Don't Let Go (3 page)

She'd give it one shot—and one shot only—and then see what came of it.

ANOTHER RAINY DAY.
Brady cursed the weather, because it would be that much longer before the paint dried on the Buick he'd worked on late last night. It also meant he'd have to leave the bay doors closed today. He stepped into the office and was greeted by Megan Lee, who nearly ran into his chest.

He took in the sight of her. Today she wore her hair in a high ponytail, which accented her cheekbones and her mouth. Her lips were painted some pretty shade of pink.

He tried not to look at her mouth.

“Oh, hi, Brady. We almost ran into each other. Again.”

“Morning, Megan. Are you looking for Molly? I think she's in a meeting with Carter.”

“Actually, I was looking for you. I promised you coffee and apple strudel.”

He remembered that conversation from yesterday. How could he not, considering he thought about Megan all the time? He didn't actually believe she'd show up before six thirty in the morning with a cup of coffee and a box in her hand, though.

“I'd love to stay and talk, but I've got customers, so I
have to run. I hope you stop by the shop and let me know what you think.”

With a short wave in his direction, she walked off. He stood there, holding the coffee and the box, watching the way her hips moved in those tight jeans she wore.

How could a woman wearing jeans, a pink polo shirt, and canvas tennis shoes look so damn sexy?

Ignoring his wayward thoughts, he took the box into the break room and opened it.

Sure enough, there was an apple strudel. His stomach growled. He popped the lid off the coffee, watching the steam rising from the cup. He inhaled the scent of the fresh roast and took a sip.

Damn good, and a hell of a lot better than the sludge he made from that ancient coffeemaker upstairs in his apartment. He lifted the apple strudel out of the box and took a bite.

It melted in his mouth, the taste of apples and sugar exploding all over his taste buds.

He wanted to savor it, but he devoured the entire thing in a minute. He even licked his fingers and searched the box to see if maybe she'd put two in there.

Sadly, she hadn't, so he finished off his cup of coffee, then dumped the containers in the trash and headed toward his work bay.

On the way, he looked out the window to see that the rain had finally stopped and the sun had emerged. It would help to dry the car he had painted, so he pushed the button to open the bay door, pulling off the tape and paper that covered the unpainted part of the Buick. He headed toward the Dumpster outside to dispose of the trash when he saw something dark scurry behind the Dumpster.

What the hell was that? Probably some kind of rodent.

But he heard whimpering, and rodents didn't whimper.

He bent down to investigate. An animal was wedged in between the Dumpster and the wall of the building. It was too big to be a rabbit or a cat, so it had to be a dog. It wasn't growling, so that was a good sign.

But it was shaking.

“Hey there, buddy,” he said, using his calmest voice. “Whatcha doing back there?”

It wouldn't come out and was obviously scared to death. Not surprising, considering it had been thundering during the storm, something that scared a lot of dogs.

“I'm gonna reach back there and pull you out, okay? Don't be afraid. And don't bite me.”

He didn't know why he was talking to the animal, but he kept his voice low and easy so the dog wouldn't be afraid of him.

As slowly as possible, he slid his arm toward the shivering dog. Not an easy feat, because there wasn't a lot of space between the wall and the Dumpster, and with the dog wedged back there, he could barely fit his hand. But the tiny being wasn't trying to shy away from him, and he kept talking to him as he got ahold of his fur and managed to pull him out from his hiding spot.

“There you go. Now you're free.”

He picked up the dog, who couldn't weigh more than ten pounds. If that much.

Jesus, what a mess. He was wet, covered in mud and filth, and, Christ, did he stink. He couldn't even tell what kind of breed the dog was since he was so muddy. All he knew was it was small. And kind of furry—maybe. And matted. And stinky.

But he was shivering, no doubt cold and scared. Brady pulled the dog against his chest.

“Come on, you wet thing. Let's get you someplace dry.”

As he was holding the dog, he realized he didn't have a lot of options other than the supply closet. But it was ventilated, and at least it was warm and dry. He grabbed a few shop towels and spread them on the floor in there, placing the dog on top of the towels. The tiny fur ball turned around several times and curled up in a tight circle, promptly going to sleep.

With a shrug, Brady closed the door, went into the break room to grab a bowl and fill it with water, then opened the
door to the supply closet and put the bowl next to the dog. He barely opened his eyes to peer up at Brady, then went back to sleep.

“Traumatic morning, huh, buddy?” Brady asked before shutting the door behind him.

