“May I help you?” asks an older woman from behind the desk.
“I’m looking for a friend, Mr. Lake.”
“First name?” she asks.
“I don’t know.”
She sits back and assesses me. “He’s your friend, but you don’t know his first name?”
“I’m working on his car. My boss is about to have it towed to a wrecking yard, I was hoping to talk to Mr. Lake and see if I could drop it off to his home,” I pause searching for the right words. “I’m trying to do something nice here,” I say as an explanation and smile at her convincingly.
She looks at me shrewdly for a good ten second before she starts hitting the keyboard to find Mr. Lake.
“He’s on the fifth floor, room 503. The elevators are behind me to the left.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that.”
She gives me the barest of smiles before she looks behind me to the next person.
I follow her directions and find Mr. Lake sitting up in bed glaring at a nurse while she speaks to him. He’s hooked up to machines, from the expression on his face, he’s not happy, Mr. Lake’s still an ornery old fucker.
He waits for her to finish then he says, “I am not a child. I am perfectly capable of
looking after myself!”
The nurse smiles sweetly at him and replies, “If that were the truth, Mr. Lake, you wouldn’t be here, now would you?”
She turns on her pretty little heels and walks from the room, smiling broadly at me. I look at Mr. Lake, and his face is so red, I think he’s ready to have another heart attack or a stroke.
“Hey, Mr. Lake. How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Suddenly, everyone thinks I am incapable of looking after myself. I’m frustrated, the food stinks, and I want to go home! But does anybody care what I want? No!” His outburst causes me to laugh. I pull out a chair and sit down next to his bed.
“Do you remember me?”
“I had a heart attack; I didn’t lose any of my mental capabilities!”
“Or your kind way of speaking, I see.”
The old man squints his eyes at me and throws his hands in the air with frustration. “I apologize, it’s been a bad few days.” Although he’s saying the right words, I can tell by his demeanor that he’s had enough of everything.
Mr. Lake scoffs and looks up at the ceiling. “I’m aware of that.”
Laughter rumbles up out of my chest, and the old guy looks at me. “Sorry, it’s just having a heart attack is a serious event and it can lead to memory loss. Clearly, that’s not the case with you.”
“Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, Eric, but what can I do for you?”
I like that, to the point, no small talk, no fuss.
“The owner of the garage, Theo, would like it if we moved your car. I’ll still work on it, in fact, I have a buddy looking into getting me some parts, cheap, but we need to move it.”
He frowns at me. “I thought you said it would be fine at the garage.”
“Things change. Is there room at your home? Do you have a garage or work shed? Something big enough for me to work on it?” I have no intention of explaining to Mr. Lake that Theo is a money hungry asshole who is only looking out for himself.
“I have a barn. It’s big enough. You sure you don’t mind working on it?”
“Nope. It’ll be a pleasant distraction on my days off and after work, if I don’t have anything on.”
“You don’t have a wife, a girlfriend or a…partner?” asks Mr. Lake.
His subtle attempt to find out my sexual preference makes me laugh louder than before, and soon he joins in too.
“No, Mr. Lake I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend. Too busy with work,” I say grinning at him.
“Let me get this straight. You’re good-looking, single, you have a job, and no female in this tiny town is interested in you? You sure you’re not gay?”
More laughter erupts from me. “No, sir, I’m not gay. My life is complicated. I don’t think it’d be fair to bring a woman into that.”
He eyes me suspiciously, frowns and says, “Okay. Do you know the big red barn out by Little Creek Road?” I nod. “That’s my place. You can put it in the barn and work on it from there if you like. But I still want to pay you.”
“Don’t worry about that Mr. Lake, we’ll work something out.”
“Yes, we will. My granddaughter, Cherie, is out there from time-to-time, feeding my animals but the barn is never locked. Help yourself to it.”
I stand, extend my hand to him, and he grasps mine in his, strength still in those old bones. “Sounds like a plan. How long are they keeping you?”
