Make Mine A Marine. Candace Havens

place for as long as she would need. Chelly was looking for a fresh start, away from Tennessee. Away from her ex, who’d become a little too attached to her. To being an almost-stalker. When he’d appeared at the diner where she was working and created a scene, she’d given her notice, packed what few belongings she had and booked it out of town.

      She didn’t need that kind of drama. New life. New dreams.

      Except now she couldn’t get Lila to respond, and she didn’t even have the address of her friend’s house. Never one for planning much, this time her free-spirited ways had backfired.

      I’ve been in worse jams.

      Not really.

      Oh, shut up. Anywhere was better than Nashville, where her ex had made her life miserable.

      “Ma’am, are you okay?”

      She glanced up from the steering wheel to find the hot guy from the estate sale looking in her passenger-side window. He was tall. At least six-three with a blond buzz cut that made her think he might be military. The bulging muscles under his T-shirt hadn’t escaped her notice when she’d been looking through the high-end treasures at his sale. Treasures that she would have been more than happy to take off his hands if she’d had more than a hundred bucks to her name. His prices were way below market value, even for a quick sale.

      She forced a smile.

      “I’m fine,” she said. “Thanks.”

      “Uh-huh. I saw you try the ignition but it didn’t turn over. Didn’t make a sound. Could be the battery, but may be the alternator.”

      Alternators were expensive; even a battery would take the last of her funds. Her throat clogged with emotion.

      Oh, yay. This day just keeps getting better and better.

      “If you pop the hood, I can take a look,” he said.

      Here was a guy, who quite obviously had better things to do, and he wanted to give her a hand? His kindness was her undoing. A lone tear escaped down her cheek and she brushed it away fast with the heel of her hand.

      So dumb. I never cry.

      “Hey, now. It’ll be okay.” His voice was deep and smooth, like a good whiskey. “Don’t get upset. I’m pretty good with all things mechanical. I can help you, I promise.”

      She forced another smile. “Sorry. Just having a bad day. And Old Joe decided to remind me of Murphy’s Law and has to be all stubborn because that’s going to make a bad day even better.” She sighed.

      “I’ve been there,” he said. “But it’s gonna be all right. We’ll get the truck running. Like I said, there isn’t much I can’t fix.”

      Maybe he wasn’t military; he might be a mechanic. Or a superhero.

      “Young man,” an older woman interjected, waving at the hot guy. “How much do you want for the étagère?” She was pointing toward the Chinese Chippendale étagère that had left Chelly salivating.

      Hot Guy took his aviators off, and she caught a glimpse of his beautiful dark green eyes. Wow. Total wow. He was gorgeous.

      “Uh,” he said. “How much do you want to pay?”

      What? Did this guy not have a clue as to what he had here?

      Before the woman could answer, Chelly was out of the truck and walking toward her. “It’s five hundred, and that’s final,” she said.

      The guy’s eyebrow went up, though he didn’t say anything.

      “That’s fair,” the woman agreed. “Deal.” She took five one-hundred-dollar bills from her purse and gave them to Chelly.

      Then the woman turned back to Hot Guy. “Young man, can you please help me load the piece into my van?” She gestured at a pristine luxury SUV parked in front of the next house.

      “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right there.” To Chelly, he said, “No way that bookshelf is worth that much.”

      She smiled. “Not a bookshelf. It’s an étagère and it’s Chippendale. Retail it would go for around seventeen hundred.”

      He blew out a whistling breath. “And here I was going to sell it for twenty bucks, or whatever she offered.”

      Chelly almost choked. Hot Guy was absolutely clueless.

      “Why did you have an estate sale if you don’t know what you’re doing?” She realized the words sounded harsh. “Sorry.” She quickly backtracked. “I mean, there are companies who can do this for you.”

      He shrugged. “I assumed it wouldn’t be this hard, and I didn’t see why I should give a company twenty percent just to sell a bunch of junk.”

      She shook her head again. “You have no idea the quality of items you have here,” she said. “This junk is worth thousands of dollars. It has lots of value. Even in the few larger pieces you have on the lawn, there’s enough to buy a used car. In this neighborhood you’re going to draw in a high-dollar clientele, and you need to take advantage of that. I don’t live around here, but a neighborhood like this one is where antiques dealers go first. Most people have no idea what their stuff is worth.”

      He frowned. “You seem to know a lot about this.”

      “Everybody has their thing, mine is antiques. I love it all. It’s kind of a hobby.” A hobby she’d like to turn into a business someday.

      “I have an idea,” he said. “If you’ll help me out, I’ll fix your truck for free.” He smiled, and she was glad she could hold on to the truck for support. The man was sexy from his blond hair to his superbly formed calf muscles and all points in between.

      “I’m in over my head,” he continued. “It’s only nine a.m. If you’ll stay until around three or so, I’ll make sure your truck is ready by the time you want to go. And I’ll pay for all the parts, and, as I said, labor is free.”

      Free parts. Hmm.

      She asked, “And all I have to do is make sure all these sharks don’t rob you?”

      He smiled again, and her breath stuck in her lungs. “It’s a fair trade. You just made me four hundred and eighty bucks more than I thought I would. The rest is gravy.”

      Well, there was nowhere else she needed to be at the moment, not that she could go anywhere without Old Joe. It was win-win.

      Sticking out her hand, she shook his. “Deal.” She tried to ignore the tingles that his warm fingers sent up her arm.

      “I’m Matt, by the way.”

      “Chelly,” she said. Then she realized she was still holding on to his hand. “Okay. I better get to work.”

      * * *

      LIEUTENANT COLONEL MATT RYAN wiped his hands on the rag and then shut the hood of the old Ford F-150. After a quick run to the auto parts store, he had the vehicle going pretty good. He’d changed out the alternator and the oil, and bought her a new battery.

      As he’d been working, he glanced over to find Chelly smiling and chatting with customers. Unlike him, she seemed to have an easy way with people. Her strawberry-blond hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and that blue blouse and denim shorts—man, she was about as pretty as they came. And she was smart about that junk. About five minutes after she’d started helping him out, she’d grabbed her phone from her truck. “I’m putting the details of your sale on one of the loops I’m on for antiques freaks.” She took a few pictures and not long after that he had three times as many people on the property. It had been a steady stream ever since.

      At lunch he’d stopped long enough to make sandwiches and tea for himself and Chelly. When he’d taken the lunch to her, she’d handed him a wad of cash. “I lost count, but you’re close to three thousand. It’s not safe to keep it out here. You should put it in the house