Turn Up the Heat (12 page)

Well, that explained the look on Jackson's face. Shit. “I've got to call Grady and make sure he's tight.”

“I saw him last night at Joe's, along with everybody else in town,” Jackson said. “Looked like he had enough to tide him over.”

Shane exhaled. Grady was no stranger to Blue Ridge winters, but still. Shane didn't want him stuck with empty cupboards. “You're heading out, then?”

Jackson cracked a grin. “Hell, yes, although this one's going to be a bitch. Mix of ice and snow, and the wind is supposed to get downright nasty.” He paused to shudder. “Still, working for a plowing company this time of year, it's like nickels and dimes falling from the sky, baby. Bring on the snow, I say.”

“Yeah, I'd better get some salt out. Bet we'll get a couple of people who need hauling out from ditches.” This was standard winter fare in the mountains. Shane walked over to the bags of salt and sand they kept stored on the far wall of the garage.

“I've got a little time before I have to check in, if you want help,” Jackson offered, tossing his cell phone and his wallet on the workbench and rolling up his sleeves.

“Thanks, man. I appreciate it. Let me call Grady and tell him to stay put. It looks like we're going to be in for a long haul.”

 

 

Bellamy burrowed deeply under the luxurious down comforter on her bed, cocooning herself in blissful warmth as she woke up slowly with a big, fat grin on her face. She, Holly, and Jenna spent hours stuffing themselves silly with bite after bite of Carly di Matisse's pure culinary magic. To top it all off, Chase had come through in flying colors, arranging a little meet-and-greet at the end of the night that had Bellamy halfway to the breathing-into-a-paper-bag route. Carly had been so nice, and even graciously listened to Bellamy babble on about how she'd made the “couples special” cedar-plank salmon for her parents' special anniversary dinner, complete with the haricots verts and garlic-roasted fingerling potatoes.

No doubt about it, Bellamy'd had the night of her life and things were getting back to good. Or they would be, if only she could find the source of whatever was giving up that incessant beeping noise and make it go far, far away. She fumbled for the alarm clock, wondering what had possessed her to set it in the first place.

Oh, wait. It was her cell phone that was chiming away like a church choir, and it wasn't even nine in the morning yet. She yanked it under the pillow to meet her ear, trying her best not to mumble. “Hello?”

“Bellamy, we've had a change of plans. I'm going to need the Anderson contract this afternoon.”

Well good morning to you, too, O Mighty Ruler of the Underworld.
“I'm, um, not in until tomorrow,” Bellamy replied, trying to get her bearings and wipe the sleep from her eyes.

Bosszilla's voice made nails on a chalkboard sound like a symphony, and the dreamy memory of Bellamy's night shrank into the recesses of her mind.

“Well the world doesn't stop just because you've decided to skip town. The client wants to move forward, and I'm not inclined to say no.”

Bellamy dragged a deep breath into her lungs, cursing herself for looking at the yogi's ass yesterday rather than paying attention to what he'd said about finding her inner Zen. “There was no rush on this when you gave it to me last week, and a lot of the legwork is already done, but—”

“Well, the deadline is close of business today. You're not giving me a whole lot of choice here.” The icy implication hung between them.

Bellamy's brain finally kicked into gear. “Why didn't you just tell me you needed it sooner? I'd have prepared it before I left if I'd known you were going to need it so fast.” She pushed the covers from her legs, swinging her feet to the carpet.

“What are you implying?” Bosszilla's tone hit arctic levels.

“I'm not implying anything.” Bellamy reached for a deep breath, anger welling in her chest to cancel out any last remnants of euphoria from the night before. “I'm just saying—”

Her boss cut her off again. “What you're doing is wasting time, and frankly, I'm sick of these little games. I'm telling you I need that presentation on my desk, complete, by close of business today. Unless you're interested in coming back to clean out your desk.”

