Unstoppable (A Country Roads Novel) (30 page)

Twenty minutes later, with Paige’s Jeep on the back of the tow truck, they were on their way to the shop. Brendan glanced over at her as he drove. She was looking out the window with her back to him. Her shoulders were stiff and she looked like she’d probably had enough stress before her car had decided to die on her.

Brendan looked back at the road and cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry about what I said back there.”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her shift in her seat and he could feel her eyes on him.

“Thank you. I should have kept my mouth shut too. I just haven’t had the best day.”

“Why?” he asked, glancing over at her again.

Her body was angled toward him, but her arms were still folded across her chest like a shield. He couldn’t help but glance down and see that her dress was slowly riding up her thighs. She had nice thighs, soft but strong. They would be good for…well, a lot of things.

He quickly looked back at the road, thankful he was wearing sunglasses.

“I’ve been trying to get a job. Today I had an interview, except it wasn’t much of an interview.”

“What was it?” he asked.

“A setup.”

“A setup for what?”

“That
is
the question,” she said bitterly.

“Huh?” he asked, looking at her again.

“I’m assuming you know who Bethelda Grimshaw is?”

Brendan’s blood pressure had a tendency to rise at the mere mention of that name. Knowing that Bethelda had a part in Paige’s current mood had Brendan’s temper flaring instantly.

“What did she do?” he asked darkly.

Paige’s eyebrows raised a fraction at his tone. She stared at him for a second before she answered. “There was a job opening at the Mirabelle Information Center to take pictures for the brochures and the local businesses for their Web site. They filled the position last week, something that Mrs. Grimshaw failed to mention when she called this morning to confirm my interview.”

“She’s looking for her next story.”

“What?”

“Bethelda Grimshaw is Mirabelle’s resident gossip,” Brendan said harshly as he looked back to the road. “She got fired from the newspaper a couple of years ago because of the trash she wrote. Now she has a blog to spread her crap around.”

“And she wants to write about me? Why?”

“I can think of a few reasons.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, her voice going up an octave or two.

“Your ability to fly off the handle. Did you give her something to write about?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he spared a glance at her.

“No,” she said, bunching her full lips together. “I saved my freak-out for you.”

“I deserved it. I wasn’t exactly nice to you,” Brendan said, shifting his hands down the steering wheel.

“You were a jerk.”

Brendan came to a stop at a stop sign and turned completely in his seat to face Paige. Her eyebrows rose high over her sunglasses and she held her breath.

“I was, and I’m sorry,” he said, putting every ounce of sincerity into his words.

“It’s…I forgive you,” she said softly and nodded her head.

Brendan turned back to the intersection and made a right. Paige was silent for a few moments, but he could feel her gaze on him as if she wanted to say something.

“What?”

“Why does buck urine attract males and females?”

Brendan couldn’t help but smile.

“Bucks like to fight each other,” he said, looking at her.

“Oh.” She nodded and leaned back in her seat staring out the front window.

“You thirsty?” Brendan asked as he grabbed one of the waters in the cup holder and held it out to her.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, grabbing it and downing half of the bottle.

“Who were the other interviews with?” Brendan asked, grabbing the other bottle for himself. He twisted the cap off and threw it into the cup holder.

“Landingham Printing and Design. Mrs. Landingham said I wouldn’t be a good fit. Which is completely false because the program they use is one that I’ve used before.”

Now he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Uh, Paige, I can tell you right now why you didn’t get that job. Mrs. Landingham didn’t want you around Mr. Landingham.”

“What?” she said, sitting up in her seat again. “What did she think I was going to do, steal her husband? I don’t make plays on married men. Or men in their forties for that matter.”

“Did you wear something like what you’re wearing now to the interview?” he asked, looking at her and taking another eyeful of those long legs.

“I wore a black blazer with this. It’s just so hot outside that I took it off.”

“Maybe you should try wearing pants next time, and flats,” he said before he took a sip of water.

“What’s wrong with this dress?” she asked, looking down at herself. “It isn’t that short.”

“Sweetheart, with those legs, anything looks short.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart. And it isn’t my fault I’m tall.”

