Table of Contents
A RUNNING HEART
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Table of Contents
A RUNNING HEART
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
A RUNNING HEART
Rocky Mountain High Heels
KENDRA VASQUEZ
SOUL MATE PUBLISHING
New York
A RUNNING HEART
Copyright©2017
KENDRA VASQUEZ
Cover Design by Melody A. Pond
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Published in the United States of America by
Soul Mate Publishing
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Macedon, New York, 14502
ISBN: 978-1-68291-579-0
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Chapter 1
Ryan Foster stared at the car on his lift, the hood propped open like a yawn. Slanted headlights and a sharp curve to the grille gave it a vicious smile. Maybe it knew that it deserved to feel accomplished, for it only had to exist in order to crash through a man’s head and yank out tragedy.
Ryan swept his hand over said head, his fingers raking through already mussed, dark brown hair. The gray, rolled-up sleeves of his work shirt pulled back from roughly hewn, pale biceps. His five-foot, ten-inch height did nothing to intimidate the short-statured car. The green in his glinting hazel eyes dashed unaffected off the engine’s reflective surfaces.
With one glance at the car before him, he saw a different version with crumpled metal, airbags blown, doors crushed, and lives shattered.
Amanda Hudson: the name was synonymous with destruction. He supposed his own name could be synonymous with instruction if he was playing a rhyming game. Although, he hadn’t taught her the most important lesson: don’t use tools while emotionally impaired. He snorted. Guess I shouldn’t have given her a wrench between the ages of thirteen and eighteen then. She’d had to work through her problems somehow. It had been the only solution he’d had at the time.
But his solution had ended up killing one and banishing another. The memory sliced in so easily, like sliding a thirty-five thousandth of an inch feeler gauge through a half-inch gap. Amanda’s expression from that day flashed before his eyes.
The desperation in her voice had beaten on the inside of his ear drums as her eyes, blue and wide, had become unfocused. She was fifteen the last time he saw her, her blond hair yanked back in a ponytail, pert nose framed by flushed, round cheeks. Her five-foot, four-inch frame had compelled him to protect her.
She hadn’t been able to keep her frantic voice under control when she’d told him that Danielle had crashed and died. And it had been her fault. Amanda had sabotaged Danielle’s car. Would things have gone differently if she’d kept her voice down? Jim, Amanda’s father and Ryan’s ex-employer, had caught the tone, had demanded to know everything from his only daughter, the remaining woman in his life. At times it had seemed she was the only reason his engine kept running.
She hadn’t meant to kill. How could Ryan have guessed she’d take her obsession that far? Sawing off high heels was one thing, but dismantling someone’s car? He couldn’t imagine Amanda intentionally endangering someone’s life. But how else could he explain the crash and resulting death? He shook his head. Somehow the authorities had managed, because they never came asking questions.
Maybe a bad power steering pump? He snorted again as his mind shifted gears. He knew car models usually had specific tendencies of failure, but just because he’d diagnosed one squealing noise didn’t make him an expert on Gaudy Clips. Plus, if he kept scowling at the squat, four-door hatchback like he couldn’t identify what he stared at as the engine, it wouldn’t look good to possible walk-in customers.
Though most knew his proficiency well enough in this small town of Bayfield, Colorado, he’d still see the occasional out-of-towner hesitate at his shop door. Yes, he was the owner and only employee of the shop, and he did know a thing or two about fixing cars. More than two, in fact, considering he’d been at it for a decade. He may have been in his mid-twenties, but he had the knowledge of thirty years at his back from Jim, who’d given Ryan the job—and career—he’d needed when his own family had crashed and burned. Ryan’s jaw clenched as he realized his reference choice was pretty poor, considering his memory was trailing through actual wreckage.
Jim, who’d given Ryan the shop when he and his daughter had left town, had had nothing else to give. He’d appeared drained. Jim’s stout and hardened build couldn’t withstand his own decision making. His thick, light brown hair had been flattened against his steep forehead under the fear sweat for his daughter. Normally razor sharp, his steel eyes were dulled and his mouth was set in a grim, determined line. He’d not see his daughter in prison.
Propping his forehead against his hand where it gripped the hood panel, Ryan ground his eyes shut. He was obsessed with discovering a way to get over the past, but it wasn’t his memories worrying him. Rolling down the long sleeves of his gray shirt, he checked the tail was tucked in to his industrial blue pants, blackened at the knees. How often did he feel the need to tidy up before a visit to the parts shop? Look professional was the phrase he chose as he argued with himself about procrastinating what had to be done.
