by Dylann Crush
Chapter Three
The guy in the dirty baseball cap stood behind the counter. Staring at her. Mouth half-open. Whether it was surprise, confusion, or just his natural state, Jinx hadn’t figured out quite yet. The rumble of Cash’s truck pulled her attention to the window. Taillights winked, then he drove onto the road, leaving her with a guy who could have starred in Deliverance. Even though she wasn’t one to typically put her trust in anyone, she somehow felt like Cash wouldn’t have left her here if she needed to worry about Dwight.
“So, um, that guy who dropped me off here said you can fix a motorcycle?” She thumbed toward the window.
“Do what?” Dwight’s brow wrinkled under the brim of his hat.
“You fix bikes here? I’ve got an Indian I had to leave a few miles back. Engine died on me, and I need to know what’s wrong.” She waited a beat, then two, for the guy to say something.
The line bisecting his forehead deepened. “Bikes. Yeah, I can fix just about anything. Where’s it at?”
Finally. “About five miles down the main road, then off on a side road in some bushes.”
“Won’t run?”
Didn’t she just say the engine died? “No. You ever work on Indian bikes? My dad rebuilt it about twenty years ago. Might need some work.”
Now he looked like she’d just insulted his mother. A sneer stretched over his face. “I ain’t met a motor I can’t fix.”
“Great. So can we go get it?” The sooner she figured out what was wrong, the sooner she’d be able to get out of here. Small towns gave her the creeps. She preferred to be surrounded by strangers, able to blend in to the anonymity of a big-city street.
“Yeah. Let’s go.” He snagged a ring of keys off a hook behind the counter and led the way through the store to the garage.
She wasn’t crazy about the idea of jumping in a truck with another complete stranger, but what choice did she have? If he got out of hand, she could take him. She’d stood her ground against guys much bigger than him over the years.
An hour later, they’d unloaded her motorcycle into the three-bay repair shop. Dwight had taken a quick look but said he wouldn’t be able to get started on it until the next afternoon. He had an ATV repair he’d promised to someone first. Based on what he’d seen so far, he thought it might require a total rebuild. At that news, a rock the size of that possum she’d seen on the side of the road dropped into her gut. She gathered as much of her stuff as she could carry.
“You got a phone number you want me to call when I know more?” Dwight pulled a pen from behind his ear and held it over his palm.
Like hell she wanted her phone number decorating any part of his anatomy. “I’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon. Think you’ll know something by, say, two?”
He shrugged. “Better make it three. You got a place to stay tonight?”
She hated small towns. If she said yes, he’d want to know where she was headed. If she said no, he’d make some suggestion, hopefully one that didn’t involve his place, and he’d probably follow up to make sure she went there. She didn’t want to spend the cash she’d brought with her at a pricey bed-and-breakfast. But there was no way in hell she’d want to entertain the idea of bunking at Dwight’s for the night.
“I’ll figure something out.”
“There’s a B&B a few blocks over that way.” He pointed to a corner of the garage. “Probably ought to have space, seein’ as how it’s a weeknight and all.”
“Thanks.” She gathered her things and turned toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”
The heavy weight of his stare pressed down on her as she walked in the direction he’d pointed. Once the door clicked closed, she looked back. No Dwight. She circled around, ready to make the five-mile trek to retrieve the gift cards from that log. Maybe she could find an out-of-the-way stand of trees to set up her tent for the night.
After days of having the bike between her thighs, her muscles twinged as she took long strides down the road. Things would work out. They always did. Hopefully, she’d get out of town before she had any more uncomfortable interactions with the law. Even if the local lawman had a sizzling gaze, a disarming smile, and a precocious little girl.
He was probably married anyway. Perfect nuclear family of three. Mom, Dad, well-loved, happy little girl. The kind of family a kid deserved.
Not like her fucked-up excuse for a home life.
