Page 3 of Junkyard Dog (Lonesome Garage #3)

Chapter Three

T he best part about any book club is the wine.

Violet is pouring it like fruit juice. I make a note to switch to water because I’m driving Romy back to her place after we’re done.

I’m in styled hair, full make-up, a sweater appropriate for fall evening temperatures, slacks and heels.

It’s my professional writer outfit; I want to make a good impression on Romy’s friends.

She introduces twins Janie and Jules, who waitress at different establishments in Lonesome, sisters Maya and April, whose parents own the Halfway Café, and another local woman named Carol.

Violet apologizes that their usual eighth member is out of town.

As far as I’m concerned, this is a tremendous turn-out.

If even three of them finished the book, it will be better than average.

I don’t know where Deacon is hiding, but his house is full of women, wine glasses, charcuterie and dessert boards, and paperbacks with half-naked men on the cover. This is life.

Violet clinks a spoon on her wine glass to call the club to order. “Ladies, I would like to introduce the best-selling author of “The Barbarian King”, Rhiannon Quill, who is here to talk to us about romance, the book industry, and where she finds her inspiration.”

There’s no applause; the ladies are holding their wine glasses with one hand and reaching for brownie bars with the other, but they whoop encouragingly.

“Hey, everybody, thanks for inviting me to your book club. I met Violet a couple years ago in a self-defence class and I’ve known Romy for slightly longer.

Between the three of us, we have an exceptional collection of fictional bad boys and murderous villains at our disposal.

Throw in an unexpected long weekend at an airport hotel with no Wi-Fi when the only channel you can get is playing a Planet of the Apes marathon, and it’s a recipe for an exciting new series.

Now I have to ask—and I won’t be offended by the truth—how many of you actually read “The Barbarian King?”

Six hands wave in the air. The women stare at April. “I’ve been busy! But I’m almost done, I swear! Drogan is super hot.”

“I think we’re going to have some fun tonight,” I reply.

We do. We discuss the book, the characters, a plot trope they particularly liked.

It’s not all fluff though. The villain is recognizable on paper because that guy exists in real life, not just fiction, and every woman has had to deal with him, so that takes us off topic for a while, but for a good reason.

Then things turn back toward fun, and I get to tease them a little bit.

“Yes,” I say, “I do have some inspiration for the final hero in the series. I was struck by lightning this very afternoon. I don’t know what his name is yet.

Jonah, Davos, Jason, Darian. I’m not sure.

But rest assured, he’s tall, dark, mysterious, and very good in bed!

” JD is going to be a hero in my life, even if it is only on paper.

“Tall, dark, mysterious with an initial of J or D? You and I are going to talk later,” Romy threatens.

At the end of the evening, after the ladies decide on their next month’s book, the club breaks up.

It’s ten o’clock but it is a weekday. Still, I’m not ready to call it a night.

“Is there a place around here that doesn’t close down at ten?

” I ask Romy on the way to my car. Since I’m staying at her place, I promised to drive so she could have the full book club wine experience.

She grins broadly. “The Lonesome Bar and Grill will be going till after midnight.”

“A bar?”

She grins. “Bishop’s cousin might be there.”

“Let’s go.”

It’s a short drive down Lonesome’s Main Street.

Romy directs me to a parking lot that is surprisingly full.

She waves at the hulk in the biker jacket doing security at the door and pulls me inside.

I take a good look around—concentrating on the room, not searching for anybody in particular—and like what I see.

Wooden planks on the floor, decent lighting so you can see where you’re walking without having to hold a hand in front of you.

A bar along one wall, and tables and stools surrounding a small dance floor and smaller stage that can hold a four person band.

It has a mixed crowd, mostly jeans and blue collar, with a couple of dress shirts and loosened ties for the more formal at heart.

I think the man sitting at the bar adds an extra level of attractiveness. JD is here, in a leather jacket with the same patches as the guy at the door. He’s nursing a beer and keeping to himself.

Romy knocks my shoulder. “Caught you looking,” she teases. “JD takes the strong, silent type to whole new levels. He’s got the looks but don’t get attached because according to, well, everybody, he doesn’t. The only person I’ve heard him say more than five words to is Peony.”

Peony is her niece who isn’t speaking in full sentences yet. “That’s ridiculous. He talks.”

“How do you know?”

“I went to the salvage yard today to look for that part for my dad. JD was there.”

“And he spoke to you? Using words?”

