Page 3 of Wild Hearts

It had been a shock seeing Wes in the place of old man Dusty. His rugged appearance screamed I could break you if I want to.

Not that he gave off those vibes in our conversation, but at first glance, my imagination went a little wild. His sleeves had been rolled up to reveal a myriad of tattoos lining his skin. No color, just black ink to match the tats on his fingers, his shoulder-length hair, and beard.

Honestly, I’m not sure if he’s twenty-five or forty underneath everything, but his eyes hint at youth—ebony with a hint of laugh lines.

Although, Wes doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who laughs a lot. Maybe they’re the start of glaring lines. Can you get eye wrinkles from intimidating glares?

“This mountain air might be making me a little loopy,” I murmur because I can’t stop dissecting my brief interaction with Wes. The anxiety windmills are spinning at full speed from his obvious disapproval of my appearance to the magnetic pull his bad boy persona has on me, despite knowing I’d never act on such an attraction. I may be turning over a new leaf—or trying to—but that doesn’t mean I’m delusional enough to believe a man like Wes would be interested in a woman like me.

The thought is laughable.

Texting Elsie and Avery about the current situation, they offer to pick me up so I don’t have to hang out here. I probably should’ve texted them the moment my car rattled to the side of the road, but the exercise was good for me. And now they can give me a brief tour of the town before I need to pick up my fixed car.

And you can fill your head with something other than the mechanic who is a dark Charlie Hunnam look-alike.

CHAPTER TWO

WES GALLAGHER

Laughter hangs in the air as I enter the waiting room, scrubbing away the grease on my hands with a ragged hand towel. Alex is kneeling on the floor and petting a familiar German Shepherd while flirting with its owner—the pretty stranger, Grace Thompson.

Typical.

“I don’t pay you to fucking flirt, Alex.” The growled words cause Grace to jump in surprise, her skin flushing red as she brushes a loose curl off her cheek.

Dammit, I didn’t mean to scare her.

Attempting a more civil tone, I add, “Get back to work. I’ll handle this.”

Alex waves goodbye to Grace with a wink before muttering under his breath, “Whatever you say, boss man,” and the sarcastic note in his voice grates on my nerves.

We were friendly acquaintances before I hired him to work at Dusty’s, but he needs to learn to respect me at work. Otherwise, our friendship, and his position, will be in jeopardy. Because I don’t tolerate attitude from those working for me. I get enough of that from certain townspeople already.

Forcing the issue of Alex aside, I focus on Grace and admire the thick thighs encased in her skintight jeans before dropping to her trim ankles covered by suede. I still can’t believe she hiked here in those boots. She’s lucky if blisters don’t form from the long trek.

“Everything should be fine now. We replaced your tire and inspected the rest of the vehicle to double-check everything else.”

Because I couldn’t resist ensuring it was safe for her to drive.

Because, for some reason, I feel protective of Grace.

You barely fucking know the woman. Not to mention you don’t do relationships.

And ensuring a car’s safety beyond what’s necessary?

Seems like the kind of thing a man does for his woman.

After collecting payment, I gesture out the window to where her car is parked. “Your keys are in the driver’s seat. If you need anything else, give us a call.” Maybe if I hustle Grace out the door, my mind will stop wandering to images of those thighs wrapped around my shoulders as I eat her out on the hood of my truck.

Fuck.

It’s obvious I need to get laid if a customer is affecting me this way. I never mix business with pleasure, although technically, I suppose our business is done…

“Thank you so much! I really appreciate how quickly you fit me in and finished everything.” Her face brightens with a blinding smile, distracting me from my wayward thoughts.

Damn, she’s like a ray of fucking sunshine.

“Just doing my job.” Uncomfortable with her gratitude for something I would’ve gladly done no matter how busy we were—and no, I’m not about to analyze the reason why—I broach the topic that’s been on my mind since she walked into my shop. “Are you just passing through, or visiting someone in town?”

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