Page 19 of Welker

“Four-barrel carb, four speed manual trannie, and dual exhaust,” Moira relayed without a second’s hesitation, looking, if it were possible…excited?

Welker’s mouth fell open. “You know the model?”

“Hell, yes,” she said, with unaccustomed eagerness. “My father had vintage cars, and when I was trying to…” She stopped abruptly and changed tracks. “I spent a lot of time in his garages, and learned a bunch from his mechanic. Mr. Sheffings was an awesome guy, and never made me feel like I was in the way.”

There was a lot to unpack in that one, short statement.

First, her father had vintage cars? Plural? Not to mention that garages meant more than one. But there’d also been a mechanic on staff? Those bits of info, all put together, spelled money. And not in a gazillion years would Welker ever have guessed Moira came from a well-to-do background.

He sought clarification that her knowledge wasn’t a one-and-done.

“Favorite car in the stable?” he asked.

She hesitated, then spit out, “1962 Shelby Cobra.”

“427?” Welker gasped.

“Uh, huh. 427 horses, 7-liter V8,” she said with a look on her face that spoke of…reverence.

“Damn. Those things have to be worth?—”

“A couple million,” she said, finishing his sentence.

“Wow. So your father?—”

“Is not somebody I talk about.”

This time she cut him off with a finality that brooked no argument. Her mood had spun around faster than a ’69, 911 in snow.

“Got it.” Welker wasn’t going to antagonize her just when she’d begun sharing, so he went back to her love of cars. “Do you ever hit up any of the local shows or meets?”

He’d participated in some a time or two, and it had been a lot of fun talking to like-minded gear-heads.

“Every now and then,” she said, but didn’t extrapolate as her gaze traveled around the space, obviously curious about what was under the tarps.

Welker put her out of her misery. “I also have some project vehicles you can have a look at when we’re not sleep deprived.”

“I’d like that,” she stated succinctly.

“Okay.” Welker slapped his hands together. “Let’s get inside and I’ll give you the big tour before we crash.” He led the way out through the large, ancient, overhead doors that these days, unfortunately, wouldn’t open or close.

Dawn was just starting to break as they left the garage. The sun’s morning rays sparkled off the tall, dewy grasses, silhouetting the many structures dotted about his land.

“You have a lot of buildings,” Moira stated.

Welker was happy to fill her in on the particulars.

“Yup. The main house is mine,” he swept an arm toward his home, then indicated the buildings to their right; two additional, large edifices. “The bigger of those two barns will be my sister Callie’s once it’s finished, and the smaller one is where my Mom will eventually live.”

Moira grunted, but not unhappily. “A family compound.”

“That’s right. We’ve dreamed about it for a while,” he answered. “But with my mother getting older, Callie, who’s an architect, prodded us all last year into agreeing it was time to take the plunge. She had us diving in on this place the minute it came on the market.”

Moira nodded. He couldn’t tell what her thoughts were, but the silence that ensued was companionable, so Welker continued his spin.

“There are three more, smaller sheds on the land that can be salvaged. One that my mother has claimed as her henhouse, another that will become a toolshed, and the final structure will be renovated into a pottery studio for my sister’s wife.” Welker threw that last bit out there to see if Moira would have a problem with a same-sex marriage, but the woman’s face didn’t change a single bit.

He’d take that as a positive.

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