Know Me Well (Wishful 3)

No. Fantasies aside, Riley Gower was off-limits. And the sooner his brain got the memo, the better.

~*~

A greasy nausea gripped Liam’s gut as he stared up at the faded lettering of the sign. Montgomery and Sons Auto Repair.

He’d avoided this, like a goddamned coward. His brothers, his mother, and sister had been the ones to deal with the accounts, tidy up business affairs in the wake of John Montgomery’s death. Liam hadn’t managed to set foot inside since it happened. He couldn’t shake the sense of guilt that if he’d lived up to the legacy of the sign, if he’d been that kind of son, he’d have been there the day his father keeled over under the hood of his beloved ’69 Mustang. The same Mustang Liam now drove.

But Liam had taken his own path, joined the Corps. His brothers had followed suit. And no one had been there that fateful Thursday afternoon. The others were able to cling to the fact that it had been quick. Painless, according to the doctors. He’d gone while doing something he loved. But Liam could only see a life ended far too soon. That was a reality he lived with in war. Not something he was ready for on the home front.

The garage was locked up tight, as it had been since the weeks following his father’s death. Quiet. His mother hadn’t sold the place. It was there, waiting, in case any of the Montgomery sons wanted to pick up their father’s mantle and carry on the family business. He could do it. He had all the skills, the love of engines and puzzles. And he certainly had need of a legitimate vocation now that Uncle Sam wasn’t calling the shots.

But to come here, every day? To be faced with all those reminders that his father wouldn’t be swinging through the door or hollering for a tool ever again? Coward or no, it was more than he could bear.

Under other circumstances, he wouldn’t be here now. But he’d promised Riley. Though her car was at the house, he needed the service records his dad kept here, along with the supplier contacts. Maybe he’d luck out and some of the parts would be in the remaining inventory.

Stale, musty air assailed his senses as he stepped into the office. The pin-up calendar hanging above the counter was still turned to October. Out of long-ingrained habit, Liam kissed his pointer and middle fingers and pressed them to the image of Jane Russell, his dad’s particular favorite, before moving to switch on the window unit air conditioner. Liam had always been more a Lana Turner, Loretta Young kind of guy, but he’d take the whole platoon of curvy, old school divas over today’s starved, waifish offerings. To his mind, a woman was ultimately the grounded center of a man, and as such, ought to be substantial.

His hands flexed at the memory of Riley’s hips. Glorious, solid curves.

“Focus.”

Tugging open the ancient file cabinet drawers, he began to flip through. Why the hell hadn’t his father believed in alphabetizing? Or computers? He’d worked halfway through the second drawer by the time the door opened. Braced to say, “We’re closed,” he trailed off at the sight of his mother.

“What are you doing here?”

“Saw the car. Wanted to check on you.”

“I’m trying to find Riley’s service records.” She hadn’t asked, but Liam felt compelled to explain what had finally gotten him through the door.

“They’re in the family files.” Molly reached past him and opened another drawer.

Given the direction his thoughts had been running, he sure as hell needed a good reminder of where Riley had always fit in his life. She was family. It wouldn’t do for him to forget that.

“Is she having trouble?”

“Broke down on the way in to work this morning. I towed it to the house, but she needs a resurrectionist, not a mechanic.”

“You’re thinking you’ll find the name of one in the file?”

“Wanted to check the dates when Dad last replaced some stuff.”

“Over the years, I think he probably replaced at least half of that car.”

“Yeah, well, the other half needs to go now. Pretty sure the engine is shot.”

“But you’re still going to try to fix it?”

“Riley gave me the face.” Riley Gower, the woman who never asked for anything, had looked up at him with those deep blue eyes and he’d caved.

Molly laughed. “What face?”

“The face that, I’m sure, had her daddy wrapped around her pinky finger as long as he was alive. Damned thing’s lethal. Like the people version of that cat in Shrek. And here I am promising to bring her car back from the beyond. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking.”

“I expect you were thinking she never asks for help, so when she does you’ll do just about anything to deliver. We all would.”

“Yeah, there’s that. So anyway, here I am. I guess I was hoping for some sort of miracle. Be nice if Dad were here to tell me what to do.”

In a gesture that was purely Molly, she squeezed his nape and stroked the length of his spine, automatically soothing the same way she’d done since he was a punk troublemaker come to live under her roof. “He’s here. Just not quite as vocal as you’d like him to be.”