Wilde Edge (2 page)

“That’s the one.”

“Thanks for the tip. I’ll drop by
after we’re done here and see what I can find out.” He glanced out the window
of Nick’s shop to the garage that took up most of the real estate. Maybe this
would work out. If the place were half decent he’d take it.
If
he could talk Joe into some kind of deal, to use the garage for working on his
new project, that would be even better.

Tag let his thoughts drift, trying
not to pay too much attention to the burn and bite of the tattoo needle as Nick
worked his magic. He settled into a sort of trance-like state, and was
surprised when Nick announced that he was done. It wasn’t until he got out of
the chair and felt the stiffness in his knee that it dawned on Tag how long
he’d been sitting still. The bullet that had ended his career wasn’t the one
that hit him in the chest.
 
The slug that
killed his dreams and left him with a trace of a limp had hit just above his
left knee.

Ignoring the twinges of protest
from his leg, Tag flexed the stiffening joint a few times and then headed over
to the mirror to see the finished work.

Perfect.

The bold lines of the tribal-style
tattoo made it difficult to see the scars, which was exactly what he’d hoped
for. It was a phoenix, wings outstretched and tail unfurled as it took flight.
The symbolism wasn’t exactly subtle, but that was how he wanted it. It was time
he got his life in order again.

It was time to rise.

* *
* *

The familiar sounds of the garage
faded to background noise as
Jolena
closed the door
of her office. The guys had things out on the floor well in hand, which meant
she was officially out of excuses for avoiding her desk and the paperwork
stacked on top of it. Every time she stepped into the office, she could feel
her father’s presence wrap around her. It was comforting, which was why she
hadn’t changed anything about the place, even though he’d been gone more than a
year now.

His creased and oil stained
baseball cap still sat on a hook beside the door, and there were car parts
scattered here and there, mostly being used as paperweights to control the
overflowing inbox that sat on the right corner of his time-scarred wooden desk.

Not
his anymore. Mine.

 
Her father had started the garage because he
loved cars. It was a passion he had handed down to his daughter, but unfortunately
neither of them had any love for the business side of things. Invoices,
inventory, and payroll were all dirty words as far as
Jolena
was concerned.

She blew an errant curl of dark-red
hair out of her eyes, squared her shoulders as if preparing for battle, and
crossed the small space to the desk. Alice, their bookkeeper had left a stack
of paperwork on the keyboard with a sticky-note that said ‘Pay me first’.

Well,
that makes it easy.

Jo thumbed through the invoices and
cringed as she saw the amounts owing. Joe’s Garage had made a name for itself
as a company that specialized in rebuilding and restoring the classics. The
trouble was, the economy didn’t leave a lot of extra money for luxuries, and
that meant that
Jolena
had been forced to update some
of the equipment so they could fix modern-day vehicles. Now they had the means
and the training to repair anything from a Plymouth to a Prius, but the
improvements had yet to pay for themselves.

They were getting there, but it was
slow going. She figured it would be another six months to a year before they
were safely in the black again. The rent that came in from Wilde Ink helped,
and if she could just find someone to take over the vacant space beside the
tattoo shop, she’d be back on her feet that much sooner. She didn’t expect to
get that lucky.

When the checks were signed and
tucked away for Alice to send off, Jo turned her attention to her email.

Shit.

There were three from her
ex-husband, Greg. Greg Sparks was a fast-talking charmer who told people he was
in real estate. He was always claiming to be on the verge of some brilliant
deal that would make him rich, and yet the deals never came through, and the
man was eternally broke.

Jo knew the ugly truth. Her ex
wasn’t any of the things he claimed to be. In reality he was a compulsive liar,
bully, and an abusive bastard. Despite being divorced for more than two years,
Jolena
found herself back on his radar every time he hit
rock bottom.

She didn’t have to read the emails
to know that they’d either contain yet another desperate plea for money, or to
give him another chance. There was no chance that either of those things would
happen until Hell opened a ski resort.

That didn’t stop him from trying.
She knew from experience that the only thing that worked was a restraining
order, and she’d let the last one lapse.

“So, which is it, love or money?”
she muttered to herself as she clicked on the most recent email. As she scanned
the contents, Jo could feel her tension rising with every word. With a strangled
snarl, she opened the next one, and by the time she’d read them all, she was
furious.

The ass had really done it this
time. Jo read over the emails again, but there was no mistaking the message.
Her idiot ex had strung some investors along, which wasn’t uncommon. The
problem was
,
he’d made them think they were going to
be buying
her
garage. A garage he had
no claim to, because they were divorced before her father had passed away from
cancer. The business and the house were
hers,
and hers
alone.

It was one thing for him to lie.
That came as natural to him as breathing. But now she was looking at multiple
requests for her to consider selling her family business just to get him out of
trouble. It was a new level of sleazy, even for him. She was not going to be
bullied by that son of a bitch. Those days were done and gone. Jo marshaled her
anger and then channeled it into a terse reply, hitting send before she could
cool off and soften her response.

I
am not, nor will I ever be interested in selling my property or business. Stop
contacting me, or I’m getting another Order of Protection
.

The message sent, she pushed back
from her desk and snagged her favorite coffee mug out of the chaos. She needed
a double shot of espresso if she was going to make it to the end of the day
without screaming.

The door opened just as Jo reached
for the handle. She squawked with surprise and stumbled back a few steps as a
large, masculine shape filled the doorway.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle
you. I was looking for the owner.”

“That’s me,” Jo managed to say as
she finally regained her balance and got a good look at her visitor. “What can
I do for you?”

He looked vaguely familiar, but Jo
couldn’t pin down where she knew him from. She hoped that if she’d ever met a
man as attractive as this one, she would have memorized every inch of him. He
was tall, a couple of inches over six feet if she had to guess, and his dark
brown hair came down nearly to his shoulders. He had green eyes with flecks of
golden-brown at the center, and a few days’ growth of beard darkened his jaw.

