by Gina Cole
Lady Luck’s Cowboy
Gina Cole
Ginny Sterling
Contents
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
Also by Gina Cole
Coming soon - Hitched
Romancing the Fangirl
Sweet Heat Rising
Afterword
About the Author
Carla – thank you for letting me borrow it.
You’re awesome! <3
1
September 2017
Charlotte stood slowly to ease her aching back. Leaning over the radiator of the old car was taking a toll. Either that, or she needed to drink some water instead of coffee. The dull ache could be her kidneys protesting her diet of Starbucks, but she doubted it. Stretching, she felt a sense of accomplishment as she surveyed her work. The head gasket was on, bolts torqued down and all that was left was to top off all the fluids, change the oil and start her up. Her pretty little splurge: a 1967 black Camaro.
She rescued that car off the side of the road for $500 dollars cash and it was an amazing bargain. The body was intact and had very few rust spots. The convertible top was shredded, but that was the least of her problems. The motor had been run hot to the point of ruin, not to mention the damage from critters eating at the wiring harness. The Camaro had been her labor of love during her downtime at the shop and now it was going to come to fruition, or so she prayed.
She had meticulously repaired every broken wire and rebound the harness. She had put some cheap steel wheels on it, simply to get it on the tow truck. Once the car was running, she would invest in some breathtaking black rims to complete the polished look.
Once it was running.
Once it was washed.
Once it was waxed.
Once she had the money, she thought.
Taking on a project car had been quite taxing on the wallet. Her shop, Charlie’s Garage, had enough little jobs coming in to keep her solvent, but it didn’t allow for massive splurges like she tended to indulge in. Shoes were a weakness as well as pretty dresses. It felt almost like a waste simply because the bland coveralls for the shop were functional. Gorgeous spring dresses were a luxury that she indulged in every chance she got, which wasn’t often.
Charlotte, or Charlie, liked feeling feminine. Dressing up almost felt like an alternate personality for her. She felt girly, instead of like a tomboy who repaired cars. Engines, cars, transmissions had been a fascination since her uncle had the shop. But now, it was hers. Her shop, her home, her future.
Carefully placing her digital torque wrench back on the roll around cart, she rubbed her forehead and stared at the car and the other empty stall. She needed a little something to pay for the rims and the remainder of the repairs so she could drive it. Or sell it, she thought with a big sigh. Fixed up and running would bring a lot of money, which meant she could reinvest it in the shop. She twisted her braid back up into the claw clip and noticed her hands. They were covered in dirt and grease. Yes, she definitely liked working on cars, but it was hell making herself presentable again.
Smiling, Charlotte saw a car pull up, running over the hose causing the bell to ding on the wall above her. Glancing up, she saw the clock and was surprised the day had gotten away from her. Things had been slow, but she would never turn away the work.
“Hey there, Carl. What can I help you with?”
“Hey there yourself, Miss Charlie. Thought I might get an oil change and a tire rotation. Me and the wife are taking a small trip. Gotta get her roadworthy,” Charlie heard him announce proudly as she watched him pat the hood.
“Sounds like a great idea. I’m sure you guys will have a great time,” Charlie said lightly and wrote up the order on a clipboard. “You want a set of new wiper blades, too?” she asked simply.
“Yes, it’s been a while.”
“You okay leaving her overnight? I will look it over really good for you and make sure things are safe,” she offered. Hoping she didn’t sound pushy, this was the first car she had today and, usually, she had done a few services by now. Oil change and rotate wouldn’t keep the lights on, but she was ethical and honest to a fault. If the elderly couple was going on a road trip, the last thing she wanted to do was let them leave in an unsafe car. She had grown up in this town and it crushed her to hear someone went elsewhere for service.
“I appreciate the offer, but we leave in the morning,” he told her with a frown. “You’re closing up soon?”
“Nope, you are my last customer of the day,” she fibbed through her teeth with a grin. “Just thought I would ask if your lovely wife was on the way over to pick you up.” With a strained smile, she took the keys and pulled it into the open bay.
She hated when a customer waited simply because she felt rushed and it was hard to upsell if something was needed. The thing she needed was to be watched like a hawk through the shop window for the next hour. Stepping out of the car, she escorted the elderly man to the tiny waiting area.
“Want me to pay now?” he asked.
“Nah, we’ll get you taken care of at the end,” she offered with a smile and pulled on a set of gloves to prevent any more fingerprints on the car than necessary. Grabbing a can of brake cleaner, she sprayed a clean rag and cleaned the steering wheel quickly where her hands had been. Kneeling, Charlie set the lift points under the car. Swinging each heavy metal arm into place, she held the button firmly. Hearing the mechanical whir and groan, the car rose up slowly.
She could see once the body cleared her line of view that Carl would be watching her the entire time just like any other person. She wondered if it was because they were curious to see the car service, or if it was because she was female, and they were waiting for her to screw something up. Either way, she was under supervision and it was hard to ignore.
