“Fuck, baby girl, you’re so sweet,” I murmured in her ear right before I nipped it. Then I went back to her mouth. Feasting. Plunging. Consuming. I turned us and backed her into the side of my truck, and let my knee wedge between hers, and she began to ride my thigh.

I had no idea how long it went on for, but when my hand was up her dress and playing with the lacy edge of her panties, I remembered we were in a fucking parking lot.

I settled my forehead against hers.

“It’s just you and me, baby girl. Always has been.”

“Huck,” she whispered, licking her swollen lips.

“I think it’s time you had a little chat with your daddy.”

I could understand him wanting to protect his daughter. Hell, I’d probably do the same for Claire when she was eighteen and a guy was sniffing around her. I’d even have my service pistol out when I did it.

But I’d walked away just like he’d wanted. I hadn’t done it for him but for Sarah. Then I put myself on the path to make her mine by going to the academy, and it had all fallen to shit. I wouldn’t trade Claire for anything, but I’d always had what-ifs. I did now, especially with her in my arms.

Sarah wasn’t a kid any longer. She was a grown woman and knew the truth.

She shook her head. “You’re the one that walked. Who never believed in us. That I’d go to school and then run my own shop. That you’d be there for me.”

I stepped back, ran my hand over my mouth. It didn’t erase her taste. My dick was still punching against the front of my jeans to get out. “Oh yeah? I always believed in you. That’s why I left. So I wouldn’t hold you back. But who’s holding stopping you now? If your daddy believes in you, then why aren’t you running the shop? Why doesn’t he let you work on the cars? Every time I’m on a scene with Roy, he’s nothing but a lazy ass. Your father would rather employ that fucker than you, his own daughter.”

A gasp escaped her lips, and she bumped my shoulder to get away. She ran across the lot. No question she hated my guts now.

I stepped out into the middle of the lot and watched her head to her car. That was no fucking car. It was a vintage Jeep Wagoneer in mint condition. No doubt she’d overhauled the engine and done all the work herself.

“That went fucking well,” I muttered after her brake lights disappeared out of the lot. I climbed back into my truck. I had to shift in my seat to get comfortable, my dick as hard as it had ever been.

9

SARAH

Sunday, 4 a.m.

I wanted to take over O’Banyons, but this was one part of the job I hated. Four a.m. was not my favorite time of day. I’d been tossing and turning for a second night in a row, thinking of Huck. Of what he’d said. Of my life and what I’d done with it. Or hadn’t done. The fight. The kiss. Oh, the kiss. He was right. I felt things for him. Enough to make out with him in the Lucky Spur’s parking lot. It had made me wet, horny, and definitely cranky.