I remove the license plate, pat the hood, give my beloved Explorer one last look, and then turn away. I climb into the passenger seat of James’s truck, buckle up, and watch out the window as Bill lowers the flatbed and hooks the chain onto the car. And then James is pulling out of the Walgreens parking lot, my car is out of sight, and I’m alone with James for the first time in months.

  Chapter 4

  It’s easy to forget exactly how huge James really is, sometimes. I’m not a small girl, not in any way, but James makes me feel small and dainty. Everything about him is just…huge. His arms are the size of my thighs, his shoulders are so broad you could serve dinner on each of them, his chest barrel-like and bulging with muscle, his legs are the size of my waist, his hands are like dinner plates. His eyes are wide and deep and molten brown, reserved and shuttered most of the time, hard to read. His hair is chestnut brown, shot through with streaks of silver. He wears a beard, short and neatly trimmed and brushed, rounded off, as streaked with silver as his hair. He’s wearing a black short sleeve T-shirt, ripped here and there, dotted with paint and clumps of caulk and who knows what else, printed with the logo of a local lumber supply company. The sleeves are stretched nearly to ripping around his biceps and cling to his Atlas shoulders. His Oakleys—which I’ve never seen him without, always either on his eyes or pushed up on his head—are buried in his hair at the moment, the mirrored lenses glinting in the thick thatch of brown.

  He glances sideways at me. “So. Where to?”

  I stiffen my fingers and rake them through my hair to push it back from my eyes, and then tug the long, thick mass of coppery red over one shoulder. “Hmm. The plan was to head home and get some chores done, but now I’m car-less, and have work tomorrow.” I blow out a breath. “You’ve probably got work to do, though, huh? I’d feel shitty taking up your whole day asking you to take me car shopping.”

  James rolls a thick shoulder. “Nice thing about being my own boss is that I can take the day off when I want to.”

  I groan quietly. “James, I can’t take up that much of your time. Just drop me off at the used lot over near Target.”

  James shakes his head. “Nope.”

  “James.”

  “Nova.” He gives me the James smile I’m more used to—a slight, subtle tilt of the lips, barely a grin. “We’re ahead of schedule on all our jobs, it’s Saturday, my girls are at a friend’s house for the day, and the only thing on my agenda today was to help out at Imogen’s. But Jesse and Franco have that locked down, and it ain’t a rush anyway. So. You’re stuck with me for today. Sorry, babe.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s a real hardship, lemme tell you.”

  “What are you in the market for? Another SUV?”

  I shrug. “You know, I’ve never even thought about it. I’ve owned that Explorer for so long, I have no idea what else I’d even like.”

  James scratches his beard. “I guess the first question is what is your budget?”

  I give it some thought. “I have a bit of cash saved, but I was hoping to use most of it to do some remodels on my house.” I shrug. “I guess I could go…maybe thirty or forty?”

  James nods. “I’ve bought quite a few cars in my life, so my advice would be to find something you like that’s gently used, no more than three or four years old, low mileage. Pay half or so cash minimum, or if you can really spare it, just buy it outright. Brand new isn’t always a great deal as you take a pretty big hit in depreciation as soon as you drive it off the lot, whereas with a newer used car you get a decent newish vehicle with lower depreciation happening.”

  “Makes sense. I think I can handle thirty or forty in cash.”

  “You can get a pretty nice ride for forty grand cash,” James says.

  “If you say so. You know better than I do.”

  He pulls into a pre-owned lot, parks near the showroom, and we get out.

  “Browse around, see what strikes your fancy.”

  I head for a cute little two-door Honda coupe, peek in the windows, and glance at the window sticker—well within my price range, that’s for sure.

  James thumps the roof with a big fist. “These go forever, but you live in Illinois, Nova. You want my opinion, you need something all-wheel, or a four-by-four.”

  I think about that. “The four-wheel drive on my Explorer did get me through some pretty gnarly storms,” I concede.