Grabbing her impact gun and clipping it on the hose reel, she backed each lug off and set them carefully on the lift arm up in the air simply to keep them in sight. Thumping each tire several times allowed it to free from the axle where it had been set tightly for some time. Charlie lifted each rim and carefully let it drop to the ground, giving a slight bounce. Rolling it backwards, she did the same for the rear tire. Grabbing a tall roll-around, she slid it under the oil pan and pulled the thick bolt that served as a drain plug, cursing lightly as she scalded her fingertips on the hot oil. The black fountain arced into the pan, draining the lifeblood from the engine.
Moving to the other side, she proceeded to do the same routine. Loosen the wheels, set the lugs and rotate the tires. Reinstalling the tires in the new location, she measured the brake pads carefully and saw that they still had five millimeters remaining. No sales there. He was about halfway through his brake pad life as a new pad came with ten millimeters of thickness. Giving Carl a thumb up, she proceeded to tighten the lugs with her impact, leaving room to torque them properly.
Popping her impact gun off the hose, she gave a mighty yank, allowing the hose to fall freely from her hands as it drew back into the ceiling onto the reel. Picking up her torque wrench, she calibrated the digital screen and set each lug into place. Charlie replaced the oil pan bolt and sealed it with a big dollop of yellow paste, shoving the tall oil drain roll-around to t
he side so it was clear of the car when she lowered it. She always marked the drain plugs and oil filters after someone blamed her for them running out of oil. Her uncle had done it before and she did, too. It had saved her butt more than once in the past. Charlie walked to the side of the lift and gave the large lever a pull, allowing the car to lower slowly out of the air.
Pulling her Sharpie from her coverall pocket, she drew a smiley face on the bottom of the new oil filter and put her initials on it. She never revealed why, and she was positive they thought it was some “dumb move” on her part, but seeing a marked filter let her know they had been to her shop before. Popping the hood on the car, Charlie placed a new sticker in the windshield and moved to top off the fluids. She pulled off the old filter and grinned.
This month was smiley faces, but in January it was snowflakes as she saw the black Sharpie snowflake on the filter fascia that was now filthy from dirt and debris. Tossing the filter into the environmental bin, she lubed the gasket and tightened it with her wrench, the smiley face peering up at her from the engine compartment. Perhaps next month would be pencils for back to school, she thought.
Flicking on her Maglite, she looked over the entire engine compartment and saw there were no leaks. Good, she thought and gave her customer another thumbs up towards the window glass without looking up. Giving a twist to the serpentine belt, she saw it was also in good shape. Grabbing several quarts of oil, she began to fill the motor. After adding five quarts, Charlie started up the car. Peering quickly underneath, she saw no leaks from the drain plug. Pulling the dipstick, she wiped it down and reinserted it. Waiting a few moments, she pulled it again and saw the oil level was midway in the hash marks as designed. Shutting the hood firmly, she went to give Carl the evaluation on the car and the bill.
There was always a noticeable difference on how she was treated based off how she dressed. While most times she didn’t mind, occasionally it bothered her, like this time. Charlie handed the bill to Carl and automatically stuck out her hand towards him in an effort to thank him for the business. At his pointed look, she realized she still had her gloves on. With a grin, she yanked the filthy latex gloves off and stuck out her hand again. This time, he smiled apologetically and explained that they were headed to dinner.
Nodding, Charlie felt a blush creep up her neck as she hid her hands behind her. Yes, they were dirty. They were actually filthy compared to his, if she was honest with herself. Her hands were evidence of an independent woman working on a job he’d just hired her to do, but she understood. Who wanted dirt, grease or debris on them? He paid her for this and preferred not to get his hands in the muck.
“Of course,” she answered and rang up his bill with a false smile. “Thank you for coming in, Carl, and be sure to tell your wife I said hello.”
“Absolutely,” he said to Charlie as he swiped his credit card absently. Charlie gave him his copy of the receipt and flipped off the open switch in the window. “I will pull your car out of the shop and bring it around front for you,” she offered. Seeing his nod, she waited for him to walk out the front door and set the deadbolt after him. Walking through the room, she entered the shop and backed his car out. Handing Carl the keys, she waved as he pulled away.
Charlie stood there a moment, as the warm breeze tickled her neck. Streaks of orange were beginning to show up on the horizon as it would be dark soon. Heading back inside of the large, open garage door, she yanked on the rope bringing the door down. She slid the lock into place and walked back to the Camaro.
“It’s you and me tonight,” she said aloud and turned on her radio that was perched on the wall. Picking up where she left off, she continued to clean up the engine compartment to prepare for the first start up. As Charlie worked, she sang aloud to the variety of songs, glad there was no one in the waiting area to view her having fun. The Camaro was in the air once again but, this time, was to change the oil that had been contaminated by the head gasket repair.
