“Well, maybe you oughta be.” He followed her as she circled the car.
“Oughta be what?” She’d been distracted by old wounds and had lost the thread of what he was saying.
“You oughta be more like me. I know you got your heart broke by that gal in New York, but there’s lots of nice women here and I daresay a few of ’em wouldn’t mind taking care of you a little, if you’d allow it. Women like someone to take care of.”
She did not want to be having a conversation about dating with her grandpa.
“Can we stop talking about this?”
“All right, all right…but it wouldn’t hurt you none to take an old man’s advice once in a while.”
“You’re not old.” Clay caught a glimpse of Bo in her peripheral vision. Bodean Mathis made white trash look good. He was the perfect excuse for a subject change. Clay leaned over and whispered to her grandpa. “I thought we discussed you letting him go.”
“I decided to give him a second chance. Everyone needs a second chance every now and then. You of all people should know that.”
Clay frowned. Her grandpa had probably given Bo eighteen chances in the three months he’d worked there. And every time her grandpa got close to cutting him loose he’d come up with some sad tall tale that tugged at her grandpa’s heartstrings.
Jed Cahill was a softie for hard-luck stories, case in point, he’d given Clay a job when she’d needed it. No questions asked. But that was different. Clay was family. She looked out for her grandpa. And she worried the list of second chances he was giving Bo had more to do with Bo’s grandmother than it did with Bo. The Widow Mathis was famous for her pies, and she bestowed one on Clay’s grandpa at least every other week to express her gratitude for giving Bo a job.
When they were in high school, Bo’s twin brother, Bradley, had climbed an eighty-foot pole and, for some unknown reason, grabbed a live power line. He’d fallen the eighty-feet to the ground and his still smoldering body had started a grass fire. Bradley died shortly after arriving at the hospital. Bo watched the whole horrible scene unfold and, according to his mama, had never been the same since. Clay wasn’t so sure that Bradley’s demise was the source of Bo’s darker side. She’d known Bo since first grade and he’d always been a troubled, angry kid.
It wasn’t simply the fact that Bo was incredibly lazy, and it took him three times as long as any normal person to do even the most mundane task. Clay flat-out didn’t like him. No, more than that. She didn’t trust him. Everything about Bo set off alarms for her, and the sooner she could convince her grandpa to let him go the better she’d sleep at night. She hadn’t been able to prove it yet, but it wouldn’t surprise her to find out he was skimming cash every time he supposedly rang up a customer. If she had any decent accounting skills, she’d likely have figured it out by now. But she didn’t. She could hardly balance her own bank account, much less sort out the books at the garage. Her grandpa needed a real bookkeeper. She simply needed to convince him that he did. It was no mystery where her stubborn streak came from.
“I’m gonna get out of the sun if you don’t need me.”
“Nah, I’ve got this.” Clay watched her grandpa amble toward the small office at the far end of the concrete building that housed three large retractable doors across the front.
She reset the winch. The dangling heavy hooks banged against the truck bed. When the clanging stopped, she heard a phone ringing. It wasn’t hers; her ringer was off. It sounded like it was coming from the cab of the truck. She climbed up on the running board and reached for a phone with a rose gold case, facedown on the bench seat.
“Hello?”
“Oh, um, this is River.” She paused. “I couldn’t find my phone.”
“I think you found it.”
“I thought it was lost in my room, I’ve been feeling a bit scattered since the accident, so anyway, I dialed the number hoping to locate it. I’m sorry to bother you with this, but I really need my phone.”
River did sound a tad bit fragile. Clay felt bad for giving her the brush-off earlier when she unceremoniously dropped her on the curb along with her rolling bag.
“I can bring it by for you as soon as I’m finished here. Would that work?”
“Yes, thank you so much.” River sounded relieved.
“It’s no problem.” Clay was trying her best to sound as if she meant it, even though more personal contact with River was probably not a good idea. River was completely her type and absolutely the last sort of person she should foster any attraction for.