Something thick and hot snapped from the anger in Bellamy's chest, pushing the words out of her mouth before she could rope them back in. “If you needed that contract reviewed so quickly, you should've said so in the first place, rather than dropping the ball and pinning your ineptitude on me.” Momentum coursed through her, double-dog-daring her to speak her mind, and the feeling that swirled like an ominous wind in her gut spilled out with the words. “You want that thing by COB today? Then roll up your sleeves and do it yourself, because I
quit
,” she ground out, pitching her phone onto the bed with a satisfying
whump
.

Her gratification lasted for all of six seconds, and then she realized what she'd done. Oh, God. Oh God oh God oh God.

She'd quit her job.

“Bellamy? Are you okay? We heard you from the hallway.” Holly stopped short as she rushed into the room, clad in her pajamas and a very worried expression that only got deeper when she saw Bellamy's face.

“I, uh. I don't think so. I just quit my job.” She sank to the carpet, dread washing over every inch of her. What had she
done
?

“Are you kidding me?” Jenna breathed, standing wide-eyed in the doorway behind Holly.

Bellamy shook her head weakly. “No.” Her mind reeled, so many thoughts flying around that not one of them had a prayer of sticking. She took a deep breath and blurted out a recap before she could lose her nerve, but the retelling only instilled more panic.

“Okay, honey. This is going to be okay.” Holly went into red-alert crisis mode, sitting down on the carpet next to Bellamy and taking her hand.

Her stomach lurched. “How is this going to be okay? I quit my
job
, Holly. What am I going to do now?” Bellamy's brain went right back to the spin-cycle, refusing to let her string together any more thoughts than that.

“You're going to find another job, that's what.” Jenna's blunt words made a chink in Bellamy's spiraling dread, and she blinked up at her friend.

“Bellamy, listen to me. This is not the end of the world, okay?” Jenna knelt down to look Bellamy in the eye. “Look, we'll go home tonight, and you can think it through. If you feel like you made a mistake, you can go from there, maybe file a complaint with the VP. It's not like Bosszilla's behavior didn't warrant some kind of reaction from you. She all but strong-armed you into it, for Chrissake. Plus, your track record speaks for itself, and it'll go a long way toward giving you options.” Her calm, controlled voice brought Bellamy's sheer terror down a notch, but just barely.

“Is one of my options to throw up?”

“I guess if you need to. Just watch my slippers, would you?”

She loved Jenna more than words right now.

Tears sprang to Bellamy's eyes, and she swallowed hard as she did her best to blink them away. Jenna was right. This wasn't the end of the world. It
couldn't
be.

Oh, God, how was she going to get another job with the words
hissy fit
stamped across the top of her résumé?

All three women jumped at the unmistakable sound of Bellamy's phone ringing from where it lay half buried on the duvet. Bellamy dropped her face to her hands, unable to think clearly yet.

“I can't talk to her right now, honestly. Please, just turn the damn thing off.”

Holly sprang into action, plucking the phone from the bed. “I've got you covered,” she said, scooping up the phone to take it away.

“Bellamy, I mean it. You're a tough cookie. This is going to be okay.” Jenna sat down next to the spot where Bellamy slumped against the bed frame with her elbows propped on her knees.

She gave up a tiny nod that looked more like the tremble of her chin than anything else. “I know, it's just . . .” Bellamy's words died out as she caught sight of Holly's expression, both puzzled and reticent. “What?” Jeez. Bosszilla couldn't have cleaned out Bellamy's desk
that
quickly, could she? An image of all her stuff scattered across the city block where the bank's offices stood flashed across her mind, and she felt a wave of panic swoop in for the kill.

“No. Uh, it wasn't your boss.” Holly exchanged a glance with Jenna so quickly that Bellamy might have missed it. Except she knew that look from a mile away. It was a warning look that things were about to get worse.

How could life
possibly
get worse?

“It was Grady's Garage. And whoever called left a message.”

