Breaking down, p.2
Breaking Down, page 2
Carmen shook her head. “No, no, you’re closed. Please, don’t worry about it now.” She cast her smile to Dan, who stood with his hands tucked into his pockets, still watching Sawyer with a raised brow. “I truly appreciate you coming to get me.”
Sawyer could swear colour darkened the skin just above his father’s whiskers. “Wasn’t a problem,” Dan said gruffly.
“To be honest, I’m not sure what to do now?” Carmen looked between them, cheeks flushing. “Is there a hotel or bed-and-breakfast that will still be open?”
“I’ll grab your bags outta the car,” Sawyer blurted, thankful for the chance to assist her. “We can run you to the hotel and get you settled for the night.” He moved to the front of the Beetle, but a disgruntled noise from Carmen stopped him.
“Doesn’t work.” She scrunched her nose, compressing her freckles. “The latch is broken. Everything is in the back seat.”
“We can take a look at that, as well, if you like,” Dan assured her.
“You’re not just saying it’s broken because you’ve got a body stashed in there, are you?” asked Sawyer. “We’re going to notice if it starts to smell.”
Dan rolled his eyes, but Carmen’s lips turned up in one corner, and her green eyes flashed with mischief. “Not presently. I’m saving the space for nosey mechanics.”
Sawyer scratched his chin thoughtfully and then held up his hands as if to measure the trunk’s width. “I don’t think my dad will fit in there. But maybe if you got some plastic, wrapped him tight enough—Oww.”
Dan swatted him across the back of the head. “Oh, good, you’re back. Smartass,” he growled. Carmen laughed out loud at their antics. The sound brought heat flooding through Sawyer’s veins. In that moment, it became essential for him to hear that sound again. And often.
“Mom is going to wonder where you are.” He pointed at the tire-shaped clock on the wall. “Should I tell her you’ll be home after you drive a beautiful woman to her hotel room?” Sawyer took out his cell and swiped at the screen, humming to himself before pausing and looking sideways at his father. “Or should I just give Carmen a ride?”
Dan narrowed his eyes as he unzipped his overalls and hung them from their peg by the office door. “Behave yourself,” he said under his breath as he walked by Sawyer, slamming the keys to the tow truck into his son’s outstretched palm.
CARMEN’S GAZE MOVED over Sawyer’s face as he drove. He felt it as acutely as if she were stroking her fingertips over his skin. It was all he could do not to turn and stare at her, sitting there across from him on the old bench seat of his dad’s tow truck.
Sawyer wanted to know who she was, why she was here, what had happened to her face. He wanted to study her lips as they formed words. He wanted to ask what it would take to get her to stay. He wanted to make Carmen laugh again, watch her smile break across her face. Instead, he seemed to have lost the capability of stringing words into coherent sentences.
“Any hotel in particular?” His voice emerged in a husky croak when he finally spoke.
She sighed. “The cheapest one, please.”
He caught her wince from the corner of his eye. “Good.” He grinned over at her. “Cheap is the only kind we have in Willow Brook.”
Sawyer wished he had tied his hair back. Clumps of it, still damp from his shower, stuck to the stubble on his cheeks and made it harder to catch glimpses of Carmen across the dark cab. Would it look vain if he pushed it away? He should have shaved this morning, but he had not expected to meet her today. Had not anticipated today would be the day something would rise inside him and fill the empty spot within his chest.
“Your dad said you grew up here?” Carmen said after a stretching moment of quiet.
“I did. Born and raised.” There was a note of futile resignation in his voice he should staunch. He had nothing against the Willow Brook; it was just the unwillingness to let memories die that occasionally got to him.
“This town has a hospital?” Carmen asked.
“Sorry?”
“You said born right here.”
“Well, yes, I was,” he said, “but the closest hospital is a half-hour away.” He shifted, making it easier to glance at her without losing track of the road. “My brother works there.”
“How many siblings do you have?”