“No, it isn’t, but people think the way they think.”

“So southern hospitality only goes so far when people think you’re a whore.”

“Hey, I didn’t say that. I was just saying that your legs are long without those shoes that you’re currently wearing. With them, you’re pretty damn intimidating.”

“Let’s stop talking about my legs.”

“Fine.” He shrugged, looking back to the road. “But it is a rather visually stimulating conversation.”

“Oh no. You are
not
allowed to flirt with me.”

“Why not?”

“You were mean to me. I do
not
flirt with mean men.”

“I can be nice,” he said, turning to her and giving her a big smile.

“Stop it,” she said, raising her eyebrows above her glasses in warning. “I mean it.”

“So what about some of the other interviews? Who were they with?”

“Lindy’s Frame Shop, that art gallery over on the beach—”

“Avenue Ocean?”

“Yeah, that one. And I also went to Picture Perfect. They all said I wasn’t a good fit for one reason or another,” she said dejected.

“Look, I’m really not one to get involved in town gossip. I’ve been on the receiving end my fair share of times and it isn’t fun. But this is a small town, and everybody knows one another’s business. Since you’re new, you have no idea. Cynthia Bowers at Picture Perfect would’ve never hired you. Her husband has monogamy issues. The owner of Avenue Ocean, Mindy Trist, doesn’t like anyone that’s competition.”

“Competition?”

Mindy Trist was a man-eater. Brendan knew this to be a fact because Mindy had been trying to get into his bed for years. He wasn’t even remotely interested.

“You’re prettier than she is.”

Understatement of the year.

Paige was suddenly silent on her side of the truck.

“And as for Hurst and Marlene Lindy,” Brendan continued, “they, uh, tend to be a little more conservative.”

“Look,” she said, snapping out of her silence.

Brendan couldn’t help himself, her sudden burst of vehemence made him look at her again. If he kept this up he was going to drive into a ditch.

“I know I might appear to be some free-spirited hippie, but I’m really not. I’m moderate when it comes to politics,” she said, holding up one finger. “I eat meat like it’s nobody’s business.” Two fingers. “And I’ve never done drugs in my life.” Three fingers.

“You don’t have to convince me,” he said, shaking his head. “So I’m sensing a pattern here with all of these jobs. Are you a photographer?”

“Yes, but I do graphic design and I paint.”

“So a woman of many talents.”

“I don’t know about that,” she said, shaking her head.

“Oh, I’m sure you have a lot of talent. It’s probably proportional to the length of your legs.”

“What did I tell you about flirting?” she asked seriously, but betrayed herself when the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Look, Paige, don’t let it get to you. Not everyone is all bad.”

“So I’ve just been fortunate enough to meet everyone who’s mean.”

“You’ve met me.”

“Yeah, well, the jury’s still out on you.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to prove myself.”

“I guess so,” she said, leaning back in her seat. Her arms now rested in her lap, her shield coming down a little.

“I have a question,” Brendan said, slowing down at another stop sign. “If you eat meat, why do you have such a problem with hunting?”

“It just seems a little barbaric. Hiding out in the woods to shoot Bambi and then mounting his head on a wall.”

“Let me give you two scenarios.”

“Okay.”

“In scenario one, we have Bessie the cow. Bessie was born in a stall, taken away from her mother shortly after birth where she was moved to a pasture for a couple of years, all the while being injected with hormones and then shoved into a semi truck where she was shipped off to be slaughtered. And I don’t think that you even want me to get started on that process.

“In scenario two, we have Bambi. Bambi was born in the wilderness and wasn’t taken away from his mother. He then found a mate, had babies, and one day was killed. He never saw it coming. Not only is Bambi’s meat hormone free, but he also lived a happy life in the wild, with no fences.

“Now you tell me, which scenario sounds better: Being raised to be slaughtered, or living free where you might or might not be killed.”

She was silent for a few moments before she sighed.

“Fine, you win. The second sounds better.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Brendan said as he pulled into the parking lot of King’s Auto. “How are you getting home?” he asked as he put the truck into park.