He figured he'd check on the dog in a little while, but for now, he had to get some work done.

After finishing up two vehicles, he checked on the dog, who was still asleep. Some of the mud had dried on him, but damn, that dog was a mess. On his lunch hour, he dashed to the pet store to pick up some dog shampoo and flea dip, along with dog food, a harness, and a leash, though he had no idea why, since the dog probably got loose from someone's yard in the rain and this would all be a waste of money. But whatever, he couldn't have the thing be dirty and hungry. He ran back to the shop and opened the door to the closet. The dog had been asleep, but when he heard Brady, he sat up on his blanket of towels and wagged his tail.

“First things first, Killer. You need a bath.”

He scooped up the dog and deposited him in the oversized sink in the garage, rinsed off the caked mud, then lathered the little guy up with shampoo and rinsed it off. After that, he gave the dog a flea dip, though he hadn't seen any fleas when he washed him. But better to err on the safe side. He grabbed clean towels to dry off the dog, only to discover “he” was a “she.”

Well, hell.

He picked her up and stared down at her now-exceptionally cute, fluffy face. His parents had only had one dog—Benjie—and they'd gotten him when Brady was a teen, so he hadn't grown up around animals, even though he'd always wanted one when he was little. And he'd always been on the go as an adult, so getting his own dog hadn't been an option for him.

“What's a girl like you doing wandering the alleys and getting all muddy?”

No response, but she did lick his nose.

“Yeah, don't get too attached. We're not going to be lifelong friends.”

She was damned adorable, with brown-and-white-tipped fur and the cutest ears. He had no idea what breed she was, but she sure was cute. And who would let a dog like her outside without watching her?

He put on her harness and attached the leash. “How about a walk?”

She wagged her tail, but she balked when he started outside the garage bay doors. She'd only walked about two feet when she parked her behind on the asphalt and refused to budge.

Brady looked down at her. “So, we're not leash trained, huh? That's okay. We can work on it.”

He realized he was already planning on training her, as if she was his. Which she wasn't. No doubt she'd gotten loose and her family was looking for her.

But what the hell. He had to wait for the primer to dry on the car he'd worked on, so he might as well spend some time leash training her. He let her know who was the boss, and he figured she probably really wanted to pee, so he led her over to the grass. With a great amount of reluctance she cooperated and they ended up on the grass, where she did her business. Then it was time for a return trip, only this time he walked her around toward the front of the building, where he ran into Megan heading down the street.

“Oh my God, Brady, I didn't know you had a dog.”

“I don't. She wandered into the shop this morning after the rainstorm. She was a muddy mess, so I cleaned her up and gave her a dry place to sleep.”

“Awww.” Megan bent down and picked up the dog. “Aren't you just adorable?” She lifted her gaze to Brady. “Do you think she's abandoned?”

He shrugged. “No idea. She wasn't wearing a collar or any form of ID on her, but she probably belongs to someone. Though she was a mess, and it didn't look to me like she was just out in this morning's rain.”

Megan wrinkled her nose. “That's sad. And makes me angry. People should take better care of their fur babies.”

“Yeah. I'm going to run her by Emma's vet clinic this afternoon to see if she has a microchip identification on her.”

“Good idea. If she doesn't, will you keep her?”

“I don't know. I'm not much for taking care of anything.”

“Seems to me you've already done a great job of taking care of her. You've given her a bath and a warm place to recover from the storm. Next step is giving her a home with you.”

Brady looked down at the dog, surprised to find himself feeling attached to the dog already. And he wasn't one to attach himself to anyone or anything. “I don't know, Megan. We'll see.”

She leaned into him and laid her hand on his arm. “Everyone needs someone. This little cupcake down here seems like she's perfect for you.”

He gave her a dubious look. “I don't know why you'd think that.”

She lifted her warm brown eyes to his. “I guess because lost souls sometimes have a way of finding each other.”

He had no idea what the hell she was talking about. The dog was lost. He wasn't. Needing to change the subject, he said, “Oh, thanks for the coffee and strudel this morning.”

“Did you like them?”

“Megan, they were great. I might actually stop by your bakery for coffee now. That crap my coffeemaker makes isn't going to cut it anymore.”

She grinned. “Good to know. That's how I wrangle in customers, you know. Give them a little tease, then pull them into the bakery.”

“So it's like confection crack?”

She tilted her head back and laughed, and he enjoyed the sound. “Something like that. So I'll see you tomorrow morning?”

