Blind Luck (The Technicians Series Book 3)

by Olivia Gaines

  “Chad, darling,” she said with a forced smile. “Brody has done us a huge favor. It is important for us to be thankful and let the man think. If we get on his nerves, he may decide to leave us on the side of the road in another small town with crazy people.”

  “Mom, I don’t think he would do that!” Chad bellowed.

  “Well, let’s not test the man, okay?”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Yield said, “but I know a man who may be able to help you. But, first things first. I need to change out my vehicle because your Lawman Loverboy is going to have every Smoky between here and Ohio with eyes on us.”

  “Is that where we’re going? To Ohio?” she asked with bright eyes.

  Lord, she is a mighty fine-looking woman. The curly brown hair she wore pulled back off her face. Almond shaped eyes with the whites so bright it made the brown irises pop as if she could see right through his soul. Millicent’s nose was just the right size and shape sitting above the most kissable lips he’d ever seen up close on a woman.

  “Our first stop will be in Terre Haute, Indiana to change out my shop,” he told them both. “That’s what I call my truck. I work out of my truck retrieving items that people lose, misplace or those small tokens of history that need to be returned to their rightful owners.”

  “Like Indiana Jones taking artifacts back to museums?” Chad asked.

  Yield, taking his eyes from the road for a brief second to check the rearview mirror, asked, “How old are you again?”

  “I’m seven,” Chad said with pride. “I have seen all the Indiana Jones movies, and I want to be an ar-kee-lo-logist.”

  “Archeologist,” Yield corrected. “Which one was your favorite?”

  “The one with kids and everyone eating monkey brains,” he said, laughing. “It was so funny.”

  “I like that one, too, but the woman was always screaming,” Yield said. His eyes shifted to Millicent. “What about you?”

  He figured if the boy had seen the movies, she had as well. It wasn’t much, but it was a three-hour drive to Terre Haute, and they needed to start the conversation on at least one topic they had in common. Yield also understood that asking such a random question would provide a bit more insight into the thinking of the lady.

  “I prefer The Last Crusade,” she said. “That one gave you a better understanding of Indiana the man, as well as his relationship with his father. We either want to follow in the footsteps of our parents or go the opposite way.”

  “Is that what you were doing on your way West?”

  Millicent gave him a small smile. “I was headed to Hollywood. I wanted to be a set designer. I had just finished college and had these grandiose plans to hit the big time working on movie sets and the like. A friend of mine worked in Burbank for Warner Brothers, and I was going to share her place and get a temp job until I broke into the industry,” she told him.

  “Where is home for you?”

  “North Carolina is where I grew up, just outside of Raleigh,” she offered. “I went to the UNC on a scholarship. Until my car broke down in Wentzville, my life was going as planned.”

  “I’m sorry, but it just doesn’t add up,” he said. “If you broke down, why didn’t you call your friend for money for a bus ticket or better yet have your parents come to get you?”

  “That’s when all my luck ran out,” Millicent said. “I don’t have any parents, and my friend changed her mind about me coming to live with her, only she didn’t tell me that until I called her and said my car had broken down. It left me stuck.”

  “So you made do with what you had,” he mumbled.

  “No, I got a job so I could make money to get my car fixed,” she said. “One month turned into three, three turned into six, and between rent and utilities, I was barely making it. The shop owner, under the direction of Mr. Obsession, kept adding on storage fees for holding the car at his facility so I just let him keep it.”

  “Sounds like a tough break,” Yield said.

  “The good thing is Chad,” she said. “Out of all the noise and all the chaos, I got a special little boy. He’s so smart and bright that all the nonsense fades away. The choices I make are for what’s best for him. Growing up without parents is tough, but having parents who suck is worse. What about you?”

  “Me?” Yield asked, surprised she’d be interested in him past getting her and the boy out of town.

  “Yes, you, Brody Johnson of Ohio,” she said, shifting in her seat to stare at the strong profile.