She rarely allowed herself to dwell on the past, and no matter how much things sucked right now, she wouldn’t let herself go there. That was her mom’s MO. Instead, prepared to make the best of camping under the clear, starlit sky, she thought about the things she should be thankful for. She had half a sandwich leftover from lunch, a tent to shelter her from the chill in the air and whatever might be crawling around in the weeds, and Hendrix to keep her company. Yeah, life could be better. But it could also be a lot worse.
That she knew from experience.
* * *
Cash removed his cowboy hat as he entered the elementary school. He slid his ID through the scanner and pressed the button.
The school secretary’s grizzled voice floated through the speaker. “Welcome to Kennedy Elementary. The security system is broken this morning. Just come on in.”
What good did it do to have the damn security system if it never worked right? The school board had pushed for it, and the whole town had worked together to raise enough funds for its installation last summer. He’d have to talk to the boss about that. But first, the meeting with Kenzie’s teacher.
“Good morning.” The secretary, Mrs. Aberdeen, hadn’t changed a bit since he’d been a student at Kennedy nearly a quarter of a century ago. Still wore her hair in that frizzy bun. Still sported that hairy mole on her chin. Still sounded like she smoked three packs a day. Thanks to his day job, he’d learned Mrs. Aberdeen actually preferred a different kind of smoking—as in the illegal, recreational kind. Another drawback to working in the sheriff’s department was he learned way too much about way too many people. “How are you doing today, Mr. Walker?”
He didn’t bother to correct her. Most people called him Deputy Walker nowadays, or at least Cash. Seeing as how he managed to look the other way when he found her smoking a joint at the Chuckwagon Extravaganza last summer as a trade-off for all the times she hadn’t reported him to the principal as a kid, he figured they might have achieved first-name status. Evidently not.
“I’m here to see Kenzie’s teacher.”
“They’re in the staff lounge.” She pointed to a doorway, then, without looking up, licked an envelope from the stack in front of her and pressed the flap closed.
“Thanks.” He shuffled past her desk, still not comfortable being this close to the principal’s office even after all these years.
“Cash, glad you could make it.” The district psychologist whose name he could never remember offered her hand.
He set his hat down on the table and took her hand, looking to Kenzie’s teacher, Ms. Pepper, for an explanation. His brother Statler had dated Grace Pepper all through high school and college. It was hard to take her seriously when he could still hear Strait and Presley singing that stupid song they’d made up…Statler and Grace—sucking face.
Grace shuffled some papers. “Lindsey, I mean Mrs. Blost, was able to join us today.”
“Okay.” Cash lowered himself into a chair that looked like it hadn’t left the room since the school was built in the 1960s. “I thought you just wanted to touch base about Kenzie’s progress so far this year.”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Blost said, taking charge. “Kenzie is a special little girl.” She twittered. “I know I don’t have to tell you that.”
Cash glanced to Grace. She didn’t look up. “Now I know you didn’t call me down here to talk about how special Kenzie is. What’s going on?”
Mrs. Blost’s hand fluttered against her coll
arbone. “She’s doing just fine. Ms. Pepper noticed some issues with Kenzie’s reading progress though, and I’d like to run a few tests.”
“Wait a minute.” Cash put his hands palm down on the laminate tabletop. “What kind of tests?”
Grace put her hand on his arm. He jerked it away. She’d always seemed like the touchy-feely type.
“Cash, it’s standard stuff. Kenzie’s not reading at grade level. She’s barely reading at all,” Grace explained. “I called in Mrs. Blost to check for dyslexia. Kenzie shows mild signs—”
“Whoa!” Cash put his hands out, palms facing the two women. Kenzie was perfect; what in the hell did they know about anything? “You’re trying to tell me something’s wrong with my little girl?”
“Nothing’s wrong with her.” Mrs. Blost clucked her tongue. “She’s got some challenges, and we want to figure out how best to support her.”
