Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 102361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
I wonder if I could get a loan for a decent used car?
Or perhaps I’ll take some money out of my inheritance from Justin and buy a new car. It’s my money, but I hate using it.
It seems that this time, I don’t have a choice.
I’ve just turned the curve that marks the halfway point between the two towns when suddenly, the car starts to grind and knock, then dies altogether. I barely manage to get it to the side of the road, out of the way of traffic.
Breathing hard, I stare straight ahead, both hands gripping the wheel.
Shit, I’m lucky I didn’t get in a wreck.
But now, I let the tears come.
Because I can’t afford another tow truck.
And I can’t afford another goddamn bill from that fucker, Barry.
Fuck. What am I going to do?
Chapter Six
BROOKS
It’s a nice day, and with fall pretty much here, there won’t be many days left to ride my motorcycle before it gets too cold and the snow flies. I’ve been putting in long hours at work, so I took the afternoon off and decided to ride around the valley. I took backroads from Bitterroot Valley over to Silver Springs, breathing in the fresh mountain air, feeling the bike beneath me, and letting the sun bake me a little.
I need to work on forgetting a certain blonde who’s had my attention for more than two decades. I’m still pissed at myself for buying the flowers for the porch. It was stupid.
But the following morning, when she walked past, she smiled. Her whole gorgeous face just lit right up, as if it were fireworks at Disney World.
And dammit, I’d do it again.
Fuck.
There I go thinking about her again.
I drive through Silver Springs, slowing down as I pass through the downtown area. It’s a tiny town, even smaller than Bitterroot Valley, and within minutes, I’m out on the highway, headed for home.
Slowing to go around a tight corner in the road, I notice a car broken down on the shoulder, and when I narrow my eyes, I see that it’s Jules sitting in the driver’s seat.
Crying.
Motherfucker.
Checking my mirrors, I slow and make a U-turn, then circle back and come to a stop behind her. After setting the bike on the kickstand and removing my helmet, I make my way to the passenger door so I’m not close to traffic and tap on the glass.
Jules startles and screams, but when she sees it’s me, she hits the mechanism to unlock the door, and I pull it open.
“Hey.” I frown as it looks like she’s fighting to catch her breath. “Are you okay?”
She shakes her head and wipes the tears from her cheeks. “Not good at being spooked. Fuck.”
That’s new.
“Whoa. It’s okay, it’s just me. Take a deep breath. Breathe with me, Jules.”
She’s not looking at me, but she follows my direction, pulling in a deep breath with me. After the third one, she’s calmed down considerably.
“Thanks,” she whispers.
“What happened?”
She bites her lip and won’t look me in the face, and I fucking hate that. I realize that I don’t just want to know what happened right now, to put her here at the side of the road, I want to know what happened to make her startle so bad, and every other moment from that day so long ago.
But for now, I’ll settle for why she’s sitting on the side of the road.
“My car sucks,” she finally says, her breath shuddering. “I just picked it up from that asshole in Silver Springs, and it already broke down again.”
Unease moves through me, followed quickly by anger.
“Pop the hood.”
“Oh, you don’t have to look. I’ll call a tow—”
“Pop the fucking hood, Wildfire.”
Her eyes widen at the use of the old nickname, and she reaches below the steering wheel to pull the lever. I walk around the front and push it up so I can see what’s going on.
And what I see is a huge fucking mess.
This engine looks like it’s being held together by duct tape and cotton swabs. Who the hell was the mechanic, MacGyver?
Knowing there’s nothing I can do right now, I close the hood and return to the passenger side, resigned to taking her with me.
On my bike.
Pressed up against my back for miles, just like the old days.
“Who did the repairs?”
“Barry in Silver Springs did it every time.”
I tilt my head. “How many times have you had it in to him, Jules?”
“Oh, geez, a half dozen? It always breaks down again. This time, I think it’s really dead. The noises were horrible. I’m more than six grand into repairs—”
“You’re fucking what?”
She jumps and then blinks at me. “Sorry. TMI. I’ll call—”
“I’ve got this.” Jesus, I’m going to be making a trip to Barry’s garage, and I’m going to teach him a goddamn lesson. And get her money back. “I’ll tow it to my garage and sort it out. And I want you to show me everything he did.”