Just order the part and be done with it. Yeah, he highly doubted
Josh would have this one on the shelf. Ryan hadn’t seen or worked on another car like Danielle’s in five years.
He maneuvered around the car, gaining passage through the lift posts before stepping out into the late morning air. The sun in its cloudless sky blinded him for a moment until he blinked away the remnants of his shop’s shadowed interior, turning his back on the metallic orange harbinger of memories. Rolling the melodrama off his shoulders, he paused by a massive juniper bush and waited for a diesel truck to rumble past him. Its acrid exhaust overwhelmed the woody, fresh scent of the mountain evergreen.
The strip of cracked asphalt paved a familiar path and refused to allow his thoughts to stray. Jim had said Amanda had forgotten the whole thing. That was good, wasn’t it? Except Ryan still wasn’t sure how Jim had pulled it off.
Jim had said he’d kept her distracted, nearly exhausted, by working her physically during their move and opening a new business. She’d never had time to process the twenty-four hours before they left Bayfield. Whereas Ryan had been busy trying to hold down Jim’s business. He’d avoided questions about Jim’s prolonged absence at the same time. But he still managed to find an unfortunate amount of time leftover to overhaul the events again and again, wondering where things had gotten so misaligned.
He ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the brush of it against his ears signaling the need for another haircut. He concentrated on what Josh was going to say. Their town’s auto parts guru would have a mouth blow-out.
Releasing a breath of air, Ryan pushed on the glass door’s metal plate then strode past the air freshener display which assaulted his nose with escaped artificial scents. He headed down an aisle of orange-boxed air and oil filters alongside repair manuals.
At the counter he welcomed the smell of grease on a stainless-steel surface. Another chemical, a harsher cleanser blended with the grease aroma. Ryan spotted a mop of brown hair behind the counter. “Hey, Josh.”
The counterman glanced up, slapped a grin on his face and dropped the foot he’d propped on his other knee. He set a can of glass cleaner on the counter. “Hiya, Rye.” Josh’s grinning mouth detracted from the sharp angles in his straight, thin nose and pointed chin. His classic, obnoxious blue parts shirt proclaimed his employment for any customer across the distance of the McDonald’s-sized store.
“That can’t be good for your shoes.”
Josh shrugged. “Gets them their whitest. So what kind of car is it this time?” He dropped an arm on the counter and leaned over it until his almost six-foot height shortened by an inch.
“How about a two-thousand-and-nine Gaudy Clip?” Ryan offered and caught the flicker in Josh’s mismatched blue and green eyes.
“Huh. I guess it’s about time we got another one of those here, am I right?” He stepped over to his computer. “It’s a rare day indeed when a Bayfield mechanic finds himself fixing one.”
“Yeah, I know.” It wasn’t every day one had to meet memories head-on either.
“Okay. So an oh-nine Clip.” Josh pulled out his normal routine of repetitive clarification while he focused on his computer screen. “What’s it need?”
“A power steering pump. How long to get one in?”
“Easy. I got one on the shelf.” He gave a broad smile, all teeth, barely any lip.
“You have a power steering pump?” Ryan sought his own clarification. “Here?”
“I’m getting the impression you weren’t expecting me to.” Josh’s reflective tone caused Ryan’s teeth to grind.
“As much as I was expecting another Clip to break down in this town.” A high-altitude mountain town had little use for two-wheel-drive. “Why do you stock parts for these things?”
“Easy, Rye. I’m not stocking parts. I just happen to have one on the shelf.”
Ryan released a controlled breath, reminded himself this was all the fun Josh got to have peddling car parts. He inhaled and tried again. “If you aren’t stocking parts for Clips, then why do you have the pump?”
“Germ ordered it for Danielle’s car.”
Holy sh-shocks! Someone else had gotten their hands in her car? It’d been practically new back then. Maybe the pumps really are fashionable failures. And if that was the case—either by another technician’s hands or a crappy part—then Amanda had misdiagnosed her own actions and was actually innocent. Ryan’s palms grew hot against the cold counter.
“. . . but he returned it after the accident. He never got the chance to install it.” There was a sparkle in Josh’s eyes he could barely subdue. He had his own working theories, but Ryan didn’t want to hear them. His mind had taken off on nitrous-powered t-p-m’s, thoughts per minute.
