up what seemed like ten minutes later, but in reality was probably an hour, and two hours after that he’d woken up hungry again. This morning was a mad rush of feeding, changing, bathing, and changing again—a far cry from the lackadaisical mornings he was used to, when the biggest rush he’d faced was getting downstairs to the shop by seven thirty. He hadn’t even taken a shower because he was afraid to leave the kids. How did single parents manage?
Tomorrow he’d take a shower right after Lincoln’s crack-of-dawn feeding, when his little brother went back to sleep.
It was seven forty-five and here he was feeding Lincoln again, this time in the shop. The kid was an eating machine. Meanwhile, Kennedy was playing happily in the playpen, but he knew she was too big to stay in there for long. He’d have to figure out some sort of schedule. Hell, he’d have to figure out some sort of life.
The door to the office opened and Dixie Whiskey poked her head into the garage, her red hair and wide smile lighting up the garage. “We’re here, Tru—” Her eyes widened, and she breezed into the garage, her spike heels tapping out a fast beat across the concrete floor. Her older brother, Bear, followed her in. “Aw! Whose baby is that?”