“I’m sure they are trying to wring me for every last dollar I have. I don’t know. The bloody doctor wants to keep me in for further observation, so until he gives me the all clear, I’m stuck!”
I chuckle. “I’m sure it’s for the best.”
“Pfft! Blood suckers!” I grin at him, shake my head and walk toward the door. “Wait!” I turn around and raise an eyebrow at him. “Could you muck out the horses and check on my chickens while you’re out there…please?”
Mr. Lake looks uncomfortable, he’s avoiding eye-contact. It must be hard to suddenly have to ask for help, pride often gets in the way.
“I can do that, but you’ll owe me.”
“Son, there’s only so much I can afford,” he admits and all the fire goes out of him.
“I like eggs, do your chickens lay?”
“Yes,” he says looking at me once more.
“Good, is it cool if I take some eggs every now and then?”
“Absolutely! Best eggs in the county!” Mr. Lake says proudly.
“Okay and when you get out of here, I’m thinking you can make me lunch on Sundays.”
His fire comes back. “Won’t be a roast every Sunday, you know!”
“I didn’t ask for a roast. I asked for lunch, don’t care what it is, so long as I don’t have to cook or prepare it. Fair?”
The old guy smiles at me and nods, I nod back and walk out of the room. As I pass the nurses station, I stop and talk to the nurse that was in his room.
“He doing okay?” I ask gesturing toward Mr. Lake’s room.
“He’ll be fine. This was a wake-up call. He can’t be looking after his farm and doing all the things a much younger man should be doing. Mr. Lake needs to learn how to slow down,” says the nurse.
I nod, purse my lips and head toward the exit. How does an old man with only a granddaughter slow down? It’s obvious he doesn’t have a lot of money, and this hospital stay will probably break the bank if he doesn’t have health insurance.
Eric
A WEEK LATER AND I’M in Mr. Lakes’ barn under the Mustang. The old man is still in hospital which makes me think there’s more wrong with him than he’ll admit. His chickens produce more eggs than any one person could eat, so I bought an old wooden desk and made a roof to go over it with a sign that says, ‘Eggs for Sale, Two Dollars a Dozen.’
I placed it at his front gate, left some eggs out and I check on it every afternoon. The eggs sell, and so far, the honor system appears to be working. I don’t know what one old guy was doing with all those eggs, but at least now, he’s making some money.
Today is Sunday, and the heat finally feels like it’s breaking, there’s a cool breeze, and I’m working in my overalls with a white T-shirt underneath. I have Metallica blaring on the portable stereo and am singing Enter Sandman at top note. The parts from the U.S. Marshalls turned up in the shape of a whole god-dammed car. It feels criminal to strip it, but I can’t give the old guy a mint Mustang, he’d know I was into something shady. So, I’ve been taking what I need and fitting it to his car.
I’m engrossed in my work, singing, when someone kicks my boot.
“Hello?” I yell out.
I look to my left, and I see tan boots with pink fancy-work on them, walking away then my music stops.
“Hello?” I repeat.
“Who the hell are you?”
Whoever she is, she’s pissed. She’s even tapping one foot. I roll out and look up at the cutest female I’ve seen in a while, and she’s all kinds of angry. That foot is still tapping, her hands are on her hips, and she’s looking down at me with a serious amount of attitude on her face. My eyes travel up her body from her boots to her short skirt, to the way too tight tank top, and finally, I lock eyes with her.
“You first,” I say with a grin.
“I beg your pardon?” she asks shaking her head at me which causes her ponytail to move from side to side.
“Who are you?” I ask teasingly.
“No, no, and hell no! This is my granddaddy’s place! Who the hell are you?”
“Oh, so you’re Cherie.” I stand and extend my hand.
She looks me up and down, hands still on hips. “How do you know my name?”
I grin at her. “Your grandfather, told me about you. Said you’d be here from time-to-time, feeding animals and stuff. I’ve been coming out every day and haven’t seen you once.”