  Brody Johnson was her kind of man. All action, subtle manners, and the ability to read a situation for what it was. He’d surprised her by not taking her up on the offer to share the bed last night, so she figured it was his way to not get attached. Or he didn’t like girls. The way he kissed her and touched her as a woman didn’t feel that way, and she wanted to know more about him. Plus, the scar across his face had a story which deserved more attention.

  “I grew up in Columbus,” he said. “My Mom is a retired nurse who lives in Florida with my sister Nina, who has three boys and a husband who works too much. I graduated from Ohio State with a major in Archeology.”

  He said that portion and looked in the rear-view mirror at the boy whose eyes were focused on him. “One year, when on a dig in Mexico, I stumbled upon an opening in a cave which led to one of the best discoveries to date on Mayan culture. I guess I’m just one of those people who are lucky.”

  “Now you have us,” she said with wink.

  “Yeah, lucky me,” he winked back at her with a smile.

  When he smiled, it changed the whole appearance of his face. A warm smile she liked and appreciated. This man, Brody Johnson, took a big risk for her and Chad. It really didn’t matter what it would take, but he had a vibe about him that she admired.

  “Are you single, gay, or just not interested?” she asked out of the blue.

  Brody nearly choked in his laughter. She was direct and to the point, which was refreshing. There didn’t seem to be any games with this one.

  “I am not seeing anyone, if that’s what you want to know, and I am most definitely not gay,” he replied.

  “Just not interested in me then?”

  There was no clear answer for the woman. He was definitely interested but he didn’t live a life which allowed for complications. She and the boy would complicate his life on too many levels.

  “It’s complicated,” he said.

  “No, it’s simple. Either you’re interested or you’re not,” Millicent said.

  “Ain’t no simple answers, little lady. I’m on the road the better part of the year, and when I come home, it is to peace and quiet,” he said.

  “Wouldn’t it be nice to spend less time on the road and come home to a family waiting on you?” Millicent asked.

  “I’ll be there waiting on you, too,” Chad said. “You can teach me how to fish and dig for buried treasures and maybe sometimes I can ride with you to keep you company so you won’t be lonely on the road.”

  “Oh really?” Yield asked, smiling again at the genuineness of the boy’s offer.

  “Yeah, really. No one likes being lonely,” the boy said.

  Silence filled the truck with the weight of the child’s statement. They had led a lonely life isolated by a mad man who wanted to control the lady’s world. Yield hated bullies, but he also hated the throb in his leg. Getting home to rest it was a priority as he put his foot into the floor, hastening the arrival in Terre Haute.

  MICHAEL “BIG MIKE” Colton was fit to be tied. He kicked a hole in the front door of the trailer and was two steps from shooting out the windows after Millicent’s neighbor informed him the woman and boy had gone with the stranger for the Christmas holidays. She didn’t ask his permission to go any damned where and to leave with that scar faced man was ridiculous.

  Millicent was supposed to be his woman. Chad should have been his son, but leave it to his no account brother to sneak around behind his back and get the girl pregnant.

 
“Arrgggh!” he screamed and kicked the door again.

  “Sheriff, is something wrong?” Rebecca Alstead, the nosey neighbor, inquired.

  “Yes, she left without telling me where she was taking my nephew. It’s a crime to transport a child over state lines without informing the parent of your intentions,” he said to Rebecca.

  “Maybe she told your brother, since he’s the father,” Rebecca said.

  Big Mike took six long strides across the gravel parking lot to get in her face. Spittle flew when he talked to her and the woman cowered in fear from the aggressive action.

  “My brother is a loser. He doesn’t care what that dripping wet slit does with that boy and the man she rode off with could be a pedophile for all we know,” the Sheriff yelled in her face.

  Rebecca slinked away, going back to her trailer and minding her own damned business. She prayed that the man with the scar would never bring Millicent and the boy back to Wentzville, let alone be under the oppression of the crazy sheriff. The man just wasn’t right in the head.

  “They are going to rue the day when they defied me,” Big Mike growled, thinking of all the ways he could make Millicent and the scar-faced man pay. First, he had to get them back to Missouri and under his thumb. He didn’t think that part would be hard to accomplish. After all, he was a well-respected Sheriff.

