When We Met Page 4

  Jo smiled easily now at the image. She’d allowed herself to paint them all as barbaric cavemen who chewed too much tobacco. The two brothers—and even Zac—didn’t fit her imagination. Mouse—well, she’d only seen his legs—time would tell.

  “Come on, I’ll show you what I need you to do,” Zac said after a few moments. “You’ll be inside in the air conditioning at least.”

  “That’s a relief,” she whispered following close behind Zac.

  Inside the shop it smelled like rubber and oil, but not so overwhelming it turned her stomach. It was a scent Jo could even get used to. He ushered her behind the front desk. “Here’s what I usually do on Saturday afternoons,” he said, holding up a list of numbers and names in a notebook. “These are all set appointments for Monday and Tuesday. I need you to call all these folks and confirm they’re still coming in. If they are, highlight the time and name. If they changed their mind, cross them off. Simple enough, right?”

  Jo scoffed and nodded. “That’s it?”

  “For the morning,” he grinned in a wicked, handsome sort of way. “There’s more to come, Jo. Closing time isn’t until four today. Trust me, I’ve got plenty of busy work planned. You’re going to save me hours a week.”

  Jo held her breath and stiffened when Zac stepped into her personal space. What was he doing? His warm eyes found hers when their faces came only a few inches apart. Zac smiled, offered a small chuckle, and reached behind her head for a jumpsuit hanging on a hook behind the office chair. “You’re jumpy, Jo. I don’t make you nervous, do I?”

  She glared and sat in the seat. “No, not at all. You aggravate me.”

  He nodded, though one corner of his mouth tugged into a cocky half-grin as he slipped his jumpsuit over his clothes. “One of these days you’re going to see I’m not as bad as you make me out to be.”

  “I doubt it, Mr. Dawson.” Her manners slipped away. “I told you, I won’t forget that you’re the reason I’m here in the first place.”

  Zac grunted, slipping a baseball cap over his messy hair and shook his head. “Neither will I, Jo. My goal by the end of all this is to get you to freely admit the reason you’re here is because of you, not me.” He pointed at the shop, his voice not as friendly. “If you need anything, just holler at us. We can hear over the noise.”

  Jo didn’t respond before Zac slipped through the door leading out of the office. She could hear the buzz of tools and the blaring music like it was muffled underwater. She’d hand it to Zac’s employees, they seemed decent enough, but she wasn’t here to make friends. Swallowing the pin cushion in the back of her throat, Jo reached for the phone and dialed the first number.

  She could do this.

  ***

  Zac stretched one shoulder after August lowered the SUV. “I’d say it’s a good time to take a break, guys,” he said, glancing at the clock at the same time a silver car pulled up.

  Rafe laughed. “Good timing,” he said, nodding toward the car when the two women stepped out.

  Zac rolled his eyes. “You guys can’t even spend a Saturday away from your wives.”

  Rafe laughed, washing some of the grime from his palms in the wide sink against the back wall. “I don’t think they’re here for us. At least, Ollie is here to meet your prisoner.”

  Wiping a paper towel over his sweaty brow, Zac’s attention drifted toward the office. Through the window wall separating the shop and the inside, he saw Josephine, sweeping the tile floor. Busy work was on the list now that she’d confirmed appointments.

  “I’ll go warn her,” Zac teased, waving a hand toward Olive and Lily as the two women both held tiny toddler hands between them. August’s daughter, Brin, squealed when her dad lowered to his haunches and held out his arms.

  The office was cool and relieved the boil of his overheated skin when he stepped inside. Jo glanced up from the dustpan and offered him a sharp glance, but at least she wasn’t frowning as she dumped the dirt in the trash. On the desk there was a book with an image of the human heart divided into sections.

  “Light reading?” he teased, pointing to the open page.

  Jo wiped her hands along her jeans and stalked to the desk, closing the book and shoving it back into the canvas messenger bag she’d brought. “I’m supposed to take a continuing education exam in three months on heart conditions in adolescents. I was studying.”

  Zac flicked his brow, finding he was interested in what Josephine Graham did in real life. “You work with kids?”

  She shook her head, her jaw flinching for a moment before she released a long breath. Either she was biting back a retort, or Jo was uneasy around him. Maybe both. “No.”