“Three of us in total. My Mom had us all at home with her sister, my auntie, who is a midwife. Over nine pounds each.” Why had he said that? Stupid, weird thing to do, announcing his birth weight to a stranger. A beautiful stranger who smelt like flowers and made his chest hurt. Maybe he was having a heart attack? He moved his left arm around, testing.
Carmen whistled under her breath. “Tough lady.”
“The toughest.” Pride coloured his voice, and he didn’t try to hide it. His mom, Alice Stevenson, was the most bad-ass, wonderful person he had ever known, and he would tell anyone that in a heartbeat.
“So, which are you?” Her eyes moved over him again. His skin tingled wherever they landed, like a twitchy horse’s hide.
“Sorry?” he said again.
“Which kid? Middle mischief? Oldest and wisest? Or are you the baby?”
Sawyer laughed. “The baby. Or, as I tell Sam and Sasha, the one my parents got right at last.”
“Ahhh.” Carmen bobbed her head. “Not because you were the worst and they couldn’t bear the thought of another like you?” Her face was to the window, but he could hear a smile in her tone.
“Hey, now.” Sawyer pulled into the parking lot of the hotel and killed the engine. The silence, after the roar of the truck, was deafening. “I’m an angel. My momma tells me so all the time.”
That laugh again at last. The rich sound fanned the smouldering heat in his chest to a blaze that burned his cheeks.
“Three kids in my family, as well. I’m the middle child if that helps.” She glanced at him, her smile glinting in the truck’s dark interior. “You know what they say about us.”
The streetlights played through the strands of her hair, turning them to flame. When she blinked, the light sparked in her green eyes. “Yeah.” Sawyer nodded, pulling the keys out of the ignition before turning to her. “Trouble, nothing but trouble.”
SAWYER HELPED BRING Carmen’s bags into the lobby. He waited with the small pile of her belongings while she checked in. She had a battered duffel on the verge of bursting at the seams, a small carry-on with a pair of sneakers looped through the strap, and her purse—nothing else.
Sawyer wasn’t used to women who packed light and wore little makeup. The minimalism suited Carmen. She was earthy and sweet, her pale skin freckle-kissed and smooth. On the ride over, she had re-braided her deep red hair, taking more care this time. The floral scent had suffused the truck, obliterating the smells of oil and coffee.
An image flashed behind his lids, his hand with the rope of hair wrapped around it, pulling her down to meet him. Her full lips lowering to his. How would it feel to pull the braid apart with his fingers? Separate the strands of silk and set it loose to spread around her bare shoulders in a cloud. Sawyer shook his head and slid further back on the stained couch. He was going to embarrass himself if he wasn’t careful.
“Did you get anything to eat today?” Sawyer asked when she strode across the lobby to where he sat.
“I supped on a delightful granola bar. I found it at the bottom of my purse three hours ago. Does that count?”
Sawyer laughed. “I suppose, but if you’re not too full, there’s a bar in this place that sells abhorrent sandwiches. We overlook how awful they are since they carry a wide selection of alcohol to drown the taste.”
Carmen chuckled. “I will tell them about your rave review.”
Sawyer bent, hoisting her duffel onto his shoulder before swallowing, then blurting, “Unless you want some company?”
“I . . . yes, sure. Thanks. I would, actually.” She seemed surprised, maybe even a little flustered by his offer. No more flustered than him. His pulse was pounding in his throat. What the hell? He couldn’t remember if he had ever been in such a state over a girl. No, he corrected himself, Carmen wasn’t a girl. She was a woman.
“I’ll help you take these up to your room first.” Sawyer’s phone beeped, and he took it from his back pocket, realization hitting him when he saw the time and Sam’s name flash over the tiny screen. “Ahh, shit,” he muttered.
Chapter 3
“I FORGOT I PROMISED to watch the game tonight with my brother.” Sawyer’s long nose wrinkled, and he glanced up at Carmen through gold-tipped lashes.
Carmen laughed. “That has to be a record for the fastest anyone has stood me up.”