“Hi, you've reached the voice mailbox of Bellamy Blake. I'm not available right now . . .”

Jesus. Even prerecorded, she sounded hot as hell.

Shane shifted uncomfortably in the archaic desk chair in the office, watching the steady snowfall on the other side of the frost-edged windowpanes. As Bellamy's voice mail let out a soft beep, he straightened in his seat as if she could see him.

“Hey, Bellamy, it's, ah, Shane, from the garage.”
Right. Because she knows so many Shanes. Idiot
. “I'm afraid I have some bad news about your transmission.” His eyes flicked over the information he'd gotten from the distributor's website, and he frowned. “I know I promised you I'd be done by Friday, but I've run into a bit of a problem. So just call me when you get this. I'll be at the garage.” Shane left the number, then pressed the button on the cordless to end the call. He knew she was already pretty irritated, and this wasn't going to do anything to make him more endearing, but it's not like he had any say in the matter.

Shane had already given the fast-talking manager at the distributing warehouse his best shot, trying to nice-guy him into putting a rush on the order. But Bellamy's new transmission was stuck in the same snowstorm that was currently doing its damnedest to sideline a good chunk of the East Coast. Far be it for Shane to mess with Mother Nature. That tranny would just have to wait, and irritated or not, Bellamy would have to wait right along with it.

Making sure the ringer on the phone was turned up high, Shane flipped the radio on. Bach's Cello Suite No. 1 drifted from the speakers, loosening the morning's grip on his muscles. He looked at the Mustang, its lines stark in the overcast shadows thrown through the windows, and something tightened in his chest. Running his palm down the driver's side quarter panel, he walked alongside the car with reverence, taking his time to look at it from every angle.

He knew the money he'd get from working on Bellamy's car was a temporary fix, a delay of the inevitable. The Mustang would have to go, and even then, it wouldn't be nearly enough. When he'd come to Pine Mountain, there were no grand illusions, no intentions of anything permanent. No plans for it to become what Shane had known, deep down, he'd been made for from the beginning.

Funny thing about life. Sometimes it did its own thing and you were just at its mercy, hoping you came out okay once the dust cleared. Of course, there was one way Shane could make the whole thing disappear, erase the problem as if it had never existed and right the debt he'd struggled to repay.

No. The option was a non-option. He'd sell the car; hell, he'd sell everything he owned including the shirt off his back before he sold the one thing that meant the most to him.

After all, his soul was the only thing Shane had that he couldn't buy back.

Shane popped the hood and started tinkering with the car, just grateful to have it under his hands. It was harder than usual to slip into a calming groove, but after a while, his mind let go and he gave in to the feel of the sleek steel and intricate details, as if he could memorize them by touch.

A dual slice of halogen high beams cut through the front windows of the garage, snapping his head up in surprise. He squinted through the glass, trying to make out the vehicle in the lot.

“Jackson. Gotta be,” Shane muttered, pushing off from the car.

Jackson had called about an hour ago to say he'd left his wallet behind when he'd tossed it on the workbench to help Shane spread salt. He was probably coming by in the plow to grab it. The snow was really coming down now, so whoever it was had to be driving one hell of a truck, or better yet, a tank. The mountain roads were merciless in bad weather, even for the locals. Without four wheel drive, you didn't have much beyond a prayer.

The side door banged open on a gust of wind, and Shane's brows nearly lifted off the top of his head at the sight before him. Bellamy Blake stood as tall as her five-foot-six frame would let her, with her hands on her hips and her slush-coated boots planted firmly over the concrete floor. Big, fluffy snowflakes lay scattered throughout her blond curls, and her face was flushed through with what looked like an even mix of anger and cold.

“What do you
mean
you've run into a problem?” she demanded, pressing her lips into a thin line.

Shane opened his mouth, but his vocal cords were noncompliant. Had she seriously driven here in the middle of a snowstorm to pick a fight with him over her car?

And was he seriously turned on beyond measure at the sight of her?