  IT WAS JUST BEFORE lunch when Yield rolled into Terre Haute. To his surprise, when he arrived at the storage building to exchange trucks, both Millicent and the boy helped unload his shop and reload everything in the truck in the same spots, same order, same locations for his tools. He wouldn’t allow either of them to touch the weapons he stored under the seat, but gratitude flowed from him when she climbed into the bed of the truck to push the tool boxes to the tailgate. His throbbing leg didn’t afford him the luxury of those types of movements and in less than fifteen minutes, with the aid of the fueled-up gas cans in the storage unit, they were loaded and ready to roll.

  “Mister Brody,” Chad said. “I’m sorry to be a bother, but my breakfast has worn off and I’m mighty hungry.”

  “Mine too, kiddo,” Yield said. “No worries. I know a great place to get a hearty meal to tide us over.”

  A few minutes later, he was parking the green Ram truck in the lot of the Grand Traverse Pie Company. She and the boy were quiet as they looked through the glass window. Their meals over the past couple of years had been leftovers from the Waffle House and the occasional pizza when she got a big tip. Her fridge did have vegetables and the pantry held basic staples, but this was new.

  “The pictures look yummy,” she said with a smile, bundling herself in the beat-up winter coat.

  “I’m so hungry I could eat the picture,” Chad said, climbing out of the big green truck and landing his feet in the snow. An extra scarf that was stuck in between the bench seat, adorned his small neck.

  “They have a good selection of pot pies, salads, wraps, and soups,” Yield said, putting his extra skull cap on Chad’s head. “The Cherry Ganache is my favorite of the actual pies, but they also serve cookies and apple dumplings. The peach pie is almost as good as my mother’s, but don’t tell her I said that.”

  Millicent didn’t miss a beat, “I look forward to meeting her.”

  His step faltered a bit as he opened the door for her a Chad to enter. The small entourage was greeted by a busty waitress with skinny chicken legs and a skinny waitress with a chicken beak for a nose.

  “Hiya, Brody, you want your usual?” She asked.

  “That sounds great, but I’ll need a couple of menus for my crew,” he called back as he led them to the back of the place, in a corner.

  “Coming right up, along with two black coffees and a glass of milk for the young ‘un,” Miss Chicken Beak for a Nose lady called back.

  “No menus, just order for us,” she said. “We eat everything and don’t have any allergies.”

  The waitress came to the table, setting down the coffees and glass of milk. Before she could say anything, Millicent spoke up.

  “We will have what he’s having, only I want a slice of banana cream pie and Chad there will have a slice of the apple. Also, I want six cookies, one in every flavor, to go,” she said with a smile.

  “Sure thing, doll,” the waitress said.

  Yield, arched his brow. “Cookies to go?”

  “Yep, two each,” she told him, “just in case I don’t like how they make the oatmeal raisin I can swap with you for half of one of yours and vice versa. It should hold us for a snack until dinner.”

  “Works for me,” he said, again impressed.

  He was also impressed how well they ate, cleaning their plates, and to his shock, Millicent paid for the meal. It was with one of the fifty dollar bills he’d given her, but she still paid.

  “You didn’t need to do that,” he told her.

  “We are an additional expense you hadn’t accounted for, and I’m certain that money was part of the funds for your meals and fuel,” she told him. “You’re tired and we are just an added worry, but never fear, we can be helpful. Give me the keys.”

  “To what?”

  “The truck. It is another 3 hours to Columbus, which I figure is the next stop,” she told him. “You need to rest that leg. I got this.”

  “You sure?”

  “As sure as my name is Millicent Channing,” she said.

  “MILLICENT CHANNING, yes, kidnapping,” the Sheriff said into the phone. “No, she didn’t have permission to take my nephew across state lines. What do you mean I’m not the parent?”

  Deputy Randy Molson sat behind the desk knowing how this was going to turn out. The next move by the Sheriff would be to call his brother and put pressure on him to file a report. Jebbie didn’t care one bit about the woman or the boy. He only hooked up with the lady to piss off his brother. His boss had been in a foul mood pretty much for the past eight years. In his heart, he was happy Millicent had gotten away. Randy also hoped she’d never come back.

