Chapter Six

Ross walked through the house looking for the woman who had taken him in. Showered and dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt he found in the closet, he wandered around Dezarae’s home.

“What would a woman like her be living alone out here for? Where is her man to take care of her?” He looked at all these pictures on her wall of cars. Antiques and classics, they were beautiful.

He moved to the front door and looked out into the dark. He could barely make out the glow of a light from across the way. As the smell of cooking food filled the air, he grabbed a thick jacket and stepped out into nature’s wrath.

Eyes squinted against the wind, he grabbed the rope that was secured to the porch and began to follow it. His feet were freezing as he finally made it to a large building. Opening the door he slipped inside, grateful to be out of the wind and cold. The place wasn’t hot, but it was tolerable.

He brushed the snow from his hair and his ears picked up her voice. It sounded like she was on the other side of the building or in a room, for it was muted. When he heard a man’s voice, his gray eyes narrowed.

Stepping out to make his presence known, he took two strides and stopped dead. There were four cars under the lights in various stages of rebuilding. They were also classics, and they were astounding.

In amazement, he walked closer to the first one. It was cobalt blue and gleamed under the bright lights. “Jesus,” he muttered.

“It’s a 1965 Aston Martin DB6 with a Vantage engine,” a feminine voice said.

He looked up to see Dezarae weaving her way across the building to his side. “Whose are they?” One hand gestured to encompass all the vehicles in there.

“Clients. I’m almost done with this one. I’m just making sure the triple twin-choke carburetors and pumps are working properly.” She moved down the line. “This is the same thing, only a convertible. Both of them are five-speed manuals. They only made two hundred fifteen of the convertibles. I have a bit more to do on him.”

Gray eyes took in the black convertible. The top was removed and he could see the gears and wheel were on the right side of the car. The interior was leather with wall-to-wall carpeting, lots of gauges, and a wood/metal steering wheel.

“You do this?” the incredulous question came.

“Yep. I do.” With a smile, Dezarae took him further into the shop to the next car which was a dark green color. “This is a 1964 Ford Fairlane. And down here is my latest addition to the garage.”

Wordlessly, he followed her to stop in front of a white car. “What is it?”

“An Oldsmobile Toronado. 1966.”

“You repair cars,” he stated.

“No, I restore cars. My business is Phoenix Restorations and Rebuilds.”

“And you do all this by yourself?”

Chocolate eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms and leaned against the car. “Why are you snooping around out here?”

He seemed taken aback. “What are you talking about? I was looking for you.”

“What difference does it make if I do this myself or not?”

“Hey, I was just asking. Why are you being so defensive?” He took a step towards her.

Though he saw a bit of fear creep into her eyes, Dezarae refused to budge. “Because you are asking a lot of personal questions and I don’t know you.”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Look, nothing overly personal, but I have been having some trouble with a few of the locals and I am not inclined to totally trust a man who has a rebel flag tattooed on his chest.”

His eyes hardened. “Nothing personal?” He shook his head. “You tell me you are judging me because of a tattoo but I am not supposed to take it personally. How exactly should I take it?”

“Like it is. Fact. I am just getting a bit nervous here.” Her eyes moved from his tense body back to his eyes.

Taking a deep breath, he held out his hands. “I’ll go. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.” He turned around and missed her shocked expression.

“You don’t have to go. I just don’t want to tell you everything about me,” she called as he walked away from her.

“Thanks for everything.” Within moments he was gone from the building.

“Shit!” Dezarae ran up to the door and out into the storm after him. “Hey!” she yelled into the wind. “Hey!”

Nothing.

Way to go, Dezarae, send a man to his death just because of a tattoo! She hurried into the house and found him walking out of her room wearing nothing but the clothes he had worn when she found him. Shaking the snow off her head, she held up her hand.

“You don’t have to leave.”

“I think it would be best.” He kept walking towards the door with sure strides.

“Look, you won’t survive out there,” she insisted. I don’t need his death on my conscience.

“I’ll think of something.” He opened the door after barely touching her to get by.

“Fine!” she yelled, as he pulled the door shut after him. “Be an idiot, Johnny Reb, I don’t give a damn!” Ripping off her coat, she was totally unprepared for the blast of cold air that hit her when he shoved the door wide open again.

“What did you call me?” he growled, reaching for her and clamping a hand around her.

“An idiot,” she muttered.

“No, after that.” His eyes were fierce as they bore into hers.

“Um, Johnny Reb,” she said quietly, suddenly not as confident as she had been.

He dropped her arm and shut the door with one strong slam. “Johnny Reb, Johnny Reb…Jeb. Jeb, that sounds familiar to me. Jeb, I remember people calling me Jeb.” She was the recipient of a winning smile.

“My name is Jeb,” he said as he hugged her in gratitude.

As the smell of man surrounded Dezarae, she found her body trembling. How was it that one look, one touch from him could set her to quivering this badly? She moved out of his embrace and smiled back. “Hello, Jeb, I’m Dezarae.”

“Hello, Dezarae, I’m, Jeb, an idiot; can I stay?”

“Of course you can.” She began to walk away but he latched onto her arm again.

“Hey, I’m sorry my tattoo bothers you.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.” Your chest bothers me more. I’d like to lick warm chocolate and caramel off it. “Let’s eat. I have to get to work.”

Falling into step beside her, he asked. “Out in the shop?”

“No, I have some paperwork that I have to get done.”

“Let me know if there is anything, anything, I can do,” he fairly purred in her ear.

Swallowing hard, she managed to stutter, “I’ll do that.”