Tough Talk Read online

  “Could you...would you mind taking me to the community center across town?”

  She volunteered there after she put in a full day as a social worker supervisor. It’s where she got most of the kids she was always dragging around, picking them up and dropping them off at their houses. But a part of him didn’t want her to know that he knew so much about her.

  Experience had taught him that most people used their mouths more than their eyes and ears and they expected the rest of the world to do the same. That same experience said that she would be freaked out, think he was a stalker, weird, or worse, if she knew the facts he knew about her life and habits. Just from watching and listening. He breathed deeply through his nose. And now he had a scent to attach to all of that information. His arm burned. A scent, and a cool touch that scalded his skin.

  He forced his eyes to meet hers for a fraction of a second before they skipped away.

  “The community activity center on 15th Street,” she said slowly.

  He was able to get his gaze to land on her dress but couldn’t quite meet her eyes. His eyebrow twitched.

  “I volunteer there,” she added.

  “Yeah,” he ground out, trying not to look like he knew. He wanted to tell her to wait, that he’d get the cars off the street and come back for her, but his back was turned and his feet were walking away, and his tongue never did unknot itself.

  Chapter 2

  Broad shoulders and narrow hips moved away from Kelly without a word of explanation. Should she follow him? She felt like an idiot just standing here. Being inactive, letting other people take charge, those weren’t exactly traits that came naturally to her. But Torque’s brother had left her with little choice. Torque, Tough...what odd names their family had. She had a vague recollection of hearing it before...somewhere. A memory teased at the back of her mind, but she couldn’t catch the strand and pull it up.

  She’d known Torque had a brother—she’d heard more than once from Cassidy what a mechanical whiz he was—but she hadn’t known he was so...rugged. Quiet. Gruff. And obviously didn’t want to be bothered by her.

  Checking her messages again, although her phone hadn’t buzzed or dinged, she sighed. No one had answered her. Cassidy was working. The ladies at the center were busy with kids. Her fiancé, Preston—how odd to finally think of him as her fiancé after practically growing up together—was probably busy, even though this was his day off. She glanced down at the new, very large ring on her left hand. She had never said “yes” when he asked. He slipped the ring on like he’d known she was expecting it. Everyone expected them to get married, and she really did love him. Just a quiet love; no sparks or bells or whistles.

  And his mother, Mrs. Fitzsimmons, had done so much for Kelly. She was more of a mother than her own mother had been. How could she not marry Preston? Mrs. Fitzsimmons had been over the moon when Preston had finally announced their engagement. Everyone had been expecting them to get married, probably since high school.

  She gave the ring a last look. It was pretty.

  Marrying Preston would make Mrs. Fitzsimmons happy, but it didn’t solve Kelly’s problems. Like the fact that the community activity center had a roof that leaked, and the landlord kept promising to fix it but refused to take the money and do so. Plus, it was across town, too far for most kids to walk, and she ended up driving around the city, picking them up and dropping them off every day. It was worth it to keep them off the streets, but it sure would be nice to find a suitable building in the area and open a new center. One that didn’t leak every time it rained. Unfortunately, the red-hot economy had the unanticipated consequence of snatching up available real estate.

  Taking one last glance at her phone, she shoved it in her purse.

  She looked back at her banged-up Cadillac hybrid. The kids in these neighborhoods needed her. She was making a difference in their lives, just as Mrs. Fitzsimmons had made a difference in hers. That was the most important thing to her. And if she had a few misgivings about the lukewarm attraction between her and Preston? She would shove them aside. Preston and she made a perfect match. Mrs. Fitzsimmons was happy, and Kelly could keep working with the neglected and needy children in this town. That was really all that mattered.

  Kelly hurried over to Mr. Hormell and offered her arm as he attempted to shuffle up the curb.

  “Thank you, miss,” he said.