“So, you’re the one who’s been feeding the animals?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m not a country boy, so I hope I’ve been doing okay. So far, they haven’t complained,” I reply with a wolfish grin.
“You. Still. Haven’t. Told. Me. Your. Name.” Cherie pauses between each word, exasperation evident in her tone.
I extend my hand again. “Eric Hill, Mr. Lakes mechanic, and part-time ranch hand.”
She grasps my hand and tries to squeeze it tightly, it’s cute as hell. To let her know I’m more than capable of handling her, I squeeze back, not with my full strength but enough to let her know I’m stronger. Cherie gasps and I release her. I like the sound, and I’m wondering what noises she’d make, naked and underneath me.
“How did my granddaddy convince you to do all that?”
“He dropped the Mustang off to get fixed, and that was where he had his heart attack.” Cherie nods. “The owner of the garage wouldn’t let me keep working on the ‘stang there. So, your granddad suggested I work on it out here, and wrangled me into looking after a few things.”
“So it was you that put up the stall out front?”
“Yes, ma’am. He told me I could have the eggs but there’s too many for one person, so I take what I need and sell the rest.”
Her face clouds over, she looks me up and down and not in a good way.
“Oh, really? So you thought you’d rip off a sick, old man did you?”
It’s my turn to place my hands on my hips, I’m a good foot taller than her, and I lean over.
“Lady, I don’t know what male turned you into such a distrustful piece of work, but I don’t operate that way. Mr. Lake asked me to help out, you think on my days off, and after work I want to be taking care of animals and working on a car, to be paid in eggs? The money for the eggs is in the jar, behind you on the shelf. Have a nice fucking day,” I reply icily as I stalk away.
Too much trouble. She’s been burned and good. I don’t need the aggravation or the stress. What was I thinking getting involved with the old guy? He’s going to be just another person I disappear from when my time here is up.
I’m so angry that I don’t realize she’s talking to me until I get to my bike and she grabs my arm. I whirl on her, and she stumbles backward.
“I’m sorry! I knew someone was feeding and looking out for the animals; I just didn’t know who. I misjudged you, and I shouldn’t have. You’re right, I’ve been screwed over in the past, and it colors the way I look at the world, but I shouldn’t have been so quick to label you.” Her face is flushed, and she’s talking quickly. She looks upset, and my instinct is to make her feel better.
I run a hand through my hair and look up at the sky.
“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m out of practice with…women. Actually, people in general.” I look down, her pretty little mouth is slightly open, and she looks surprised. “What?”
“You’re out of practice with women? You?” Cherie asks. A blush creeps up her throat and colors her face.
I grin at her and nod. “Yeah, I don’t know too many people here. Apart from the guys I work with but I don’t socialize with them.”
“How long have you lived in Breckenridge?”
“Three years.”
“You’ve lived here three years, and you don’t have any friends? Male or female?” she asks disbelievingly.
I unzip my overalls to the waist and strip off the top part of them, revealing my white T-shirt and arms. Cherie’s face goes a deeper red, and she looks quickly away.
“I don’t socialize. I guess I like the quiet life,” I say as I grin at her.
“That’s umm, weird for someone like you,” she replies.
“Someone like me? As in a mechanic slash ranch hand?” I ask cheekily.
Cherie looks up at me. “No, as in single and hot—”
“You think I’m hot?” I ask as I lean against my bike.
“I have to go! Nice meeting you. Thank you for looking after granddaddy’s farm and for selling the eggs.” She turns around, stumbles and walks quickly toward the barn.
I sit on my bike watching her ass in that mini skirt, as she hurries away from me. It’s been a while since a woman has caught my attention. This one seems like too much trouble but my dick thinks differently as it twitches in its confines. It’s nice to know she thinks I’m hot.
I start the bike, ride up to the barn, honk my horn and do a two-fingered wave at her. Cherie waves frantically at me, so I stop.
She comes running over. “Do you eat pizza and drink beer?”
“I’ve been known to try these things.”
“Well, as a thank you for looking after things, would you like to meet at The Roadhouse on the outskirts of town at say seven-ish?”