He wasn't one to commit, but he could already smell that coffee and something sweet. Or maybe it was Megan who
smelled sweet. He resisted the temptation to lean in and take a deep breath, just to see if that sweet scent was her.

“Sure.”

“Good. And I'd really like to know how little cupcake down there does at the vet's office. Will you text me and let me know?”

“Uh, I don't have your phone number, Megan.”

She cocked her head to the side and smiled. “And why is that, Brady?”

He frowned, and she laughed.

“Do you always have to look so painfully serious, Brady? I can fix the phone number problem. Give me your phone.”

He dug it out of his pocket and she typed in her name and number, then handed it back to him and pulled out her phone. “Now I'll need yours so I know it's you when you text me.”

He wasn't sure how they had gotten around to exchanging numbers, but it was good for the dog that she had people who cared about her, so he gave Megan his number.

“Thanks,” she said, slipping her phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “You know, if you—and the little cupcake—aren't busy tonight, I'm trying out some new bakery recipes at home. I could use some unbiased judgments. And I could provide dinner before the dessert. I don't know if you already have something in mind for dinner . . .”

Dinner was typically fast food or a sandwich, which he ate alone in his apartment above the shop. “Uh, no. No plans.”

Her smile brightened. “Great. Come have dinner with me. Bring the little cutie with you. Then instead of texting me, you can tell me all about the vet, and your plans for her.”

“Um . . . okay.”

“I'll text you the time. I really have to go now, Brady.” She bent down and ruffled the dog's fur. “See you later, little cupcake.”

She wandered past the shop, and Brady wondered how an innocent conversation had turned into dinner with Megan tonight. Not that he minded a home-cooked meal,
because he got very little of that, but he was wary of spending time with her.

She was a damned good-looking woman, and he was attracted to her.

Brady didn't want entanglements or to get involved with anyone, so spending any time at all with Megan was never a good idea.

Still, it was just dinner. How involved could that be?

He looked down at the dog, who stared up at him, waiting for his next move.

She really was cute.

“Come on, Killer. Back to work.”

NOW THAT MEGAN
had invited Brady to dinner, she had to figure out what she was going to make. She knew he was single and lived alone and likely didn't have home-cooked meals all that often, so she decided to fix something nice and substantial. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes should do it, along with green beans and bacon. Oh, and fresh-baked rolls.

Her stomach growled just thinking about dinner, but before that she had to tackle her baking. First she made mini chocolate mousse cakes and set those aside before starting on a caramel cheesecake. She was always happy the bakery closed early in the afternoon, which gave her time to grocery shop and head home to start working on her dessert projects.

Baking was never done. At least not in her mind. She loved to experiment, even with desserts that might not ever appear in her bakery.

When the doorbell rang, she wiped her hands on a towel and went to answer the door. Brady was there, and at his feet sat the pup.

She couldn't help the grin on her face. “I see you brought your dinner companion.”

He frowned. “You told me to bring her. Is that not okay?”

“Of course it's okay. Come on in.”

She shut the door behind him. “I'm working in the kitchen. Follow me.”

She led him through the living room and into the kitchen. “Take a seat on the barstool. Would you like a beer or a glass of wine? I also have iced tea.”

“A beer would be good. Thanks.”

She pulled a beer out of the refrigerator and handed it to him, then got out a bowl and filled it with water, setting it down next to the peninsula so the dog could have something to drink.

“Did you take her to the vet?”

“Yeah. Stopped by Emma's clinic after work. The doc there who's taking over for Emma while she's on maternity leave said the dog doesn't have a microchip. Leanne, the vet tech, said she hasn't seen the dog there before. She took a picture and sent it to the clinic north of town, and they said they didn't recognize the dog, either.”

“Huh.” Megan took a sip from the glass of wine she'd poured earlier. “So no one knows her, at least not from the clinics.”

“No. Doc there said she looks young, less than a year old. He went ahead and gave her puppy shots and meds and they put her picture up on the bulletin board, but he said judging from what I told him about her condition it's likely she was abandoned or ran off from someone.”

“That's so sad. So are you keeping her?”

He shrugged. “I guess so, unless someone claims her. I'll put up signs in the neighborhood and we'll see what happens.”

“Poor little cupcake.”

“I was thinking of calling her Killer. Or maybe Thing.”

Megan gave him a horrified look. “Those are awful names for such a cute little dog. Cupcake fits her better.”

“A guy can't have a dog named Cupcake.”

“And why not?”

“I don't know. It's not a dude name.”

