as soon as she got off the mountain roads and stopped at a light, she picked it up. “Get bent, Spenser!” she screamed, then tossed the phone at the passenger seat. “Asshole.” It was immature, but it sure made her feel a helluva whole lot better.
When she reached home, she swerved into her driveway and slammed on the brakes. As she was about to grab the door handle, her phone started ringing again. Damn it. Gritting her teeth, she picked it up. “In case we’re having a cross-cultural miscommunication here, get bent means fuck off!”
“J-J.D.?”
Crap. It wasn’t Cam. “Uh, who is this?”
“It’s me. Roy.”
Fucking Roy Jorrell. Just what she needed now. Her inner cat spat and swiped its claws out. “Sorry. Prank callers. What’s up?”
“I was just … you know. Checking in on you. You didn’t answer my text the other day, but then I thought you’re probably busy with the holiday weekend.”
“Yeah, I was,” she snapped impatiently. “Was there something you needed?”
“Me? Nah. I stopped by your garage, and they said you left earlier than usual.”
“And?” She rolled her eyes. “Listen, I can’t really talk right now. If you need stuff taken care of with your truck, just drop it by the garage, okay?”
“No, I was wondering if you had a chance to think—”
“Bye, Roy.” She tossed the phone back into the passenger seat. Ugh, she didn’t want to talk to him. Or anyone right now.
As she stomped into her living room, she considered tossing out that fucking tree and returning the decorations back into the attic.
However, when her gaze landed on the picture above her mantle, her stomach twisted. It was of her, Pop, and Mom when she was about four years old, on Christmas morning, of course. They were sitting in front of a tree, a pile of toys and scattered gift-wrapping paper around them.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” she sniffed. “I would never throw out a perfectly good Christmas tree.” And yes, it was her tree. “Don’t worry, I’ll make her pretty, just like you would have wanted.”
With a determined grunt, she reached for the first box and opened it up. Mate or not, she would feel the fucking Christmas spirit this year, even if it killed her.
Chapter Seven
If she was disappointed that Cam hadn’t tried to contact her since their blow up, J.D. didn’t show it. She just went about her life over the last few days as she always did. With the holidays in full swing and the weather starting to get colder, it was as busy as ever in the garage.
Her cat, however, turned into a moody little bitch. More than usual, anyway. Its emotions swung from anger at Cam for lying to them, and dejection at the fact that he had stayed away all this time.
But we don’t want to see him, she told her animal.
It planted its chin on its front paws and pouted at her.
“Ugh.”
Ignoring her cat, she continued on with her work. She had a bunch of cars that needed oil, antifreeze, and tire changes, not to mention heating system repairs and cleaning. Normally, she would leave basic stuff like this to her guys, but they were backed up. Besides, it was good to keep her hands busy, and frankly, she loved the work. It gave her a sense of purpose and reminded her a lot of growing up here, learning from and eventually working with her father.
When she finished the last car for the day, she went around, checking if her guys needed anything. Her last stop was on the east end of the compound which was separate from the car repair area. Entering the covered garage, she greeted the lone occupant inside. “Hey, Mason, what’s up?”
The tall, burly bearded man looked up from where he was working on a dirt bike. “J.D,” Mason Grimes greeted. “What’s up? How was your Thanksgiving?”
Mason was her partner in the motorcycle shop she had on-site. Aside from doing repair work, he also did his custom bikes here. She counted herself lucky that Mason came along at the right time last year, as she nearly lost her investment when her previous partner had pulled out. Now, they were making money hand over fist as she could accept repairs from Blackstone residents rather than sending them to the next shop over in Verona Mills.
“You know, same old, same old.” She ignored her cat’s meowing protests. “How about you? How are the little ones?”
“They’re great.” His eyes always lit up when anyone mentioned his kids. “Tomorrow’s