Page 10 of Big Dog (Lonesome Garage #2)

Chapter Ten

T he night’s buzz vanishes the second we turn off the highway and my truck’s high beams shine across Camp Sunny-Lu.

Somebody worked overtime to trash the site.

Shit has been pulled from the garbage bin and scattered all over the parking area.

Two of the brand-new windows have been broken and at least one more is cracked.

The vandals also tipped over the Port-a-pottie. What a fucking mess.

I’m armed. Romy is not. I’m surprised when she doesn’t put up an argument about me going in first. Thankfully with all the walls down, it takes all of two seconds to clear the interior. “They’ve left.”

We walk the perimeter. Romy balances carefully on shoes that shouldn’t be anywhere near an active construction site. We find a message spray painted on the far side of the building.

“Go home, bitch!” Romy reads. “Well, at least they can spell and use proper grammar.”

“Aren’t you concerned?” I ask. I am. I’m ready to remove heads.

“Yes, but I can’t do anything about it right now,” Romy says. “The alarm did its job. Now I have to review the footage and see if we can identify whoever did this. Then the ass-kicking will begin.”

Between us, we take a ton of photos and video. Romy uncovers a hammer that one of the construction guys left behind, and we nail a couple of boards across the back of the busted door.

“Can you take me home? After this, I just want a shower and bed. You’re welcome to join me.”

As much as I’d like a part two of the night with her, Romy is done. I’m in slightly better shape, but since she won’t enjoy it like I would, I put a pin in it. “Sure,” I agree.

“There could be cuddling.”

“Now you’re just being a tease.” But it gets both of us smiling.

Deacon’s rental is clean and tidy but sparse.

There is very little of Romy anywhere. She told me that she lived in tiny, rented quarters when she was in the navy, trying to save money, but aside from some photos and two bookcases, I’m pretty sure all the furniture in the living room is left over from when Violet lived here.

She points me toward the bedroom while she ducks into the bathroom. When she comes out, her face is freshly scrubbed, and her hair is off her face in a hairband. She looks utterly exhausted. “I’m crashing. Are you joining me or not?”

I notice that her mattress is firm and that the sheets smell lightly of lavender.

The next thing I know, I’m waking up to a room full of sunshine beaming through the open curtains.

It’s also incredibly hot, like I’m wrapped in an electric blanket.

Which tightens around me and whispers, “Good morning.”

Holy fuck, Romy is spooning me. I stop shifting under the covers, enjoying the warmth. I could get used to this. “Good morning.”

She groans. “It’s too early. I’ll start coffee then hit the shower to give you a couple more minutes in bed. If you want to go home, I’m still starting coffee.” She shifts to roll away, then moves backward and drops a kiss on my shoulder. “Coffee,” she repeats.

I’m in yesterday’s clothes. They’ll do. I don’t want to give up my first morning with Romy by going home to change. Especially not after she bragged about her breakfasts. Even if it’s only cereal, it’ll be with her.

She starts the coffee before taking her shower. By the time I’m done mine, there’s a frying pan on the stove and a container of batter beside it. “Pancakes?” she asks.

“On a Friday morning?”

“Every morning,” Romy says. “Life is too short to save pancakes for special occasions. They don’t take much longer than toast if you have batter in the fridge. So?”

“Sure.”

The woman is serious about her pancakes. She drops fresh blueberries into the batter, then ladles them into the sizzling pan. A choice of three syrups awaits my decision on the counter. Plus a steaming cup of black coffee. God, I might be in love.

“I’m on call tonight with the tow-truck. I can’t promise we’ll have an uninterrupted evening.”

“We can try, if you want to.”

“I’ll hit the grocery store after work. Get something to barbecue,” I say.

“I’ll bring the wine.”

“And something to wear on Saturday,” I add. I’m going to keep her in that bed all night, even if I’m not there.

After breakfast, which in fact did not take much longer than toast, we go our separate ways. Romy has to file a report with the police, and she needs to be on site for the day’s contractors anyway. I have a new employee to welcome.

Hart Weston is on time on his first day, which is a good start. He and Grayson Masak put a local farmer’s truck onto the lift and get to work replacing brake pads. When Violet calls me to the office to sign off on a parts order, I’m surprised to see Deacon lying in wait.

“How was your date?”

“Fine. Good, even.”

“Are you going to see Romy again?” At this point, Violet glares at Deacon and excuses herself. At least I have one person on my side.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Deacon asks. “Moving kind of fast, aren’t you?”

“Says the man that moved Violet and Peony into his house two months after they arrived in Lonesome.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it’s not. When you know, you know. You know?

If I have my way, I won’t waste as much time as you did.

” I haven’t spoken to Romy about it yet but even as I acknowledge the thought, something settles deep in my gut.

I know I don’t want to fuck around. Romy is in a rental, and I have a spare room and an unfinished basement.

There’s lots of room for her stuff, and to move mine around to make changes so it’s home for both of us.

This is it. We have no reason to waste time and wait around.

My annoying little brother is not letting this go. “It must have been a very good night if you’re showing up to work in yesterday’s clothes. She’s worth the walk of shame in front of the boys?”

There’s one thing I can do to get him on my side, but I’m hesitant to play the card.

Then I realize it will make him a permanent ally of Team Bishop and Romy.

“Fuck, yes, but that’s not the only reason.

They’re the first clothes I grabbed after Romy got a security alert that someone broke into her Camp Sunny-Lu building.

The alarm scared them off, but they’d been there long enough to do some damage,” I tell him, cutting off any further remarks.

Deacon goes sheet white. I know the feeling. The Turner sisters attract that kind of trouble. And loyalty. “Is Romy okay?”

“She’s fine. We cleaned up as much as we had to. She’s reporting it this morning. I might go over later to see how she’s doing.” I can bring her lunch, maybe walk along the lakeshore with her. Tell her I’m falling hopelessly in love with her.

My phone beeps. The message garners a one-word answer. “Shit.”