“Thank you.” River hesitated. “I’m feeling a little out of my element, and now, without a car. I’m a bit stranded.”
Clay was surprised by River’s willingness to admit her vulnerability. That only made Clay more curious about this woman who’d literally crashed into her life. Curiosity would only lead to more complications.
“It’s really no problem. I’ll see you in a half hour or so.” Clay clicked off.
Clay looked down at the screen which had a daunting list of alerts on it, voice mails and texts. River was obviously a woman in demand or very popular, or both. Clay stowed the sleek iPhone in her pocket and waved Eddie, the head mechanic, over to assist with River’s crumpled car.
Chapter Five
River stared at the ceiling fan with the ice pack on her forehead and replayed the day’s events. Things had not at all gone the way she expected. She’d had a preliminary call from the lawyer, but he’d insisted she fly down to settle the estate in person. Maybe that’s the way these things went in small towns; maybe this couldn’t have been handled remotely. But her schedule in New York was hectic. Summer was a busy time for the gallery, with all the tourist traffic in the city, and the last thing she had time for was languishing for days in Georgia.
She’d hoped to move up the meeting with the Realtor to this afternoon, but that wasn’t going to happen now. It was late and she was without transportation and without her phone. She considered calling from a landline and asking the Realtor to pick her up, but after all the excitement she just wasn’t feeling up to it.
After MJ delivered the ice pack as promised, River had been content to lie on the bed for a half hour and stare at the ceiling while she waited for Clay to arrive. The last thing she wanted was to bother Clay, who was so clearly ready to be rid of her, but since Clay had her phone there seemed to be no other option except to see each other again.
River adjusted the ice pack and exhaled slowly, willing herself to relax. She almost never had down time like this. It felt a bit surreal, like some out-of-body experience. She rotated her head slowly to take in the room. The décor was an explosion of country chic. The quilt on the bed looked hand-stitched, a watercolor painting of a red barn in a grassy field was centered over the headboard of the heavy oak bed frame, and the wallpaper she could see through the bathroom door was a throwback to something she’d seen from the 1950s. A faint blue repeat pattern of a boy and girl carrying milk jugs, interspersed with a split rail fence.
A vase of fresh cut flowers rested on the dresser, the mirror just behind multiplying the colorful display by two.
This was a nice room. It reminded River of her grandparents’ old farmhouse in upstate New York. She closed her eyes and let her memories roam about in the fresh cut grass of their huge front yard. The weathered barn was a stone’s throw from the house, and in July, an oversized American flag had waved from the flagpole mounted high on the front of the barn in honor of the Fourth. Being there as a teen was like walking onto the set of Footloose. Pickup trucks, barn dances, and sneaking sips of whiskey at tailgate parties.
She was such a different person now. Or was she?
River loved New York City. The energy, the challenge, the art community, there was no other city like it in the world. And the city never slept. If she felt like dinner at two a.m., she could easily find it, along with a willing companion. River had lots of friends, some with benefits. She’d gone on a few casual dates since she and Diane had b
roken up six months earlier. Theirs had been a friendly parting, a divergence of chosen paths. They’d been drifting for a few months prior to the breakup, almost more roommates than lovers, and in the end, had parted as friends. Diane had taken a job in LA, which made it easier for both of them to move on.
River had no intention of leaving New York. She’d grown up in a small town, but once she’d left for college in the city she’d never looked back, never even considered moving back home after graduation. What would an art history major, a gallery owner, do in a town whose idea of fine art was barn paintings and lighthouses? The thought of it made her cringe.
Plus, her father had never been comfortable with the fact that she was a lesbian. If she’d gone home she’d have felt pressure to hide who she truly was. Having experienced the freedom of the city, she knew she could never go back to a life lived with one foot in the closet simply to make things easy for her parents. She wasn’t going to rub their noses in it, but she wasn’t going to hide her sexuality either. New York was a place that allowed her to thrive, so she’d stayed.
