Real Good Man (Real Duet #1)

He shakes his head, his hand still on the door knob. “You don’t get it. But you will. You think Manhattan will chew someone up and spit them out? You’ve never lived in a small town.”

“How bad can it possibly be to have a bunch of Betty Crocker wannabes turning up their countrified noses at me? I’m so concerned about their opinion.” Sarcasm drips from my words like napalm, ready to ignite into rage at any moment.

Why did I think coming here was a good idea? Why did I think letting Logan inside this house, inside me, was a good idea? I could smack myself for letting it get this far out of hand.

Logan shakes his head. “I give you twenty-four hours before you’re back on a plane to New York.”

What. A. Dick.

“You know what? It’s official. You’re an ass*ole. Get the hell out.”

When he opens his mouth, I don’t want to know if he’s going to deliver an apology or more angry words, so I hold up a hand. “Get out. Just get the f*ck out.”

Logan’s mouth snaps shut and he’s gone.

I drop onto one of the cushioned kitchen chairs, trying to figure out what just happened. I’m not sure I can handle more of this karma shit.

Last time, he was the one walking out with wounded pride, and now I’m surrounded by the tattered remains of mine.

Logan Brantley can take being a real man and shove it up his ass.

*

I spend the rest of the morning fuming and working furiously on my laptop. My fledgling business doesn’t stop just because some ass*ole doesn’t want the people of this nowhere town to know he spent the night with me.

Three hours pass before I stand and stretch, amazed that I accomplished so much in such a short period of time. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I’m starving. Logan’s groceries are in the fridge, but there’s no way I’m touching them.

Even if I knew what to do with a steak, I wouldn’t eat it.

I check the time again; my rental car should be here any moment. Holly and Crey insisted on paying for one since I wouldn’t take any money for “house-sitting.” I have my pride, and no one is going to pay me for squatting my homeless ass here.

Opening the fridge again, I decide that the orange juice inside is fair game. I basically claimed it as mine last night.

There’s a knock at the door at noon, and I peek through the lace curtains to see who it is. Two cars are parked out front, and a man is still sitting in the running one. Perfect.

I unlock the ancient dead bolt and pull the door open.

“Ms. Regent?” the man at the door asks.

“Yes.”

He holds out a set of keys. “This is yours for however long you need it. Just call the number on the key tag to give us the location when you want us to come pick it up.”

That’s easy.

“Thank you,” I say as I accept the keys, and he turns and heads back to the other car.

And just like that, I’ve got wheels, which means it’s time to shower so I don’t actually look homeless while I explore Gold Haven.





Chapter 26


Logan


I don’t hear the ding of the door chime over my music, but as soon as someone turns Black Sabbath down, I know I have a visitor. Unfortunately, both of my employees are taking a smoke break, so I slide my creeper from under the car I’m working on and look up.

Julianne props a hand on her cocked hip and stares down at me. “Well, well. Aren’t you the talk of the town this morning. I knew that bad boy from high school was hiding somewhere inside the upstanding-citizen thing you’ve got going on these days.”

Even though I expected this, it’s not what I want to hear. “How bad is it?”

“The girls at the salon have been buzzing about it all mornin’. Lots of speculation on the woman, that’s for sure. Some are saying that Holly Wix ran away from her husband, and you’re her secret lover.”

“You’ve gotta be f*cking kidding me.” I stand up and wipe my hands with a rag from my back pocket.

“Nope, not at all. I’m sure that’ll probably make the tabloids, because I know for a fact that Deana has pictures of your truck out front of Holly’s gran’s house, and will probably try to sell them because her ex is seven months late on child support and she’s getting desperate.”

“f*ck. I better call Holly and give her a heads-up.”

“That might be smart.”

“What else?” I ask.

“Your favorite restaurant manager stopped in to get a nail fixed and got the whole story from the peanut gallery. If you’re looking to make any moves there, you might have to do some damage control.”

I don’t owe Emmy any explanations, but that isn’t something I need to tell Julianne, because it’ll just add to the gossip mill that’s already churning.

“Anything else?”

“That’s about it, but for sure when whoever you were f*cking all night long makes an appearance, she’s gonna get the side-eye like nobody’s business. So you might want to make sure she’s aware of what’s coming too. Unless it was a wham, bam, thank you, ma’am kinda thing.”

I know this is Julianne’s way of trying to find out exactly who’s staying at Holly’s gran’s house, and my answer will set the tone for how the entire town treats Banner for as long as she’s here.

I choose my words carefully. “When it comes out, you can tell anyone who says a cross word to her or about her that they’ll answer to me.”

“So that’s how it is?” Julianne drawls.

“That’s how it is.”

“Ain’t that an interesting piece of information? So it’s serious between you two?”

I give her a hard look as I remember the blowout Banner and I had this morning. “That’s not up for discussion.”

“But you know this whole town is gonna speculate on it anyway.”

“They can go ahead and speculate all they want. I don’t care. But if anyone says—”

Julianne finishes my sentence. “One cross word to this mystery woman, you’re going to be knocking it back down their throats.” She tilts her head to the side. “You know that’s not gonna stop it.”

“It should help.”

Julianne laughs and turns for the door. “I guess we’ll see.” She pauses at the threshold that leads from the garage into the waiting room. “By the way, you need a haircut. I can fit you in tonight after I close up, if you’re still here.”

I nod. “I’ll let you know. Thanks.”

I pull out my cell phone as soon as she’s out the door to call Holly. I get her voice mail, so I leave her a message. Here’s hoping she and her husband—who isn’t my biggest fan, for the record—thinks this whole mess is funny.

*

Three hours later, I’m about to lock the doors of my shop so I can get some work done. I’ve had more casual visitors wanting to make appointments and shoot the shit than I can count on one hand. They’re all not-so-subtly probing for information.

“So, you’ve got a friend in town?”

“I hear you’re keeping some late hours.”