  “Fucknuts on a billy goat,” Sheriff Colton belted out. “I’m going to St. Louis to see that half-witted brother of mine. In the meantime, put out a BOLO on that Brody Johnson character. He’s about six feet, 220 pounds, with a deep scar down the left side of his face, long black hair, blue eyes. The scar cuts over his eye, goes down his cheek and ends in his upper top lip.”

  “He sounds like a tough character,” Randy said.

  “Well, he ain’t tougher than me,” the Sheriff spat, angrier than ever since he possessed no real power to pursue Millicent. She had no right to take his nephew or to leave Wentzville or to leave him. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted any woman and she’d denied him.

  For that, he would find the bitch and make her pay.

  Chapter Six – Call me Millie

  THE DRIVE IN THE BIG truck felt like unfettered liquid joy coursing through her veins, empowering her soul each mile of highway the tires ate. Millicent loved being behind the wheel again, eating up the miles on the road, going just a bit over the speed limit, weaving in and out of traffic. She’d convinced Brody to get in the back seat and rest his leg while she followed the directions from the GPS to the house in Columbus.

  He wasn’t asleep. Millicent drove his truck like an inmate fresh out of the pen after twenty years of incarceration. In many ways, he was sure she actually felt that way after being trapped by the oppressive, obsessive Sheriff who was going to be a real problem for them. If his cousin came through, as he hoped he would, in less than four hours, everything would change for her and the boy. The thing was, which worried him the most, was to get in and out of the house with Tim.

  His cousin wasn’t the kind of man to let a body come for a visit then leave without a touch of his make-up magic. Yield called ahead to let him know what was required in this particular situation, and Tim was pleased as pink punch at a church gathering. The man was so happy, he awaited their arrival on the front porch.

  “Oh, hell yeah!” A flamboyant man in a kimono with blonde
hair with bright green ends came out of the door. “Brody. My Brody!”

  “Fuck,” Yield said, sitting upright in the seat. His leg hurt like hell, but he would have rather lain down on the seat than watch the highway flying at his face with Millicent driving.

  “Mister Brody,” Chad said. “Who is that lady?”

  “That’s no lady Chad, that’s my cousin Tim,” he said in a low voice.

  “If he’s a boy, why is he wearing that outfit?” Chad wanted to know.

  “Believe it or not, that is the same question my Uncle has been asking since Tim was eight,” Brody said. “There are things in this world, Chad, you just have to accept. Tim likes to dress like a girl. We just go with it.”

  “If you are going with it, I will too,” Chad said proudly. “Is he harmless?’

  “He’s not going to eat you kiddo, just redo your hair,” Brody said getting out of the truck, coming around to greet his cousin. “Hey Tim.”

  The colorfully dressed man squealed at the top of his voice and ran off the porch to jump into Yield’s arms like a kid seeing his daddy return home from a long conference overseas. Unfazed by the action, Millicent watched the exchange between the two men, but Tim looked at her and squealed again.

  “Dude, if you jump on me, we are going to fight,” she told him.

  “Saucy! I love her already, but Honey, we need to do something about your hair, it is all dry on the ends with no body to it,” Tim said. “Boo, come on in the house. I made us some dinner, I hope you like Italian and.... eeeeeeeooooh!”

  Chad scampered behind Yield, peering around his arm. “Don’t let him get me, Mr. Brody. Don’t let him get me!”

  “You might as well come on over here and give me a big hug, because I am just going to love all over you,” Tim yelled at Chad.

  The boy had no interest in a six-foot-tall man with green and blonde hair wearing a Japanese dress loving all over anything. Chad took off running, climbing inside of the truck and locked the doors. Millicent, apologizing profusely, tried to get the child out of the pick-up but he wasn’t buying the harmless act or anything else. Bored by it all, Yield took the keys from Millicent’s hand and pressed the button to unlock the door. Opening the front truck door, he pointed at the house. Reluctantly Chad climbed out, skirting around Tim, who stood with his hands clasped together like an old woman proud of the petunias which popped up in her front yard.