So the car had been problematic and Danielle had taken it to the other shop in town? Was it before or after Amanda’s handiwork? But Ryan had always figured Amanda wouldn’t go for something as critical as the car’s steering. She’d know that if the steering failed at the right, or wrong, moment then something along the lines of what had happened could’ve easily happened. Was it a bad part, a bad mechanic, or had Amanda really wanted murder on her hands? A mental image flashed before his eyes of fragile, blue eyes widened in fear as if cornered with no way out, pleading for guidance.
No, Amanda had never planned on death.
She’d never meant for anybody to be hurt. She’d planned to make Danielle uncomfortable, like with the shoe thing.
He reversed his speeding thoughts to the most important detail: when? If Germ had ordered the pump several months earlier, there was less chance of it being related. The gleam in Josh’s eyes suggested otherwise. Ryan had to get solid proof before flying off the handle.
He carefully lifted his gaze, smiled while he tried a different tactic. “Yeah? So you’re saying the pump was ordered for Danielle’s car? I don’t know, Josh. I think you’ve been breathing in too much glass cleaner. I never heard anything in the news about her pump going bad.” The radio played somewhere in the back, filling the void. His heart hammered in his ribcage, beating louder than the music.
“Not this time, Rye,” Josh said, once the quiet had gone on long enough.
“Prove it.”
“Love to.” His fingers sprinted across the keyboard, eyes focused on the monitor.
Ryan tried for easygoing as he dropped his gaze to the stainless-steel counter. He stared at the advertisement pad, wrinkled and well-marked by pen. According to Josh, Germ had ordered the pump. Germ had signed for it here, and then returned it, unused, never having fixed anything. A spring coiled tight inside Ryan. After five years, thinking the worst . . .
“Here it is.” A few more taps and then came the loud swipes of the printer behind Josh. Josh snagged the paper and flipped around to the counter space where Ryan waited. The five-year-old reprint was waved in front of his face. Ryan squashed the surging drive to reach across the counter and snatch it from the man’s hands. A flimsy piece of paper had the date Ryan needed with every running part of his body.
Instead, he inhaled through his nose as he flattened his hot, damp palms on the counter.
Josh lowered the paper, set it between Ryan’s sweating hands. “There you are.”
The stainless steel chilled as Ryan leaned forward. His eyes riveted on the date, then peered up at Josh. “Two days before,” Ryan uttered. Several sunrises seemed to dawn on him at once. He tried to keep his balance as he challenged old truths and past certainties. It wasn’t Amanda. The proof he’d always desired had been sitting on a shelf across from his shop all these years.
This had waited long enough. He had to tell her, but first, he had to find her. He stilled his racing pulse, sensing a hard scrutiny of Josh’s blue and green eyes. Ryan pushed a hand through his hair to regain his composure. “Man. You weren’t joking, were you?” He picked up the paper, thumb and finger set like a vise on it. “Can I hold onto this?”
“Sure, whatever you like. But it’ll cost you.” Josh gave a price. Ryan narrowed his eyes. Josh laughed, enjoyed his sport. “All right, all right, what do you say I throw in the part for free?”
Ryan’s knuckles turned white. It took a special kind of person to work the parts counter, and if they all had a few blind spots, like how important this document was to Ryan, then Josh couldn’t possibly pose any danger to Ryan’s plan.
He tried to ease the tension in his gut, offered a smile. “Sounds like a steal, Josh.” I’ll start with the white pages for Denver. Maybe she was still there. He pulled out his wallet.
“Oh, and the next issue of Outdoor Photography is on the rack, in case you’re interested.”
Ryan wasn’t. He wasn’t interested in anything but getting back to his shop and getting in touch with a certain broken woman he might be able to finally fix. He inhaled, counting. “Josh, I really need to get started on this.” Ryan’s hand landed on the boxed pump.
“Yeah, right. I’m not charging you for the core. If you don’t bring back the old one, well, I know where you work.” Josh finished with a grin.
Ryan nodded. He turned toward the exit and immediately dropped his forced smile. Outside, a breeze dried his bare arms and face. He’d been sweating though the store was air-conditioned. The questions kept hammering him. Yes, he should’ve thought of this sooner. His grip tightened on the paper in his hand. Of course something else could’ve gone wrong on Danielle’s car.
He crossed the street, past the monstrous juniper giving shade from the close, intense sun. The woody scent sat forever in the air but was lost on him. He was far from receiving comfort from familiar sensations as he strode into his shop. He thought of other things that had been familiar to him, like how to survive abandonment by a parent.
He’d tried distracting Amanda after her mother had left. She’d had so much hurt and had needed something to keep her hands, and her mind, busy. Teaching her automotive seemed sensible at the time and maybe it still was. Some self-imposed big brother he’d turned out to be.
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