“She’s here early, right?” Duane unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Yeah, real early. Usually she’s here at seven thirty.” The rubber band around my chest made a reappearance and I chased it off, threatening another trail run with Drew Runous. Lord knew, nothing worked to numb a mind and body like a twelve-mile trail run with Drew. It was like getting in a fistfight with yourself. And maybe a bear.
I sensed my twin’s eyes on me so I spared him a glance. “What?”
“Jess asked if Shelly wanted to get together sometime.”
“Why’re you asking me?”
“Jess says y’all are friends.”
“Why would she say that?”
“I reckon because of the way you were with her at Genie’s that one time, how you chased her out of the bar.”
“I didn’t chase her.” I did sorta chase her. “We’re not friends.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Good,” I grumped, glaring at Shelly’s Buick GSX. It reminded me that I still had her potholders in my car, just behind the driver’s seat, so I reached behind me for the bag. “Like I said, we’re not friends.”
“So you said.” Duane lifted his chin toward the bag in my hands. “What’s that?”
“Potholders.”
“What for?”
“For Shelly. She doesn’t have any, she’s been using a towel for weeks.”
Duane blinked at me, just once, his expression unchanging.
I squirmed in my seat. “I don’t want her to burn her hands.”
He blinked again, slower this time.
“She mentioned it to Jenn Sylvester last week and I overheard, so I picked them up when I was at the store. No big deal.”
Now Duane was shaking his head, real slow.
“You got something to say, just say it.”
“I ain’t got nothing to say about you and Shelly Sullivan at the buttcrack of dawn, o’dark thirty in the morning. Just get out of this car so I can get to Knoxville.”
“Fine. Leave.” I didn’t give my brother a chance to respond.
I gripped the Piggly Wiggly bag to my chest while Duane and I exited at the same time, him walking around the front as I strolled toward the garage.
“Hey,” he called, forcing me to stop and turn back to him.
“What?”
“You know . . .” He hesitated, took a deep breath, then started again. “If something is up with you, if you need anything, you can tell me.” He sounded concerned, but he also sounded frustrated. I got the sense he was trying to communicate something without coming out and saying it.
I studied him, unable to read his meaning. And the fact that I couldn’t read my twin’s mind—like I’d done countless times in the past—was depressing.
We were going in two different directions, he and I. He had his path, I had mine.
“Sure.” I nodded, clearing my expression.
Duane looked disappointed, but said nothing. He gave me a once-over and then slid wordlessly into the GTO.
Just before he shut the door, I called to him, “You take good care of her.” Meaning my car, of course.
“You know I will.” Duane switched her into drive and set off, not even giving the engine a superfluous rev.
Duane was by far the best driver in our family. He’d cut his teeth at the dirt races in the canyon and he always won. Well, except that one time he’d totaled his Road Runner because he was in a fit about Jessica James.
See? That’s what I’m talking about. Getting wrecked over a woman. What kind of crazy must a man be to enter into such a state?
First Duane, then Jethro, now Cletus. More reckless than a pig at a barbeque, that’s what they were.
“Beau.”
My steps slowed at the sound of my name, my spine straightening, and I braced for the sight of her. But then I decided I didn’t need to see her. I could keep my eyes lowered. I didn’t need the double-heart-skip of doom.
I’d made it inside the garage and halfway to the supply closet before she’d called to me. Seeing no reason to stop, I kept going.
“Morning, Shelly,” I said placidly to the general direction of her voice, tucking the Piggly Wiggly bag under one arm.
By the time I made it to the closet and had it unlocked, she hovered at my elbow.
“Here.” I pushed the bag at her, which she accepted automatically, and opened the door to the closet. “These are for you.”
Not waiting for a response, I stepped into the closet and scanned the farthest shelf for the car part I’d ordered and received last week for Joyce Muller’s Pinto. The woman was crazy about that Pinto, loved it more than her husband, even though it broke down ten times a year. I’ve rebuilt the damn thing seventeen times already and—
“Beau.” Her voice was behind me, but I didn’t turn. Couldn’t.
Or rather, I didn’t turn until I heard the door shut. Then I turned, pointing my scowl at the door.
“You want something?”
“I am really sorry about last Wednesday.”
I shrugged, not giving her my gaze. “Don’t worry about it.”
Was I still sore?
Yeah.
Yeah, I was. I was what my sister Ashley called butt-hurt.
But I’d get over it. I’d told myself I was moving too fast and I was. Shelly had proved me right last week. Now I knew. I wouldn’t make the same mistake again, diving in when I should have been testing the water with a toe.
Something about this woman made me want to jump. To leap first and look later, or maybe not look at all. It wasn’t like me. I needed to guard against the impulse, and against her.
“Beau.”
“Yeah?”
“Look at me.”
I closed my eyes and released a sigh through my nose. “It’s okay, Shelly. I understand.”
“What do you understand, Beau?”
I turned my head, opened my eyes, and glanced to the right of her, beyond her, to the shelves of machine parts. “Family comes first.”
“I didn’t expect Quinn to show up,” she blurted, trying to move into my line of vision. “He didn’t tell me he was coming.”
“Okay.”
“I was surprised.”
“I noticed.”
I made to move past her and she stepped to the side, blocking my way. “Beau, last Wednesday was the first time I had seen my brother in a long time.”
The edge of desperation in her voice drew my eyes to her person. She was twisting her fingers, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.
“How long?”
Our eyes met, my wits scattered, and I gathered a deep breath. The air tasted like irritation and futility. I hated how defenseless I was to this woman.
Shelly hesitated, her gaze searching mine. “Over two years.”
“Two years?” I’m sure I looked shocked, because I was. “I thought y’all lived close to each other? In Chicago.”
“We do, a few hours. My house in Illinois is on an old farm, surrounded by several acres. I used to go into the city on Saturdays and we would have breakfast together. But I stopped, just after Quinn and Janie married.”
“Why? Janie seems nice.”
“She is nice. She is wonderful. I’m the problem.”
That had me frowning, but I said nothing, waiting for her to explain.
Clearly sensing my reticence, she made a small sound in the back of her throat, like a pained groan. “Please do not be mad at me.”
“I’m not mad.”