Free Montana Fire by Vella Day

set
     Jamie’s nerves on edge. She settled back in Max’s car, crossed her arms, and rested
     her elbows on her purse. “If I’d had more time, I would have been able to fix my beloved
     car, you know.”
    He chuckled. “You couldn’t have fixed a starter, Miss Car Expert.”
    “Oh, yeah?” Flirting with a man like Max was kind of fun. He’d been too serious at
     the wedding, but when he’d watched her work, there was something easy about him that
     she liked. She’d love to prove him wrong, but she had a feeling he was right about
     her car. That grinding noise did sound like a bad starter. Crap.
    “Yeah.” His smile widened.
    “Does seeing someone in trouble always bring you such joy?” She kept her tone light,
     so he could tell she was teasing.
    He pointed to his chest as if she were accusing him of some terrible deed. “No joy
     on my part. You looked like you had everything under control. I was there as backup.”
    “I know. I appreciate your faith in my talents.” She would have been really late if
     he hadn’t offered to wait around for the tow.
    “Ever think of getting a new car?” Max asked as casually as could be.
    She twisted so her back was against the door. He’d touched on a sore spot. “My car
     has another one or two hundred thousand miles left on him.”
    His Adam’s apple bobbed. “That might be, but at what cost? First it’s the starter
     then it’s the timing belt, new tires, and new brakes. And don’t forget the clutch,
     assuming it’s a stick shift.”
    His concern had merit. Of late, Grayson had become more and more temperamental. But
     new cars cost money. “It is, but I’ll take my chances.”
    He drummed his fingers on the wheel for a moment. “Why is this car so important to
     you?”
    Max was good. Intuitive. He really seemed to listen, and to understand. “The car belonged
     to my dad before he died.”
    Like a cloud passing over the sun, his face darkened. Darn. Max might still have issues
     of his own, but she never intended to remind him of his own loss. Way to go . He had been so nice driving to the hospital before work to check on Jonathan, and
     then offering his aid. She needed to think before she spoke.
    Max’s gaze remained unerringly on the road ahead, even when they’d stopped at a light. Talk to him . “Did the ER doc tell you anything about what happened to Jonathan?” That was a safe
     topic.
    His jaw tightened, as if he was debating how much to reveal. “Yes. Sorry. I meant
     to tell you, but I got distracted. Dr. Carstead confirmed that a burning board landed
     on your friend’s shoulder. He also said someone hit him in the back of the head, which
     knocked him out.” Max glanced over at her.
    “Oh, my God. That was why they cut his hair. To clean the wound. It also explains
     why he didn’t run out of the warehouse when it caught fire.”
    “I thought the same thing. Did Jonathan ever say if someone wanted to harm him?”
    “No. We didn’t talk much about personal issues.” She looked out the window, trying
     to figure out if Jonathan’s ramblings referred to what happened to him. “Do you think
     the owner of the building tried to evict him?”
    “Doubtful. We interviewed him, and he kind of freaked when we told him about Jonathan’s
     injuries.”
    “Oh.”
    With nothing more to say, she kept quiet, trying to decide if Jonathan’s strange words
     had been important. She never remembered anyone mentioning numbers in their sleep.
     What could forty-seven refer to?
    Before she could come with even up one possibility, they approached the clinic. Only
     then did she realize she was still wearing Max’s coat. She peeled it off and set it
     between them. The leather was old, but well loved. It even had some burn marks on
     the sleeve. “Looks like someone else likes to keep things for a long time.” Two could
     play at the game.
    “My wife gave that to me.” The tension in his voice was as taught as a steel wire.
    Fuck. Now