Restore My Heart (9 page)

Joe nodded. “Okay, I’ll call.”

“And tell them what? That a pickup truck tried to run me down? What make, model, color pickup, Joe? Can you give a description of the driver?”

Straddling one of the work stools, she offered to share the pint of milk with him. He needed a stronger drink than milk, something to dull the tension coiled inside his chest.

“You’re right. We have nothing to give them. But I’ll report it.” He studied her face, where a raspberry-colored bruise marked her chin. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Just sore. And that’s mostly from last night.” She stared at him with troubled eyes. “What’s happening here, Joe?”

Roy Bishop worked two bays down on an old Ford. Joe cut his eyes toward the man. “Let’s talk in your office.”

“Sure. I’d just as soon not worry Roy.”

Joe offered Sally his arm. “Need some help?”

She slid from the stool. “I can manage. By the way, I never did thank you for saving my life.”

Joe chuckled. “No, but you called me an insane terrorist.”

“Sorry. I thought someone was mugging me.” She led him into her office and the folding metal chair. She sank into the chair behind her desk. “A cripple is an easy target.”

Something snapped inside Joe’s gut. “Dammit, Sally, stop referring to yourself as a cripple.”

He instantly regretted the outburst. Seeing Sally almost killed by the truck had robbed him of patience. Or maybe he needed to distance himself after last night’s near-kiss. For whatever reason, he’d lost it. He braced himself for Sally’s angry rebuttal, or at least a defensive remark. An indignant you’re-way-out-of-line, mister. Tears. Anything but a smile.

A genuine, heart-stopping smile. “Self-pity is tiresome, isn’t it?”

“It’s more like self-deprecation.” He shook his head. “Why do you do it?”

“The best defense is an offense.” She scrunched her shoulders, then released them, a movement that almost passed as a shrug.

“You expect comments about your leg, so you just beat people to the punch?”

She nodded, gnawing at her bottom lip—her rich, dewy lip. The nervous gesture conjured up erotic visions he struggled to ignore.

“But you’re right,” she said. “I can’t expect others to see me as a normal woman until I see myself as normal and whole. I’m working on it.”

“You are a whole woman, Sally. And an amazing one, too.” And intriguing. And sexy. Ooh, boy. “Uh, so how are you working on it?”

“Do you really want to talk about this?” She gave him a puzzled smile.

“Why not?”

“I thought we were going to discuss why anyone would want to burn up the Darrin or my garage or put tire tracks across my back.”

“You’re right. Let me call the cops.”

He punched in 9-1-1 from her desk phone, then reported the attempted hit-and-run.

Later, while they waited for the patrol car to arrive, Joe returned to the subject of Sally’s fitness program, hoping it would lead her to talk about her injury. Right now he wanted—no, needed—to know what made Sally Clay tick. He hadn’t succeeded in understanding his attraction to her. His life had become entangled with hers in a short time, even though he didn’t need entanglements.

“Last night you said you work out, and it shows. Is that part of your program to see yourself as normal and whole?”

“Yeah. You know how a blind person develops her other senses to compensate for the missing one? Well, I do that with my leg. I have severed muscles that will never work, but I also have good ones. I work the good muscles extra hard to compensate for the missing ones. It’s aggressive physical therapy beyond what the doctors recommended.”

In other words, the doctors had given up and the insurance company wouldn’t authorize payment for continued therapy. His family had experienced that dilemma, too, with Nina’s years of therapy and treatment. Sally would exhaust every avenue before accepting defeat. “You’re missing the point, though.”

She pursed her lips. “Which is?”

“You’re trying to fix what’s wrong so you’ll feel worthy. I’m saying you’re worthy now, if only you’d stop crippling yourself.”

Unconvinced eyes stared back at him. “What makes you the psychologist?”

“I’m no psychologist, Sally, but I’m a brown belt.”

“Karate?” Furrows deepened across her forehead. “You’ve lost me.”

“Tai Kwon Do.” Balancing on the chair’s back legs, he leaned it against the wall. “One semester we were signing up new students. An overweight freshman asked me all sorts of questions at orientation, clearly wanting to join the class. But she held back, saying she’d have to lose weight before she enrolled.”

