Page 1 of Mechanic Daddy's Girl
1
CALLIE
It happens with a sputter and a wheeze. Like the old girl drawing her last dying breath before heading to the great beyond. No bells, no whistles, just a screeching cry and the motor seizing up.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.” I slam my palms against the steering wheel, as if that’s going to give my car the kick it needs to start up again.
It doesn’t.
Great. Just great. I’m trapped in the middle of nowhere, a hundred miles from home, and fifty more from the beach. This was supposed to be my escape. A long weekend away from the constant rush of the city and Travis Richardson, my overly controlling boss.
Could this day suck any harder?
I get out of the car and pop the hood to diagnose the problem. But one look at the parts I didn’t know existed, now billowing smoke and steam, I know I’m out of my depth.
Cursing under my breath, I decide to walk. Nowhere in particular at first, just farther along the road in the coast’s direction. I can hike it, no problem, right? Momma didn’t raise a quitter.
Ten minutes of walking and I regret my decision. I left my water in the car, and there aren’t any trees to help hide me from the sun.
I’m not getting far. But maybe I don’t need to.
Out in the distance, amid layers of heat haze across barren, empty fields, small structures loom. Tiny black dots that don’t grow much the closer I get, like some long-forgotten civilization hiding in plain sight.
It’s better than nothing, I remind myself. At least this town, small as it may be, can offer something. If it weren’t here, I’d have nothing, waiting for my insurance company to send a driver, and God knows how long that would take.
Farther on, near an interstate sign, I get the town’s name: Meadowview. Next to it are a few scattered advertisement signs. Some for diners, others for gas stations, and they’re the last you’ll find for miles, so you’d better stock up. The only one I’m interested in is Boone’s Auto and Salvage.
I tap the faded number into my phone and pray that this isn’t a sign forgotten to time. It rings five times before a low, gravelly voice answers.
“What?” What a charmer.
“Excuse me?” I’m pissed off already. I don’t need a mechanic who doesn’t want to do his job making things worse.
“What do you need?” he says nonchalantly.
“No hello? How are you? How can I be of?—”
“Why waste time? You’ve got a problem; I’ve got a solution. Skip the bullshit and get on with it,” he cuts me off.
I’m not sure if I’m impressed or angrier than when we started.
There’s something to be said about how direct he is, the confidence laced through his rude tone. Hell, even while he’s being a total ass, I find myself intrigued by him. But maybe it stems from the fact that I could never be so forward at work. The customer is always right, and my seat is easy enough to fill if I ever forget it.
Then again, it could just be the lack of competition. Why bother with pleasantries when your clientele has nowhere else to go?
“My car broke down on Route Six. I need a tow, a ride, and a fix.” Deciding it’s best not to annoy him, I get to the point. I don’t want to hike the last few miles to Meadowview with no prospects when I get there.
“Got it.” He grunts, and I can hear movement through the receiver. “Stay put and don’t touch anything.”
He kills the call.
I take one last look at the town, as if staring at it’s going to unravel some kind of secret. When it doesn’t, I head back to my car. The interior is hotter than an oven when I get back, and I decide it’s best not to risk being cooked alive. Grabbing my water bottle and a bag of peanuts I brought for the ride, I drop to my ass in the shade it casts.
Twenty minutes and half a bag of peanuts later, a massive black tow truck comes barreling toward me. I do my best to get a lookat the man who was so rude on the phone, but tinted windows obscure him from view.
However, the mystery of who’s hidden inside doesn’t last long when his door swings open as soon as his truck comes to a stop next to mine.
He’s not at all what I was expecting. One look at him and it’s like my brain short-circuits, smashing my jaw into the tarmac and leaving me breathless. Tall, broad, with tattooed arms as thick as tree trunks on full display in his oil-stained tank top. Messy swept back salt-and-pepper curls match his trimmed but rugged beard. But the part of him that hooks me the longest is his steely gray eyes that stare straight back at me like he’s just won the jackpot.