  She didn’t want to talk, but he couldn’t seem to stop asking. “That’s interesting. Have you always liked working with the heart?”

  Jo narrowed her gaze, and studied him for a moment. “Does it matter to you?”

  He rolled his eyes when the front door dinged and Olive and Lily Whitfield stepped inside. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

  “Hey, Zac,” Olive chirped, though her eyes didn’t leave Jo as she pranced across the front lobby. “Hi there,” she said, holding out her hand until Jo took it with added caution. “I’m Ollie. I’m married to Rafe. We came to see how the lone woman was doing with these ruffians.”

  “And we brought you something to eat since Maggie doesn’t believe in refrigeration or microwaves at that old motel,” Lily added, handing a paper sack over the desk.

  Jo stood stiff, a small furrow between her eyes forming as she took the bag as if the contents might combust any moment. “Uh…thank you.”

  “Sure thing,” Olive chirped. Zac could count on Olive to be the one who brushed off any tension. She’d lived with stuffy propriety her entire life, and didn’t let it settle too long. “Josephine, right?”

  “You can, uh, I go by Jo, most times.”

  Zac smirked. Look at that—she could play nice.

  “Jo,” Olive said with a smile. “How are you holding up? I know Zac’s mama, you know, and if he’s not behaving the woman will want to know.”

  Zac grumbled stripped out of his jumpsuit. “One of these days you ladies and my mother are going to need to let me grow up and release me out into society without y’all checking up on me.”

  Jo wasn’t smiling—though it seemed like she might be fighting one—when she glanced at Olive. “It’s been tolerable.”

  Lily nodded, grinning when Rafe and August stepped into the office, August holding Brin on his shoulders while she gripped his hair. Now, Jo smiled once Brin let out a belly laugh when August galloped a bit.

  “Who’s this?” Jo asked.

  Lily beamed, nothing got Lily Whitfield talking more than if people asked about her daughter. “This is Brin,” she said, taking Brin’s fingers when she toddled away from her daddy. “Can you say ‘hi’ baby?”

  Jo waved, as she lowered to her haunches and beamed at the baby girl. Interesting—her stony persona seemed unable to withstand kids. Maybe baby Brin would need to be the unofficial mascot of the repair shop. Brin smiled, her six revealed in a gummy grin as her hand flopped about in an awkward wave.

  “She’s beautiful,” Jo offered, after tapping Brin on her nose.

  “Thank you,” Lily said. “She’s a handful that’s for sure.”

  “We’ve got forty-five minutes, sweetheart,” August said toward Lily. “Did you want to stay here, or are we going?”

  “No, we’re coming,” Olive answered instead. “Since Zac insisted on taking these guys on our day off, we’re heading out to lunch. You’re welcome to join, Jo.”

  Any semblance of a grin faded as Jo backed away. “No, I’m alright,” she replied. “Thank you, though.”

  Olive nodded, and threaded her finger with Rafe’s as they drifted toward the front door. Olive snapped her fingers and turned around again. “I almost forgot. We were told you don’t have a car. I don’t know what the rules are, but I have my car I don’t need much. You’re welcome to it
while you stay.”

  The furrow between Jo’s brows deepened. “You’re offering me a car?”

  Olive nodded, Rafe just shrugged. “Sure, the school I teach at is only seven miles up the road. Rafe can take me.”

  Zac noted the effort it took for Jo to swallow. She hugged her middle and shook her head. “Thank you for the offer, but I should be fine. I’d like to just do the work and get on home. I don’t plan to do much sightseeing.”

  If any of his friends were fazed by her withdrawn response, they didn’t let it show. Olive shrugged and kept her genuine smile in place. “Suit yourself. The offer is there if you want. See you later, Jo. We’ll be keeping tabs on you so you don’t go raving mad in this place.”

  Lily laughed as she wrapped her arm around August’s waist before the Whitfield clan walked toward the car to load up.

  Zac rocked on his heels, embracing the silence filling the office again. He glanced at Jo, who’d returned to the office chair, and seemed to be searching for anything to appear busy. Clearing his throat, he hung up the jumpsuit slung over his arm. “So, there’s an hour for lunch.”

