.

capacity, to work, to protect her father’s creation and guard Montwheeler’s investment.

      He was not here to play the starring role in her wild, frenzied jungle-movie sex fantasy. Assuming that he’d even want to, and that was debatable, at best. Her insecurities aside—and Lord knew they were considerable—Griffin Wicklow seemed too focused, too locked down, too controlled to engage in the sort of activity she was imagining. Not uptight, precisely, but—she sent him another glance, searching for the right word—disciplined, Jess decided. Nature or necessity? she couldn’t help but wonder, and for whatever reason, she knew she’d have to find out.

      “Do you mind if we pull in at Sarah’s Gas-N-Go there on the corner?” she asked brightly, pointing up ahead. “I need to make a pit stop and get some snacks for the road.”

      Predictably, the faintest flicker of a muscle jumped in his jaw. He cast a fleeting glance at the dashboard clock. “Of course. But make it quick, please. We’re on a tight schedule.”

      Jess smothered a smile. Oh, she’d just bet they were.

      He wheeled smoothly into the lot, drew up to the curb and shifted into Park.

      “Aren’t you coming in?” she asked.

      “I’ll wait.”

      All righty then. “Can I get anything for you?”

      He shook his head. “I’m good, thanks.”

      Jess lifted a brow. “Not even a drink?”

      “I’ve got bottled water in the back.”

      Of course he did. And most likely protein bars and a first-aid kit, because this man was nothing if not prepared. Mr. Efficiency. Oh, this was going to be fun. She grinned and opened the door. “Okay, then. I’ll be right back.” She sincerely doubted her interpretation and his of “right back” would coincide, but...

      Jess took care of necessary business, leisurely filled a Big Gulp at the soda fountain, then ambled down the candy aisle. She was having the usual salty versus sweet debate when a shadow fell over her right shoulder and she felt him looming behind her. She squashed an irrational grin and the urge to squirm. She’d wondered how long it would take him to come in after her.

      She turned around and smiled delightedly—innocently—up at him. “Oh, you changed your mind,” she said, noting the case was in his hand. Diligent, naturally. She glanced back at the shelves, gave her head a little shake and winced thoughtfully. “I can’t decide if I want Fiery Jalapeño Nachos or a Nutty Nougat Bar. What are you getting?”

      “You,” he said, his tone mildly grim. “Get both. We need to go.”

      Though he didn’t touch her, she felt herded to the register all the same. Another odd little thrill whipped through her, churning her insides.

      “Afternoon, Jess,” Sarah said, nodding as she rang up her purchase. “How are you this fine September day?”

      “I’m good. How are you? Hip feeling better?” The elderly Sarah had taken a fall from a ladder in the spring while cleaning out her gutters. At least, that’s the story she told. Other members of Shadow’s Gap had indicated that Sarah had taken a fall out of bed, and that Ryland Morris had landed on top of her.

      Knowing Sarah, who was presently sporting enough cleavage to make Dolly Parton jealous, Jess was more inclined to believe the latter.

      “It’s still not at one hundred percent—hurts when rain’s coming—but it’s getting better.” She idly bagged Jess’s items, which made the man behind her twitch with impatience. “You’re racing this weekend, right?” Sarah continued. “Lane Johnson was in here this morning running his mouth again.” She rolled her eyes. “That boy has too little sense and too much self-confidence. It’s irritating.”

      Jess couldn’t agree more, but didn’t. “I’m not,” she answered. “I’m actually on my way to New York. Business,” she explained. “For Dad.”

      She felt him still behind her, could almost hear his antennae powering up.

      Sarah inclined her head. “Ah. Well, that’s a shame. Maybe next weekend then?”

      “I’m planning on it,” she said, handing over the correct change.

      The older woman accepted the cash, then looked past Jess’s shoulder, through the window into the parking lot. She winced and shook her head. “Looks like Monica Hall’s got car trouble again, bless her heart. Honestly, when you’re buying more oil than gas, it’s time to get a new car.”

      Jess followed her gaze, spied the hood up on Monica’s old Buick and bit her bottom lip. Monica Hall was a single mother of three whose worthless ex-husband hadn’t paid child support in over a year. She couldn’t afford to repair her old car, much less buy a new one. A nail tech at one of the local salons, Monica didn’t miss an opportunity to work and was often at the store on Mondays, when everyone else took off.

      Jess nodded her goodbye at Sarah, then turned and made her way out of the store.

      “You were supposed to race this weekend?” Griff drawled, a gratifying hint of disbelief coloring his tone as he trailed along behind her. “Race, as in a car?” He snorted softly. “Faster,” he muttered. “Why am I not surprised?”

      Rather than head back to his truck, Jess started toward Monica. She handed him her purse and bag of snacks, which he accepted without so much as a blink. That distracted, was he? she thought, irrationally pleased. “Well, I’m sure as hell not running the fifty-yard dash, if that’s what you’re thinking. Monica?”

      The young mother looked up from the engine, worry drawing lines that didn’t belong on her otherwise smooth face. “Hi, Jess,” she said. She gestured to the car, her expression hopeless. “Clementine’s acting up on me again. Ordinarily, so long as I keep oil in her, she runs all right. I’m not sure what’s wrong now. I can’t get her to start.”

      Jess peered beneath the hood, inspected the oily engine, then dropped onto her knees and looked under the car. Ah, just as she’d thought. Oil dropped steadily onto the pavement, but that wasn’t the reason the car wouldn’t start. She grabbed a wad of paper towels from the dispenser. “The oil leak needs to be fixed or you’re going to run into engine issues, but that’s not the problem right now.”

      Monica crossed her arms over her chest to fight off the chill in the air. “It’s not?”

      “No, your battery posts are corroded.” She winced. “My toolbox is in my car and this certainly isn’t the best way to do it, but hopefully we can get her started.” Using the towels, she cleaned as much of the corrosion off as possible, then straightened. “All right, Monica. Why don’t you get in and give her a try.”

      “What kind of racing?” Griff asked. She could feel his curious gaze on her, lingering as though she was some sort of unknown species he’d stumbled across. It was disturbing, that scrutiny, the intense weight of his regard. Her palms tingled and she resisted the urge to push them against her thighs.

      “Stock car,” she answered, then smiled as Monica’s engine caught and held.

      Relief pushed a grin over the younger woman’s face, erasing some of the premature lines, and she leaned out the car window. “Thanks, Jess! You’re a lifesaver!”

      Jess dropped the hood into place, then grabbed her purse from Griff’s arm. He stared at it for a moment, seemingly stunned that he’d been holding it in the first place, then scowled comically.

      Smothering the urge to laugh, she made her way over to Monica’s driver’s-side window and handed over her car keys. “My car is in front of the jewelry store. I’ll call Dad and let him know that you’re coming to get it.”

      Monica looked at the keys in her hand and blinked. “What?” She shook her head as Jess’s meaning sunk in. “Oh, no. I couldn’t—”

      “I insist,” Jess