  “Exactly.” James eyes the lot, and sees another SUV, a compact-crossover import. “Being a contractor, I need a pickup, but Renée owned one of these and loved it. I drove it a few times—it has the feel of a car, but it’s great in the snow. I wouldn’t do any real off-roading in it, but it’ll get you through snowstorms and such.”

  I circle it, look it over, but end up shrugging. “I don’t know. I feel kinda…meh about it.”

  James nods. “Well then, keep looking.” He taps the price sticker: twenty grand. “You spend that much cash on a car, you should love it.”

  We spend almost half an hour looking over most of the lot, but I don’t really feel any kind of connection to anything.

  As we get back into James’s truck and drive away—much to the disappointment of the salesman who’d been stalking us—I glance at James. “Sorry, that was a waste of time.”

  “Not at all,” he counters. “Now you know what you don’t like. You’ve got it narrowed down.”

  I smile. “Huh. Never thought of it that way.”

  We go to a different dealer, this one is a used car lot connected to a Ford dealership. Another thirty-some minutes is spent perusing the various used models, and still nothing connects. I even look over some of the new cars, but still…no spark.

  “I’m getting frustrated, James.”

  He nods. “It can be that way, especially if you haven’t really thought about it. Usually, I know exactly what I’m looking for and it’s just a matter of finding the right one at the right price.”

  “I mean, I know I don’t want a sedan or whatever—you’re right in that I want something bigger and more capable. I don’t know.”

  James eyes me. “I have an idea, actually. Not sure how you’ll feel about it, but it’s an option.”

  I wave a hand. “Okay?”

  “When I bought this beast a couple years ago, I was replacing my last truck. Which I still own. It’s in my barn, actually.”

  I blink, thinking. “Is it like this one?”

  He nods. “Similar.” He glances at me. “Thus my hesitation at suggesting it. It’s got the fancy wheels and tires, the lift kit, the light bar. Tires aren’t as large, not as high of a lift, not as fancy of a light bar, but it’s still pretty tricked out. The thing about that one is, the guys and I did some work under the hood, beefed up the horsepower and torque output, and put on an exhaust system that makes it rumble like a motherfucker. Fairly low mileage, actually, considering the amount of driving I do for work.”

  I laugh, trying to envision myself in a truck like this. “I don’t know, James.”

  He rolls his shoulder. “No pressure, just an option. I’ve been sorta reticent to sell it, because it’s a great truck and I’ve got some sentiment about it. I’d love to see it go to someone I know who’ll appreciate it, and us being friendly like, I could give it to you for a fraction of what I’d charge some random Joe.”

  “Don’t do me any favors, James.”

  He frowns. “Why the hell not? Friends do friends favors. I ain’t givin’ it to you for free, babe. Just for a pretty hefty discount. I ain’t lookin’ to make money on it, I just don’t want to see it go to just anyone.”

  There’s something heavy in the way he talks about it, something in the sentimental value of the truck that has me suspect it has something to do with his wife. Which gives me hesitation.

  But…

  A good deal is a good deal. And I have always liked pickups. A bit macho, maybe, but if any chick can make a macho truck look cool, it’s me.

  “All right, let’s go take a look. I might be interested.”

  He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Don’t do me any favors, Nova.”

  I laugh at having my words thrown back at me. “I’m not. I’m genuinely interested.”

  He nods. “Cool. To the barn, then.”

  So, we head across town and into the rural stretches outside it, where James lives—only a few miles from me, as a matter of fact. He lives in the kind of neighborhood that’s not quite the country, but not quite the suburbs either—he has neighbors on either side, but they’re separated by an acre at least on each side. James’s property is a fenced-in acre and a half of yard, with another five acres out back behind the fence, a pole barn at the back of the property. James clicks a button on a device clipped to his visor, and the large wrought iron gate swings open. He pulls through, closes the gate behind us, and then follows the driveway; it cuts past the house and garage to the fence line, and I see that a section of the eight-foot-high, wood-slat privacy fence is actually a large gate, so he can access the property beyond the gate. He stops a few feet away from the fence, shoves the truck into park and jumps out, leaving his door open. He swings the gate open away from the truck, and hops back in, driving down a track through the grass leading toward the barn.