“The parts are in Ohio,” Shane managed, and she narrowed her eyes on him.

“But you said they'd be shipped today,” she said, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

Shane rebounded, gesturing toward the windows. “Well, yeah, before Armageddon out there changed course. The trucks are all snowed in, Bellamy. They can't leave until the storm stops. Getting here—getting
anywhere
—on mountain roads in weather like this is next to impossible.” He served her with a disbelieving stare. “Did you actually come out here in the middle of a snowstorm to argue with me about your car?”

Bellamy didn't flinch. “Yes. Is that . . . Beethoven?” Her face crinkled in confusion, and she turned to stare at the old radio as if she'd never seen one before in her life.

“Bach. How the hell did you get here?” Shane took a few steps toward her to look out the window at the side lot.

“Jenna's BMW.”

God, she was certifiable. She could've been killed a dozen ways in this weather in a car like that. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

“I already have a mother, thanks. So what do I have to do to get the transmission here?” The stubborn look returned to her face with a vengeance.

Shane laughed without humor. “You have to wait, that's what.”

“But you said Friday!”

“Jesus, Bellamy! I'm good, but I can't control the goddamn weather!”

The tears that filled her eyes took him by complete surprise.

“One thing,” she murmured in a voice so quiet that Shane barely heard her. “All I wanted was
one thing
out of this whole disastrous week to go right. I can't even get stranded in the mountains without it blowing up in my face.” She closed her eyes and took a deep, trembling breath. “I'm sorry I came out here to yell at you. I just . . . I just . . .” Tears started to flow from beneath Bellamy's closed eyelids, and her breath made her chest hiccup under the cream-colored sweater she wore. “I'll be at the resort. Just call me when you have an update.”

“Bellamy, wait.” Shane took a couple more steps toward her, until he was within arm's reach. “You can't drive back to the resort in weather like this. You'll never make it.” The wind howled, rattling the windowpanes for good measure.

“Don't be ridiculous. I made it here just fine,” she said, but there was no fire in her voice. She turned her face from his, presumably to hide her tears.

He stepped right in front of her. “You don't look just fine.”

All the heat he'd felt when he'd seen her standing in the doorway coalesced into something a lot softer but just as strong, and Shane's hands moved before he could register the thought that he'd commanded them to.

“I'm sorry about your car.” Without thinking, he lifted a hand and brushed a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

Her eyes jerked open and flew to his, and he froze. “I, uh. I didn't mean to, well. You know.”

Ah, hell. He shouldn't have touched her.

But then she leaned against his shoulder, fighting the sobs even as they escaped from her chest, and Shane was powerless not to put his arms around her and gather her in.

 

 

The thought crossed Bellamy's mind, somewhere in the way back, but it was drowned out by the moronic bawling she just couldn't stop. Shane put his arms around her, steady and unyielding, which only egged the waterworks on.

“I could handle the stupid Derek thing, you know? That would've been fine. It
is
fine,” she rambled into Shane's chest. “And my boss, I don't know, ex-boss, I guess. If I hadn't lost my cool, that would've been okay, I could've sucked it up.” More shaky breathing, during which Shane patted her hair. Oh, God, here came more tears. “But I really do hate my career, even if I couldn't admit it until now, so where does that leave me? And now, with the car, I just heard your message and snapped. I have no control over anything, and it's just . . . it's . . .”

Nope. She was no good. The tears took over, and Bellamy couldn't do anything but let them have their way as she blubbered into Shane's chest.

“Okay. Hey, it's okay,” he whispered into her hair, squeezing his arms around her shoulders and enveloping her with that intoxicating, woodsy scent.

Bellamy's throat knotted around another sob. “It is
so
not okay! I have no job, I hate my chosen field, and my ex-boyfriend is a consummate ass. I'm stuck in the mountains, which probably wouldn't be too bad, except that I'm standing here like a total basket case, bawling over something I can't control.” Surely, the ground was late for its cue to open up and swallow her whole. Bellamy gave a loud, ungraceful sniffle, followed by a groan. “And I'm getting snot on your shirt!”