The pity in Grace’s eyes looked just like it had when she’d called him in talk about how clingy Kenzie was the first few weeks of school. He’d had to remind her Kenzie didn’t have a mama at home and guessed that was the reason behind her obsession with her new teacher.
“No matter what the test shows, it’s obvious Kenzie is going to need some extra help with her reading. My schedule is booked, but I’d be happy to put her on the wait list for a tutor.”
“What can I do to help?” Cash asked. Kenzie was his life. When her mom had walked out on both of them years ago, he had promised his little girl he’d never leave her, that he’d always be there for her. They’d made a good team so far. But being a single dad was hard. A hell of a lot harder than he’d ever imagined. And now, trying to navigate a learning disability on his own would only make it that much harder.
“Let’s do the tests first. Once we have a clear diagnosis, we can take it from there. Sound good?” Mrs. Blost nodded like it was all settled.
“Cash?” Grace tilted her head. “You okay?”
He managed a nod.
“Kenzie’s still the amazing, creative, darling little girl you know and love. This doesn’t change anything. She just needs some extra help.” Grace stood and pushed her chair in to the table. “I’ve got to get back to the classroom—the kids will be back from art soon. You have any questions or want to talk about this, give me a call, okay?”
Standing, he set his hat back on top of his head and thrust his fists into the pockets of his uniform jacket. “Yeah, okay.”
He opened the door and let the women pass through first. His mom would know what to do about this. The matriarch of the Walker clan, she had a no-nonsense way of simmering things down to manageable pieces. She’d been there for him when he had decided to take on full custody, and since she’d kept him and his siblings alive to adulthood, she knew a lot more than he did about how to raise a kid.
“Thanks again for coming in.” Mrs. Blost walked him to the front door, his daughter’s future smashed in the manila folder against her chest.
Cash nodded and pushed through the doorway, thumping his hand against the piece-of-crap security system on his way out. As he passed through the main drag of town, he swerved into the parking lot of Dwight’s place. Something about the night before still nagged at the back of his mind. He needed a distraction from the meeting at school, and checking up on the stranger with the bright-blue hair would do it.
“Hey, Deputy.” Dwight strolled out of the open garage door, an oily rag in his pocket and a toothpick in the corner of his mouth.
Cash had known him since they were kids. Dwight usually called him “asshat” or something more along those lines. “Why the sudden respect? You do something illegal lately?”
“Who, me?” Dwight popped the toothpick out and held it between two fingers. “Want to see something special?”
“You haven’t been putting together any more moonshine stills, have you?”
“One time. Damn, you gonna give me grief over that forever?”
Cash grinned. That was more like it. “I might. What do you want to show me?”
Dwight led the way into the garage where a gorgeous, sunshine-yellow, vintage motorcycle sat parked in the middle of the bay.
“Who did you steal that from?” Cash ran his hand over the sleek lines of the bike, then straddled the seat. “Hi there, gorgeous.”
“Nobody. That chick you dropped off last night had it. It’s a beaut, ain’t it?”
Cash pulled his hand away as though the handlebars had burned him. The chick he’d dropped off last night? This bike belonged to Jinx? She looked like she couldn’t even afford clothes without holes in them.
“You sure about that?” He cocked his head and looked to Dwight to see if he was messing with him.
“Yeah. She led me right to it. Said it was her dad’s.”
Cash sensed her before he heard her. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the energy in the garage shifted.
Jinx stood in the open garage door, in the same clothes as the night before.
“Speak of the devil…” Dwight muttered.
Cash shot him a shut-the-hell-up glare, and for once, Dwight took the hint. “Hey. Dwight was just showing me your bike.”
She smirked. “Thanks for clarifying. I thought maybe you were about to ride off into the sunset on it.”
Someone snorted. Damn, Dwight. Cash rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the beginning twinge of a headache. “So where’d you get a bike like this?”
“You think I stole it or something?” She walked in a wide circle around him.
He was a sheriff’s deputy. It was his job to be curious. “No, that’s not what I meant.”