“I called my dad after I called you. He’s here actually,” she said, pointing to a black Chevy Impala.

They both got out of the truck and headed toward the auto shop. Brendan held the door open for Paige, shoving his sunglasses into his shirt pocket. His grandfather and a man who Brendan recognized as Paige’s father stood up from their chairs as Brendan and Paige walked in.

Trevor Morrison was a tall man, maybe six foot four or six foot five. He had light reddish-brown wispy hair on his head and large glasses perched on his nose. And like his daughter, his face and arms were covered in freckles.

“Hi, Daddy,” Paige said, pushing her glasses up her nose and into her hair.

Brendan immediately noticed the change in her voice. Her cautious demeanor vanished and her shoulders relaxed. He’d caught a glimpse of this in the truck, but not to this extent.

“Mr. Morrison,” Brendan said, taking a step forward and sticking his hand out.

Trevor grabbed Brendan’s hand firmly. “Brendan,” he said, giving him a warm smile and nodding his head. Trevor let go of Brendan’s hand and turned to his daughter. “Paige, this is Oliver King,” he said, gesturing to Brendan’s grandfather, who was standing behind his desk. “Oliver, this is my daughter, Paige.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Oliver said, moving out from behind his desk and sticking out his hand.

Paige moved forward past Brendan, her arm brushing his as she passed.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” she said, grabbing Oliver’s hand.

Oliver nodded as he let go of Paige’s hand and looked up at Brendan. “So what happened?”

Paige turned to look at Brendan too. It was the first time he’d gotten a full look at her face without her sunglasses on. She had long dark eyelashes that framed her large gray irises. It took him a second to remember how to speak. He cleared his throat and looked past her to the other two men.

“It’s the radiator. I’m going to have to order a new one, so it’s going to take a few days.”

“That’s fine,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “It’s not like I have anywhere to go.”

Trevor’s face fell. “The interview didn’t go well?”

“Nope,” Paige said, shaking her head. The tension in her shoulders came back but she tried to mask it by pasting a smile on her face. He desperately wanted to see a genuine, full-on smile from her.

“Things haven’t exactly gone Paige’s way since she moved here,” Trevor said.

“Oh, I think my bad luck started long before I moved here,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. Every time she did that, it pushed her breasts up and it took everything in Brendan not to stare.

“I don’t think it was Paige’s fault,” Brendan said and everyone turned to look at him. “It was with Bethelda Grimshaw,” he said to Oliver.

“Oh,” Oliver said, shaking his head ruefully. “Don’t let anything she says get to you. She’s a horrible hag.”

Paige laughed and the sound of it did funny things to Brendan’s stomach.

“Told you,” Brendan said, looking at her. Paige turned to him, a small smile lingering on her lips and in her eyes.

God, she was beautiful.

“Things will turn around,” Oliver said. “We’ll call you with an estimate before we do anything to your car.”

They said their good-byes and as Paige walked out with her father she gave Brendan one last look, her lips quirking up slightly before she shook her head and walked out the door.

“I don’t believe any of that nonsense people are saying about her,” Oliver said as they both watched Paige and her dad walk out. “She’s lovely.”

Lovely?
Yeah, that wasn’t exactly the word Brendan would have used to describe her.

Hot?
Yes.
Fiery?
Absolutely.

“Yeah, she’s something alright.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you aren’t a fan of hers. Son, you barely took your eyes off her.”

“I’m not denying she’s beautiful.” How could he? “I bet she’s a handful though and she’s got a temper on her, along with a smart mouth.” But he sure did like that smart mouth.

“That’s a bit of the pot calling the kettle black,” Oliver said, raising one bushy eyebrow. “If all of her experiences in this town have been similar to what Bethelda dishes out, I’m not surprised she’s turned on the defense. You know what it’s like to be the center of less than unsavory gossip in this town. To have a lot of the people turn their backs on you and turn you into a pariah,” Oliver said, giving Brendan a knowing look.

“I know,” Brendan conceded. “She deserves a break.”

“You should help her find a job.”

“With who?”