  The track is nothing more than a pair of ruts in the grass, and we bounce and jostle over pits and divots and bumps—it’s so bumpy I instinctively cross my arms over my chest so I don’t knock myself out with my own cleavage.

  I don’t miss the way James’s eyes cut to me now and then as we bounce down the track.

  I’m not sure what possesses me, sheer curiosity, perhaps—but, foolishly, I drop my arms and let the girls flop around and carefully but subtly watch his reaction.

  Good thing we’re driving slowly through a grassy field, because he glances to the side, and forgets to look away from the show. His eyes widen, and he coughs as if to cover an involuntary reaction.

  He finally drags his eyes back to the road, discovers he’d driven off the track, and abruptly corrects. Another few feet, and his eyes cut over to mine, and I arch an eyebrow.

  “Something wrong, James?”

  “I…ah…no.” He wipes his face with a palm. “Sorry.”

  I smirk. “Sorry? For what?”

  He wriggles in the seat uncomfortably. “Um. Nothing.” He tugs his Oakleys down over his face. “Never mind.”

  I laugh outright, now, and cross my arms over my breasts again. “I’m just messing with you, James.”

  He frowns. “Hysterical.”

  I laugh again. “I mean…it kind of was.”

  He twists his head to glare at me through his sunglasses. “Trolling me, huh?”

  I shrug. “A little.”

  He shakes his head and lapses into silence as we pull to a stop on the wide concrete pad in front of his barn. It’s an enormous pole barn, with green metal walls, a white roof, and huge white sliding doors. There’s a basketball hoop on the wall above the doors, the red square faded to nearly nothing, the net fraying at the ends.

  He parks at an angle, shuts off the engine, and hops down out of the cab. I slide out as well and follow him to the doors of the pole barn. He yanks one door aside and then the other, shedding daylight into the interior. Heading inside, he flicks on a trio of switches, and a double row of fluorescent tubes flickers on in three different areas.

  The inside is a well-organized hodgepodge of masculinity; nearest the door along the right-hand wall is a weightlifter’s paradise. There’s a three-section Rogue power rack bolted to the concrete floor, with four Olympic bars in a rifle-style holder on the wall to one side and an elaborate storage rack holding thousands of dollars’ worth of color-coded bumper plates in varying sizes on the other, along with a rack of dumbbells and kettlebells. There is a pair of thick ropes attached to an upright of the rack, several pull-up stations, a hex trap bar, a sled on a strip of artificial turf…god, he has everything, even a rowing machine and an air bike. On the left side nearest the door is a long, sleek bass boat, and beside it a smaller tin outboard boat. Farther down the left wall is a workbench built into the wall, scattered with tools of all kinds, and beyond that a set of tool racks. Opposite the mechanic area is a tarp-covered motorcycle, and the truck in question.

  And holy shit, the truck is…a lot.

  Ruby red, a full-size four-door cab, thick, knobby tires, a lift kit, big black wheels, a thick chrome bull bar covering the chrome grill, an LED light rack across the roof, and a soft black tonneau cover over the bed instead of the back rack and toolbox I’d have expected.

  James walks over to the truck, running his fingers along the side. “It doesn’t actually have a very big lift, or crazy big tires, because I drive a lot of miles and tow a lot of trailers. Not sure how much you know about this stuff—”

  “Nothing at all,” I fill in.

  He nods. “Well, you lift it too much and you’ll need a fuckin’ ladder to get into the box, and a special hitch to tow anything, and then you’re straining your front-end suspension and end up going through parts faster. What I did was put the knobbiest, thickest-wall tires on fancy rims, and then lifted it a couple inches just for wheel well clearance. So it looks cool, but it’s still useable as a work truck.”

  I eye the door. “I think I’ll still need a damn ladder to get into the thing.”

  He grins at me, resting a foot on the chrome step under the driver’s side door. “Nah. You’ll have no trouble.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “It’s an already big truck lifted several inches higher.”