  She glanced over as Tough bent and lifted the garage door, the muscles in his back and arms bunching and stretching his tee. She clasped her hands together, trying not to remember the rough feel of his calloused hand closing around hers. It should have felt claustrophobic, as big and strong as it was. But it hadn’t. It had felt warm and solid and right. A feeling that had surprised her.

  Too bad the man couldn’t seem to force himself to talk to her.

  Tough climbed into Mr. Hormell’s car and drove it slowly off the street and into his garage.

  She smiled at Mr. Hormell and struck up a conversation about the weather, while wondering what it was about Tough that made her eyes want to follow his every move. It wasn’t his charming personality; that was for sure. And there was something about him, something that nagged in the back of her head, like she’d known him before.

  She forced herself to pay attention to Mr. Hormell as Tough strode back out and lifted the hood on her car. Had she ever seen a man with such a confident walk? His whole posture was loose and relaxed. Casual.

  She was never loose or relaxed, and she certainly didn’t do casual.

  Excusing herself from Mr. Hormell, she stepped quickly over to Tough and stuck her head under the hood. Maybe it was just an excuse to be near him, since she’d never actually seen anything that was under the hood of any car that she’d ever driven. Just like Preston had never seen her without her makeup armor.

  “How bad is the damage?” Would she need to rent a car?

  Tough pointed to the area around the headlight. “Cracked.”

  Kelly nodded, although she had no idea what that meant. “That’s bad?”

  “Expensive.” He shifted, and a whiff of his manly scent drifted to her nose. Not expensive cologne or aftershave. Nothing like the way Preston smelled. But a mixture of grease and oil and gasoline underlaid with a straight-up male potency. Were there male pheromones? Kelly tried to remember from the one science class she’d taken in college. What else could explain this odd pull that had her breathing deeply and stepping closer?

  “Will it take long to fix it?” Her voice held a freak husky note. She swallowed to try to get rid of it.

  “Order parts.” Tough lifted his head, but again, his eyes looked past her before he ducked back down and shifted away. Why wouldn’t he look at her?

  What did “order parts” mean anyway? Maybe some kind of mechanic slang. She wasn’t going to pretend she understood. “You can fix it, but you don’t have the parts?”

  “Yeah.” He didn’t look up that time but kept his gaze on his hands which disappeared under some long, flat, black thingy. He manipulated a plastic lever, and something rattled, deep and low.

  “That didn’t sound good.”

  Tough shook his head. After checking several other places, he straightened and pulled a blue rag out of his pocket, wiping his hands. Kelly found herself fascinated with his short, black nails and long, agile fingers.

  “Better tow it,” he said.

  “Can you fix it? Should I tow it somewhere that specializes in hybrids? Or Cadillacs?”

  His hands stilled. She got the feeling he was using great effort. Maybe to keep from getting offended that she suggested someone else fix it?

  “I can. Your choice.” His words were short. Staccato, even. He shoved the rag into his back pocket. His eyes stared over her shoulder like he didn’t give a flip what she chose.

  She glanced at her phone, as if Preston would have magically texted her the answer. As if he’d even care where she got his car fixed.

  She adjusted her purse strap over her shoulder and lo
oked up. Tough’s gaze landed on hers for a moment. Dark brown, swirled and layered like an expensive walnut floor. The zap from that brief eye contact ripped down her backbone and ricocheted back from her fingers and toes. She blinked. In that short flash, his gaze was gone, once again pinning something over her shoulder. His face, all sharp angles, except for the bump on his nose—evidence it was once broken—angled away from her.

  “If you can fix it, I want you.” That rogue husky note had crept back into her voice. To her ears, it sounded sultry, like she was on the other end of a 900 number. Which was ridiculous. She was a doer, a worker, as befitted the wife-to-be of a lawyer and aspiring politician. But not sultry. Not seductive. And definitely not sexy. She couldn’t spend hours every day in front of a mirror getting her hair and makeup just right when there were children who needed her.

  Tough stood with his hand on the hood of her car, waiting for her to step back so he could close it. Without giving him another glance, she hurried over to Mr. Hormell.