Shane's chest rumbled beneath her cheek, and her head sprang up in shock.

“Are you laughing at me?”

Shane pulled his head back and blanked his expression, but his twinkling eyes gave him away. “No! Not at all.”

But it
was
kind of funny. In a pathetic meltdown kind of way.

“You totally are,” she accused without anger, a tiny smile dancing on her mouth.

Shane's cough was completely contrived as he tried to cover up a laugh. “Okay, but only about the snot thing, I swear.”

Oh, crap! She yanked her arms out from around him and covered her face with both hands, realizing that now she had no recourse but to wipe her disgusting nose with either her fingers or her sleeve. Could she get any more downright gross? Now he probably thought she was off her rocker
and
had terrible hygiene.

He laughed again, this time out loud. “Come on. There's a bathroom in the office.”

Bellamy shook her head, trying to surreptitiously give her nose a delicate swipe with her fingers. “I'm really sorry. I'm such a jerk.” She followed him through the garage, and he stepped back to usher her into the small office.

“Tell you what. Let's call it a draw, since I was a jerk the other night. What do you say? Truce?”

She nodded and sniffled. “Truce.”

“You won't be offended if I wait until after you've washed your hands to shake on it, will you?” The corners of his mouth kicked up into a smirk.

“You're funny.” Bellamy tried her damnedest to glower, but she was chuckling too hard.

Shane's laughter eased into a smile. “Take your time, okay?”

After doing a decent enough salvage job on her appearance, she washed her hands twice for good measure and walked back out into the garage.

“I made a pot of coffee, if you want some.” Shane jutted his five o'clock shadow at the coffeepot sitting on the workbench. The aroma wafting from it was pure heaven.

“That sounds great.” She leaned against the bench with one hip while he poured. “So are you really not going to let me drive Jenna's car back to the resort?”

He sent out a look that suggested she was nuts. “Have you seen the drop-off over the guardrails on the main road?”

Bellamy swallowed hard at the memory of the steep slopes. Okay, so it might be a teensy bit dangerous now that the snow was really coming down. But still, it wasn't as if she could walk back to the resort. “Well, how am I supposed to get back, then?”

“I can take you in the truck. I'm going to head out of here pretty soon anyway. I can't do anything without those car parts, and it looks like it's only getting worse out there.” As if on cue, the wind battered the side of the garage, gusting snow against the wall in an angry scatter.

Bellamy shivered and threaded her fingers around the coffee mug Shane had offered her. “Does it snow like this a lot up here?”

“Yeah, but it's not usually the national crisis that everyone in the city makes it out to be.”

“Considering that snowplows in Philly are a dime a dozen, you'd think getting dumped on there wouldn't be such a big deal,” she agreed. “Although this storm looks kind of nasty.”

“Yeah, we had one just before Christmas that was about this bad.” He paused, his dark eyes resting on her. “You'll probably be stuck here for another day or so, regardless of the transmission thing. That Beamer won't make it anywhere until the roads are cleared.”

She sighed. At this point, the only thing she had to look forward to was filing for unemployment. And telling her parents she'd impulsively quit her job. Ugh. On second thought, let it snow. “Jenna and Holly will need to get back, and now they're my only way home. I'll have to find a way to come back and get it when you're done, I guess.” Her eyes swept the space around them, settling on the car he'd been working on both times she'd arrived at the garage. “It won't be taking up space you need, will it?”

Shane shrugged and gave a smile, only it seemed forced. “I think you'll be fine.” He looked at the car again, his eyes lingering, and hers followed.

The metal was the uneven dark gray of primer, and although it was clearly a sports car, it was nothing like her zippy little Miata. No, this car had a rough, masculine edge to it, more leather-jacket tough than two-seater flashy.