All That You Are (7 page)

She'd never gotten involved with a customer. Nor would she. As the owner, she set herself apart from the crowd. She didn't mind if Presley or Leo and Walt made connections. She just felt that as the proprietor, people ought to have propriety around her. It was all about respect.

But there were times when a good-looking man came in, and she wanted to amend her personal rule. Many had tried to get her to change her mind. She had never yielded.

She'd dated plenty before Terran, and while not so much after his birth, she wasn't seriously looking. If the right guy happened to come along, it happened. She wouldn't shut the door. There had been a few guys who'd been nice enough, but the spark just hadn't been there. Not even in their good-night kisses…Kisses she'd hungered for, had put her best effort into, but she'd felt nothing more than a crackle—not a snap and pop.

There was something to be said about a hot kiss that could curl her toes, make her want to fuse herself into the man delivering it. Too bad she hadn't felt that since…

Damn
.

Stupid Cooper Boyd.

Dana checked the time, then glanced out the window. The watchdog was still out there. Didn't he have anyplace to go? The loser.

With that, she laughed at her false misnomer.

Mark Moretti was anything but a loser.

The contact of his hand, the strong feel of his fingers wrapped around hers, had done strange things to her insides. She'd felt as if her blood sped in different directions. The second he touched her, a cocktail of emotions invaded her body.

That he could evoke such a strong awareness in her, and by only taking her hand—God help her if he ever tried to do anything else physical. If a simple touch could affect her, how would she react to his kiss?

Dana groaned.

Her wildly beating heart was the only sound in the bar. She'd shut off the jukebox long ago. All the lights were off except the one at the back bar. Everything was good to go. Just like she was.

Another glance out the window. Still there.

Leave, Moretti!
she screamed inside her head.

His talk about the parking lot being a danger zone had given her a mild case of paranoia. She had never had a moment's trouble leaving the bar at night. Usually Leo or Walt was walking out with her, and on those nights they weren't, she hadn't felt afraid to head for her car.

Ketchikan had its fair share of transient drunks who
tried to stay dry in various buildings. For the most part, they were harmless. And the crimes were more often to property and not people. Although assaults occurred. She wasn't stupid. She'd got into the habit of carrying a can of mace in her purse, as well as a whistle on her key chain.

Tired and stressed, she wanted to go home. But she had the sinking feeling that Mark would wait her out. And win.

There was no point in stalling any longer.

So, on a resigned sigh, Dana locked the bar, then headed for her 1989 blue S-10 Chevy pickup.

Ignoring Mark, she walked past him with her gaze straight ahead. But she could make him out in her peripheral vision. Muscular and on the alert, he stood with big arms folded over his chest and leaned into the tailgate of his truck.

She didn't want to talk to him anymore.

Trying to fit her key into the lock, she didn't like that her aim was unsteady. What was it about this man that could unhinge her so badly? Her response toward him encompassed more than chaos in her heart. His presence rattled her thoughts, her actions. She couldn't prevent her pulse from triggering swiftly and misfiring.

Glancing at Mark, she tossed her purse onto the bench seat then turned over the engine, anxious to be out of here.

Only the engine didn't start.

She tried once more. Nothing.

And again. Nothing, not even a click.

Dead, dead, dead.

Of all the unbelievable luck. Her battery was dead.

Her hands on the steering wheel, she saw Mark push away from the full-size truck, his tall figure heading toward her. Under the low lights, his hair seemed blacker. A recollection of the faint strands of silver caught in her mind.

He had on a lightweight black jacket that remained unzipped, displaying his broad chest and the crew-neck T-shirt underneath. Boot-cut jeans fit him nicely in the legs and hips. And everywhere else.

She was digging inside her purse for her cell to call Leo when a soft rap on her window made her stop. Mark stood directly outside and motioned with his hand to lower the glass.

Dread over the inevitable filled her as she cranked the window down a few inches.

“Pop the hood,” he commanded, and she was all but ready to tell him no. But the heavy-lidded look in his eyes was serious—he meant business.

She felt for the release and pulled it.

Mark leaned over the engine, fiddling with wires.

She gave him a few seconds to feel macho about trying, then she slipped out of the S-10 to stand beside him.

“It's dead,” she announced with a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “It's been touchy lately.”

Turning toward her, he cocked his head. “And you're driving it knowing it's not reliable?”

Indignance furrowed her brows. “Hey—it starts most of the time and when it doesn't, a jump will get it going.”

Raking his hair back from his forehead, he smirked. “Now if that isn't just like a woman.”

Rather than say another word, she released a slow
and deep breath. Closing her eyes, she began to count to ten, something she did when she got angry with Terran when he did something wrong. Usually, that ten-count gave her enough of a lapse that she calmed down to talk reasonably with him.

Three…four…

Thinking about anything else but her truck, she let her mind drift.
Seven
. The aviation office. The photograph. Yes, anyone could see it. She loved that picture.

But she didn't want Mark asking questions about her dad and her brother, Terrance. She hadn't been up for the inquiry…and the inevitable “I'm sorry.” Nobody was more sorry than her, but it had happened long enough ago that she'd moved on the best she'd been able to. She wasn't healed. She didn't think she'd ever be.

Eight…nine…

Ten.

She opened her eyes, watching Mark's wristwatch glint under the parking-lot light as he moved something over the battery. Her concentration to keep herself in check shattered as she caught a hint of his insufferable grin.