Holding her shiny torque wrench, she belted out lyrics to Duran Duran’s Hungry Like the Wolf as she watched the oil drain from the car. As the song wrapped up, she glanced outside the glass doors to see the sun had set and it was pitch black outside now except for the small glow coming from her sign at the street.
The deejay announced on the radio a contest for tickets to be given away and Charlie only listened haphazardly as she carefully set the oil level. Too little could cause engine damage, too much would cause pressure on the gaskets resulting in a leak. Unfortunately for her, there were few books about the Camaro available and she had bought what she could from eBay. The rest was learned slowly over time during the last few years.
“Looking for caller ten that can answer this week’s question: What was the 1969 Indianapolis pace car? Caller ten will win a set of tickets to this week’s event and a cash prize.”
Charlotte grinned as she poured the last quart in and heard a few answers blare out over the radio. She wasn’t sure what the tickets were for but, apparently, they were good tickets! She picked up the phone and dialed, getting a busy signal. Hitting redial, she got another busy signal. Charlotte hit redial once again and was surprised to hear it ringing on the other end of the line. Heart thumping, she heard a voice answer.
“You’re on the air! What’s your name?
“Charlotte,” she squeaked, shocked she had gotten through the line. Normally, she never even tried to enter contests because she swore that if she didn’t have bad luck, she would have no luck at all. Charlotte could not win a frozen turkey if her life depended on it.
“Charlotte, what car was the 1969 Indy pace car that year?”
“A Camaro.”
“That’s right! You got the tickets and prize, care to double it?” he challenged.
“Do I lose it if I miss the question?” she asked bluntly, knowing her luck.
“Nah,” he said drawing out the response. “But you could earn more.”
“Sure, how do I double it?” she asked accordingly.
“What color was the car?” he intoned and heard feedback. “Charlotte, turn down your radio in the background.” She grabbed the knob and obliged as she was stunned by the simple question. The books she had ordered, one cover showed the Indy pace car on the front and that was how she had known the answer.
“Orange and white” she said carefully, surprised that she knew the answer.
“Exactly!” he cheered. “Congratulations, Charlotte! You can see a 1969 restored Indy pace car at the fairgrounds this weekend. Your tickets will be available at the front desk for pick up anytime tomorrow. Charlotte, stay on the line while we get some information. But for all the rest of you, enjoy this next song by a band that is also playing in concert in November in Houston.”
Charlotte clutched the phone as she cradled it to her head. She never won, ever. Certain this was a hoax, she waited patiently on the line expecting the call to go dead or something. Instead, a woman’s voice came on the phone and gathered all sorts of information from her.
When the woman started to rattle off directions to the station to pick up her winnings, Charlotte scrambled for a pen. Writing carefully on the desk calendar by the register, she circled the note carefully on the well-worn paper and stared at her writing as the call was finished. She’d won! She’d apparently 209 dollars, since the radio station was 104.5 and she had doubled her winnings.
It didn’t sound like much, but the money was welcomed and would be going into her slush fund. The tickets, however, were another story. She thought about selling them if she could but according to the woman on the phone, they were fantastic seats and Charlotte had never been to a bull riding competition.
There was a first time for everything apparently…it was a first for her to win and would be a first for her to see a bull riding competition. Perhaps her luck was changing for the better. Did fate have a change of heart? she thought and tossed the keys up in the air, catching them. Hopping in the Camaro, she put the key in the ignition and gave a silent praye
r as she uttered one aloud.
“Please,” Charlotte whispered repeatedly. “Please, please, please!” as she shut her eyes, and turned the key. She cracked one eye open as she heard the engine struggle to turn over and then rumble to life. The roar from the exhaust was deafening as the monster engine gave way and surged.
“Yes!” she shouted, pounding her hands on the steering wheel in glee. Studying the dials for a moment, she leapt out of the seat to inspect the engine block for any leaks. Seeing none, she launched herself back inside of the car to check the gauges once again for any signs of a problem and promptly shut off the car so the carbon monoxide didn’t kill her before she got to drive the Camaro.
Charlotte was ecstatic that it started, but there were still a few minor things to be done before it could be driven. Baby steps, she thought and danced around excitedly for a moment. She would celebrate and treat herself to a cold beer, a hot bath, and a show! Charlotte would use the tickets for herself and see if she could get someone to go with her.
Scrubbing her hands in the shop sink with pumice soap, she looked around and picked up a mop before heading in. Running the mop over the concrete floors, she wrung it out and put it up to dry in the corner. Going up the steps into the waiting area, she locked the shop door behind her and locked the register. Throwing out a few magazines and wiping down the cushions on the chairs, Charlotte could not help the smile on her face.
For the moment, she felt like Lady Luck was on her side. If it could stay this way for a week or two she would be thrilled. It wasn’t that she had back luck, Charlotte had no luck at all. It was as simple as that. She made her way and didn’t wait for things to drop into her lap. This had always been her mantra and would remain that way. But if something good were to happen to her, she’d take full advantage of it.
