Love in Greener Pastures Read online

  Love in Greener Pastures

  Amanda Bretz

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2011 Amanda Bretz

  DEDICATION

  CHILDHOOD IS A TIME FOR CAREFREE DAYS AND VIVID IMAGINATIONS. AS A KID, I SPENT MY DAYS CREATING STORIES PERCHED IN A PEACH TREE IN MY GRANDPARENTS’ BACKYARD. I BELIEVE THIS IS WHEN I BECAME A WRITER. WITHOUT THE LOVING FOUNDATION OF MY GRANDPARENTS, TOM AND RUTH WATKINS, I WOULDN’T BE WHERE I AM TODAY.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank my husband Brandon for his continued encouragement and support. Thanks for always believing in me.

  Finding Justus wouldn’t have been written at all if it wasn’t for a late night call to my sister, Tawnya. She helped me create the wonderfully sexy character Miguel Amores. We’ll make a writer out of you yet, sis.

  I also have to thank my cousins Jeremy and Shaina for reading rough first drafts. Thank you both for the suggestions and praise.

  I have been truly blessed with many supportive friends and family members. I could never list them all.

  A Special Message from the Author:

  Make sure you read the excerpt of my forthcoming release Love, Simplified at the end of this e-book.

  PROLOGUE

  She hung up her cell phone in a daze and quickly dropped her head into her hands. A tide of familiar feelings washed over her.

  Worry. Fear. Guilt. Sadness. Anger.

  Would seeing him hurt remind her of her mother? Tears began to fall as she replayed a single sentence over and over again in her mind.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this…there’s been an accident.”

  She released a long and frustrated sigh. There was no point in wallowing in what had happened, especially not when she had so much to do.

  She was leaving town in a few days.

  CHAPTER ONE

  The small green sign on the side of the road told her she was a mere twenty miles from her destination, but to Gabby it felt much further. As she took in the scenery along the roadside, she couldn’t help but feel as though she was traveling back in time. Things didn’t appear to have changed since her last visit. Her view was filled with nothing but cornfields, red barns and towns so small they were a speck on most maps. She knew she shouldn’t feel surprised, nothing ever changed in the area surrounding Clear Lake, Illinois.

  As she passed by a gas station that boasted full-service for only pennies on the gallon more than self-service, she glanced at her tank and debated on stopping. As much as she wasn’t looking forward to her arrival in the little town, she wanted to get there as quickly as possible. Not that she was looking forward to any of it. Starting the job on Monday, the inevitable collisions with former friends, schoolmates, teachers and neighbors. The dread of it all almost made her pull a U-turn and say to hell with it. But she knew she really couldn’t do that.

  Of all the things she was most anxious about was taking the job. She tried to reason with herself that she did after all need the money. Plus, any experience she could gain would help when she was able to leave Clear Lake again, once and for all this time, she hoped.

  Gabby almost laughed to herself. Experience? Compared to most of the writers on staff, she would bet good money her resume was far more staggering and she was fresh out of college.

  She’d attended an award-winning journalism school, graduated at the top of her class, and had managed to forge out an enviable internship with one of Chicago’s largest newspapers, and now she was supposed to write for the Lake Breeze? Gabby had mulled those thoughts over and over again in her head while she made the four hour drive to what would be, regrettably, her job and home for at least the next several months.

  When she had left her small town years ago, she never dreamed she’d end up moving back, albeit this was for a parental medical emergency and for a short stay.

  Gabby gnawed at what remained of the fingernails on her left hand as she thought about her poor father’s condition: two broken legs and a crushed pelvis.

  Her father had worked in the construction industry her entire life, and this was not his first on-the-job injury. Nor, Gabby feared, would it be his last. She had been pleading with him for years to retire or at least find a different line of work. She’d maintained that a man of his age shouldn’t be performing such intense manual labor. As Gabby thought of all the sacrifices her father had made over the years, she realized he’d worked intensively to ensure his daughter received a college education at the school of her choosing.

  Her father had worked long hours outdoors in nasty weather conditions, and she thought he’d already paid his dues, and then some. Gabby argued it was time he either moved into the office of the construction company he worked for or pursued work elsewhere. She hoped that while she was sharing his roof for the next six months or so, she could plead her case daily, if need be, and eventually wear him down. When the time came for Gabby to move out of his house once again, she hoped she would be leaving with her father’s promise that he would find work at a less dangerous and physically demanding job.

  Gabby slowed her car to the posted speed limit as the sign proudly bearing the town’s population of five thousand people greeted her. She cringed to herself. This was going to be a tough few months. As she slowed to a stop at one of the town’s two traffic lights, she felt her car shimmy while letting out a simultaneous wheeze.

  She quickly gunned the engine and when the light turned green, she pressed the accelerator hard. Her head lurched forward as her car bucked, and tires squealing, she pressed harder on the gas pedal. To her dismay, the car’s speedometer only registered fifteen miles per hour. She was almost to her father’s house, if she could just get the car to go.

  “Come on, just go! Please,” she pleaded with the old vehicle.