“You're a dude. Your dog is not. She's a girl and she should have a girlie name. Like Cupcake. Isn't that right, Cupcake?”

“Cupcake isn't a girl name.”

“It most certainly is.”

“Well, I'm not calling her that.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “Fine. Then you should name her Tulip.”

“That's even worse.”

“Sassy.”

He grimaced. “God, no.”

“Fancy.”

He cocked his head to the side. “You're joking, right?”

“Biscuit.”

“Woman, please. Killer is sounding better and better all the time.”

“You are hard to please.” She looked at the dog, then smiled. “Roxie.”

He opened his mouth to object, then paused. “Okay, that might work. It's tough, but still a girl's name.”

“It's cute. I think it fits her.”

“Well, Killer fits her, too.”

Megan laughed. “No, it doesn't. I'll bet she couldn't even kill a bug—could you, Roxie?”

Brady cast a disgusted look at her. “Roxie, huh?”

The pup barked.

“Aha,” Megan said. “I'd say she's chosen her own name—haven't you, Roxie?”

“Roxie it is, I guess. I need another beer.”

Figuring she'd won that round, she grabbed another beer from the refrigerator and handed it off to Brady.

“What are you fixing?”

“Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans with bacon, along with rolls. Does that sound all right?”

“Anything that doesn't come from a microwave or a sandwich shop sounds all right to me.”

“You're easy.”

“Not the first time I've heard that.”

For some reason, his reply felt sexual, and it made her stomach tumble. And things south quiver.

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“No, but thank you.”

“So I'm supposed to just sit here and watch you do all the work?”

“Does that bother you?”

“Yeah. Kind of.”

She laughed. “Okay. Come over here and wash your hands and I'll put you to work.”

She liked that he wasn't happy about doing nothing, but she sure wasn't used to having a man work side by side with her in her kitchen. She'd cooked for guys before at her house, but she couldn't recall ever having one help her.

A first.

He washed up, then came over to stand beside her. “Okay, what do you need from me?”

She looked over at him, studying how tall he was standing next to her. His jeans were loose, his gray T-shirt clean and stretched tight over some very fine muscles. She let her gaze travel over his forearms, where dark hair covered his skin. And those tattoos made him look tough. Sexy. Edible.

She wanted to climb all over him.

His chest was wide, and she wondered if he worked out or if his physique was a product of the work he did. He had a broad nose and full lips, and he wore his raven hair short. His green eyes had a magnetic quality, as if he could read her mind.

She hoped not, because right now her mind was awhirl in very dirty thoughts.

“Megan.”

She blinked. “Yes?”

“Where do you want me?”

She supposed “In my bed” would be an inappropriate response, though she wondered what his reaction would be if she said that.

Instead, she handed him a stack of potatoes. “Peel these.”

“I can do that.”

While he peeled the potatoes, she breaded the chicken, then set the pieces in the fryer to cook while she prepped the green beans and took the potatoes Brady had peeled and put those in the boiling water.

“Now you can fry up some bacon to go with the beans,” she said to him, pushing the bacon over toward him, along with a pan.

She had to admit it was nice to have some help in the kitchen. She cooked and baked all the time and always had meals under control. She was good at time management and multitasking, but that didn't mean she didn't appreciate assistance, and with Brady handling some of the tasks, it made the meal prep go a lot faster. Before she knew it, the potatoes were done and Brady was mashing them, so she finished off the beans and bacon and pulled the now-cooked chicken out of the pan.

“With your help, that didn't take as long,” she said. “So thanks.”

He looked over at her. “You're welcome.”

“Now we can eat.”

She had already set the table, so she placed all the food on serving platters and they carried them into her dining room.

“You know, we could have just eaten at the island,” Brady said as he held her chair out for her.

“Thank you. And I often do that when it's just me. But when I have company over, I like to make it special by eating in the dining room.”

“I'm not company.”

“Sure you are.” She poured from the pitcher of iced tea she'd made, filling his glass, then hers. “I invited you to dinner, so that makes it special.”

For the first time since he arrived at her house, his lips ticked up into a smile. “Okay, then.”

She paused, staring at him. “You should do that more often.”

“Do what?”

“Smile.”

That smile disappeared, his signature frown taking over. “I smile.”

“Rarely. Usually you look like you just ate something that didn't taste good.”

His brows furrowed even farther toward each other. “I do not.”

She laughed. “Yes, you do.”

“Fine. I'll show you.” He took a forkful of potatoes and slid them into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, then graced her with the fakest grin she'd ever seen, even pointing to his mouth.

