“What pieces?” I ask before taking another sip of my coffee.
“Well, while I was at the mercantile picking up goat and chicken food, someone said they saw you this morning with a certain black-haired beauty in your truck, which I thought was weird because since when would you voluntarily spend time with her,” he explains. “But then someone else said they saw you holding hands with her going into the bakery.”
Dillon quirks an eyebrow at me, and I roll my eyes. Gossip in this town is relentless.
“Now I find you here checking on her car,” he continues. “What’s with that?”
“Thatisvery interesting.” Riot bobs his head in agreement.
“It’snotinteresting,” I deny. “Her car broke down yesterday. I picked her up on the side of the road and drove her home. No big deal.”
“He texted me to tow it in,” Dillon interjects. “From her trailer.”
“Shut up.” I glare at Dillon. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.” He raises his palms in the air.
Turning back to Carson, I share, “She didn’t have a ride to work this morning, so I picked her up on my way. We stopped at Maggie’s to grab breakfast and coffee. We never held hands.”
“That’s not what my sources say.” He lifts an eyebrow, trying to see how far he can push me.
“I could’ve picked her up for work.” Riot gives his shoulder a half shrug. “It’s not too far out of my way.”
“Well, I hate to inform you, but your sources are wrong.” I’m not about to tell him Beck kind of held my hand, even if it was only for a moment. Carson could rival Brian in terms of who shares the most gossip. The difference is Carson isn’t malicious—it’s all in good fun.
“I doubt that.” Turning to Dillon, he asks, “So what’s up with Beck’s car?”
“It’s cooked. She will have to get something else.”
“Fuck, that won’t happen.” Carson shakes his head sadly. “Beck doesn’t have money to buy anything else.”
“I’m surprised she had enough money to buy that piece of junk,” Riot says. “I offered to help her buy something better but she wouldn’t hear of it.”
Dillon grunts his agreement.
“What am I missing?” I look between them. “What do you mean she has no money?”
I know how talented she is, and I know how much money tattoos like hers cost. Her living expenses can’t be that much; she’s living in a trailer on free land, for crying out loud.
Carson takes off his hat and pushes his mop of brown curly hair back with one hand and places it back on his head before explaining. “I think Braden soaked her pretty good before they split.”
“Claire said he fucked up her credit too.” Riot nods his head in agreement. “Apparently he racked up a bunch of debt on her credit card.”
“He’s such a fucking asshole.” Dillon shakes his head. “It really pisses me off when I see him driving around in a brand-new truck, when she’s been driving that deathtrap.” He thumbs over his shoulder towards the garage.
Before I can get any more information, I hear a gruff voice. “Do you boys not have somewhere else to be? You have been out here gossiping like hens for far too long. I don’t know about the rest of you, but Dillon has a job to do.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Dillon mutters and drops his head at the sound of his father yelling from the open door of the garage.
Harold, who is closer to eighty than seventy, refuses to stay home even though Dillon has been running the garage for years. He spends most of his day sitting in a chair by the door, grumbling at customers, and giving his son a hard time.
“Good morning, Harold,” Carson cheerfully calls to the old man. “How are you this morning?”
“I’d be better if you got back into your noisy truck and left,” he hollers back.
“Jesus Christ, Dad. Give it a rest.” Dillon rubs both temples in a circular motion and blows out a large breath. Turning back to us, he says, “I’ll let Beck know that the only place her car is going is to the junkyard.”
“Thanks for picking it up last night. I’ll settle the bill with you for the tow,” I tell him.