  “He’s going to get my car off the street, then he’ll take us to your hotel.”

  Tough hadn’t said any such thing. But Kelly wasn’t going to wait around while he got over whatever chip he had on his shoulder and managed to tell her what he was doing. She’d make it up, first.

  Mr. Hormell pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped at the sweat that rolled down his forehead. After seeing his flushed face, Kelly took his arm. “How about we move over there to the shady side of the building?” she suggested.

  He nodded and allowed her to lead him around where the temperature was noticeably cooler. Kelly willed Tough to hurry. Not because she was in a rush, which she was, she always was, but because Mr. Hormell needed to be back in the air conditioning. Despite being late May, the central Pennsylvania humidity made the actual air temperature feel like the south side of hell.

  A rumbling caused her to turn her head back toward where they had been standing. Tough’s tow truck, which looked to be older than Kelly, puffed black smoke and rumbled as he backed it slowly toward the front of her car. Tough hopped easily from the cab, his limbs sure and strong. His ball cap shaded those dark, walnut eyes, but Kelly stared anyway. For the first time, she saw in him a glimpse of the little boy he might have been. A boy like one of the many she worked with every day. He’d have been adorable.

  Again, that feeling like she knew him, or should know him, hit her. Had she known him when they were younger? Back before Mrs. Fitzsimmons took her in? That seemed right, but she still couldn’t remember. She squinted, studying his angled chin. He definitely had a strong profile. Quite handsome.

  He glanced up, and she whirled away, guilty. There was no law against looking at someone, but now, from the way she jerked around, he’d have to know she’d been staring. Wonderful. And why? No reason other than those stupid pheromones. She remembered reading about them but didn’t remember the antidote. Onions, probably.

  Her eyes bounced then settled on the door on the far side of the building. Was that a “For Rent” sign? She checked Mr. Hormell, whose color had improved. “I’ll be right back.”

  She hurried down the sidewalk to the door. Yep. For Rent. She punched the number from the sign into her phone and hit the green button. With her phone to her ear, she peered in the dirty glass.

  A counter, a couple of broken stools, and a few partitions, some with holes that looked like they’d been punched.

  Still. This location was perfect. So much closer to where all the kids lived. As long as the roof didn’t leak, it would be perfect in every way. In fact, she glanced at her phone—not quite time for school to let out—some of the kids probably hung out on this very street. She picked up four girls and a little boy just two blocks over every day in the summer and took them to the children’s center across town.

  She tried the doorknob as the phone went to voice mail, not expecting it to open. It didn’t twist—it was locked—but the latch hadn’t caught, and the little bit of pressure she exerted had the door swinging in like the building wasn’t quite square.

  Her surprise had her hesitating as she started her message. “Um, hi. I’m Kelly Irwin. I’m interested in the building you have for rent on...” She looked back at the road sign, unsure what street she was on. Finding the street name, she read it off then rattled on, leaving her number.

  After pushing the red “end” button, she stepped into the warm, dark interior, not really intending to trespass but hoping to see if the building would suit her purposes.

  The placed smelled musty and slightly tangy, like someone had left their dirty, wet socks lying around. Dust particles floated thickly in the light that angled steeply in from the side window. Kelly walked farther back, noticing the stools, the pages of designs, an old needle. The last renter had maybe been a tattoo parlor. She moved back, around the partitions. Whatever equipment they used to administer a tattoo had been removed. Just papers, trash, and some broken pieces of plastic and other junk littered the floor.

  She squinted at the ceiling. No drooping insulation or crumbling drywall. She glanced around. No wet patches on the floor.

  She walked farther in. She could go right to negotiations about the price and length of lease if she already knew it would work.

  With the partitions removed, there might be enough room for a basketball court. Sports were always good to keep kids involved and interested. But it couldn’t be everything to a child.