  Maybe she should’ve stopped at the gas station a few towns back. A quick glance at the tank, however, told her that she still had over a fourth of a tank. Unless the needle was reading incorrectly, she wasn’t out of gas. Suddenly, the top of the sign to Harrison’s Auto Repair hovered in her line of sight. The service station was about a half-mile away, if memory served her correctly. She only hoped her car could make it that far.

  Gabby looked in her rearview mirror and saw she was starting to back up the town’s meager traffic. For once she was glad she wasn’t in the city. If her car had chosen to do whatever it was doing now in Chicago, she would’ve been on the receiving end of honks, dirty looks, curse words, middle fingers and a plethora of other rude gestures. As far as she could tell, the people of Clear Lake were in no apparent hurry, and no one seemed to know that she was not moving at such a slow rate by choice.

  She was only a few blocks from the repair shop when she felt her car give one last vicious buck, followed by a long, sputtering cough. She eased the car off of Main Street and coasted into a church parking lot. When her car finally stopped, she grabbed her purse and with a frustrated sigh, she headed in the direction of old man Harrison’s shop.

  When she arrived at the garage, she was red-faced, sweaty and irritable. The June heat was a lot more oppressive than she had realized. She hoped the ancient vending machine she recalled the shop having was still in service, a cold drink sounded heavenly. Gabby walked into the air conditioned waiting area, rang the bell on the counter and waited for service. After several moments passed and still no one appeared, she debated on tapping the bell a second time.

  Not wanting to appear rude, she decided she would just step through the door leading to the repair bay. Gabby could hear loud music and an assortment of what she could only assume was equipment. Which would explain why no one heard her ring the service bell, she reasoned. As Gabby stepped out into the garage, she was surrounded by noise,
heat and the scent of gasoline and various car fluids. She could hear someone tinkering and could only make out a pair of feet on the other side of a truck with its hood raised.

  “Hello?” Gabby called out to no one in particular.

  “Be with you in just a minute,” replied a deep male voice.

  “Okay, no problem.”

  Gabby took in the sights around her, there were a range of tools hanging from the walls, several tires were propped up against one wall, and there were a hodgepodge of items that she could only guess served some type of auto maintenance or repair purpose.

  “How can I help you?”

  Gabby turned her head when she heard the voice addressing her again, and what she saw left her momentarily speechless. Apparently in her absence from Clear Lake old man Harrison had hired some younger help. She’d expected to see Mr. Harrison, the shop’s portly, white-haired owner. Instead, Gabby was being greeted by a six-foot tall, well-built hunk that looked to be in his late twenties.

  “Oh! I stalled, I mean, my car stalled out on me. It just broke down. A few blocks back there,” she gestured toward the church parking lot where she had left her car.

  He nodded and wiped his grease smattered hands on a work towel. “I can have it towed here, if that’s what you’d like. My technician is actually out running errands and grabbing lunch for the two of us, I can pick your car up once my tech gets back,” he paused, taking in her red face. “You can wait inside where it’s cooler if you want. There’s also a phone in my office you can use to call someone to pick you up.”

  Gabby was trying to concentrate on what he was telling her, but she was having a hard time keeping her focus. Maybe it was the intense way his blue-eyed gaze seemed to be regarding her, or maybe she was just tired after her long drive.

  Out of nervous habit, she bit her bottom lip. While Gabby appreciated his offer to use his phone, she really had no one to call. Because of his injury, her dad couldn’t drive and after not speaking to them in years, she wasn’t exactly on cozy enough terms with any of her high school friends to call and ask for a ride to her father’s house.

  “I don’t have anyone to call,” she said with a sorrowful shake of her head. “I guess I’ll just wait inside.”

  “I don’t know how much longer my technician will be, but there’s a small TV in my office, you’re welcome to it, if you’d like.”

  “Thanks. Is there a vending machine around?” Gabby asked looking around the garage in the hopes of finding a cold drink.

  “No, but I have some sodas and bottled water in a small fridge in my office,” he said as he held the door open for her. Gabby followed him into his office, which was a room not much larger than a janitor’s closet. As a journalist, Gabby prided herself on her ability to remain objective and keep her features impassive, but somehow she must have failed when she saw the cramped quarters.

  “I know it’s not much,” he said of the tiny space, “But it’s enough for me.”

  The quarters were very close, and Gabby was made more aware of how close their bodies were when he bent down to get her drink out of the small fridge.

  “Would you like water or soda?”

  “Uh,” she said as she watched his wide-shouldered form stoop down to the tiny fridge. Even though he wore a mechanics uniform, she could see well-formed muscles rippling under his shirt. “Water’s fine.” Trying to reach a neutral subject she asked, “So where’s old man Harrison?”

  The mechanic stood quickly and turned to face her, which given the limited space, wasn’t an easy feat. “Dead,” he said flatly. “How did you know him?”

  “Oh, I-I hadn’t realized,” she stuttered. “I grew up in Clear Lake. I moved to Chicago for college, and just came back into town for a kind of extended stay.”

  “Chicago for college,” he said to himself as he opened his soda. He tilted his head back and took a long drink.

  Gabby watched his Adam’s apple work along his sweat and grease-smeared throat with fascination.

