by Penny Reid
So. Yeah. There’s that.
Without deigning to look at me, she tossed out, “Shelly.”
“Shelly who?” My eyes flickered over the movements of her hands. “And why’re you working on Devron Stoke’s Chevy?”
“I’m removing the transmission to rebuild it.” She said this with a note of impatience, like I was wasting her time.
A low growl of exasperation came from my chest because of this bad-mannered woman and her non-answers.
“Listen, lady, if you know I’m Beau, then you know I own this here shop. So again, who the hell are you? And why’re you working on this car? And who gave you permission to be in here?”
Finally, her eyes cut to mine. And just like the first time she looked at me, my wits scattered for a split second. Luckily, she’d pissed me off enough that my anger prevailed.
Straightening once more, she pressed her full lips together. They were too big to form a flat line, instead, they thinned a trifle.
“I am busy. If you want answers, talk to Cletus.” She spoke slowly, like she truly believed I was an idiot.
Dammit, Cletus.
He better not have hired someone without talking to me.
“I will,” I growled, then turned from this vile person and prepared to give my brother an earful.
There was no way.
No. Way. In. Hell.
No way this woman was working at the shop.
Nope.
Never going to happen.
2
“The eye sees only what the mind is prepared to comprehend.”
― Robertson Davies, Tempest-Tost
* * *
*Beau*
“Who the hell is that woman and why is she using my socket wrench?” I demanded as I burst through the door of the second-floor office, finding Cletus staring at the computer screen.
Without looking up from his work, he responded in an infuriatingly even tone, “That’s not your socket wrench, it belongs to the shop.”
Seething, I lowered my voice. “Who is she?”
“She’s our new mechanic. Started yesterday.”
Our new . . . she what?
“What?”
Cletus swiveled in his chair to face me, bracketed his mouth with his hands, and lifted his voice to a near shout. “She’s our new mechanic and she started yesterday.”
“Dammit, Cletus. Quit your hollering. I heard you just fine. What I don’t comprehend is how it’s possible for us to have a new mechanic without me being consulted.”
His eyebrows pinched together as he inspected me. “You weren’t here.”
“So?”
“Beau, I can’t very well consult with you on matters when you are absent.”
“That’s bullshit.” My temper rose anew. “This shop is as much mine as it is yours.”
“Duane is leaving, Beau. He and Jess go off on their adventures in November.”
“I know that.” And I didn’t need another reminder. I understood his reasons, yet I wasn’t exactly thrilled about Duane leaving.
But I’d be damned if Duane’s replacement was going to be that nightmare downstairs.
“Then you know we need a new mechanic to take his place. We already have too much work between the three of us. How do you think it would be if you and I tried to manage on our own? The magic of math tells me we wouldn’t be able to keep up.”
“You can’t go finding a replacement for Duane without me getting a say.”
Cletus huffed, leaning back in his chair. “Let’s start over. Good morning, Beau. You look tired.”
“Did you hear me?”
“Why do you look tired? Didn’t you sleep last night? Have you eaten?”
Gritting my teeth, I breathed out through my nose.
My brother pointed at me. “You have a lady in Nashville keeping you up and not feeding you? Or maybe you didn’t feed her?”
He could guess all he wanted, but I wasn’t ready to confirm my involvement with Darlene, not with Cletus or anyone else for that matter. Not until she and I were on the same page.
Duane had his Jessica James. And now I figured I had my Darlene Simmons. Duane had pined for Jess since he was about fifteen or sixteen. Maybe a little older. I’d considered his single-mindedness shortsighted at the time. What on earth could be so remarkable about one woman? They all had the same parts, didn’t they?
Seeing Duane with Jess had sparked my curiosity. Going after Darlene had been the result, my attempt at getting serious. I was certain, as I put in the time and effort, I’d start feeling for her what Duane was feeling for Jess. But I wasn’t about to admit as much to Cletus. It wasn’t any of his business, the sneak.