His handsome face flushed a deep pink, and Carmen experienced a brief flutter in her gut. She’d thought she was still dreaming when she stepped out of the tow truck and saw him there. Though Sawyer was as large as Dan, and sporting what were obviously inherited good looks, his colouring was lighter. Carmen wondered if it came from his mother. From the snippets Sawyer had told her, and having met Dan and Sawyer herself, Carmen was forming a mental image of quite a formidable lady. He was still watching her, embarrassment, and concern warring on his face. The urge to reach out and cup his cheek, to reassure him almost overcame her. “I’m kidding,” she said.
Sawyer gave her a sheepish grin. “Obviously. I mean, I know men aren’t the sharpest breed, but I know there are none stupid enough to stand you up.”
Carmen’s face heated. At a loss for words, she pushed her hands deep into her shorts’ pockets and rocked up on her toes. “Thank you for your help today; you and your dad saved my butt.”
“You’re going to be okay?” He glanced at the bruise on her cheek, then quickly stared down to the stained carpet. Lines creased the corners of his eyes as if it physically pained him to look at the mark.
A brief flare of frustration ignited in Carmen’s gut, but she tamped it down. It was hardly fair to allow the man’s rescue complex to annoy her. For all Sawyer knew, she was a woman on the run, battered all over.
Was she? On the run? The thought fuelled the anger she had been so careful to keep at a low burn. It seared up her throat in a rush, an emotional wave of acid. She had not had to run; it had been her choice to leave. There was a difference. Billy hadn’t driven her away, not really. What had happened between them had been brewing for some time, she should have left long before she did.
“I’m capable of taking care of myself.” She smiled and put her hand on Sawyer’s arm, taking the sting out of her words. “I’ll drown my sorrows in terrible sandwiches and wine before I hit the sack.”
With the amount of cash in her wallet, there wouldn’t be much drowning of anything, but Sawyer didn’t need to know that.
They reached the room that matched the number on her key—old school, no swipe cards here—and she inserted it into the lock. She gave a tentative sniff and winced as the door opened. At least she had a place to sleep, she thought, bullying her mind into positivity, even if she would share the abode with the fug of cigarettes and damp, old carpet.
Sawyer set down her bags in the corner by a dresser. It was a particleboard monstrosity, stained with water rings on top and tipping ever so slightly to one side. Breathing out, he rubbed his hands on his jeans and stepped to the door before pausing. The room seemed smaller when filled with his broad shoulders and worried looks. Carmen laid her hand on his arm again. She couldn’t help it. It appeared, somewhere between here and Vancouver, she’d become shameless.
“Sawyer, do you worry about all your clients this way?”
He had the good grace to flush and answer honestly. “No.”
She smiled at him, charmed despite her determination not to be. “Thank you, truly. I hope you have fun with your brother tonight.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow . . . about your car,” he added when Carmen raised a brow at him.
“Then I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Goodnight, Sawyer.” She watched as he backed out the door and could not resist a peek as he turned and headed down the hallway. Lord help her; she wasn’t sure she had ever seen a pair of jeans fit someone so perfectly. Making a strangled little noise in her throat, Carmen shut the door and bolted it before turning to dig through her duffel. She was starving and exhaustion weighted on her limbs like lead.
The bed, uninviting as it was, called to her, but her stomach’s growling won out. Digging a pair of jeans out of her bag, she pulled them on, grabbed her purse, unlatched the door, and headed out in search of the bar.
The place was dimly lit and smelled of decades’ worth of old cigarette smoke. An honest to God jukebox croaked out a song she only dimly recognized from its place in the corner.
The man behind the scuffed-up bar had more lines on his face than a sheet of notepaper. He jerked his chin at Carmen in greeting. “Drink?” he said. The single word a greeting and request all wrapped up in one.
“A glass of house red, please,” she said and settled herself on top of a ratty, vinyl-wrapped stool. The pathetic light bulb behind the bar swung from its ropy cord; its dingy light bounced off the dusty bottles, mesmerizing her as she waited.
A glance at the menu told her she barely had the cash for a sandwich and a glass of cheap wine. Shoving down the knot of anxiety, she ordered, then ate each bite methodically, filling the void inside of her, at least for the moment.
