The Texan's Honor-Bound Promise. Peggy Moreland
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he drew his hand back to rest on the back of the sofa again. “Probably not, but in time I’ll prove I’m trustworthy.”
“Speaking of time…” She glanced at her wristwatch and rose. “I better get back to the shop. I’ve been away too long as it is.”
He stood and followed her to the door. “I hope you don’t mind, but I nosed around some in the garage this morning. Looks like you have all the tools I’ll need to get started on the car.”
She paused in the open doorway. “They were my brother’s. When I had his car towed over here, I had them bring his tools, too.”
With her back to him, he couldn’t see her expression, but he was sure he caught a hint of sadness in her voice.
“The two of you…” he began hesitantly. “Were you close?”
She stood there a long moment, then heaved a sigh and started down the stairs. “Yeah, we were.”
Two
Having lived in other areas of the world for the last several years, Sam had forgotten how hot Texas summers could get. In a matter of hours, the temperature in the garage rose from a slow simmer to a rolling boil, leaving him drenched in sweat and struggling for every breath.
After two days of sweltering in the garage, he decided a change of venue was necessary if he hoped to make any progress on the car. He scoped out possible locations, then raised the garage door and pushed the Mustang out onto the driveway. With the sun beating down on him like a blow-torch, he pushed and strained some more until he’d maneuvered the car beneath the shade of the breezeway.
Deciding that the new location was a bit more bearable, he fetched tools from the garage, then lay down on the creeper and pushed himself beneath the car to examine the underside.
After a careful inspection, he decided, considering its age, the undercarriage wasn’t in too bad a shape. Not that it was going to be easy to repair the damage that thousands of miles and years of neglect had inflicted. He tapped a wrench against a brace and was rewarded with a shower of powdery rust. No, he thought, dragging a hand across his eyes to clear them, this wasn’t going to be easy.
He used his boot heel to push the creeper along, following the line of the exhaust pipe to the rear of the car, and noted that rust corroded the entire system from the connection at the engine all the way to the rear bumper. Pulling a pencil stub and scrap of paper from his jeans pocket, he scribbled muffler and tailpipe on the growing list of parts he would need.
He was wheeling himself from beneath the car when he heard the scrape of footsteps on the drive. Hauling himself to his feet, he glanced in that direction and saw Craig heading up the drive.
Smiling a welcome, he pulled a rag from his back pocket to wipe his hands. “Hey, Craig! How’s it going?”
Craig shrugged but didn’t slow down. “All right, I guess.”
Sam gestured toward the car. “You’re just in time to help remove the exhaust pipe.”
“Got homework,” Craig mumbled and passed him by.
Sam watched him in silence, surprised by the kid’s refusal, as he specifically remembered Leah telling him the kid wanted to help with the restoration.
Shaking his head, he hunkered down in front of the rolling tool cart and selected a couple of wrenches from one of the drawers, then stretched out on the creeper again and wheeled himself beneath the car.
He wasn’t going to push, he told himself. If the kid wanted to help, he’d let him.
And if he didn’t…well, Sam would figure out a way to rope him into getting involved.
Leah braked to a stop on the drive, her eyes widening in dismay at the mess that blocked the breezeway and her normal path to the garage. In the middle of the destruction sat the Mustang, its hood up and its doors propped wide, looking like a bird preparing for flight. Tools of every description were scattered over the drive and along the car’s fenders. A muffler and a twisted tailpipe lay in the flower bed that ran along the side of the house, crushing the blooms of her geraniums.
Incensed, she leaped from her car and marched to the partially dismantled Mustang and the man whose head was hidden beneath the hood.
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she demanded angrily.
Sam drew his head from beneath the hood only far enough to look at her. “Working on the car. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Destroying my yard, that’s what!” She flung out an arm. “Just look at this mess! You’ve turned my driveway into a junkyard!”
“What the hell did you expect?” he asked impatiently. “A car has to be dismantled before it can be restored.”
Pulling a rag from his hip pocket, he straightened, dragging it down his face and chest. Her jaw dropped when she saw that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Glancing quickly around to see if any of the neighbors were watching, she grabbed him by the elbow and hustled him into the backyard. “You can’t parade around half-dressed,” she whispered angrily. “What will my neighbors think?”
He jerked his arm from her grasp. “I don’t give a tinker’s damn what your neighbors think. It’s hot as hell out here. Wearing a shirt makes it that much hotter.”
Flattening her lips, she folded her arms across her breasts. “I suppose I should be glad you didn’t take off your pants.”
He reached for the first button on his jeans. “Now that you mention it—”
She slapped his hand. “Don’t you dare!”
In the blink of an eye she found her hand in his grasp and her body thrust up against his, his face inches from her own.
“I’ve never struck a woman in my life,” he informed her coldly, “but slap at me again, and I might consider it.”
She gulped. “I—I just wanted to stop you from taking off your jeans.”
His scowl deepened. “Believe it or not, I have a few scruples, one of which is not bearing my ass in public. So there’s no need for you to worry that pretty little head of yours that I’ll strip naked and flash your snooty neighbors.
“And as far as the mess on your driveway goes,” he continued, “it’s too damn hot to work in the garage. I pushed the car out here, where I could get some air. But if having all this junk, as you call it, scattered around upsets your anal-retentive personality, you didn’t have to jump me about it. All you had to do was ask and I’d have moved it to the back and out of sight.”
He released her and took a step back. “Now,” he said, and used the rag to wipe his hands, “is there anything else bothering you?”
She gulped again. Swallowed. “N-no.”
“Good.” He stuffed the rag back into his hip pocket. “So? How was your day?”
Thrown off balance by his quick mood change, it took her a moment to find her voice. “B-busy.”
“Yeah, mine, too.” He picked up the wrench he’d set aside and returned it to the tool cart. “You ought to do something about that tension in your shoulders. It’s bad for your health.”
She started to roll her shoulders, then squared them instead. “I had a stressful day.”
“I take it Mrs. Snotgrass dropped by.”
She blinked, surprised that he’d remembered her client’s name. “Snodgrass,” she corrected. “And yes, she was in the shop this afternoon.”
He rolled the tool cart closer to the car. “I noticed there’s a spa attached to your pool. You ought to put it to use. Let it work out some of the kinks in your shoulders.”
“I’ll