“Willard doesn’t care.” Kimmie left the parking lot with a bump over part of the curb. “Gerald’s his nephew and you’ve ‘always been a pain-in-the-ass’ so you’re out. Your personal items from the stadium are in the box on the back seat.”
Harper spun and looked. Sure enough, the plaque declaring her junior cheer champion of two thousand and two stuck out from the top of the box. They’d cleared out her desk and closed the door on her. Four years of loyalty to the team meant nothing.
She didn’t even get to keep one of the new stripper uniforms that had gotten her into trouble in the first place.
Her bottom lip wobbled. Her entire cheerleading career was boiled down to a box of mementos and a kick out the door.
“I can’t believe Willard can do that. Don’t I get to tell my side of the story? I did not kill Gerald!”
Repeating her innocence made her feel better even if it didn’t help free her from suspicion.
Kimmie pulled up to a stop sign and turned to her. “I feel for you and I believe you’re innocent. However, article VII, section eight of your contract gives the Muskrats the ability to fire you for any infraction. Murdering the team manager qualifies.”
“But I didn’t—” She stopped. Moving quickly from feeling sorry for herself to boiling over with indignation, Harper knew that taking out her frustration on Kimmie wouldn’t be fair. The girl had come to her assistance and was on her side. So Harper kept her thoughts about Willard to herself. She’d find a way out of this mess. She had to.
And she’d get Noah Slade to help her.
Chapter 3
“Crap.” Harper grabbed the lip gloss wand off her white shorts and made a face. Her hand shook as she shoved the wand back into the tube and twisted the cap. Goop oozed out from under the lid and got on her fingers. “Just great.”
Looking down, a jagged smear of pink peppermint gloss ran down the front of her floral shirt and onto her lap.
“Damnit.” She rubbed a spot with a tissue from her glove box and a squirt of hand sanitizer. The effort made it worse. She expelled a frustrated breath. Even if she resented Noah for the hang-up, and had no desire to impress him, she’d wanted to project a confidence she didn’t feel. Having lip gloss all over herself only projected that she was still the same hot mess from high school.
“Excellent.” She considered heading home to change, but she was already so far out of Ann Arbor that she swore she was almost halfway to the Mackinaw Bridge. It would take over an hour round trip to change just for a minor smear.
“Maybe he won’t notice.” Sure.
Before she lost her nerve, she climbed out of her faded red nineteen-seventy Boss 302 Mustang and jerked her peasant top into place. Chin lifted, eyes level, she headed for the building.
The façade of the auto shop was two stories high, cement block, with two large bays that were closed until the nine a.m. opening.
Good. Harper headed for a smaller side door, pleased that her first meeting with Noah after these many years wouldn’t be for public consumption. She wasn’t sure how either of them would handle the moment. Weeping and hugging was out. Assault and battery with car tools? Maybe.
The door was unlocked and she stepped inside.
The garage smelled of motor oil and exhaust fumes as she nervously walked into the dim interior. She’d sat in her car in the cracked parking lot for a full ten minutes before getting her argument ready and summoning up courage. Well, that and taking time to ruin her cute outfit.
Normally, she’d take Noah’s hang-up as a firm “no” and move on. But with Taryn and the Brash & Brazen crew out of state, she had limited options. The longer she waited to get started clearing her name, the colder the clues.
Besides, rumor had it that Willard was actively seeking her conviction by hiring a team of lawyers and investigators to join his revenge-fest. With zillions of dollars and connections to back his string-up Harper party, without help, she was toast.
At the early hour, the garage was quiet except for someone banging what sounded like a hammer on metal. Her eyes turned to the source of the noise. A low curse from a male voice followed.
Noah?
It had to be. The description of his truck matched the one parked outside. Odds were in her favor.
She’d begged his mother for his whereabouts, had sworn Monica to secrecy when she provided the details. Monica Slade always liked Harper. That hadn’t changed.
What would her son think?
Hopefully, the element of surprise would keep him from throwing her out on her butt.
Would she still recognize him? Years had passed since their bitter breakup. The guy with his head under a delivery truck hood was the right height. His dark blond hair was also correct, although, it was shorter than in high school. The loose work pants and shirt that covered his body left that part of him unrecognizable.
Not that his teen body hadn’t changed over the course of eleven years. The coveralls could be hiding a physique ravaged by whiskey and pork rinds.
Still, none of that mattered. This was about her case and not Noah. If he’d let himself go, that was none of her concern. She wasn’t interested in him on a personal level anymore.
With that thought firmly planted in her mind, she took a deep breath and headed his way, weaving in and out of car parts and repair equipment. Her chest tightened as she braced for a confrontation. Although their final fight hadn’t been her fault, she’d ignored his calls for weeks afterward, and he’d finally—and angrily—ended all contact.
“Noah?”
Tension tightened the man’s shoulders as he straightened and slowly turned around. A pair of intense blue eyes, staring from beneath brown brows, showed annoyance against the backdrop of a tanned and hard-edged face.
Good Lord.
Her heart raced. Noah had been a kid too good-looking and cocky for his own good. He’d grown into the promise of something more, a man who could break hearts with one look and leave women devastated in his wake.
Yep, Noah Slade was every woman’s dirty sex dream without any of the happily-ever-after.
“I can’t believe it’s you.” Her attempt at levity failed. His scowl intimidated her but she pressed forward. “After all these years you look well. How are you?”
The wrench clattered on the fender of the truck. “Cut the crap, Harper,” he said. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
So much for a happy reunion between old lovers, and no more affectionate “HJ” either. Not that she expected a touching movie-type moment. Civility yes, open rudeness, no.
“It’s nice to see you, too, Slade.” She regarded him openly as if buying a side of beef and quickly discovered that he hadn’t succumbed to booze and rinds. Even in the oversized coveralls, there was no paunch that she could discern on his tall frame, or a double chin hanging down to his collar from eating too many cheese balls.
Of course not. Karma would not be that fair.
Instead, he could still make her drool, and that wasn’t a good thing. This was the jerk who had broken her heart.
Crossing her arms, she faced him full-on without flinching and tried to ignore the shiver prickling through her. He was close enough for her body to detect the yummy male pheromones dancing off him in waves.
Damn, he looked great, albeit, grimy, though she struggled not to feel anything for him.
Was