  He nods, kicks the step. “These are custom steps, babe.” He hesitates, and when he continues, his voice is low, quiet, and subdued. “I built this with Renée in mind. You wouldn’t think it considering Renée was barely five-six. Tiny thing with short little legs. My truck before this one had stock tube steps, and she hated getting into and out of it. So when I pimped out this one, I put custom steps on it that were low enough for her to get into and out of easily.” He opens the door, shows me the handle on the inside—it looks like it’s carbon fiber, built into the rim just inside the door. “Give it a try.”

  I put a foot up onto the step, lean up and grab the handle, and climb in—it’s actually very natural, just a little tug and a step, and I’m swinging into the camel-tan leather bucket seat. It’s soft leather, deep, enveloping, comfortable yet supportive. Sitting in the driver’s seat, I take the wheel in both hands, adjust the rearview mirror, and take stock of the interior. Upgraded audio receiver head and speakers, carbon fiber shifter knob, all sorts of little upgrades here and there that makes this feel more luxurious than I’d expect a truck to feel.

  James circles to the passenger side and climbs in. He uses a small key on his keychain to unlock the glove box—inside are both of the actual keys for the truck, and he hands one of the keys to me. “Start’er up, let’s take her for a spin.”

  I eye the rearview mirror. “Backing it out looks tricky.”

  James waves a hand. “There’s plenty of space. Just crank the wheel and pull around.”

  I turn the engine over, and it catches immediately—the engine sounds like a bear snarling into a metal bucket, and the power of it sends a thrill through me. “Whoa.”

  James smirks. “This is the six-point-six-liter diesel, and we beefed it up. You could pull a house off its foundation with this bitch and drag it all the way to Canada.”

  I laugh as I carefully turn the truck around in the pole barn—James was obviously familiar with getting into and out of the pole barn, because there was plenty of space to turn around and pull out. I swing around James’s truck and onto the two-track, through the gate, past the house, and onto the road. The tires hum loudly, but I can see the noise fading out of my awareness very quickly. Indeed, within a couple of minutes I barely notice it, especially with the radio playing country music.

  James directs me on a fifteen-minute circuit around his neighborhood, and I do my best to put the truck through its paces—accelerating, stopping, turning. I even try parking; obviously I’m not going to be squeezing into any tight little spaces, but I don’t park like that anyway. I tend to park in the back forty and walk across the lot to wherever I’m going, so that’s not a problem.

  We pull back into James’s driveway, and I park in the driveway in front of the gate and switch off the engine. I sigh, unbuckling and twisting to lounge half sideways in the seat facing James in the passenger seat.

  “So,” I say.

  James rubs his beard with a knuckle. “So. What do you think?”

  I can’t help a smile. “I like it.”

  James lets a small smile creep across his mouth. “You like it?”

  I laugh. “It scared me at first, just the size of it, the utter and ridiculous masculinity of it, but…” I tug my hair backward. “It’s just cool—it’s fun. I actually enjoy driving it, and I really like being up this high. It feels…” I grin, laughing. “I feel like a boss.”

  James laughs. “That’s why I do it. It looks cool and makes you feel like a boss.”

  I sigh. “Okay, be honest—would I look stupid?”

  He frowns. “Stupid? Why would you look stupid?”

  I shrug. “I dunno. It’s this big, beefy, macho, hyper-masculine truck, and I’m a girl. Granted, I’m not some dainty girly-girl, but I’m still a chick.”

  James snorts. “Okay, number one, who gives a shit what anyone else thinks? Number two, no. You’d look like a boss-ass bitch. Just me, but a gorgeous woman driving a badass truck is pretty much the hottest thing on earth.”

  He turns away, rubbing his cheek with a hand—he’s blushing, I think, but it’s hard to tell under the beard.

  I try to stay composed and neutral. “Why, James Bod—was that a compliment?”

  He frowns at me. “Don’t act so shocked,” he says, his voice gruff.

  “I mean, I kind of am a tiny bit surprised.”

  “You’re an attractive woman, Nova. I ain’t blind.” He adjusts his sunglasses, passes a hand through his hair—which only messes it up, leaving a section on the side sticking up.