“See? Smiling.”

She rolled her eyes. “It's better when it's genuine, Brady.”

He raised his hands. “I give up.”

Brady didn't know what to make of Megan, or of her comment that he never smiled.

He smiled plenty, goddammit. Or at least he thought he did. But her comment stung, and maybe there was some truth to it. He'd internalized his grief about Kurt for so long that he'd become a recluse. This was the first time he'd been out alone with a woman since before his brother died. Maybe he should try being civil.

Since she was the one who usually initiated conversation, he could start there.

“This is really good fried chicken.”

Megan smiled, and her smile came naturally. “Thank you. I'm so glad you like it.”

Everything was good. He'd been eating microwaved and take-out food for so long that he'd forgotten how good home cooking was.

“Thanks for inviting me over.”

“You're welcome. I have to admit I had ulterior motives.”

He arched a brow, curious as to where this conversation was headed. “Yeah? And what would those be?”

“I live alone, so I eat by myself most nights unless I
have something planned with my friends. So you're kind of my savior tonight.”

He'd never been anyone's savior, and he sure hadn't been there when it had counted for his brother. “Glad I could be here for you. And you're saving me from another night of bland pot roast or my millionth turkey sandwich of the week.”

“What about your parents? They live in town, right?”

“Yeah, they do.”

She waited a beat, and when he didn't say anything more, she followed up with, “Oh, you know you could always eat at Bert's diner. The food there is awesome and is the closest thing to home cooking as you can get.”

She'd grabbed a clue really fast that he didn't want to talk about his parents, which he gave her credit for.

“I eat there once in a while. But mostly I just head upstairs from the auto shop to the apartment.”

She took a sip of her tea and studied him. “Why is that?”

He shrugged. “I guess I just want to be alone.”

“In the bell tower.”

“Huh?”

Her lips curved. “You've kind of garnered a reputation around town as a recluse, Brady.”

“I have?”

“Yes. You don't hang out with the guys. You don't date. You don't socialize, period. So people have made up stories about you.”

He laid his fork down. “Is that right? What kinds of stories?”

She lifted her eyes as if she was trying to remember. “Well, let's see. One has you cooking meth up there. Another I've heard is that you're into BDSM and you've set up your secret bondage club in the apartment. Oh, and another says you're Hope's newest mobster, running your money-laundering operation from your lair above Carter's shop.”

He hadn't heard any of this. Then again, he rarely talked to people, so where would he hear it from?

“Meth? Really? Bondage? And a mobster? People have good imaginations.”

“You know where we live, Brady. People will gossip.”

“And yet you trusted me enough to invite me over for dinner.”

She shrugged. “I don't tend to pay much attention to gossip. Plus all of those ideas are ridiculous.”

He studied her. “Which means you have one of your own.”

She took a sip of tea, smiling at him over the rim of her glass. “Of course.”

“Which is?”

“That you're secretly a Russian spy, on the run and in hiding from your country's assassins, who know you've turned double agent and you're selling intelligence secrets to the US. But you can't blow your cover and come out with your intel until the superassassin who's after you has been flushed out and taken down.”

Brady arched a brow. “Watch a lot of TV, Megan?”

She shrugged. “I read a lot.”

He finished off his chicken and pushed his plate to the side. “I think I like your scenario best.”

She grinned. “Thanks. I thought it was a good one.”

He leaned back and took a couple of long swallows of tea, trying to digest both his meal and the information Megan had given him about what the town thought of him.

Okay, so maybe he'd pushed people away after Kurt's death. And maybe he'd been more than a little reclusive. But damn, the gossips had been working overtime on him, hadn't they?

Though he'd been honest when he told Megan hers was the best. She had a decent imagination.

“Ready for dessert?” she asked.

“You mean there's more?”

She stood and grabbed her plate, looking down on him as if he'd just asked the dumbest question ever. “A meal isn't complete without a good dessert.”

“Okay, then. Bring it.”

He went into the kitchen and laid his dinner plate in the sink, then watched in awe as Megan brought forth two desserts.

“Is that cheesecake?”

She nodded. “Caramel.”

He was already full, but no way would he turn down cheesecake.

“Cheesecake is my weakness.”

Her lips curved. “I'm making a mental note of that.”

Roxie—God, was he really going to name her that?—had followed them into the kitchen.

“Maybe she needs to go out,” Megan said.

“I'll take care of that. I'll be right back.”