I take a deep breath, hold it, and then exhale loudly, knowing I sound like I’m accepting defeat. I’m not. I get in one more dig. “Mind if I leave it in the lot overnight ’til I can get it towed somewhere else that wants to take my money?”
She grunts. I’m fluent in them, though, known for speaking the language myself, so I hear her permission to leave Bessie overnight. I’m also planning to be here when the tow service comes to get Bessie, just so I can get another eyeful of Lil Bit. Maybe see if she’s as ornery when I haven’t scared the shit out of her right out of the gates.
I nod to Reed and Manuel and step toward the open bay door to dig my phone out of my back pocket.
I could hit up one of the guys at the ranch to come get me, but it’s a long drive over the mountain, and Katelyn, my boss’s wife, is at the resort right between me and home. She’ll be heading toward the ranch shortly when she gets off work, so I shoot her a text thinking it’ll consolidate trips, if nothing else.
Me: Bessie died. Stuck at Cole Automotive. Need a ride home.
Yeah, not so much on the manners, but of anyone, she’s the most used to it since she’s married to Mark. Mark is, to put it as kindly as possible, an utter asshole and even quieter than me. Once upon a time, we’d been sworn enemies, but he’d come through for us Tannens when the shit hit the fan, and I’ll be forever grateful for that, even if I have to work for the motherfucker now.
Katelyn: Busy. Will send Marla. Hang tight. Mark loves that truck.
See? She’s accustomed to it. And she’s giving me fair warning that Mark is going to kick my ass for being the unlucky son of a bitch who was driving Bessie when she finally gave out. She’s had a good life, though, and hopefully isn’t ready to be sent to scrap. She just needs a good mechanic. One not at Cole Automotive.
Not meaning to, I overhear Reed. “Hey, you wanna grab a bite tonight?”
He’s nervous, the question weighted with intention beyond grabbing a burger with a coworker. His possessive look comes back to me, and I realize something. Reed is sweet on the ball-busting, wrench-wielding woman and doing his best to flirt with her. I chuckle under my breath. “Good fucking luck, man.”
Anybody who ever tells you women are the gossipy ones ain’t never spent time with men. We might not sit around and gab about shit like women are wont to do, but we have our own ways. Like me right now, leaning against the doorframe, hat pulled down low so it seems like my eyes are on my phone. But I’m watching everything go down like a bored housewife at church on Sunday.
Lil Bit ain’t having it. She’s wiping down something under the hood with zero interest in, or even the slightest awareness of, Reed. “Nah, heading home early to catch the game tonight.”
He shoots, but instead of scoring, he goes down in a blazing ball of flames. But he’s not done.
“We could watch together?” Give the man points for gumption and perseverance. I don’t, but somebody should.
“You don’t know the first thing about baseball, and I’m not spending three hours explaining shit to you, Reed.” She manages to make it sound like he’s not worth the spit it’d take to explain a strike-out, but then she laughs, softening the insult like it’s something they’ve done a thousand times before.
From my undercover vantage, I see Reed shake it off. Manuel looks back and forth, from her to him, and then he follows Reed out the door like a catty hen ready to get to clucking about the situation.
See? Gossipy guys are the worst.
I wait a few minutes in silence, examining Lil Bit’s ass in those coveralls, and when that doesn’t yield any useful information, I scan the rest of the shop. It looks busy, several vehicles in the lot and every bay filled. There’s a long workbench along the front with organized tools arranged on a wall of pegboard. The left side of the garage holds an old refrigerator, a cheap pressed wood cabinet with a hanging door that’s topped with a small microwave and a coffee maker, and a desk piled high with file folders. It reminds me of Mark’s office, bare-boned and functional, nothing that’s not useful and necessary. It tells me something about the woman who’s still busy working under that hood.
“What’s wrong with your truck?”
“Oh, she speaks.”
Sarcasm drips from my lips because I know she heard me tell Reed about the transmission. Apparently, I’m a recent convert to masochism because I’m looking forward to her vitriol-filled comeback, but Lil Bit doesn’t respond. Eventually, I give in. “Bessie was doing fine, then started jerking. Seemed like the tranny was slipping.”
“Bessie? What is she?”
I swear I hear a smile, but when her head pops up, her lips are pressed straight. But trucks seem to be an interest, so I indulge her. “Ninety-six Ford F-250, Power Stroke diesel.”
Lil Bit hops off her stool, her thick-soled boots making a small thud. Her hands go to her coverall pockets as she eyes me. I’m not sure what measure she’s taking this time, but I’m eye-fucking the shit out of her. She moves toward me, and my cock stands up at hopeful attention. But she simply frees one hand, holding it out palm-up. “Keys?”
I don’t question it, just drop them into her outstretched hand as she passes me by. She pulls open Bessie’s door and literally hops inside. Vaguely, I wonder how many things she has to hop up on and down from in a day.
A second later, the loud engine breaks the silence. Lil Bit looks thoughtful, and I realize she’s listening to the chug-chug-chug sounds as if they hold the secrets of the world. Hell, maybe to her, they do. To me, it sounds like a truck. Loud and ready to work, except I know Bessie ain’t doing so well once she gets in drive.
A four-door sedan pulls into the lot, drawing my eye. I can see Marla, Katelyn’s assistant, waving at me. She’s a good helper for Katelyn, though I know more of her from Katelyn’s stories than I actually know Marla. This makes the third time I’ve ever met her face-to-face. Luckily, the other two times, she rambled nonstop about her husband and twin girls, and I assume today will hold more of the same and I won’t have to say a word.
I lift two fingers in a wave to Marla and the truck silences.
Lil Bit hops down again, walking toward me already talking. “I’ll take a look at her. It’ll be a couple of days before I can get to it, though. Once I’ve done diagnostics, I’ll call before I fix anything to get approval on the charges. Number?”
She puts the keys in her pocket, smart businesswoman taking the truck hostage until I agree. But I’m desperate and she knows it.
I’m not usually one to be at a disadvantage with anything, and certainly not with women. But damned if she doesn’t have me dead to rights intrigued, and she seems wholly unaffected by me.
“Sure. There’s a business card for my boss in the visor. Call him to approve the money stuff.”
Lil Bit nods and keeps on walking, past me and right back into the garage. She grabs a chain off a hook and the door rolls down between us. A loud click sounds out, letting me know she’s locked the door. It reassures something in me that she’s locked safely away for the night to watch the baseball game she didn’t want to explain to Reed.
Dismissed and striking out just as badly as Reed, I amble toward Marla’s car. Just before I get in, heavy metal music starts blaring again and I look up to see Lil Bit watching me leave through the row of glass windows in the blue garage door. Maybe not a complete strikeout, then?