A delicious smell wafted up from downstairs. Was that fresh bread? River’s stomach reminded her she’d missed lunch. Maybe MJ had something in the kitchen to remedy that. She slipped off the bed and trotted downstairs barefoot.
“Something smells delicious.”
“My potato bread.” MJ held a bread pan between two large floral print oven mitts, smiling broadly. “I try to make it at least once a week. There’s nothing better when it’s right out of the oven. Shall I cut you a slice?”
River nodded. She waited expectantly as MJ slathered a healthy portion of butter on the hot bread and then handed it to River.
Boot steps on the hardwood floor caused her to turn just as she’d taken a huge bite. Clay was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Was she amused or appalled?
“I see you’ve discovered MJ’s famous potato bread.” Clay took a step in her direction.
“Mmm, mmm,” was the best River could manage until she swallowed. She couldn’t believe Clay showed up just in the moment she had her mouth stuffed and was barefoot again, not to mention the light purple lump on her forehead. Yeah, River Hemsworth, you’re really something.
“Here’s your phone.” Clay held the device out to her.
“Thank you.” River got a faint rush as her fingertips brushed against Clay’s palm. “I’m so sorry you had to make a special trip over here just for this.”
MJ was scuttling around in the background, slicing the warm bread, and stacking serving plates.
“Clay, sit a spell and have a slice of this while it’s hot.” MJ motioned to one of the nearby tables.
“Um, I should probably get going.” Clay seemed anxious to leave, and River couldn’t help feeling a bit slighted by Clay’s obvious desire to escape.
“You sit down, I insist.” MJ came over with a plate and handed it to Clay. She was clearly not taking no for an answer. “You’re so lanky a strong wind could blow you over. Sit down and eat something.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Clay dropped into a nearby chair.
Clay seemed to relax a bit. Like when they’d first met under the maple tree outside the Clip ’n Curl. River thought of taking the seat opposite Clay, but then hesitated, second-guessing her ability to read Clay’s mood.
“You can join me if you like.” Clay must have sensed her uncertainty.
“If you don’t mind.” River took another offered slice from MJ on a small plate and carried it over to the table with Clay.
“Now, you girls keep an eye on things out here while I go see about the second loaf.” MJ had a look of mischief, and River wondered if there was a second loaf or if MJ was simply conspiring to leave them alone together.
This was sort of a perfect second meeting. As if they were in some quaint café on a first date. River reminded herself of the cold shoulder Clay had given her earlier and tempered her enthusiasm about having a real date with James Dean’s lesbian twin sister.
“Thank you again for bringing my phone so quickly.”
“No problem.”
“Are you, um, off duty for the day? I don’t actually know how the whole tow truck thing works.” River was trying to find out what Clay’s schedule was without sounding condescending or overly nosy.
“Well, with a tow truck you’re kind of on call all the time. It’s not like accidents only happen between nine and five.” Clay finished off her slice of bread and leaned casually back in her chair. “We get calls from the sheriff’s department about impounds and wrecks. AAA also puts in calls, and then we get direct calls from locals.”
“You said we.” River remembered Grace saying there was only one tow truck in Pine Cone.
“By we, I mean the Cahill Garage that my grandpa owns. I’m pretty much the only one that drives the sling these days.”
“The sling?”
“It’s what we call a truck with an old school wheel lift.”
“Oh.” This conversation was like trying to communicate with someone for whom English was not a first language. Or maybe River was the one speaking the foreign tongue.
They were quiet for a moment or two, awkwardly so. It seemed River had forgotten how to manage small talk when Clay was around, and Clay wasn’t helping to fill the silence.
“Well, I suppose I should be going before MJ tries to feed me dinner too.”
River stood as Clay got up from her chair.
“Thank you again.” River held up her phone and wiggled it in the air.
