Page 12 of A Gift for her Festive Firefighter

“What is it?” she asked warily, almost as if she was privy to the conversation between Mother Nature and Karma, saying ‘Hold my beer’…

“Well, ah, Beary? Um, I think you might have started your period. Do you got any shop rags or those plastic seat covers like they use at those big fancy dealerships?”

“Cade… Pruitt… noticed?”

“He said he thought you were hurt 'cause there was blood on his truck fender from where you kicked it, but when you looked under the hood – well, I noticed that…”

Sheriff Hart noticed the back of her pants.

Holly left menstrual blood on Cade’s truck from kicking it – and he thought she was injured. It wasn’t just any sort of fluid, but period blood. She was torn whether to gag, cry, or scream in horror at the nightmarish event unfolding before her very eyes.

Maybe all three?

“Thank you, Sheriff Hart,” she mumbled, wishing the asphalt beneath her would open up and swallow her whole. Yeah, there was going to be no living down any of this anytime soon.

“Let me get you something…” he began – and Holly moved, angling her backside away from Cade, then realized she was facing Scoops, turning again to face the bank, then the wishing well, and realized there was no place under the sun to hide her stained backside. Nope. This was a case of ‘suck-it-up’ and ‘hurry,’ if there ever was one. She wasn’t waiting for the sheriff to carry her back something to save her seats. She’d treat, scrub, or replace them to save that measly scrap of pride.

Holly slammed the positive cable end back on the battery, slid into her car, and shoved the clutch in. Butter fired right up, causing both men to look up in her direction. She put the car in gear, did a turn around the circle in town where the wishing well was and drove home.

Forget the coffee.

Forget the town.

She was never leaving her place again, and obviously, it was time to quit her own drug of choice — caffeine. Nothing was worth this humiliation, the damage to her car, her psyche, her nerves, her fragile self-confidence. Wishing she could start today all over again, she whispered to the broken pair of eyes in the rearview mirror that were blurring with tears.

“Run detox program, because no amount of coffee was worth any of this.”

Chapter 5

CADE

“Uh, where’s she going?” Cade asked bluntly, pointing to the yellow Mustang driving off. “Is she going to fix this dent? If she’s a mechanic, does she do body work, too? Is she any good? The blood - is she hurt? Do I need to follow her back to her shop?”

The rush of questions hung in the air between them as the sun rose over the sleepy little town. He was exhausted and in no mood to deal with any of this attitude so early in the morning. All he wanted to do was go home, kick off his boots, and plop down in his recliner to snooze.

“She’s not feeling well,” the sheriff said simply, looking him straight in the eyes. “You should probably head home and let both of your tempers calm down. I think she needs some time alone.”

“If she’s hurt, then…”

“She’s not hurt, Captain Pruitt, but if you push the matter… you might need the ambulance, not little ol’ Beary. I’d give her some space and just be glad your car isn’t damaged too badly.”

“The belt is coming apart, and I’ve got a coolant leak. I was actually driving out that way to the shop to get it fixed when she came flying outta nowhere and…”

“Look,” the sheriff said evenly. “You’re new here, and we all help each other. Why don’t you drive your truck over and leave it in the night drop. I’ll give you a ride home. Let’s allow both of you to calm down. All the fighters can go to their separate corners of the ring, okay?”

Cade looked at the man, then his truck, then back to the sheriff and sighed. It was hard to get upset when life in a small town just moved a little slower than what you could find in the big city. If this was how things worked here, he would have to adjust. It wasn’t like there was a bus line he could just hop on – no, he would be at the mercy of their schedule.

And hers.

If she was the local mechanic, then she was who he would need to see about repairing the belt or possibly the pulley on his old truck, if she could do it. He wasn’t sure if the radiator could be repaired or if it would need to be replaced – and that would be a bear to find one to fit the 1932 Coupe that he babied terribly. He spent more on maintaining that truck than what others might spend on car payments in a year, but letting the classic truck go wasn’t an option. Right now, he was having his doubts that ‘Beary’ could fix a sandwich properly and knew if he uttered that aloud, it would be whispered from every mouth in town.

Walking back toward his truck, he saw the stop sign hidden in the bushes and hesitated. He was just as much at fault as she was, because he could have sworn that sign wasn’t there moments ago. She flew through her stop sign – and he did the same.

Nope, time to keep your yap shut, Pruitt. No Barry/Beary thoughts uttered aloud, no admission of guilt, no more comments about the woman with enough attitude to level a man’s ego, he thought sagely and hesitated.

Man, that was a pretty sweet mustang the woman was driving. If she was actually the mechanic, then she was the one keeping it running, and he paused as he started up his truck to follow the sheriff. Maybe it’s Beary’s husband who’s the mechanic, and she does all the bookkeeping?

Nahhh… that couldn’t be it – could it?

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