In the end, Carmen only paid for the first glass of wine. Men of varying degrees of scruffiness sent her over the next three. Carmen was unsure if the gesture flattered or frightened her, but, in a bought of optimism, she chose flattered and attempted to shut off her taste buds as she drank. The wine, as unappealing as it was, had the happy effect of blurring her emotions and allowing a pleasant blankness to overtake her. When she left, Carmen was careful not to stumble, though the acidic wine had gone straight to her head. The last thing she needed was to show any weakness in the middle of this crowd.
THE LONGEST DAY OF her life ended in a restless nights’ sleep that left Carmen confused and unsure of where she was when she awoke. After she had stared at the unassuming beige walls for the time it took to blink the stickiness from her eyes, yesterday’s events had all come rushing back. She rolled off the lumpy mattress with a groan, her brain rattling in her skull the way it only can after too much cheap wine.
Her stomach growled and clenched while she showered. Unsure if she was nauseous or hungry, Carmen stood, letting the cold spray rain over her, swallowing against the extra saliva in her mouth until her skin pebbled with goosebumps.
She dried slowly, pausing once or twice to brace herself against the sink, and breathed. She twisted her hair into a braid, and at last the rumbling convinced her to find breakfast. With a sigh that hurt her head on expulsion, she dressed, pulling clothes out of her abused duffel bag. Drawing a deep breath, Carmen settled herself to face the world.
An inquiry at the front desk led her to a café a couple of blocks from the hotel. She could have found the place by following her nose; the mouth-watering aroma of bacon clouded the little restaurant like a fog. Pushing through the door, Carmen paused, wincing as the chime announcing her presence threatened to fracture her skull.
The place was full of patrons, despite the early hour. Retirees sipped coffee, noses deep in their newspapers, only coming up long enough to comment to one another over choice tidbits from across tables. Carmen hovered a moment, letting it all wash over her before moving across the busy room to a seat in the far corner.
Remembering the two lonely twenties hiding in her wallet, Carmen held her breath and pulled a menu out of the holder. One step at a time, she told herself. She would make a plan as soon as she ate. Everything was better with a belly full of bacon. Buoyed with determination and the thought of food, Carmen smiled as the server approached her table.
“Are you ready to order?” The server, a woman about Carmen’s age, placed a glass of water on the table and pulled a pencil from the pile of dark curls on top of her head. Dimples dug into her cheeks when she smiled down at Carmen.
“I am. Thanks,” Carmen said.
“What would you like?” the girl asked, then waited, hipshot, her pen poised over the bundle of papers in her palm.
“The small breakfast, please. Bacon, scrambled eggs, and white toast,” Carmen said.
“Sounds good. Did you want a coffee, hun?”
Carmen glanced down at the condensation-glazed water glass and licked her lips. The thought of coffee made her mouth flood with longing. “How much is it?”
“Two bucks with tax and you get one free refill.”
Carmen considered a moment. What use was a couple extra dollars when she might not survive without caffeine flooding her veins? “Yes. Thank you, I’ll take a coffee.”
The girl studied her face for a long moment, dark brown eyes lingering on Carmen’s cheek, and her smile shifted from forced into genuine and sweet. She didn’t speak again, but she returned, cradling a large, steaming mug, and placed it in front of Carmen.
“I brought you the biggest cup we have.” She smiled. “This one is on me. Welcome to town.”
“How did you—” At that moment, a sharp ding from the kitchen bounced around the room, and she rushed off before Carmen could finish her sentence or offer a word of thanks.
Lacing her fingers around the mug of coffee, Carmen let the warmth seep through her hands and down, down into her soul. It was July, yet she couldn’t shake the chill that had wormed its way into her bones that last night in Vancouver. Carmen pushed the thought away and took a deep breath through her nose, pulling in the misty tendrils that rose from the porcelain mug. Then she added cream and stared, her mouth watering while the light and dark merged into the perfect shade before she lifted the rim to her lips. The first sips settled in her empty belly, and at long last, she felt human again.