  She bit her lip as an old memory shimmered through her mind. It had been forever since she’d thought of her real parents. She never knew her dad. Her mother hadn’t been interested. How Kelly survived as a baby and toddler, she’d never know, since she couldn’t remember her real mother ever caring whether she was home or fed or clean or anything. Memories of being alone and scared, of having no one who cared and no place to go, were what drove her now.

  Thankfully, back then, someone had wanted a little girl.

  The image wavered in her mind. Her heart stumbled, and she stopped short in the dim interior.

  Now she remembered where she knew Tough from. Of course. How could she have forgotten? He was the little boy who had taken her by the hand and led her little five-year-old self to Mrs. Fitzsimmons, Preston’s mom. He didn’t talk back then, either. She wasn’t sure she even knew his name back then. And she hadn’t seen him much after that.

  Shaking her head, she walked deeper into the dark interior. Tough didn’t seem to remember her. But she would always owe him for what he’d done. After all, if it hadn’t been for Tough and Mrs. Fitzsimmons, who knows where she would have ended up with her dad completely gone and her mom drunk and high most of the time. Whatever the scenario, her mom didn’t have time for Kelly. It was hard and hurtful as a child, but it made it a lot easier to relate to the kids she worked with now.

  The darkness had gotten thick, so she fumbled with her phone to get the flashlight app up. Once the bright light cut through the darkness, she could see there was nothing much different in back. A door with a sign that indicated there was a restroom. She didn’t even want to go there.

  Another door. Curious if the space was wider than the open waiting and reception area, she tried this door. Unlocked but stuck. She shoved. It moved enough to encourage her to gear up for a harder, quicker shove. Leaning her shoulder into it and planting her feet, she bent her knees and rammed it hard.

  The door stuck for a second then burst open in a shock of light and potent male air. She’d been expecting the burst and was prepared. However, the pointy heel of her sandal had not, apparently, been designed to be as sturdy as a B&E attempt required. It twisted and snapped, sending Kelly reeling, off-balance, headfirst into a well-lit office and stumbling into the steel-like rigidity of Tough Baxter’s arms and chest.

  Chapter 3

  Tough dropped his tow truck keys. They landed on the cement floor with a clang and rattle he barely heard.

  Soft, fragrant hair blew across his face, wrapping around his neck like a silken whisper. The mor
e substantial weight of Kelly hit his chest. Her hands gripped his shoulders. His arms automatically caught her as her dress billowed around his legs. He fumbled through reams of material and flailing arms to the soft, curvy woman under it all. His hands gripped her waist. He froze, legs braced, teeth gritted.

  Maybe she felt his stillness. Or maybe she knew he wouldn’t let her fall. Whatever it was, her thrashing ceased and her body became motionless, her face against his chest, one of her knees between his, and one bare foot stepping on his square-toed work boot. Her shiny, pink-painted toes were directly in his line of sight.

  His stomach clenched, and his insides quaked. His arms wanted to pull her closer. His nose wanted to bury itself in her sunshine and glitter scent. Never in his life had he wished harder that he had words. That he could use them to woo and win the packaged bundle of energy and empathy in his arms.

  But this second, these few seconds, were an anomaly in his life. Something to savor now and look back on with fond nostalgia and longing.

  He did not allow his hands to move nor his head to shift. He did inhale, deeply, closing his eyes against the heat and happiness that made every muscle in his body strain to move.

  Kelly shifted. A nervous laugh drifted out from under the hair that covered her face. One hand lifted from his shoulder and pushed long strands of hair out of her face.

  Tough’s insides twisted and cramped. Now he’d have to talk. Somehow. He’d like to ask her what she was doing. Why was she on the other side of the warehouse, wandering around? Unless...

  His eyes shot to his computer. The screen saver—a truck being painted in time lapse—was still showing. Surely...surely she wasn’t with the press? He knew her, knew her job, knew what she did...at least he thought he did. He’d been wrong before. Plus, he should know that sometimes people weren’t what they seemed. He was the poster child for that.

  She moved, and he dropped his hands from her waist. His fingers curved in, missing the sweet heat.