Real Good Man (Real Duet #1)

“We’re trying.”

“What a disaster.”

Cody sucks back the rest of his coffee and tosses the cup in the trash. “I thought I’d come see if you had any idea who Jeff was close to these days, but I’m guessing from what you told me that’s a no.”

“You’d be right about that.”

He turns and heads for the door. “I appreciate the coffee.”

“If he wakes up, do you want me to talk to him? Try to get some answers?”

Cody pauses and glances back at me. “Nah, we got this covered. Thanks for the offer. And good luck with the woman. She seems a little different from the normal kind around here. Ain’t looking to lock your ass down and throw away the key.”

Cody was another guy in Gold Haven determined to stay single.

“She’s definitely not that kind.”

“I need to find me one of those,” he replies before pushing the door open.

I want to tell him good luck, because women like Banner are one in a million and nothing like the kind he’s used to, but I don’t. I head back into the garage to find Jock and Rick have the music back on, and are shining up every surface under the hood for the Mustang we finished.

“Looking slick.”

“Of course it does. This shop only does badass restorations.”

I grunt in response, and my brain goes back through all the stuff Cody told me. Someone in this town is pushing meth, and my former stepbrother was dealing.

f*cking ridiculous.





Chapter 35


Banner


I called the hospital to check on Logan’s ex-stepbrother, but they wouldn’t even confirm if he was a patient. I know Logan promised to take me on a date tonight, but with the events of this morning, there’s no way that’s happening.

Instead, I knock out several hours of work before my stomach stages a rebellion. I could attempt to make something, but I decide to venture into town again and try the home-style family restaurant I saw when I was semi-stalking Logan last night. It was closed then, so I figure it caters to more of the early-bird-special clientele.

After I take a half hour to make myself look presentable—well, more like make it so the women in town won’t be able to find anything bad to say about my appearance if they tried—I take my rental car into town and park in front of Home Cookin’.

When I step inside the glass door, there’s a white piece of notebook paper on a podium to write your name and the number in your party. I’ve missed the lunch crowd, so there’s no one in the waiting area and no names left open on the list. Green vinyl booths line both side walls, and there are several empty tables mixed in with the few taken up by older folks drinking coffee. An honest-to-God lunch counter with stools runs along the back section of the restaurant.

A woman in jeans, cowboy boots, and a green polo shirt with Home Cookin’ embroidered on the breast comes toward me.

“How many in your party?”

“Just one, thanks.”

“Do you want a seat at the counter, or would you like a table or booth?”

“A booth would be great.”

She pulls a plastic menu, a paper place mat, and napkin-wrapped silverware out of the three wooden holders on the paneled half wall next to the waiting-list stand. “Follow me right this way.”

I trail after her, impressed by the way her Levi’s hug her curves without causing the dreaded muffin top. I have to spend big dollars on jeans to ensure the same effect.

“You can have a seat right here. Great view of the main drag through town, so you can do some people watching.”

It also has a great view of Logan’s repair shop, such that I can see his truck parked around the side.

“Thanks, this is perfect.” I look up at her name tag. “I appreciate it, Emmy.”

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“A skinny caramel latte would be great.”

Her eyebrows wing up to her hairline. “I’m afraid that’s a forty-five-minute drive. In this town, you’ve got coffee and hot chocolate, unless you want one of those instant cappuccino drinks out of the machine at the gas station, but I hear that’s all sugar and chemicals.”

“Do you have Diet Coke?”

She nods. “Of course.”

As she walks off, I can hear her mutter, “Skinny caramel latte . . . where does that girl think she is?”

I study the menu, deciding to skip the chicken fried steak because I have absolutely no idea what the hell it is, and instead choose a Caesar salad with chicken.

A different woman comes to the table with my Diet Coke and to take my order. Her name tag says Darlene, and she’s all business with her curly short dark brown hair.

“Dressing on the side?” she asks, beating me to my last request.

“Yes, please.” I pause. “How did you know?”

She gives me a slow once-over. “You look like the type.” Darlene turns on a heel and heads back to put in my order.

I brush off her comment and stare out the window as what seems like a parade of trucks pass by. Does every man in this town own a pickup truck? And when did that become so sexy?

I’m sure there’s only one answer for that, and it’s all Logan Brantley’s fault.

Emmy’s voice cuts through the quiet chatter in the room. “I said I wanted his lunch ready in ten minutes. Do you want the man to starve?”

The door chimes again, and a woman with a killer fishtail braid strides in and up to the counter with the biggest travel mug I’ve ever seen. It must fit a half gallon of whatever she puts in it.

“Can I get a large coffee to go?”

Emmy turns around and eyes her. “That stuff is going to kill you someday, Julianne. You should really lay off the caffeine.”

“Save the concern for someone who cares, Emmy.” She twists the lid off the mug, and Emmy takes it from her before turning away to fill it up with an entire carafe of coffee.

Julianne, a woman I haven’t yet met, slides some money across the counter and replaces the lid.

“You ever going to replace that broken coffeepot of yours?” Emmy asks, picking up the money and tucking it in the cash register. “Not that I’m complaining about taking your money.”

“Warranty replacement is supposed to be here next week. Don’t worry; I’m ready to end these lovely visits too.”

Julianne turns away from the counter and heads for the door, but slows and changes direction when she notices me. “Well, well . . . I’m guessing I know exactly who you are.”

“That’s a little creepy.” I didn’t mean to say it out loud, but apparently my lack of filter is still well and truly intact.

She steps toward the table and sets down the giant travel mug. “I’m Julianne. I cut your man’s hair, and you’ve got the entire town talking today.” She slides into the booth without an invitation.

“Uh, feel free to join me, I guess.”