Dressed in snug-fitting jeans and a
brown leather jacket, he looked almost dangerous, but there was something about
his smile that set Jo at ease. Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t here to cause
trouble. She was sure of it.

“You’re Joe?” His handsome face
crinkled into confusion for a second, and then he swore. “I’m going to fucking
kill him. I mean, excuse me. My brother just told me to see Joe about maybe
having a place for rent. He forgot to mention the fact you were a girl…woman.”
He shot her a lopsided grin that made her stomach flutter. Her visitor held out
his hand. “Let’s try this again, shall we? Hi, my name is Taggart Wilde, and my
brother Nicky mentioned you might have a place available for rent.”

She took his hand, painfully aware
that her hands were rough and calloused from her work, completely opposite to
what most men expected of a woman.
“Hi, Taggart.
I’m
Jolena
Miller.”

“Ah, that explains it: ‘Jo’ as in
Jolena
.
Nice to meet you,
Jolena
.”
 
The
way he said her full name set off a small tremor in the pit of her stomach.
Damn, even his voice was sexy.

“So you’re Nick’s brother? That
explains why you look familiar. I was just about to get some coffee…Do you want
some? Then we can talk.”

“Coffee sounds good. My brother is
a great artist, but he makes the worst brew on the planet. I don’t know how
he’s managed to avoid poisoning anyone with that stuff.”

“Don’t tell him I said so? But I
agree. I never let him serve me coffee when I drop by.” Jo went to step back,
only to discover that Taggart was still holding her hand in his. He glanced
down at their joined hands and released hers slowly, letting his fingers trace
over the roughened skin of her palm as he let go. Jo felt a tingle chase up her
arm from that delicate touch and she had to remind herself to exhale.

“Lead the way,” Taggart said and
moved out of the doorway, opening up a space for her to walk past him. She
ducked into the hallway and turned away from him, but her body was acutely
aware of his presence just a few feet behind her. How could he have affected
her so much with a few words and a simple handshake?

He followed her to the staff room,
whistling in appreciation when he spotted the gleaming espresso maker nestled
in one corner. “Very nice,” he said, moving to stand just behind her, and for a
moment Jo wasn’t sure if he was talking about the machine or something else.
Her, maybe?
She dismissed that thought as quickly as it
came. Men who looked like Taggart Wilde didn’t flirt with dumpy little grease
monkeys like her. She’d lost her illusions about handsome princes and white
knights a long time ago.

“I need coffee to function, so this
is one of my indulgences,” Jo said as rummaged for a clean mug. She kept her
back to him the whole time, but she knew he was still just behind her. He was
close enough she would have sworn she could feel the heat of his body warming
hers.

“If that thing can make a
cappuccino, I might just ask to move in here.”

“It does. But I think you might
find it a little cramped in here, especially around lunch break. I do have a
garden unit for rent, though. When my dad was alive he lived upstairs and I had
the lower unit, but now…”

“I’m sorry. When did you lose him?”

“Over a year ago.
I still miss him.” Jo kept her focus on making them both a coffee. The last
thing she wanted to do was burn herself or worse, splash hot coffee all over a
potential tenant. She could really use the extra income, if she could find
somebody trustworthy to rent the space to.

“And he left this place to you?”

She gripped the full mugs and spun
back to face him, ready to defend her life choices, only to find Taggart so
close she had to tip her head back to see his face. “Yes, he did. He taught me
to love cars, especially the classics. He used to joke that we Millers have
gasoline running through our veins.”

Jo expected to find an expression
of distaste or disinterest on Taggart’s face, but instead his eyes were glowing
with good humor. “I like the classics myself. I drive a ’67 Chevy Impala my dad
and I rebuilt together.” Well, hell. The man was hot, charming and he liked old
cars. What she wouldn’t give for a guy like that to look twice at her.

 
“I’ve seen her.
Cherry black
paint job, right?”
His car was a true beauty, and Jo had noticed it
coming and going from Nick’s side of the lot more than once lately. She’d also
noticed the sexy driver, and she finally realized why Taggart looked so
familiar. She’d been watching him from a distance, coming and going from Wilde
Ink.

“That’s Tiffany. I’m hoping to do
some work on her this winter. I don’t suppose this suite of yours comes with
garage space?”

“It does, but there’s not a lot of
extra space once there’s two cars parked in there. Why don’t we head back to my
office?
 
You can tell me about yourself
and why you need a new place to live,” Jo said and handed him the cleaner of
the two mugs. “And you can tell me why you gave that gorgeous hunk of steel
such a girly name.”

“Why does everyone have an issue
with Tiff’s name?” He winked at her and gallantly gestured for her to take the
lead. Jo was certain it was her imagination, but somehow she got the feeling
his eyes never left her the whole walk back to her office.

Chapter Two

Tag hadn’t babbled in the presence
of a pretty woman since high school, but damned if the curvy redhead hadn’t
made his brain short circuit the second she had told him it was her garage.
Women who loved cars were rare enough, but discovering there was a gorgeous,
redheaded, female mechanic working only a few feet from where he’d been hanging
out for the last month was a shock. He must have been in a bigger funk than he
thought if she’d managed to go unnoticed this long.

It was more than time to get his
shit together.
Starting now.

He stayed standing until Jo had
seated herself back at her desk. It was a shame, because the stacks of paper
hid most of her lush little body from him. He’d been enjoying the view as he
followed her back to the office, admiring how she filled out her well-worn
jeans and the way her dark red curls bounced when she walked. He’d enjoyed the
company of a wide variety of women in his life, but red hair and freckles were
his weakness.