  “Okay.”

  He took a step toward the chair. “Ollie wasn’t kidding—she’s sincerely offering the car. As long as you show up here each morning, I doubt anyone would care if you go where you please in the evenings.”

  Jo’s lips tightened when she whipped her face toward him. “Where would I go? There’s nothing here that even tempts me. I don’t need to be driving a stranger’s car, especially when I’m not anyone’s favorite person down here. What if it broke down or something? I’d probably get blamed for it and have to stay longer.”

  Zac rubbed the bridge of his nose trying to grasp what sort of image this woman held about every person in South Carolina. “Why is it hard for you to see people are genuinely being kind? You think Olive and Lily were saying all that to tease you—or test you or something? Hate to break it to you, Jo—they’re just nice. And why would you think the car would break down just because you’re driving it?”

  Jo shook her head and fiddled with the edge of the notebook. “She said she was a teacher, I figure they don’t have a lot of extra—”

  “Oh,” Zac said with a dramatic nod. “I understand. They don’t have a lot of money to upkeep their cars. You imagine a run-down beater that squeaks when you turn the wheel.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “We’re all poor, ignorant hicks to you, right?”

  Jo crossed her arms and glared at him. “Your words, not mine.”

  Zac bit the inside of his cheek. “You know, you’re high and mighty, and I don’t know why. I don’t think it’s really you.”

  “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know you dropped the ice queen act when you saw Brin—so, you’ve got some sort of heart.”

  “I have a heart, but I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to make up for an accident that you made into an ordeal that uprooted my entire life.”

  Zac leaned over the desk on his palms, so their faces were aligned. Jo sucked in a breath, her eyes wide when he narrowed his own. “I didn’t come up with the sentence, Miss Graham. I wanted money for repairs—that’s all.”

  “Then why did you call the police?”

  The back of his throat felt like sandpaper when he studied her face for a breath. “I didn’t know if you’d be good for it, Jo. You tried to run, remember? Blame me all you want, but you’re here for a month, girl. It wouldn’t hurt for you to get to know some regular faces. Might pass the time quicker, and you should smile a little more—it’s a smile worth seeing.”

  That had come out of nowhere, but Zac pulled back before she could see his face flush.

  Jo’s collarbone pitted as her breaths deepened. “I don’t want to know this place,” she whispered.

  Zac shook his head. He loved his home, and found he could get defensive when it was insulted. “Like Olive said, suit yourself,” he insisted, digging into his own bag for the Ziploc packed with the cookies he’d been forced to take. Tossing them onto the desk, he avoided her eye. “But don’t expect anyone else to quit trying. Those are from my mom.” Zac trudged toward his personal office at the back of the building—it was small and he was pretty certain Uncle Kent had made the office from a supply closet, but it could give him the solitude he was craving. “Oh, not that it matters, but Olive’s car wouldn’t have broken down. It helps when your married to a mechanic, but you just turned down driving a two-year-old BMW. Those crazy teachers, always pushing their nice things on people.”

  Jo didn’t look at him, she took the lashing as she stared at the desk. Zac pulled a drawn breath until his lungs expanded to the brink. He needed to calm the bubbling heat in his veins. It wasn’t clear what it was about Josephine that surged his blood in both good and aggravating ways. She challenged him, then showed vulnerability. She was angry, then soft-spoken. When he closed his office door behind him, he scrubbed his face as if he needed to wash away the confusing desire to know what Jo was hiding beneath that steely surface.

  Chapter 4

  Jo stared at the clock, nibbling on one of the cookies Zac had tossed on the desk before storming away, seeming to avoid the office the rest of the afternoon. Jo had changed the toilet paper rolls in the bathroom, then took the initiative to clean the bathroom. She’d washed down the windows until they gleamed with gilded light. In her boredom, Jo ran a damp rag across the cheap, plastic blinds on the window wall separating her from the mechanics in the shop.

  It was only three thirty.

  She’d read three chapters about ventricles, valves, and when heart murmurs meant something dangerous before closing her medical brain down and sitting aimlessly at the front desk. Blood rushed to her cheeks in embarrassment when her phone chirped and she squealed from the breaking silence.

