"Rory isn't here." She had to force herself to speak, nearly wincing at the raw sound of her voice. "And he doesn't run the place. I do. There are no openings."
He shifted. As though fascinated, Sabella glanced down, seeing the powerful lean thighs covered in faded denim and leather, the hard abs beneath the thin cotton shirt he wore. Boots covered big feet, a sturdy base for at least six feet four inches of hard male.
As her gaze moved back to his face, she watched as his eyes moved to the wide windows that looked out on the gas bays and parking lot. Several cars sat deserted beneath the hot, midday sun, awaiting attention. The gas pumps were empty, the blacktopped lot cracked and sporting several lumps of hearty grass. Yeah, so the place wasn't looking so good, she thought, pushing back her frustration, her pain. But she was doing her best. And it looked a hell of a lot better than it had three years ago when she had dragged herself out of her grief enough to realize what she was losing.
"You're doing a good job here, but if you want to survive, you need someone willing to do the job right, and to get the best out of the men working under you." His gaze swung back to her, the blue of his eyes threatening to steal her breath again.
His voice was quiet, reasonable, but it sent a flare of fury racing through her system. How dare he be here, ruining the fragile balance she had found in her life with his blue eyes, his raspy voice. She lifted her chin defiantly, hating it, hating his eyes, and the weariness that seemed to fill them. And she refused to let herself care.
"I'm doing just fine, all by my lonesome, mister," she assured him mockingly. She drew herself stiffly erect. "You're a stranger here—"
"Ma'am, I'm stating a fact."
Oh God… She wanted to scream at him, to beat at him for stealing her peace, for taking the fragile calm she had finally managed to build around herself with the unexplained response she could feel roiling inside her. "All I need is the job Rory promised." He flashed a hard smile. "He is your partner, isn't he?"
"That's not the point,"' she snapped. "Look, mister—"
"Noah. Noah Blake."
Noah. Irish. Go síoraí, I'll love you forever. For a moment, the slightest wish whispered through her mind and she thought of Nathan.
He hadn't loved her forever though. His need for danger, for the adrenaline rush and excitement, had carried him away from her. and he'd found death instead. Leaving her alone. Leaving her to survive without him for six heartbreaking years.
Now another Irish wildman was stepping into her life, trying to take it over? She shook her head. No, never again. No man would ever fill her, ever own her as her husband had. It wasn't possible. And she wasn't going to give this one the chance.
She opened her eyes, lifted her head, and stared back at him as the old, driving fury consumed her once again. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly.
"I said no. Now leave. I have work to do and I just don't have time for you."' She turned on her heel and stalked back into the garage, stemming the hollow pain that beat at her throat and moistened her eyes.
She was finally forgetting, she didn't need to be reminded of Irish eyes, soul-stealing kisses, or promises broken.
Her husband was gone. He was dead, his body sealed in a government casket and lowered into a dark, open hole. She had watched them cover it, watched each shovelful of dirt as it sealed a reality she had fought to reject.
God, how she had loved him. His laughter, his voice, his big body and his temper.
She forced herself to breathe through the memories, to place one foot in front of the other and to walk away from her response to the man who uncovered those memories within her.
"Belle Malone." A furious male voice sliced through her thoughts as she headed for the sedan she had been working on earlier, bringing her to a stop as she turned slowly toward the open garage doors and bit back a curse.
Ladies didn't cuss, she reminded herself. No matter the provocation. And she was being provoked. God, why hadn't she just stayed in bed this morning? Mike Conrad was a bull of a man. He'd been one of her husband's friends, but now he was becoming a pain in her ass.
"Mike, we're working on it." She lifted her hand in greeting, praying he hadn't been drinking. "I'll have it ready in the morning."
"That's what that little bastard Rory has said for two weeks." He stalked into the bay, ignoring the sign that warned customers to stay behind the dingy yellow line. "You said two weeks, no more."
Sabella bit her tongue and reminded herself she couldn't afford to piss him off too much. His bank held the note on the garage and on the house, and he had threatened more than once to make sure they foreclosed if she missed so much as the first payment.
Thinning blond hair was cut short, almost buzzed. Weak brown eyes were watering and bloodshot from liquor and his bloated, reddened face was twisted in rage. Great. She needed this like she needed the behemoth standing in her office right now.
"I still have today, Mike." She pulled on patience she didn't have. She couldn't afford to piss him off; he could make paying off that loan incredibly difficult. Besides, he had been Nathan's friend.
Kinda.
"Like hell." His voice was surly, his broad, pitted face flushed ruddy red, as he neared her and the smell of liquor hit her in the face. "You finish that truck now, bitch, or you can kiss this business goodbye, you hear me? Wouldn't Nathan be damned proud of your sassy little ass then? This garage was his pride and joy."
Mike had definitely been drinking and his mood was as foul as any she had ever seen.
"Nathan is gone, Mike," she reminded him, fighting for the calm she swore she wouldn't lose. Mike had always seemed to blame her for Nathan's death, for some reason. "How he would feel is beside the point."
She drew herself stiffly erect, knowing her diminutive five-five frame had nothing on his six feet. He was stocky, his paunch had grown over the years, but the man Nathan had once called a friend had let the bottle and his own failures destroy him faster than her own pain had nearly destroyed the garage.
"Nathan should have kicked your ass out and put his place in dependable hands before he screwed up and got his ass blown away." The cruel words struck at her heart, no matter how she fought to ignore them. "He should have known better than to trust a flaky little blonde to hold on to anything."