Page 8 of Tex's Angel

I jump out of my truck and notice my pretty neighbor seems to be having problems with her car. She’s got the hood up and is leaning over, staring at the engine. The thing is, she’s wearing those yoga pants that hug each ass cheek and a tight tank top. Her hair is thrown up into a cute messy bun. I force myself to walk by without saying anything because I refuse to get into the habit of white knighting for some woman who’s at least a decade younger than me. No sir, that’s just asking to be used.

Unfortunately, Clara has other ideas.

“Mr. Jones, do you have a minute.”

“I ain’t got time for y’all today, Miss Clara.”

“Please, I’ve got to do a home visit this evening.”

I snort a laugh. “Teachers round these parts don’t do home visits or else they’d be visitin’ my son on the regular.”

She comes closer to my hedgerow. “You’re right. It’s not an official home visit. It’s an informal one for a student with a bad home life. I promised to help her work on her college applications tonight.”

I shake my head at her. “Do you think every person with a pair of balls is automatically a mechanic?”

She smiles up at me, clearly trying to get on my good side. Her hands come up to land on her hips and she says, “No. I’m an intelligent person, who knows not all men are handy when itcomes to fixing cars. But I know you are, because I see you out here fixing your truck and motorcycle all the time. Come on, it’s for a good cause.”

I throw my head back and stare up at the clear blue sky. I tell myself that I’m not doing this favor for her. It’s for the kid with the bad home life who needs to get into college. “Fine, but if it needs parts, you’re gonna be the one paying for them.”

She claps her hands like a little girl, clearly delighted that I agreed to help her. Truth be told, it’s all kinds of cute. “Thank you so much.”

I jump the hedgerow in one gigantic leap and walk towards her car and take a look beneath the hood.

She leans over to see what I’m looking at. “What do you think is wrong with it?”

“It’s hard to tell by looking. Try to start it so I can hear what it sounds like when you turn it over.”

She quickly gets into her car and turns the ignition switch. After hearing the grinding sound, I know exactly what’s wrong. “Y’all need a new starter. For this make and model, it’s probably gonna cost y’all around eighty dollars down at the parts store. They might have it in stock. If not, they’ll have to order it.”

She looks concerned, “Um… Can you give me a ride to the parts store?”

I rake my fingers through my hair because having her looking up at me like I was her hero and being real sweet was making me feel some kind of way about her.

I shrug. “Sure. We can take my truck. Give me a second to let Levi know where I’m going.”

“I’ll grab my purse,” she says gleefully.

I walk off towards my truck, texting my son. Sometimes with him it’s easier than a face-to-face conversation. At least I know if he reads my words it sinks in, whereas if I talk it probably goes in one ear and out the other.

Me: I’m taking our neighbor down to the parts store and I’m going to put a new starter on her vehicle.

Levi: Turncoat. She called me a delinquent.

I don’t even respond to his comments about Clara.

Me: I’ll be back soon and make dinner for you. Try to stay out of trouble until then.

With that I shove my phone in my pocket and wait in my pickup for Clara.

Chapter 5

Clara

Iwalk up to my neighbor’s truck, it’s a really nice one, big and fancy. He’s got one of the lifts put on it, making it high enough off the ground that I feel like I’m mountain climbing to get in. He’s even got a ball hitch on the back. I’ve seen him hook up a trailer to it before to haul supplies to his house in.

He’s already told me that I’m gonna have to pay him for fixing my vehicle. That doesn’t particularly surprise me. My dad always said there are no free lunches in life. My dad probably would have fixed my car, only we’re not talking because he and my mom are pressuring the living daylights out of me to forgive my sister, so everything can go back to normal in my family. I’ve gone low contact with them because of that.

Finally, Mr. Jones slams his truck door and starts the engine. I’m discretely trying to figure out how much to offer him for the pending auto repair. When he doesn’t speak, I feel like I should make nice. “You have a really big truck,” I say, hoping he takes it as a compliment.

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