Cowboy's Pride (Welcome to Covendale Book 1) by Morgan Blaze Read Free Book Online Page A

the garage. He’d said it would take about two hours. Covendale’s only print shop, The Paper Garden, was a ten-minute walk from there, so she figured she’d take care of finalizing the order for place cards and thank-you notes while she waited.
    Maybe if she focused on the wedding, she could scrub Cam’s blazing stare from her mind.
    Kenny’s Garage was a throwback in time, a tall, box-like brick building with two garage bays, and a shorter extension that was the office. Greasy posters and signs covered the windows and the glass door. And across from the entrance sat an island with two ancient, working gas pumps, boasting rounded glass bubble heads and rolling numbers. The gas prices, however, were wincingly modern.
    Only one of the regular old-timers sat on the bench outside the entrance—Gramps Dawson, with his pipe clamped between his teeth. He was Luka’s grandfather, but he’d also been Gramps to Sydney for as long as she could remember. She parked the truck in front of the first bay door, got out and waved. “Morning, Gramps,” she called. “How’s everything with you today?”
    He drew on the pipe and grinned. “Well, if it isn’t the bride-to-be,” he said. “I bet you’re busier’n a bee these days.”
    “I sure am.” She returned the smile, but for some reason wedding talk just didn’t excite her as much as it did before. Must be all the planning stress. “Three more weeks until the big day.”
    “Yep. Whole town’s talkin’ about it.” Gramps winked at her. “How’s your folks?”
    “They’re fine. Mom’s going crazy hauling out pictures. Is Kenny in?”
    “I suspect he’ll be out directly.”
    Just as he said that, the office door opened and Kenny Morrison stepped outside, wiping his hands on a rag. He bent and mumbled something to Gramps, who got up and went in. Kenny was a short, weathered, 40-something confirmed bachelor who wore his grimed Carhartt coveralls everywhere. She wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up in them at the wedding. “Sydney, right?” he said. “You called about a tune-up.”
    “Yes. Thanks for taking me on short notice.”
    “No problem.” He strolled over to the truck and looked through the driver’s side window. “Keys in it?”
    “They’re still in the ignition.”
    The sound of a slowing engine drew everyone’s attention. Sydney turned and watched in dull shock as a weathered pickup with a wooden slat bed full of feed bags pulled up to the gas pumps—and Cam Thatcher climbed out.
    Damn. She really had to stop running into him.
    He froze when he caught sight of her. “Sydney,” he said stiffly. “I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here, but I am.”
    “Hey, Cam.” She forced a bright tone, determined to stay upbeat. Maybe she could kill him with kindness. “I was just taking your advice.”
    “I see that,” he said through clenched teeth. After glaring at her for a long moment, he turned away and wrenched the gas cover open on his truck. Then he started unscrewing the cap with excessive force.
    “What are you doing here, Thatcher?”
    The angry words came from Kenny. Sydney gaped at him, and then watched Cam stiffen for a second time. “I’m planting trees,” he said without looking around. “What’s it look like I’m doing?”
    “We’re out of gas.”
    Now Cam looked up, with an expression of barely contained fury. “Are you,” he said. “So what was Bill Harding pumping into his Beamer out here when I drove past earlier? Molasses, maybe?”
    “We’re out,” Kenny said, folding his arms. “Can’t help you.”
    “You goddamn—” Cam cut himself off forcefully and twisted the gas cap back on. “So what, is my money not good enough for you now? It was good enough two days ago.”
    Kenny only glared at him.
    “Oh, come on!” Sydney threw up her arms and looked at the mechanic. She’d never seen anyone act this way. So Cam was a little gruff and rude, and he didn’t socialize much. But he wasn’t a pariah,