Saving Alyssa. Loree Lough
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Название: Saving Alyssa
Автор: Loree Lough
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Контркультура
Серия: Mills & Boon Heartwarming
isbn: 9781472074324
isbn:
The bell above the door chimed as he elbowed his way back inside with her bike. “Did I hear you telling Jeff that you walked here with this thing?” He leaned it against the counter, then squatted to give it a once-over.
“Um, yeah.” She shrugged. “But only because I couldn’t ride it from Tongue Row.”
“Tongue Row? That’s what, six, eight blocks?” He stood, stepped behind the counter and picked up a spiral notebook. “Between that ankle and the bent frame, I’m surprised you got here at all.” He slid the notebook forward. Plopped a ballpoint on the top page. “Name and phone number,” Preston said, “so I can call you once I make a diagnosis. Please.”
That slight hesitation before he tacked on the courtesy reminded Billie of stories her mom had told about the rude, bossy surgeons in the O.R. Another scenario flickered in her imagination. But if Preston had been a doctor in his pre-bike shop life, he could well afford a customer database. Unless he’d lost everything in a malpractice suit.
“You have a computer, right?”
“Who doesn’t?” His eyes narrowed slightly. “How long have you lived in Ellicott City?”
“Just under a year.” She met his steady gaze, blink for blink. He’d responded to her question, she noted, without really answering it. “And you?”
Preston shifted from one sneakered foot to the other. “A year, huh? Then you know how often we lose power around here. I like the added security of having customers’ names written down in good old-fashioned black-and-white.”
Another question unanswered, Billie thought, picking up the pen. She reminded herself that she’d come here to get her bike fixed, period. With any luck, she’d never need his services again.
He glanced toward the back of the shop, where Alyssa lay on her stomach in a beanbag chair large enough to accommodate her dad’s muscular frame. He relaxed...but only slightly.
Oh, yeah. There was definitely something off about this guy.
She’d bet the Cannondale on it.
CHAPTER THREE
NOAH LEANED BOTH elbows on the glass-topped counter, putting him at eye level with—he read what she’d written in the notebook—Billie Landon. Her real name, or was Billie short for something?
She slid the book back to him. “So eventually, you have to add this information to your database?”
“Yeah. Eventually.” She had gorgeous eyes. Big. Bright. The color of rich black coffee. “But don’t feel sorry for me.”
“Sorry for you? Why would I feel sorry for you?”
Both her eyebrows had disappeared into thick, sleek bangs. Not brown. Not red. What was that color?
He cleared his throat. “Because,” Noah began, “you’re probably thinking if I had half a brain, I wouldn’t duplicate my efforts.”
The brows reappeared, in a frown. “That isn’t what I was thinking.”
Oh, but it was. In his district attorney days, he’d interviewed enough victims and perps to recognize a distortion of the truth when he saw it.
She shrugged. “Word around town is that you’re a magician when it comes to bike repair. No one mentioned your mind-reading talents.”
He added quick-witted to the list. “No, not a mind reader.” But he’d looked into enough lying eyes over the years to know a fib when he heard one. “You’re right, though. My system means I have to do everything twice. But don’t worry. I only do a couple dozen jobs a week, so there’s no chance I’ll get carpel tunnel.”
A bold smile now, which only added to his suspicions about her. Why the flip-flopping emotions?
He took a half step closer, an interrogation tactic that sent a clear “I’m in charge” signal during his days as a district attorney. Noah didn’t know which unnerved him more, the fact that his nearness didn’t faze her, or that her nearness doubled his heartbeat. He straightened, took a step back. Crossed his arms over his chest. After three years, he should be comfortable with his single dad status. He’d cleaned up his act...too little, too late. But even if he were interested enough to pursue her, a wide gold band gleamed from the third finger of her left hand. Considering her injured foot, Noah wondered why her husband hadn’t helped her deliver the bike. Was the guy married to his work, the way he himself had once been? Or a safety nut who didn’t approve of mountain biking? Maybe there wasn’t a spouse at all, and the ring served as a deterrent to unwanted flirtation.
“How long do you think it’ll take to repair my bike? I have a race next weekend.”
“On that ankle? You’re kidding, right?”
She shot him a “who do you think you are?” look, and Noah supposed he had it coming. He moved to Billie’s side of the counter again, crouched beside the Cannondale. “The fork is bent, and so’s the down tube.” Three years ago, if anyone had told him he could list bike parts, let alone repair them, he would have called them crazy. “If they won’t hold a weld, I’ll have to order new parts. Your chain is history, and I wouldn’t put any confidence in this crank set, either.”
Billie groaned softly. “In other words, I’m really not racing next Saturday.”
“Well...” Noah stood up and, with one hand on the bike seat, said, “Not unless you believe in miracles?”
“Absolutely not.”
She’d answered fast. Too fast. It made him wonder what—or who—had turned her into such a pessimist.
“Do you need a deposit?” she asked.
Noah waved the offer away. “Nah.” He picked up the notebook. “I know where you live. And I have the Cannondale as collateral.”
Billie hopped down from the stool, wincing when she landed.
She’d walked the bike to his shop; going home the same way would cause further damage to her ankle.
“Tuesdays are slow,” he began, “but even if they weren’t, we’re practically neighbors. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes, so why not let me drive you home?”
Billie stiffened. “I appreciate the offer, but—”
“It looks like you stuffed a bowling ball into your sock. I’d bet my bike your doc told you to stay off it, keep it elevated. And iced down.”
“As a matter of fact, he did.” She exhaled СКАЧАТЬ