“Whether or not I’ve slept, or with who, isn’t pertinent.”
“With whom—assuming it wasn’t an orgy—and it is pertinent, because you just came flying in here in a fit of temper. I’ve known you your whole life and I’ve only seen you in a fit of temper seven times, and most of those times were because you were hungry and needed a nap.” Cletus reached into a file drawer at his left, withdrew a protein bar, and held it out to me. “You know you get hangry if you don’t eat.”
I glared at him, then at the protein bar, and then at him again. He was right. I was hungry. I crossed to him in four steps and snatched the offered food from his hand.
“I might be hungry and tired, but that’s not why I’m mad. That woman,” I pointed to the door with the protein bar, “is not working here. I won’t allow it.”
My brother’s beard twitched near one corner of his mouth. “She’s an incredibly talented mechanic.”
“I don’t care if she’s Henry Ford’s great grandniece, she ain’t staying.”
“She’s not related to Henry Ford, as far as I know. Shelly is Quinn’s sister.”
“Who?” I stripped the wrapper away from the protein bar and my stomach growled loudly. I would’ve preferred a doughnut from Daisy’s, but this would have to do.
“Shelly—the talented mechanic you had the pleasure of meeting downstairs—is Quinn’s sister. You know Janie? Ashley’s tall friend from Chicago? With the red hair and the alarmingly thorough knowledge of trivia?”
Cletus was referring to our sister Ashley’s friend from her knitting group. There were seven women in the group, Ashley being one of them. Janie was married to a real big fella, security expert or something like that, by the name of Quinn Sullivan. All the ladies from Ashley’s knitting group had traveled to Tennessee last year for our momma’s funeral, and Quinn had accompanied his wife.
But that had been almost a year ago. It was a time I didn’t like to dwell on, so I didn’t. Unfortunately, the one-year anniversary of our mother’s death was coming up in just over two weeks. I was dreading the day.
And apparently this Shelly woman, downstairs with her hands all over my socket wrench, was Quinn’s sister. As I took another bite of the protein bar, I chewed on this information. I’d only met the guy a few times, but the family resemblance between Quinn and Shelly was strong now I knew the connection.
Quinn was six-four maybe, and his sister was at least six foot. They shared the same eye color—ice blue—and similarly sharp facial features. He’d had this watchful way about him, like he had secrets. And he looked at people like he knew all of theirs.
“Well that’s just great,” I grumbled, taking another bite of the bar.
“I thought so.” Cletus’s reply was cheerful and he nodded his head like everything was settled. “Now, if you’ll pardon me, I have work to do and you need a nap.”
“No, I will not excuse you.” I inserted myself between my brother and the computer. “Just ’cause she’s related to a friend of Ashley’s doesn’t mean she gets a free ride.”
My brother crossed his arms and glared at me, leaning back farther in his chair. “Beau, what is wrong with you? Why don’t you like Miss Shelly Sullivan?”
“She’s rude.” I said this louder than intended, fire of frustration still in my veins.
&nb
sp; “She’s a little quiet and standoffish, I’ll give you that. But I enjoy her economy of speech.”
“Oh no, she wasn’t quiet with me. She was rude.”
“What did she say?”
“She . . .” I slid my teeth to the side, not much wanting to admit that she’d made comments about my right eye and nose being uneven.
There’s no use pretending otherwise, I knew I was good-looking. I wasn’t Shelly Sullivan good-looking, but I knew how to work a smile and turn on the charm to achieve a goal. I’d never considered myself particularly vain. I didn’t spend hours in front of a mirror. Nor did I spend more than five minutes a day thinking about my appearance, usually just the time required to brush my teeth, trim my beard, and pick out clothes, which wasn’t hard since I worked at the shop five days a week.
This woman didn’t know me at all, and there she was pointing out my flaws.
Rude.
How would she like it if I’d done the same to her?
Except . . .
I swallowed on that thought, because the woman didn’t have any flaws. Well, no physical flaws in any case.
