Page 37 of Montana Heat

I poured him a cup, grabbed the laptop, and headed out to the garage. When he turned to acknowledge me, wiping his hands on a rag he had tucked into the waistband of his pants, I had to bite back a groan of appreciation. Okay, maybe it wasn’t a tool belt with no shirt, but the man was still damn sexy.

I cleared my throat. “I made you coffee. Susanna mentioned you also drink some in the afternoon.”

He took the mug. “I drink it at all hours of the day and night. Thank you.”

I took a sip of my own. “I just want to make sure we’re okay. I don’t expect you to hang out with me in the office, but…”

He nodded slowly at me. “Talking about my parents is tough for me. It’s not a place I let myself go very often.”

“I appreciate you sharing what you did with me. And I want to assure you that none of it will end up public. If you ever decide you’d like to make your history part of your company’s story, we can certainly add that in. But otherwise, it’s nobody’s business but your own.”

He nodded again. “Thanks for understanding. How has it been going for you today?”

“Got time for me to show you a few things? See how you like them?”

He walked over and made a space on a worktable for me to set down the computer. A couple moments later, we were in deep discussion of fonts and colors and manliness.

If nothing else, the bright-pink curlicue font I’d set up as a practical joke broke the tension between us.

“I think we should go with the pink,” he said with a smile once I showed him the other possibilities.

I had to laugh. “We actually might be surprised at how effective that would be—it would certainly be unique. But I think sticking with more traditional creatives is probably better. I’ll get back to it.”

An email came in on his garage account from a potential customer as I was finishing showing him what I’d worked on.

He opened it. “This is from old Mr. Rickles in the next town over. He wants me to fix up his 1981 El Camino, but he wants to be in on it. He’s had it for decades, so it means the world to him.”

It didn’t surprise me at all that Jensen had a reputation as someone who’d let an old man sit in on repairs. It was definitely a story that could be used on social media, but I’d bring that up later. We’d skirted enough edges for today when it came to what was okay to post.

“El Camino? I don’t think I’ve even heard of that vehicle.”

“It’s pretty unique. Half car, half truck.”

He pulled up a picture, and I froze, my shoulders tightening and my hands going clammy.

I’d seen a vehicle like that before. Several weeks ago. But I’d forgotten about it until right now.

“Kenzie?” Jensen put his coffee down and gripped my elbow. “What’s wrong?”

I didn’t take the time to wonder just how good he was gettingat reading me. I was too caught up in a memory. “I, uh, just realized where I’ve seen one of those before. The night I was attacked in the parking lot.”

Jensen guided me to sit down on a bench. Then he dragged a chair in front of me and sat down too. “Talk to me.”

He placed his hand on my knee, and I briefly closed my eyes, savoring his touch. It was intimate but not inappropriate. And even if it was inappropriate, it was helping me stay centered and not fly apart, so I didn’t care.

“I was coming out of my office. The sun had already set. We have so many lights in the parking lot, I thought I would be okay.” I swallowed hard. I didn’t let myself think about the specifics of this too often. “I was almost to my car when someone hit me hard from behind, knocking me to the ground.”

I could still remember the burning pain in my palms and knees. I looked down at my palms now, almost expecting to see blood.

“Before I could get up, the stalker poured a bunch of gasoline all over me, then took off. It hurt like hell on my cuts, and I was so busy trying to get it out of my face that I couldn’t even think of going after him.”

Jensen’s jaw was granite as he looked at me now. “It’s good that you didn’t go after him. You could’ve been killed. Jesus, Kenzie, one match and…”

“Yeah, believe me, I thought of that.” It had been the only thing I could think of as I’d made my way back inside the office and tried to wash off the gasoline as best I could. “Putting gas in my car still triggers me a little.”

“But you think you saw an El Camino there that night?”

I nodded, closing my eyes to concentrate. “Yes. I don’t know that the stalker was driving it, but that vehicle is unique enough that I would’ve noticed it if it was around the parking lot regularly.”

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