“Sure,” Shandie agreed.
“Le’s go!” Kayla said, apparently equally as excited by the idea of riding in Dax’s truck as she had been by the thought of riding one of his motorcycles.
“You’re the boss,” Dax decreed, leading the way through his showroom, locking his own shop after them and pointing out his truck parked in front.
It was a black behemoth big enough to cart two motorcycles in the bed and to haul a trailer with four more if need be, he explained as they got in and went the short distance to Shandie’s car.
Once they arrived there, Shandie left Kayla with Dax and got the safety seat, but when she returned with it to the truck, Dax was waiting on the passenger side to put it in for her.
Shandie appreciated the courtesy, but he didn’t know what he was doing and after a few failed attempts to figure it out she took over. As she did he went around to stand by while Kayla stood behind the truck’s steering wheel, bouncing wildly in her mimicry of driving.
Shandie had to smile to herself when he began to teach her daughter to make engine noises, but she didn’t comment on how funny it sounded.
Then the car seat was strapped in tightly to the center of the truck’s bench seat.
“Okay, climb in,” Shandie told the little girl.
After some reluctance to leave the wheel, Kayla did get into the carrier, wiggling until her heavy quilted coat wasn’t bunched up around her, then settling and promptly taking off her knitted hat and mittens.
It was something she inevitably did the minute Shandie got her in the car seat, and Shandie had given up fighting to stop it because she never won anyway—as soon as she wasn’t looking, off went hat and gloves every time.
As Shandie buckled her daughter in, Dax got behind the wheel once more. “Where to?” he asked.
Shandie recited her address in the course of situating herself again in the passenger seat and closing the side door so they could get going once more.
“Huh?”
“It isn’t far,” she said as if his huh had indicated that he thought it was.
“No, I know.”
“Is it a bad neighborhood or something?”
“I live on the same street—so maybe,” he joked.
“Which house?” Shandie asked, surprised to learn they lived near each other.
“The big gray one on the corner closest to New Town.”
“That is a big house. But I thought a family lived there with a teenager.”
“I rent out the main floor and live in the apartment on the second level. The income from the renters helps tide things over during the slow winter months. What house are you in?”
“The small yellow one, second from the other end.”
“So we’ve been within walking distance of each other there, too? I really must have been in a fog lately.”
“Well, at least you won’t have to go far out of your way,” Shandie said.
“Wouldn’t have mattered if I had needed to,” he assured her with a sideways glance that seemed along the same lines as his comment about not fixing the lock on the utility room door and blocking big girls from coming into his garage.
Shandie didn’t know what to say except, “Well, I appreciate the lift,” and only after she’d said it did she realize he was giving a bit of a lift to her ego, too, since she was feeling flattered to be flirted with for the first time in a very long while.
Kayla caught her attention then. Sitting in her carrier between them, out of the blue the toddler began to rub the sleeve of Dax Traub’s leather jacket.
It did look as soft as butter, and Shandie was aware of a curiosity of her own about whether or not it felt the way it looked. But being three and having few inhibitions, Kayla merely reached over and rubbed Dax’s arm.
It took him by surprise and he glanced from the road to the chubby hand caressing his coat.
“Kayla…” Shandie reprimanded.
“Feels like blankie,” the little girl countered.
“It isn’t blankie, though, so keep your hands to yourself,” Shandie said, embarrassed.
Or was it not only embarrassment she was feeling? Was there also some envy over the fact that her daughter was getting to touch Dax Traub?
It had better just be embarrassment, she told herself.
“It’s okay,” he assured Shandie as Kayla went right on fingering the leather the way she did the satin edge of her favorite blanket when she was falling asleep.
“Ever’body was talkin’ ’bout you today,” the little girl said then.
Dax aimed another look at Shandie, and she could tell he was taking her daughter’s remark to mean that Shandie had been talking about him today.
“Not me,” she was quick to say. Too quick. “But you were the talk of the beauty shop.” Although she hadn’t thought that Kayla had been eavesdropping as much as she had been.
One of Dax’s eyebrows arched suspiciously. “Why?”
“A few of the customers knew each other and were wondering if you’ll go to some dinner they’re having tomorrow night?” She finished that in the form of a question because it wasn’t as if she was clear about what she was referring to.
Dax turned his eyes to the road ahead, and as Shandie looked over at his perfect profile she saw his chin raise slightly in what might have been defensiveness or defiance or maybe both—she couldn’t tell. But it had a stiffness to it that let her know she’d hit a sore spot.
“It’s none of my business,” she said in a hurry to provide an excuse for him not to talk about it.
“It’s okay,” he said. Then, when Shandie expected him to drop it, he added, “Some old friends are having a get-together is all.”
“A pre-Thanksgiving dinner,” Shandie repeated what she’d overheard.
“Right.”
“And you may not go?” she asked cautiously.
“It’s pretty unlikely, yeah,” he said in a gruff voice that was almost more to himself than to her.
“It sounded nice,” she offered. “Good food. Everyone’s looking forward to it…”
“Probably more if they can count on my not being there.”
“I didn’t get that impression.”
“No? What impression did you get?”
Shandie shrugged within the navy-blue peacoat she had buttoned to her throat. “I got the impression that they wanted you to go.”
He gave her a look that said he doubted that.
“Why would they invite you and not want you to be there? Especially if they’re old friends?”
“Because now one of the old friends is coupled with my ex-fiancée, and my ex-wife has connected with my brother, who’s not so thrilled with me himself and… It’s complicated.”
“Oh,” Shandie said, not telling him that she’d heard he’d had a fight with his brother. After all, she didn’t actually know anything about it, anyway. Or any details about any of the rest of what he’d just briefly outlined.
“Still,” she felt inclined to persist, “I didn’t get the idea that anyone wanted you to miss the dinner.”
“Yeah,