Free Man of Honor (Battle Scars) by Diana Gardin

the last time you let me open the shop and gave yourself a morning off.”
    My scowl doesn’t deter him or wipe the smirk off his lips. “Had things to do.”
    It shouldn’t be possible, but Will’s smile grows even wider. “Yeah? Like what?”
    My frown deepens, and when I aim it at him he takes a step back, raising his hands in surrender. “All right, boss. Don’t lose your shit. I get it. It’s private. ” Giggling like a little girl, he walks back toward the Corolla he’s rotating.
    Marching back toward my office, I run into Hoover. I jerk my chin in his direction, reaching out a hand so he can clasp it. “Stone.”
    Hoover nods back and pulls me in for a one-armed hug. “Good to see you, boss. You good?”
    Nodding, I lean against the wall, propping my foot up behind me and folding my arms across my broad chest. “Yeah. Lemme ask you something. You ever let a woman get in your head?”
    Hoover, ever thoughtful, rubs his hand across his gnarled beard and mimics my position on the wall across from me. “Can’t say I have.”
    Hoover Stone is my most recent addition to the team at D.A. He’s nasty with a wrench under a hood, and he knows cars like Santa knows toys. He’s a little rough around the edges, but what man who’s been to war isn’t? He’s as tall as I am, but not quite as bulky, and his long dirty-blond hair is gathered in a ponytail at the back of his neck. The fullness of his beard is something to brag about, and he’s always casual in a pair of boots and jeans. Today, his coveralls are situated at his waist.
    “Never had time for women. There was the army, and then training to rise up in the ranks. Chicks were for entertainment and getting my needs met, you know? Never got one stuck in my head. Guess it’s just as well.”
    His thick Alabama drawl makes his words come out slow, but I never let that fool me. The man’s sharp, and I value his quiet opinion.
    I push off the wall. “Sucks when it happens.”
    A smile appears behind his beard. “Roger that.”
    We go our separate ways, me into my office and Hoover toward the garage.
    Pulling up today’s appointment schedule on the computer, it’s clear that the boys can handle what’s rolling in today. I pull out my phone to text Dare. Maybe we can get some work done on my baby today, see about bringing her classic ass back to life. I think an afternoon filled with chrome and oil is exactly what I need.
    A few hours later finds Dare and me doing just that. I’m sitting on a wheeled auto stool with a wrench in my hand while Dare crouches beside the rear fender. We’ve been working in silent camaraderie for a solid half hour before Dare speaks.
    “You dealing with something, Drake?” He keeps his eyes on his work.
    Dare knows me well, probably better than anyone. We were in the field together as Rangers, and when I retired we kept in touch. When he cut the army loose, he came to Lone Sands to start a life. He even stayed at my house for a while until he got on his feet. He’s closer to me than any brother would be.
    I grunt in an affirmative.
    He glances up with a frown. “Oh yeah? So drinking your weight in whiskey at See Food every night is dealing?”
    With a roll of my eyes, I blow out a breath. I scrub my fingers across my forehead, probably dragging greasy black streaks there in the process. “You keeping tabs on me now?”
    Dare shakes his head, lets out a chuckle. “Don’t have to. This tiny town you brought me to knows how to talk. I know Mea poured you into her car one night and brought you home. How’d that go?”
    Since he’s been here, Dare has observed the dance Mea and I do at every meeting. It’s been different lately, though. She clearly doesn’t hate me like I thought, but I still don’t know what I originally did to send her running.
    “It went all right.” I figure with an answer that vague my best friend won’t be able to read too much into it.
    I thought wrong.
    “Yeah? Drake…tell me you didn’t