“Did she? Lose weight, I mean?”

He shook his head. “No. Master asked her why she thought overweight people hadn’t the right to defend themselves. Two years later, she beat my butt in a tournament, and still outweighed me by several pounds.”

Sally laughed. “Good for her.”

“And now I’m asking you: Why would you think a person with an injured leg deserves less than anyone else?”

Her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flared, reminding him of a filly during a thunderstorm. “I don’t think that!”

“Okay.” He held out supplicating hands. “I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn.”

“You do have a point.” She sighed, the fire in her eyes abating. “My life’s a lot more complicated than you know. And I’m not going into it.”

“Fair enough. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Liar
. He did want to know what demons she battled. He could be patient. “Tell me about your upper body strength training. Is that part of your aggressive physical therapy?”

“That’s job related.” She flashed him a cocky grin. “I can’t have customers thinking I’m a weak mechanic. There’s a lot of muscle required in auto work. Some of my hardest labor is lying beneath an engine working with my arms held up over my head. Several hours of that tend to wear you down.”

Joe pushed aside the image of Sally lying with her arms held up, an image without an automobile or overalls covering her body. Down, boy! “I’d never call you a weak mechanic. You’re anything but weak, lady.”

She ducked her head, murmuring “thanks.” Embarrassed again? Didn’t anyone ever feed this woman praise? Sally presented a curious puzzle, one he’d like to solve.

“Does your regimen include a special diet?”

“No. I take extra calcium and vitamins to strengthen my bones. Liquid minerals help boost my energy and immune system.” Her lips turned up in a smile that failed to mask the strain in her eyes. “You must think I’m a health nut.”

“Not after watching you wolf down two rolled oysters and a mountain of French fries.” His teasing remark eased the tension, earning him a smile.

“Watching me? Ha! You were too busy stuffing your own face—”

Roy Bishop stuck his head inside the door, interrupting her. “Excuse me, boss.”

“Hey, Roy.” Sally beamed at the mechanic. The easy camaraderie between the two suggested a long working relationship. “Aren’t you due home by now? Janet will have my hide working you late on a Saturday.”

“I’m gone. I have a call in to that guy in Moultrie about those relays, in case he calls back this afternoon.”

“I’ll handle it.” Sally waved him away. “See you Monday.”

Roy’s retreating footsteps faded, followed by a door banging shut.

“I didn’t realize it was this late,” Joe said. “Where are the cops?”

“You told them it wasn’t an emergency. And I told you it was a waste of time.”

“We’ll see. You need to lock up while we wait.”

Sally looked at the electric clock on the wall opposite her desk, a clock reminiscent of grade school. “Yeah, I need to clean up before heading to the Universal Joint. Uncle Sal doesn’t usually work Saturdays, but he’s there today and I told him I’d stop by.”

Joe wasn’t ready to leave. They hadn’t discussed the attempt on her life with the police, nor had he broached the subject of tomorrow’s dinner at his mother’s. He’d hoped to bring up the subject of Vic and the Darrin, too.

Sally must have read his mind. “You want to follow me over there? We could grab some health food.”

“Health food. Right.” Her invitation cheered him, more than he’d expected. “I don’t mind if I do.”

Just as Sally suspected, the police report didn’t take long. Joe had little to give them in the way of details. In turn, the police had nothing to offer. Still, the attempted hit-and-run was now a matter of record. She locked up after the two officers left, then headed for the Universal Joint, Joe behind her in his Dodge.

Too early for the typical Saturday night crowd, the tavern held only a few customers when Sally and Joe walked in, and none were regulars she recognized. A small group crowded the bar, watching the suspended TV set. Noises of a NASCAR race and an occasional cheer seemed muted compared to the rowdy late crowds. The jukebox was blessedly silent.

Joe ushered Sally to a booth against the wall, far from the TV. Monette whisked over to the table, smiling. “Hey, Sally. You ready for your usual?”

“I sure am.”

