A Family for the Holidays

So, she really did need to stop thinking about Dax Traub. And picturing him and his dark, deep eyes and how she’d felt as if they could heat the surface of her skin when they were aimed at her, and how sexy he was when he smiled.

No, Dax Traub was just someone nice to look at. But only from a long way away. Like lions at the zoo. He was a sight to see, to gaze upon, to appreciate the glory of from a distance. But only trained lion tamers should get in the cage with him.

“And that isn’t me,” Shandie muttered as she folded the towels.

She was just the mother of a three-year-old who was going to put the towels away once they were folded and take Kayla home for dinner and a quiet evening. Just the two of them. Safe and sound and secure and comfortable.

Far outside the lion’s den.

“I wan’ a peanut butter and marsh’allow sam’ich for dinner.”

Shandie would have taken issue with her daughter’s announcement as she applied the car key to the ignition, but when the engine didn’t start that became the priority.

“Just a minute,” she told her daughter, postponing the conversation as she tried again.

But again nothing happened.

“Uh-oh,” she said. “Something’s wrong with the car.”

“Turn it on,” Kayla suggested logically.

“I’m trying,” Shandie said as she did just that, making four more attempts. All with no result. “Great.”

For the first time since Dax Traub had been popping into her head for no reason, Shandie welcomed the intrusion. Because it suddenly occurred to her that the man owned and operated his own motorcycle shop. That he repaired the things. And if he could make them run, maybe he could make her car run, too.

If he hadn’t closed up for the day and gone home already.

She quickly got out from behind the wheel of her sedan, took Kayla from the car seat in the back and carried the little girl for a fast return trip to the Clip ’n Curl.

“You said we wuz goin’ home,” Kayla complained. “And I wan’ peanut butter and marsh’allow—”

“The car is broken, and we need some help.”

Kayla accepted that without further comment, and Shandie wasted no time rushing with her daughter through the dark beauty shop, through the laundry room to the utility space behind it.

The door that connected the motorcycle shop’s garage was closed but—gratefully—not locked. Much as she had the day before, Shandie knocked and went through to the garage without waiting for a response.

“Hello? Are you still here?” she called.

Dax Traub appeared at the doorway that connected the showroom, pulling a black leather aviator jacket on over a Henley sweater and jeans. “You lookin’ for me?” he asked.

Too many times today, Shandie thought.

But what she said was, “I’m so glad I caught you. My car won’t start. I know motorcycles are your thing, but I thought maybe—”

“What’s it doing?”

“Hi!” Kayla said belatedly, brightly and as if she were thrilled to have this second encounter with the man.

Dax Traub paused to aim a just-as-thrilled-to-see-her smile at the child, winked at her and answered her greeting with a warm, “Hey, Kayla Jane Solomon.”

“Hey, Dax-like-Max-the-dog,” Kayla responded then, giggling with delight.

“The car’s not doing anything,” Shandie said when the two of them were finished with their playful exchange. “When I turn the key there’s a little clicking noise and that’s it.”

“How old is your battery?”

Shandie shrugged. “As old as the car—seven years.”

“That’s probably the problem. Are you parked somewhere I can get to it to give you a jump?”

Shandie hadn’t thought of the battery. “No, I’m nose-first in that little space on the side of the shop that’s big enough for only one car.”

He nodded. “I know that spot. But I’ll tell you what—the temperature’s dropping, it’s dark, and it’ll be tough to get to the battery at all in that cubbyhole of a parking place. So how about if I give you two a ride home, and tomorrow when it’s warmer and we have some daylight, I’ll take a look? Chances are I’ll be able to hook up your battery to my charger and that’ll take care of it. Otherwise, we’re going to have to tow you out of there and that’s more complicated and also something better done when I can see.”

Jump her…

Hook up his charger to her battery…

He hadn’t said any of that with any sort of undertone or innuendo, and yet sexy undertones and innuendos were flitting through her brain anyway.

Such thoughts were hardly typical of her, and she didn’t know why it was happening to her now.

“I’m sure it’s just the battery,” she muttered to conceal what was going through her head. Then, forcing herself to focus on more mundane matters, she said, “I’ll have to get back here tomorrow, but I guess I can ask one of the other girls to bring me in.”

“Can we ride home on a big bike?” Kayla asked, excited by the idea.

Shandie hadn’t considered that possibility, and before Dax had answered her daughter she said, “Are you taking us home on the back of a motorcycle?”

He laughed wryly at her alarm. “No, I own a truck, too.” He nodded toward the utility room door behind her then. “Do you have to go back?”

“No, everything is locked up and turned off. This is the only unlocked door,” she said, poking a thumb over her shoulder at the panel she’d come through.

“That lock was broken when I set up here. I’ve never fixed it.”

“You probably should. It would keep little girls out,” Shandie said.

“Yeah, but the problem with that is that it would keep big girls out, too,” he countered pointedly and with the kind of smooth, easy-to-come-by charm Shandie was sure had earned him his bad-boy reputation.

She pretended not to catch the flirtatious undertone even as something tingly erupted just beneath the surface of her skin. “I do need Kayla’s car seat out of my car,” she said. “I could go get it and bring it over here or you could pull your truck around and meet us—”

“Why don’t I just drive us all around the block? Kayla’ll be okay riding in your lap that long, won’t she?”

“Sure,” Shandie agreed.

“Le’s go!” Kayla said, apparently equally as excited by the idea of riding in Dax’s truck as she had been by the thought of riding one of his motorcycles.

“You’re the boss,” Dax decreed, leading the way through his showroom, locking his own shop after them and pointing out his truck parked in front.