  Jo beamed at the name—finally something to distract her and get her mind working again. “Greta,” Jo chirped. “It’s good to hear from someone at work. What’s going on?”

  “Hey, Josephine,” Greta said. Her fellow physician assistant had a silky voice, and a resting sultry expression to match. “How is life down south?”

  Jo rolled her eyes and stared at the clock again. Three thirty-three. “It’s…different.” She was being positive, right? “What can I do for you? Is everything going alright at the clinic? Thanks again for covering my caseload.”

  “Oh, it’s fine. I don’t mind working late. Emmitt isn’t bad company,” she added, and Jo’s smiled faded. Greta’s smooth tone shook her out of the beginnings of a jealous stupor. “I had a question about Mr. Garcia. He’s having a difficult time opening up about symptoms with a new face, I’m afraid. Any suggestions?”

  “Is he symptomatic?” Jo rose from her seat and paced near Zac’s back office to discuss sensitive patient needs as far as possible from another soul. Joseph Garcia was one of her older patients, with whom she had a great rapport. He also suffered from an undeveloped left ventricle along with a hole in his heart he’d had since birth. Age and the stress of his son’s sudden death had caused Jo to worry about the man, but he’d seemed fine when she’d left.

  Greta cleared her throat. “He denies symptoms, but his skin has a bluish tint that’s causing me concern.”

  “Blood pressure?”

  “Pretty low, though not in complete danger zone.”

  Jo furrowed her brow. “Is he short of breath?”

  Greta paused, and Jo could almost imagine her tapping her toe in a fluster. “Josephine, I checked all his vitals. They’re within normal range, though his oxygen was on the low end, it was still acceptable for the condition. I’m capable of running tests, but I’d like advice on how to get him to open up and be honest if he’s having symptoms. He seems to want you and you alone. I know you’ve known him for a couple years, but it has me worried that he’ll allow himself to sink simply because you aren’t here.”

  Jo rubbed her thumb over the nagging ache in her forehead. She star
tled when someone tapped her arm. Zac was standing behind her his face perturbed for some reason.

  “There’s people out front. What are you doing?” he snapped.

  “One second,” she hissed, turning her back on him. “Greta—”

  “You’re here to do the assigned work, not gossip.”

  “Hold on Greta,” Jo grumbled before reeling on Zac. “Forgive me for not making an appointment for someone’s car—I’m trying to help a man who could die if he doesn’t care for himself properly.” Zac took a step back, his frustration seeming to bleed away along with the crimson flush in his cheeks. “Now, give me a second. Okay, Greta—my best advice would be to talk about his wife—don’t mention his son—but ask him about his English terrier or Mrs. Garcia. Those are his favorite subjects. Find an excuse to check in on him, and please keep me updated—you will right?”

  Greta’s end was muffled, and Jo heard a male voice nearby, but couldn’t make out what was said. “Thanks, Josephine.” Greta never called her Jo, and it was somewhat annoying. “I’ll try those suggestions. Talk to you later.”

  “You’ll keep me updated?” She pressed again, only to curse in her head when Greta ended the call. Jo released a pent breath, and shoved her phone in her back pocket before glaring at Zac who was leaning against the wall. “Look, I know I’m supposed to work here like I don’t have a life, but I do. I have patients I left behind—”

  “I understand,” he interjected. “I’m sorry, you can take calls regarding work if you need to, I didn’t know.”

  Taken aback by his sincere apology, Jo fumbled for any sort of reply. Eventually she settled on safe, basic, “Okay,” before slipping by Zac in the narrow hallway, and drifting toward the front desk where a short man with a handlebar mustache sat at the chair scribbling something in the appointment book. This must be Mouse. He was mousy, and his narrow gray eyes studied her suspiciously before he offered a curt nod and stomped back toward the shop.

  “Time to close up,” Zac muttered, drifting toward the side door and switching the dead bolt at the same time clicking off a neon open sign. Jo nodded, and glanced over a closing checklist on the back wall. It wasn’t difficult, check trash cans, run a mop once, make certain the computer was shut down properly, basic end of day tasks she assumed most of the front desk assistants at the clinic were asked to do too.