“Pizza and beer?”
Cherie places one hand on her hip, squares her shoulders and says, “Yeah, and you can buy the beer.”
I laugh at her, and her eyes go to my throat. “Sounds good. Want me to pick you up?”
Slowly she drags her eyes up to meet mine. “No, I think I need to have my own way of getting home.”
I wink at her. “Hmm, okay. See you then.”
I ride out of the farm feeling happier than I have in years. On the way out I pass an old truck that must be hers, and I wonder if it’s been serviced in a while. Much like the Mustang, it needs a bit of TLC. Come to think of it maybe it’s what we all need.
Cherie
COULD I HAVE MADE A bigger dork of myself than the way I just acted with Eric? The man is a walking advertisement for sex. He must be six foot six with shoulder-length dark hair that you could hang onto while having the ride of your life. And those arms! He’s everything I like in a man. Which means he’s wrong. Granddaddy said I have the worst taste in men and he’s right.
The last one said he loved me and I believed him, even when he said there were no jobs available and I supported him for six very long months. I came home early one night from my waitressing job to find him having sex with my best friend.
Can you believe it?
I can’t even choose my friends properly, and it made no sense. Tracey and I had been friends since before school. I would never have done that to her. I followed her to Nashville while she chased her dreams of making it big as a country singer, I loved her, I helped her and she betrayed me.
Not that I should be surprised. Most of the men I’ve dated over the years have been losers. I read somewhere once that we subconsciously date our fathers. Mine was a loser who either stole or lied his way through life. Dad ended up dead with a needle sticking out of his arm. My mother was only interested in his stuff so she could sell it and move out of town. I was fifteen. Tracey helped me through all of that, her betrayal cut me to the core.
After I found Tracey and my ex together, I moved back home. The home I never wanted to come back to. Too many bad memories of useless parents. I truly belie
ve that some people should have to get a license to have a child. If it wasn’t for my grandfather, I wouldn’t have come back, but then I wouldn’t have had somewhere to run to. Don’t misunderstand me, he’s a loveable old, cranky pants, but he’s not getting any younger, and he won’t listen to me. I want him to sell the farm and buy something a little closer to town, maybe in a retirement village?
Granddaddy will have no part in it. Says when he dies, it’ll be on his own two feet on the land he loves. I think the land he loves is plotting to kill him. He told me that I will get everything when he’s gone, that includes all the back taxes he owes. I’ll have to sell just to pay for them.
Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. I’ve taken it out of the ponytail, washed it and lightly dried it. It’s a little too long right now, falling below my shoulder blades. When I work, it either has to be up or in a hair net. The hair net makes me feel old. I’m twenty-two, I feel like my bones are stretched thin, and my skin is pulled over them. I wear flats to work my feet still ache at the end of a shift. I don’t want to be a waitress forever. I like looking after people and always wanted to go into social work. Granddaddy says it’s my bleeding heart, maybe. I like to think that if I survived my childhood, I could help others in a similar situation, help them find their way to the right path.
I don’t wear a lot of makeup, but tonight I go to extra lengths to make myself look better. I have on a neutral shade of eyeshadow that makes my eyes pop, I’ve curled my lashes and I’ve applied a nice thick layer of mascara to make them look fuller than they are. A little blush and bright red lipstick. As I appraise myself in the mirror, I smile. I look good. It’s been ages since I’ve gone to this much trouble. Walking back into my bedroom, I pick up my Miss Me jeans with the glittery studs on the back pockets and slip them on. I’m wearing my favorite black, lacy, push-up bra and I need to pick a top that shows off my assets. My wardrobe consists of black, black and more black. I find the perfect top, it’s a crop top that crosses over with long sleeves and a cut-out up high that shows off a bit of cleavage. Screams sexy and when I look at myself in the mirror, it’s kind of trashy but that’s my style. I prefer the term country chic, but it’s yet to catch on.
The Spark Ignites (MacKenny Brothers #1) Page 3
