Page 10 of Snow in Texas

“Nothing.” He held his coffee out to her. “Hold this and I’ll get it changed.”

She stared at him, and he saw the conflict in her eyes, the way she needed the help, but didn’t want it in the least. “I’ll go inside and ask someone else to–”

“They’re all still asleep.”

Her jaw firmed, lips pressing together.

“You’ll be late for work,” he pointed out.

She ground her teeth together a long moment, warring with herself. Her eyes clouded and he could see she was having some internal debate. Then she refocused. “Fine.” She took his coffee, snatching the mug from his hand, hot liquid slopping over the side. If it burned her hand, she gave no indication. Almost as an afterthought, she said, “I’d really appreciate if you could help with my tire,” in a cold voice.

“Colin,” he reminded.

She sighed and nodded. “Yeah, Colin. That’d be great.”

~*~

Jenny

This was bad. Not the helpless part, because try as she might, she was just never going to be as physically strong as the men in her life who popped tires on and off cars like Lego pieces. The Colin part. That was what sent tremors rippling beneath her skin.

He was fascinated. She could tell; she knew that particular gleam when it came in a man’s eyes. Interest wasn’t uncommon – she lived in a house full of outlaws, for God’s sakes. Men liked women and weren’t all that particular, so she was used to looks and casual inquiries.

But this new prospect was different. His attention was pointed, laser-focused. She didn’t trust the sharp edges of his smile, or the intense weight of his dark eyes when they rested on her. It wasn’t a question in his gaze, but a promise.I could break you, and you’d like it. The last time she met a man with a gaze like that, things went very, very wrong. Hospital wrong. Therapist wrong. Half the chapter excommunicated wrong.

It’s a tire, she told herself.Stop freaking out.

Deep breath. Regroup.

She forced her voice to be pleasant. “You know, there’s no rush. I can just take one of the club trucks.”

He was making fast work of those damnable lug nuts, the wrench gliding in his hands, the leap and grab of his biceps the only sign of exertion. “Trust me,” he said with a low laugh. “You don’t wanna be in one of those trucks. The smell’d knock you out.”

“It’s not that far to work. I can breathe through my mouth.”

He laughed again, like she’d told a joke. “I’ll be done with this in just a minute, sweetheart. It’s no big deal.”

She sighed and took a sip of his coffee. “You shouldn’t call me ‘sweetheart.’” The fight had gone out of her voice; all that remained was a deep sadness, the kind that always brought with it a physical ache.

He slid the tire off and glanced over at her. “You prefer ‘darlin’’?”

“I hate that one.”

He grinned as he reached for the spare he’d already laid out. “Baby? Babe? Doll?”

“I’m just Jenny.”

He was quiet a moment, as he worked, and she thought maybe he’d given up… “Jenny what?”

“What?”

“Yeah, Jenny. But what’s your last name?”

She caught her lip in her teeth. He didn’t know. He hadn’t that first day at Gabe’s, but she thought he must have asked around by now, put two-and-two together. So he didn’t know who her brother was. Which meant there was a good chance he didn’t know her brother’s real name.

“Snow,” she said on a shaky exhale. “Jenny Snow.” Then: “Why?”

“’Cause we haven’t been properly introduced.” He stood, wiped his grimy hand on the leg of his jeans, and offered it to her. “Colin O’Donnell.”

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