“Yes, using words. He’s funny. And hot. But he didn’t seem interested, unfortunately.

” I could do things to a big, strong man who was good with his hands.

Fictional boyfriends were great but at the end of the night, you ended up with papercuts, not arms wrapped around you and a stubbly chin resting on your shoulder when you fell asleep.

“Did he have a relationship go bad? I volunteer to be his rebound, short term, low commitment, temporary girlfriend.” I’m not in Lonesome for long, but I’d be happy to make it memorable for everybody involved.

Then my good mood is extinguished with a bucket of ice water. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I don’t scream but it’s in the neighborhood. Fortunately, a roar from the crowd watching a football game on the TV over the bar drowns it out.

Romy’s head spins as she tries to spot what set me off. “What?”

“My superfan just walked in.”

“The borderline stalker that lives in Virginia?”

“I don’t think borderline qualifies anymore. How the fuck did she find me and does this place have a backdoor?” I ask.

“I don’t know how she found you, but if she spotted your out-of-state plates in the parking lot, she’s going to be looking.” Romy grabs my arm. “Come on. We’ll go out the back.”

She ushers me in front of her and as we walk past the bar, she taps JD on the arm and cocks her head for him to follow us.

We go down a hall that says it leads to the Lonesome Grill next door.

She blocks it closed once the three of us are in the short corridor.

“Remember when you said that Violet and I were all kinds of trouble?” she asks JD.

“Yes.” He does not sound amused.

“So is Rhi. She’s got a stalker out there who may have recognized her car in the parking lot. Can you ask Mason if he will let us out through the restaurant even though it’s closed? I’ll call Bishop to pick us up.”

“No.”

“Okay,” Romy says slowly. “We’ll try to sneak out the front do?—”

“No,” JD interrupts. “Stay here. I’ll get the key and walk us through. Then I’ll drive you both home.”

“What about my car?”

“Leave it here. I’ll bring you back to pick it up in the morning as long as nobody’s watching it.” He tilts his chin at the door. “Block this behind me. I’ll knock when I come back.” He goes through the door like a man on a mission.

“Holy shit, that was like twenty words,” Romy whispers. “I didn’t know he knew that many.”

“Shut up. He’s doing me a huge favor. But what if she follows me to your place?” I didn’t intend to bring trouble to Romy’s door. She is a really good friend. This visit is supposed to be fun.

“She won’t even know we’re leaving the bar, and she won’t be able to follow a parked car. JD will fix it. You’ll see.” Romy speaks with and absolute confidence that is a complete front because she yelps when the door on the restaurant side opens.

JD sticks his head in. “Come on.”

I squeeze past him in the doorway. He doesn’t react, but my nipples spring to attention after brushing against his shirt. He relocks the door and leads us through the closed restaurant out the back to where his truck is waiting.

Romy climbs into the back without a word, leaving the front seat open for me. JD taps a button on the dashboard and the leather seat under my ass begins to get warm, chasing away the late-night autumn chill. “Where are you taking us?” I ask.

“Once I know we’re not being followed, I’m dropping you at Romy’s place. Bishop is on his way over. I’ll be by in the morning to drive you back to your car. Tell me about your stalker.”

“I don’t have a proper name. She’s probably the only stranger in the bar.

Long, straight, bottle-blond hair, average height, average weight, early to mid-thirties.

Her shirt is two sizes too small for her boobs, so she’s busting out all over.

I’d guess that she’s either asking for me or for a man named Brandon or Bronson. ”

He turns his head to stare at me hard. “Your stalker is a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Who are Brandon and Bronson? Exes? Yours or hers?”

“Neither. They’re fictional. It’s a long story. Don’t underestimate her. If there is a car in the parking lot with a DC or east coast licence plate that isn’t mine, it’ll be hers. The plate number would be useful to give to the police. Do you think you could find out what it is?”

“I’ll get it for you.”

I feel a bump in my back. I don’t look but I know Romy is grinning at me.

I want to grin myself. I didn’t expect JD to ask about exes.

I’m going to take it as some flattering interest in me rather than a professional information request. Maybe there is a little interest on his part.

He did say that I might see him again. That plus Romy’s comments about how he doesn’t speak to anyone else give me hope.

He goes silent after that, but I don’t mind. JD drops us off and after we bring Bishop up to date, I crash for the night in their spare room. I need my beauty sleep. I have another date with JD in the morning.