Joe cocked his head quizzically. “What’s your usual?”

Monette crowded her considerable charms into Joe’s face. “One draft beer and a grilled hot pepper cheese on Texas toast sandwich.”

Joe kept his gaze locked on Sally. “Sounds like good health food. Make that two.”

Sally suppressed a grin. Monette had suffered a serious setback when a guy ignored her for a crippled— No! Joe was right. She had to stop the negative self-talk.

“Monette, have you met Joe Desalvo?”

“Pleased to meet you, Joe.” Monette seemed to take his disinterest in stride. Winking at Sally, she hurried toward the kitchen with their orders.

Joe nodded toward the bar. “Is that your uncle?”

“Yep. That’s Uncle Sal, tending bar. You’ve never met?”

Joe shrugged. “Probably when I was a kid. I know he was friends with Vic and my dad. Tell me about him.”

“Uncle Sal and Aunt Susan took me under their wings when Mom died. Their daughter Maggie is my age and the closest thing to a sister I have, although we aren’t as close as we once were.”

“Why’s that?”

“Oh, you know. She has a different life now. Married, a three-year-old plus another kid on the way.” All the things Sally shouldn’t dream about, but did. “We keep in touch still.”

Monette returned, sliding two pilsner glasses of beer onto the table. “Here you go. Your sammies will be up shortly.”

Sally sipped the cold brew and watched the waitress sashay back to the bar, her auburn tresses swaying in her wake. “Uncle Sal and my dad have worked on cars as long as I can remember. They were Clay Enterprises, a racing team. Later, when Sal opened Mustang Sally’s, he hired me. He knew he’d like my work because he’d help train me. I eventually bought him out and you know the rest.”

Joe fingered designs into the condensation outside the pilsner. “Your dad raced?”

“He used to.” Shame consumed her just thinking about what her father had sacrificed because of her.

“What kind of racing?”

“NASCAR, Busch division.” She needed to change the subject without arousing Joe’s curiosity, to steer the conversation away from racing or her father. Talk that would lead to the accident. She wouldn’t discuss the accident, not with Uncle Sal, not with her dad, and certainly not with Joe Desalvo. Besides, hadn’t she agreed to find out all she could for the FBI about Leo? So far, she had zilch.

“Joe, you’ve done an admirable job of distracting me from my troubles, but enough.” She waited as Monette appeared with their sandwiches, ensured Joe and Sally had everything they needed, then scurried off to greet two arriving patrons. “As I said earlier, what’s happening here?”

“And as I said earlier, someone means you harm. Ticked off anybody lately? Disgruntled customers?” He winked. “Jealous ex-boyfriends?”

She gave him her best you’ve-got-to-be-kidding look. “No. Besides, Roy seems to think your car was the target. No pickups tried to run me down before you brought me the Darrin.”

“You think it’s connected to the Darrin?”

She didn’t really blame Joe or the Darrin. She couldn’t finger anyone else, either. “The fire was probably a gang initiation. Why not set it behind the Darrin? It was the only car in my garage Friday night. The reckless truck driver is unrelated.”

Joe’s half-eaten sandwich froze in mid-air. “Sally, that was not just a reckless driver.”

“Joe, even the cops aren’t buying that.”

“The cops didn’t see the truck. I did. And I’m telling you the guy deliberately tried to hit you.”

The bite of grilled cheese lodged in her throat. Joe’s words chilled her, but made no sense. Why would anyone want her dead? Only a few trusted people knew she’d reported the fraudulent Darrin to the FBI, unless— Was there a leak at the FBI? Had the bad guys found her out? Something in her face must have betrayed her rising fear.

“Sally, are you all right?” Concern filled his rich baritone voice and his dark eyes. “You’ve turned pale.”

“What’s the matter?” boomed another deep baritone voice as Uncle Sal’s shadow draped over her. “No hug for your favor-
right
bartender? And what the hell happened to your chin?”

Without waiting for her reply, he leaned into the booth for a hug. Sally locked her arms around his neck and squeezed. “Hey, Uncle Sal.”