“Oh, so what you meant was I don’t look like the kind of girl who could afford a vintage, fully restored Indian motorcycle?”
“Hey, just trying to make conversation. I’ll leave you and Dwight to it. Good luck with everything.” He didn’t need this crap. Especially not today. What he did need was to figure out where his mom was so she could tell him how to handle the bomb Kenzie’s teacher had dropped. Stopping by Dwight’s had been a bad idea. He climbed off the bike and tipped the brim of his hat toward Jinx. “See ya later, Dwight.”
Dwight gave him a middle finger salute and a smile. Let him deal with the frosty biker chick. Cash climbed into the truck and pulled his mom’s number up on his phone; she was the one person he might be able to manage a productive conversation with today.
Chapter Four
“You sure about that?” Jinx fought against the fist squeezing her insides into a mishmashed mess. He had to be kidding. She didn’t have five grand to rebuild the engine.
Dwight toed at the lid of a water bottle, scraping it along the concrete floor. “You’re welcome to take it somewhere else. But I’m a hundred and ten percent positive it’s gonna need a whole rebuild.”
She didn’t bother telling him one hundred and ten percent was mathematically impossible. He might not know math, but for some reason, she believed he did know engines. Maybe it was the permanent grease stains on his hands. Or the way the guy at the mini-mart talked about him this morning when she’d asked if he did a good job. Whatever caused it, her gut trusted him. And she’d gotten a lot further in life trusting her gut than she had putting her faith in anything else.
“When do you need the money?” That’s what it came down to. She didn’t have that much in her account, not after she’d had to move out of Wade’s and into a hotel room when she’d found out he’d been cheating on her. She should have listened to her gut when it came to that asshole.
Dwight shrugged. “I can get started if you want. It’ll take a few weeks to figure out what parts I need and how far I gotta go to get ’em. You wanna pay me a ten percent deposit and then I can let you know when I need to order stuff?”
“Um, can I get back to you about it?”
Dwight lifted his baseball cap and ran his fing
ers through his hair. “Look, if you don’t want me to do the work—”
“No, it’s not that.” She was screwed. Not enough cash to get the bike fixed, probably not even enough cash to get settled in New Orleans if she gave this guy a five-hundred-dollar deposit. That’s what she got for not splitting from LA as soon as she sensed things were heading south. “I need to get some cash together. Can you hold on to it for a day or two? Just let me figure a few things out?”
“Sure.”
“You don’t need any help around here, do you?” She cringed as the words left her mouth. Dwight didn’t strike her as someone who was operating on all cylinders. Not that she wouldn’t do what she needed to do to get by. Her need for survival had landed her in a crapload of undesirable jobs. Pumping gas and ringing up oil changes would be a vacation from the ass pinchings she’d endured at Wade’s place.
“Nah. I pretty much handle stuff around here on my own.”
She let out a tiny sigh of relief.
“But, hey. I know someone who might need some help.” He snapped his fingers, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “You ever waited tables or pulled a draft beer before?”
Ha. What other kind of job could she expect to land? “Yeah, I know my way around the back of a bar.”
“Hang on a sec. Lemme make a call.” He stepped toward the store, holding the phone to his ear.
Jinx climbed onto the bike and let her head rest against the handlebars. The smart thing to do would be to sell the bike. Raise a little cash, get to New Orleans, and work her ass off. If things were as hot as her friend said they were, she’d finally be able to put some cash in the bank. Someday, she’d find another sunshine-yellow Roadmaster and could pick up again then.
Her heart squeezed, tapped out a drumroll, and squeezed again. It wouldn’t be the same though. This bike was special because it had belonged to him. She remembered when her dad had finished restoring it. He’d set her in front of him on the smooth seat and driven her around the block. She’d squealed and giggled as the wind blew through her hair. If she closed her eyes as tight as she could, she could still feel the rumble of his chest as he laughed along with her, smell the scent of the unfiltered Camels he used to smoke.