“What are you doing?” Against her will, she peeked over his shoulder to see what he was up to.

Facing her, he stated his observation. “You've got yourself a problem.”

“You?”

The response was uttered before she could take it back, and she had to admit, watching his smile disappear did add a slight satisfaction.

“No, smarty. Your battery cable's corroded. You got any tools in that box behind your cab?”

The diamond-plated toolbox had seen better days. It was the catchall for stuff she didn't want getting wet from the rain. To her credit, she did keep a small tool kit in there, but nothing fancy.

Without answering, she pushed the button latch and one of the sides popped up. Rummaging around in the dim light, she felt for the tool chest and handed it to Mark.

He lifted the lid and examined the contents, then gazed at her. “This all you have?”

She didn't care for the way he made her feel inept. She didn't have an inadequate bone in her body. She was an unfailing survivor and always managed to figure out a plan. “A hotshot like you should be able to make something in there work.”

He stood to his full height, dominating the space around them. She no longer felt the night's chill. To the contrary, warmth seeped through the barriers of her clothing, touching her skin and making her feel hot. Not only towering in size, his shoulders were wide and powerful. Just looking at him caused her throat to go dry.

His height dwarfing her, he said, “I can use the pliers, but you don't have a wire brush in here. How about in the truck?”

All rational thought escaped her and she couldn't seem to work out a response. “What about the truck? It won't start.”

Placing hands on either side of her arms, he turned her to face him. With his knuckle, he notched her chin upward to make her look him directly in the eyes. Her entire being shivered. Mortified, she willed herself to be still.

His intent eyes watched her, studying every facet of her fragile features. Brown and fathomless, his pupils
were large as he drank in the entire fullness of her mouth. Ever so slightly, his thumbs ran across her skin. She could feel the calluses on his fingertips, the rough-warm sensation of the raw strength he possessed.

Dismayed, she realized she wanted him to touch her like this. She couldn't remember the last time a man had held her face. Her lips fell apart, and she fought for breath. He stood close and his touch felt so…

Tension wound through her muscles. She couldn't imagine what he was thinking, didn't want to know.

“What about the truck?” she babbled, repeating her earlier question.

Momentarily tangling his fingers in her hair, he smoothed the pieces behind her ear. “A wire brush. Would you have one in the truck?” His enunciation came across slow and clear, as if she were some kind of halfwit not understanding a basic question.

A dip of her shoulder and she broke free of him, and of the insane feelings bordering on lust that fell over her. “I have a hairbrush.”

“What kind?”

Thoroughly out of sorts, she muttered, “What difference does it make?”

“Let me see it.”

Dana sat on the truck's narrow seat, rifled through her purse and brought out her hairbrush.

Mark only made a cursory look toward her offering, then shook his head. “It won't work.”

Not seeing his reasoning, she put the plastic-bristle brush back in her purse. Then a white lunch bag she'd forgotten about on the front seat caught her attention. Terran's dentist bag.

He'd gotten a good-boy checkup earlier this week and they'd given him a goody bag with stickers, a small bouncy rubber ball that he'd taken into the house to drive her batty as he bounced it off the hardwood floor, dental floss, mini toothpaste and of course a—

“I have a toothbrush,” she offered, extending the unopened package.

Nodding, Mark said with approval, “That'll work.”

He peeled the plastic wrap away, took the toothbrush out, then gave a low laugh from the back of his throat.

Clenching her jaw, she found herself instantly annoyed. This wasn't the first time he had made light of something she'd done or said, using a sense of humor she didn't find entertaining.

Dana snapped, “What's so funny?”

“They were all out of Barbie?” He held the toothbrush for her to view.

Terran had picked the Captain Jack Sparrow toothbrush as his choice. A plastic replica of Johnny Depp formed the handle.

She wouldn't get into any discussions about her son, so she simply replied, “I like Captain Jack Sparrow—savvy?”

“I like Cameron Diaz but I wouldn't brush my teeth with her.”

Dana's hands covered her face for short seconds, then as she lowered them, her posture slumped…defeated.

There was no winning with Mark tonight. He always seemed to have a better comeback line than she did. She silenced the few retorts that came to mind, knowing it was futile.

Through the gap where the hood met the dash, Dana
could view Mark working on the truck. With the pliers, he removed the terminals from the battery, then cleaned them with the toothbrush. When he was finished, he put the cables back on.

After he checked all the fittings, he said, “Give it a try.”

She turned the key over. It started on the first attempt.

Never had the tired engine of her old S-10 sounded so good.

After a final once-over of the engine, Mark lowered the hood. He fit his arm above the cab and leaned in to speak with her.

“Cap'n Jack's got a nasty problem.” He handed her the dirt-blackened toothbrush.

She pitched the toothbrush on the seat. “I'll get another one.”

Mark didn't readily step aside so she could close the door. She knew she should thank him, but the words didn't form. Instead she asked, “How'd you know how to fix it?”

He scratched his forehead with the back of his thumb and she noticed he'd gotten greasy. “My dad had a lot of old construction equipment and something was always breaking.”

A half-used paper towel roll lay on her truck floor—among other things. A crumpled dinner bag from Burger Queen, a set of plans for the Blue Note that she'd had copied and countless items belonging to Terran that he hadn't taken in with him at home. She didn't keep the interior very neat.