Page 2 of Junkyard Dog (Lonesome Garage #3)

Chapter Two

H elp you? Let me carry you around the junkyard in my arms showing you anything you’d care to look at, princess. I don’t know why this little ray of sunshine showed up on my doorstep but for the first time in ages, I’m not sending a potential customer running and I’ll be damned if I know why.

“You’re right. I’m JD Dobermann. And you are Romy’s friend…” I let my question trail off to get her talking again.

“Rhiannon Quill. I’m a romance writer.”

Now I know exactly who she is. It seems like everybody in town does.

I’ve seen Romy Turner and her sister Violet Glass in the office of the Lonesome Garage, pouring over Rhiannon Glass’s paperbacks and rating the bare-chested men on the covers.

I’ve spotted the same books behind the barista counter of the Halfway Café.

The men of Lonesome are in trouble because, according to the sisters, Rhiannon knows how to deliver heroes that women want and they are setting the bar pretty high.

“A romance writer who knows what a ’74 Bronco steering wheel looks like?”

“It’s been on my dad’s Christmas wish list for four years. At this point, I can recite the specs in my sleep. So, do you have one here?”

I scratch at my beard, and for the first time realize how long it’s gotten.

It feels scruffy. “We can check,” I offer.

I don’t have a Bronco on the property. I know for a fact I don’t.

“Cajun, Mandy, come.” Rhiannon snickers but I don’t know why.

I point her down a row of station wagons and she walks beside me.

“If you don’t have a Bronco, could you put out feelers for me? I’ll pay, obviously.”

The sun on my neck, the dogs panting happily as they run in front of me, a pretty girl at my side. In this moment I feel more at peace than I have in years. It is so good it is almost bad. “Why? It’s not like you’ll be here to pick it up.”

“JD, if you find me a steering wheel, I’ll make the trip to collect it personally. Is there anything I can offer for incentive to help sweeten the deal?”

“Nothing you can help me with.”

Rhiannon insists we keep looking. After the first couple rows, the guilt kicks in. “I might have misremembered. I may not have a Bronco on the property,” I reluctantly admit.

“I don’t mind if you don’t. A man with this many options must be looking for something in particular.

Give me a hint. What’s the missing piece in your life?

” she teases. I don’t know why but the question slips under my shields, and I can hear that it’s a joke rather than a comment about being closed off.

I get those comments a lot. From my cousins.

As family, they got all the details from the hospital after my last SEAL exercise blew up and landed me with a medical discharge.

They offered to help as I struggled to put my broken body back together, but I didn’t want to drag them into the hell pit of pain with me.

Then there are my brothers in the Lost Souls.

I returned to Lonesome a little after they did, but I was there in time to be one of the original members when we became a brotherhood.

They are constantly on my ass to be more social and not let myself rot in my cabin on my own.

They are all good people, but they don’t have a fucking clue.

The scar on my head is more than skin deep; it goes all the way to my bones.

I lost more than blood and guts that day.

I lost a brother-in-arms. And myself. Everybody keeps telling me to come back, but there isn’t much of me left to come back to.

I have supper with Deacon, Violet and Peony, and with Bishop and Romy.

I have a beer at the clubhouse. I have the dogs. It’s all I need.

All I need, but man cannot survive on meatloaf and beer alone.

Sometimes a man needs a little sweetness in his life.

The pretty woman walking with me in the autumn sunshine is better than a chocolate kiss.

“If you know anybody who can get their hands on an authentic 60’s VW van, let me know. In any shape. I could make a killing.”

“JD, I really want my dad to have that steering wheel, but if I could get my hands on a classic VW van, I would learn how to restore it myself. He can unwrap a new tie and matching socks for his favorite suit and be grateful.”

I laugh. Loudly. Cajun and Mandy both jump at the noise since they haven’t heard it before. I have to respect a woman who knows her priorities. “What are you doing in Lonesome? I know you have friends here, but it’s not a top ten tourist destination.”

“I’m multi-tasking.” She smiles. She’s not staring at my scars, or avoiding looking at them and pretending they aren’t there.

She’s just smiling at me. It’s a punch to the gut that knocks the wind out of me.

“I’m guest-hosting the Lonesome Book Club as a visiting author to discuss my newest romance novel.

A group of fans contacted me to ask if I’d speak with them.

Usually, I would offer to do it over a video call, but I wanted to come to town anyway to check the place out.

It’s technically a work trip but it’s also a vacation that I really need.

I had to get out of Washington, DC. The timing is a happy coincidence. ”

Her words twig a memory. “I think Bishop said that Romy had some silent partners. Would that be you?”

“I wouldn’t be very silent if I said yes.” We get to the end of the last row of cars. “You were right. No Broncos.”

“Sorry.”

“I’m not. It was worth the visit. But I do have to get going. I need to get changed for tonight. But maybe I’ll see you again while I’m in town?”

“Maybe,” I say. I mean no. I don’t want to have to deal with the looks if anybody sees me out with a woman.

The guys won’t give me a hard time, but the women will get all googly-eyed and up in my business, and I cannot deal with any more expectations in my life.

Meeting Rhiannon today was a much-needed breather that I can use to get through tomorrow. I’ll always be grateful for that.