  “He was my grandpa,” he said when he finished his drink. “Jake Harrison, sorry for not introducing myself sooner,” he said and extended his hand.

  Gabby felt his large hand close around her smaller one and said, “My name’s Gabriella, but most people call me Gabby.”

  “Gabriella, I like that,” he said as he looked into her hazel eyes.

  “Just call me Gabby.”

  “Right. Anyway,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. “The TV’s all yours and I’ll let you know when my tow truck gets back so you can tell me where to pick up your car.”

  Gabby nodded, but continued to stare at Jake. Despite being covered virtually head-to-toe in black grease, he was extremely handsome. She decided her first estimate of his age could’ve been off. He looked as though he could be in his early thirties. Regardless of his age, he was very attractive and she just couldn’t stop looking at him.

  “So then, you’re the new owner of the garage?” she said for lack of anything better to say.

  “Yes, I took over the business after my grandpa’s death and I also moved into his house.”

  “Oh,” was the only response that came to her mind. Why was she acting like such a ditz? She had met and interviewed far more important and interesting people than Jake Harrison, so why was she acting so strange? At the moment she didn’t have the mental energy to figure out the answer. As she watched Jake retreat back to the garage, she let out a long sigh and flopped down into the chair behind his desk.

  She fingered the remote and thought about turning on the TV, if only to provide some background noise to help time pass. After a moment’s consideration, she decided to skip TV. She fumbled in her bag, ostensibly for her cell phone, but she ended up fishing out her hand-held mirror and peach lip gloss. She told herself she was only putting on her gloss because her lips were in desperate need of moisture, but as she checked her eye makeup and hair, she knew she was lying to herself. She knew she was checking her face because, covered in grease or not, Jake was hot.

  Her eyes landed on her phone lying on the desk next to her purse. Gabby knew she should at least phone her dad and tell him about her car trouble, but at the same time she wondered if it was best to call and upset him. She picked up her cell, and while her index finger hovered over the screen, she conjured up the mental image of her father at home in pain and misery, and more than likely doped up on painkillers. Why disturb him? She put her phone back in her purse and closed it with a decisive snap. It would be best to wait to tell her dad about her car in person.

  He was confined to his house and it would be just like Steven Richards to barrage his only child with questions when she called and told him where she was. Reluctantly, she grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. After flipping through the channels twice she settled on a day-time talk show that would fill up the empty air in the small office. She rubbed her upper arms with her palms as she realized that her jeans and tank-top had been fine for the steamy weather outside, but the air conditioning was blasting out arctic air in the tiny office. Impatiently Gabby grabbed her purse and punched the TV’s off button on her way out the door. She needed her car. Maybe if she could talk to Jake and tell him of her father’s condition and how important it was that she reached him as soon as possible, he could somehow get her to her dad quicker.

  As she opened the door and walked back out into the steamy work area, she heard a car horn and looked to her right to see a tow truck pulling into the repair station. Thankfully, the tow truck had arrived and with any luck she would be back in her car shortly. The truck’s door opened and the driver jumped to the ground, landing on tiny feet with a thud.

  Gabby took in the small frame and cropped hair and at first thought that Jake’s assistant was nothing more than a young boy. As the driver approached the garage however, she realized that his technician was female. Up close it was hard not to see the unmistakable curves beneath the woman’s work uniform.

  “Oh good, you’re back,” Ja
ke said to his diminutive partner. “Gabriella, er Gabby, this is my assistant, Sam. I’ll be happy to get your car for you now. If you’d like, you can ride with me to pick it up, that way I know right where to find it.”

  Gabby, too dumbfounded to find words, merely nodded. For the life of her she couldn’t figure out why the thought of Jake having a female assistant was so troubling to her.

  Jake opened the passenger door for her with one hand while he stuck his other out to help her into the large vehicle. Ignoring his offer for help, Gabby hoisted one foot inside the truck and pushed with all her might to get her other foot, and the rest of her body, inside of the tall truck. Jake shut her passenger door and shook his head, city girls. They always seemed to get so offended when a man was a gentleman and treated them with respect and courtesy.

  “So,” Jake said as he revved the truck engine to life and began backing out of the service station, “Where’s your car?”

  “Just down Main Street a few blocks, that way,” Gabby said pointing her finger toward St. Mary’s for emphasis.

  Somehow being inside the truck cabin was even more uncomfortable for her than being in his office had been. With every breath she took she smelled the heady mix of grease, sweat, cologne and something else, a sweet, familiar and comforting smell. Fabric softener? She was unsure. But at that moment she knew Jake was one of the sexiest smelling men she’d ever met.

  What was she thinking? He was her mechanic, not a piece of meat. Although, if he were a piece of meat, he’d be a big, juicy porterhouse, the naughtier side of her thought. Ugh! She seriously had to snap out of it.

  “Here it is,” Gabby instructed him when he reached the Catholic church.

  Jake made a wide left-hand turn and with some maneuvering, wedged the truck in front of her car. Jake put the vehicle in park, but left the engine running.

  “You can stay in the truck,” Jake said over his shoulder as he exited the vehicle.