“What did she say?” he repeated, his tone and expression telling me I was treading on his patience.
“She said I was an idiot.”
Cletus flinched back a smidge, blinking his surprise. “She said that?”
“Yeah. She said that.”
He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes growing sharp. “Well, what did you do before she called you an idiot?”
I rubbed my neck, avoiding my brother’s gaze, swallowing again, hoping I wouldn’t have to answer.
“Beauford Fitzgerald Winston,” his voice deepened as he used my full name, “what did you say to the lady?”
Releasing a heavy sigh, I turned from Cletus and walked to the door. “It was a misunderstanding.”
“Louder, please. I’m not Duane. I can’t hear you when you mumble and I can’t read your mind.”
“It was a misunderstanding. You know I picked that car up for Hank? The Jag? Well, Hank said he’d left a present for me at the shop, a . . . ‘her.’”
“Oh good Lord.” From the corner of my eye I saw Cletus throw his hands in the air and jump to his feet. “You thought he sent one of the women in his employ to give you a show? Well, he did not.” My brother reached for an item in the corner of the office and thrust it at me. “He bought you a fishing pole. A really nice fishing pole, one of those three thousand dollar bamboo dealios. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble catching fish on Wednesday—if you can figure out how to use this thing—but you might have a time apologizing to our new mechanic today for mistaking her for a stripper.” He paused, waiting for me to meet his glare before continuing harshly, “And you will apologize. Or else.”
* * *
“Did you apologize?”
I caught myself before I snapped at my friend, instead taking a short pull from my beer before answering. “I tried.”
Hank grinned, glancing at Duane who was also grinning. Well, Duane’s version of a grin, which was more like a small smirk.
Both Hank’s and Duane’s smiles were at my expense. Usually I wouldn’t mind, and I hadn’t expected any different when I launched into my story, but I’d hoped they’d agree with me that the woman was a menace.
They hadn’t.
“He did try to apologize, he really did. I was there.” Duane’s smirk widened into a true smile. “And she flat-out ignored him. Pretended he didn’t even speak.”
Simmering anger reignited at the memory, making the beer on my tongue taste stale. “I don’t see why I needed to apologize in the first place. Ain’t nothing wrong with being a stripper, is there?”
“Firstly, I think someone needs to acknowledge how unusual this entire situation is.” Hank, sitting next to me in the booth, moved his hand in a circular motion, indicating to my whole person.
We were at Genie’s Country Western Bar the Wednesday after my initial run-in with Miss Shelly Sullivan. Genie’s was the best place to go in the Valley if you wanted a beer, a dance, and no trouble.
The biker gangs usually steered clear of Genie’s. They had their own hangouts. Genie’s was widely considered the Switzerland of Green Valley and the surrounding areas, neutral territory. If they did show up, it was only two or three fellas at a time, not a giant herd of them looking for a fight.
“I second that.” Duane craned his neck, looking toward the entrance. “But nothing about Shelly Sullivan is ordinary, as far as I can tell.”
I knew Duane kept looking at the door hoping to spot Jess. She wasn’t late yet, but my twin always got fidgety just before seeing his woman.
My lips curved into a smile, but it was one of frustration. “What are y’all talking about?”
“Well now, let me see. Let’s start with the fact that this woman didn’t immediately fall victim to your bullshit charm.”
I snorted, shaking my head at Hank. He was always complaining about me and Jethro, said we made terrible wingmen because of our “bullshit charm.”
But before I could speak, Duane said, “See now, you got it wrong. Nothing about Beau’s charm is bullshit. That’s just the way the man is made. And you can’t fault the ladies, either. In our momma’s womb, he got my share of good humor as well as his.”
“How convenient for you.” I flashed my brother a meaningful look, and knew he was reading my thoughts because he gave me a guilty one in return.
He was right and he was wrong. Between the two of us, I may have exhibited all the outward signs of good humor, but that’s because one of us had to. We couldn’t both be surly little shits all the time. I supposed being nice was just like anything else done consistently over a long period of time: it became a habit.