“You were probably just a little rattled after the wreck, and that’s how you ended up losing your phone.”
“Probably.” River had the urge to follow Clay to the door, but decided against it. She simply waved as Clay left and then sank to her chair with her chin in her hand. Clay was a hard one to figure. She didn’t strike River as someone whose sole purpose in life was driving a tow truck in a small Georgia town. Not that there was anything wrong with that. She had to admit that the whole sexy mechanic thing was intriguing, but there must be more to the story than she was getting.
Chapter Six
Clay parked her vintage Ford pickup behind Trip’s large double axle truck, both parallel to the two-lane dirt road in a wide, gravel pullout. Clay chuckled at how her ride was dwarfed by Trip’s. Grace’s road-weary Corolla was parked on the other side of the road. This was the spot on the Altamaha River where Clay, Trip, and Grace had been meeting ever since high school to solve all the world’s problems. It was their secret spot. Discernible by nothing more than a faded mile marker along an unpaved county road, but it was one of Clay’s favorite places in the whole world. A six-pack of beer and the lazy waters of the Altamaha could sooth many hurts. They called their spot Mosquito Alley. Aptly named for the pesky occupants.
The water’s source was somewhere in the mountains of the Cherokee Nation, and by the time it reached the pine-forested plain of southeastern Georgia, it had become a wide river, gently winding its way through a vast green for nearly a hundred miles, until it emptied into the Atlantic. A variety of trees and bushes crowded the river’s edge: wax myrtle, sweet bay magnolia, spicebush, and red bay.
In Clay’s opinion, there was no sweeter scent than a magnolia flower. The memories associated with that floral scent were stitched as delicately as a handmade quilt all the way back to her childhood.
She hefted the small cooler off the seat beside her and walked the narrow trail through the thick green shrubbery. Some might consider this a boat launch, but only for a canoe. There wasn’t enough room in the dirt pullout for a trailer of any kind. She could hear the soft murmur of voices as she broke through the wall of green onto the sandbar where Trip and Grace were already lounging. Trip had a beer, Grace held a glass of white wine, and a small cooler sat between them on a slim finger of sand where the water had eaten away at the grassy riverbank. Trip and Grace sat on the grass. Grace dug her toes in the damp sand at the water’s edge.
“Hey, Pain
tball. It’s about time you got here.” Trip reclined on one elbow and took a swig of her beer.
Paintball was the CB handle she’d had since high school, when cell service was even spottier than it was now in rural South Georgia. The nickname was a reminder of an awkward teenage failure, the sort of nickname that only your closest friends could bestow.
It was all Suzan Cooper’s fault. Sure, she spelled Susan with a z, but that wasn’t Suzan’s greatest charm. In fact, she had a few. Suzan was one of the first girls in junior high to need a bra and shamelessly flaunted that fact. She was a complete flirt, and Clay quickly and completely fell under Suzan’s spell.
Suzan’s family was one of the wealthiest in Pine Cone, and for her fourteenth birthday her parents threw a lavish party that included a paintball competition. Clay was on the opposing team and Suzan, knowing that Clay carried a horrible crush, used it to her advantage. She played the victim, and the minute Clay put down her weapon, Suzan pelted her with bright red paintballs. Trip never let her live it down, and the nickname stuck.
Trip’s handle was Fast Break, from her prowess on the basketball court. And Grace’s call sign was Glitter Girl due to a lip gloss phase she’d since outgrown.
“It’s that damn Bo Mathis. He kept skulking around the garage, and I couldn’t lock up until he left.” Clay took a bottle from her cooler, popped the cap, and then used the red-topped cooler for a seat. She strategically didn’t mention the side trip to drop off River’s phone.
“I thought your granddad let him go after he almost set the place on fire?” Grace pulled her hair back and tamed it with a hair tie. She’d obviously taken time to stop by her place first to change out of her uniform into shorts and a T-shirt.
Take My Hand Page 3