Missing our unspoken communication, Hank lifted his chin toward Duane. “Then what did you get in your mother’s womb?”
“All the meanness, selfishness, and recklessness I reckon,” he replied easily, then continued without malice or any trace of resentment, “which is why I agree with Hank about this situation being unprecedented. I’ve never met a person who didn’t like you best—especially at first and especially a woman—and I’ve never seen you hold a grudge before.” Duane shrugged, looking toward the door again.
He was right about the first part, as most women did like me best. Likely because it’s hard to get to know someone who never spoke, but easy to like someone who always smiled.
“Yeah, that’s the other part of this mystery. This woman pissed you off.” Hank craned his neck toward the bar, likely looking for another round of drinks. “I’ve never seen you actually angry with someone before. And you’re still irritated, what, two days later. You didn’t even blink an eye when Mrs. Townsen hit your GTO in the church parking lot with her daughter’s old Oldsmobile.”
“It was an accident.” I waved off this example. Mrs. Townsen shouldn’t have been driving, she’d been unfit since totaling her Cadillac a few years ago, but she didn’t mean any harm.
“That senile old lady wrecking your pride and joy isn’t a blip on your radar, but remarking on your bent nose is a war crime? Good to know. Hey Patty.” Hank handed over our empties to our waitress, who happened to be Genie’s daughter, and accepted the new beers with a flirty grin.
She ignored him.
“Hey Beau.” She gave me a wink. “My momma wanted me to let you know these are on the house.”
“What? Why?” Duane’s consternation at this news was obvious and I fought a chuckle. Only my twin would be put out by someone wanting to buy his drinks.
“’Cause your brother is a saint, that’s why.” She said this without breaking eye contact with me.
“He ain’t no saint,” Hank grumbled, though he accepted the free drink.
“Thanks for all your help, Beau.” Patty tucked her tray under her chin and hugged it close to her chest.
“No problem.” I waved off her thanks. “Anytime.”
“I might take you up on that.” Her
voice dropped a half octave and her grin grew more flirtatious as she backed away from the table, giving me a meaningful eyebrow lift just before she turned and walked away.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Hank kicked me under the table. “Patty? Really?”
I drank my beer and quietly enjoyed Hank’s frustration.
Firstly, I’d known he had a thing for Patty for a while, at least a year. Secondly, I knew—according to Darlene—Patty would never give him the time of day as long as he owned that strip club. And lastly, I knew Patty’s intentions toward me were harmless because Darlene and Patty were good friends.
Darlene and I weren’t technically exclusive yet, but still. Patty was a nice person, and she knew I was seeing her friend.
“I can’t get two words out of her, and here you are, turning down what she’s offering for free,” he lamented flatly. “What did you do, anyway? Save her cat?”
“No. That was Jess,” Duane mumbled.
That made me laugh. “Jess was eight, Duane. Eight. All I did was climb a tree and get her cat.” And she’s yours now in any case.
“That’s right!” Hank snapped his fingers then pointed at Duane. “I forgot about that. Didn’t Jess have a thing for Beau before you two hooked up?”
“We didn’t hook up, Hank,” Duane snapped.
Hank lifted a hand, palm out, as though he surrendered. “Fine. Before you two pledged your troth. Is that better?”
Duane grumbled something I didn’t catch, then shrugged. “Yeah. So what? The past is in the past.” My brother glowered at me as he said this.
“Oh good Lord, Duane. What was I supposed to do? Not get the damn cat? You didn’t even like her then. You used to call her Freckles, remember that?”
“I still call her Freckles.”
“No, you don’t. You call her Princess,” I said, not about to lose an opportunity to correct my brother about his recent domestication, mostly because I was envious of it.
Hank pointed at me with his beer. “So, let me get this straight. You saved Jess’s cat when she was eight, and she had a thing for you after that?” Before I could decide how to answer, he turned to Duane. “And you’re okay with that?”
