Page 1 of Summer Storm
Chapter 1
The cart before the horse
Aaron
“…can throw the timing off…” I pause as I catch a glimpse of Jolie, the office manager and sister to our newest mechanic, rushing through one of the open bay doors and heading straight for her twin, Jorie, who’s working two bays over.
I pull my head out from beneath the hood of the F150 like a wolf sniffing fresh prey. Ben, one of the cameramen, laughs as my stomach growls. I inhale. The delicious aroma of flame-broiled burgers and greasy fries overlays the normal odors always present in the busy garage. Man, am I hungry.
“Lunch!” Jorie shouts as she and Jolie scurry through the inner door leading to the breakroom, giggling their butts off.
Uh-oh. What now? Those two are always up to something. I’m gonna keep my mouth shut because the last time I poked fun at them, all my coveralls wound up smelling like old lady perfume for a damned week, no matter how many times I washed them. I finally had to soak them in vinegar to remove the odor. Shuddering, I still owe them for that one.
Granted, I started the practical joke war when Jorie first moved here a few months ago, but damn, these girls are diabolical when it comes to getting even or upping the stakes.
“We better get in there before the food gets cold, or your brother and the girls eat it all.” Manny comes over, followed by the other cameraman named Zeke. He’s not wrong.
“You guys go ahead; I’ll lock up the shop and be right in. Do. Not. Eat. My fries.” I warn them as they take off for the breakroom, teasing about snoozing and losing.
They’re good guys. I met Manny at a rodeo in Billings, of all places, a few years ago. When I discovered he was looking for a garage to mechanic at in the off-season, I invited him northto Wintervale. He’s been with Curtis Garage for a while now, working full-time and rodeoing as a part-time gig. Seems like being a mechanic is steadier work and a lot less dangerous. Even though he’s a couple of years younger, we’ve bonded over our love of V8 engines, and he’s become my best friend.
Ben and Zeke are pretty decent, too. It’s the third member of the camera crew filming the pilot for the Wheels Network, Amber, the production manager, who’s the pain in the ass. The woman is always in the way and trying to up the drama. She’s also recently divorced and embracing the cougar life, as she calls it. The damned woman doesn’t seem to understand the words ‘no thank you’. I shudder as I remember her last proposition. Thank God, she’s in Las Vegas for meetings this week.
Pushing the button to lower the bay door, I make sure the side door lock is engaged and flip the gone-to-lunch sign, letting customers know we’ll be opening back up again in an hour. I hurry into the breakroom after a quick stop at the bathroom to wash my hands and skid to a halt. My food and drink are on the table, but there’s no one in sight.
It’s a nice day, so I bet everyone is out back at the picnic table. Grabbing my lunch, I head out the back door. Except they aren’t at the table either. They’re at the back of the lot, sitting on the roof of a couple of salvage vehicles waiting for pick up from Glen’s Salvage out of Missoula. The sound of gravel crunching beneath my boots is loud, but not one of them turns toward me as I trudge up behind them.
Every muscle in my body clenches when I finally discover what has them all engrossed in the training field behind the policestation next door. I watch in horrified fascination as a man dressed in a rugged but puffy jacket and pants set is running full-out midway across the field away from the group gathered at the back of the police station.
“Police K9! Stop or the dog will be released!” A lilting voice laced with steely authority issues the warning. My eyes jump from the running man back to the group. At first glance, the petite woman is easy to overlook. Utilitarian cargo pants and a vest, along with a ball hat and wraparound sunglasses, help her blend right in with the wall of law enforcement personnel gathered behind her.
Fascinated both by the scene and the woman, I strain to hear what she says to one of the three dogs lined up beside her as she unclips the leash of the closest one to her. She gives the dog a command, and it’s off, racing across the field in a streak of fluid vicious beauty, giving chase.
In a matter of seconds, the dog reaches the man, striking his target like a missile. Both man and dog spin from the force of the impact, and they both go down. The dog comes out on top with the man struggling beneath.
“Holy fuck.” My muttered curse is buried beneath the gasps and exclamations of the rest of the onlookers.
The woman jogs across the field, her shiny ponytail swinging. Her compact body and motions are just as graceful as the animal before her, even though her pace is slower. A second man dressed similarly to the one being pinned down rushes upbehind the woman. He roughly grasps her in his arms, covering her mouth as he lifts her feet from the ground.
Instinctually, I step forward to intervene as he begins hauling her toward the other side of the lot. The woman’s shout is muffled, but it doesn’t matter. The second dog, who’s watching the whole scene play out, rushes forward in the same fluid manner, leash trailing behind. It reaches them in seconds and sinks its teeth into the thigh of the attacker.
I hold my breath. The man’s attention is divided between dog and woman as she fights to get free. The man shoves the woman away. The dog leaps back and then forward, continuing to attack. The woman tucks and rolls across the ground before leaping back to her feet unharmed. The dogs have done their jobs, both men are on the ground with the dogs snarling in their faces.
“Release!” the woman commands. Both dogs instantly relax, and just like that, the demonstration is over. Both men groan, and Jorie and Jolie cheer. The woman turns, seeing her new audience. She grins and waves before turning back to give the dogs praise and toss a couple of rope balls farther up field. The dogs give chase again, only this time it’s not aggressive. It’s easy to see they’re ready to play.
I’ll admit, the lunch I was so hungry for moments before hangs forgotten in my hands. I’m having a hard time tearing my gaze away, and I honestly couldn’t tell you if it’s from the dogs or the woman.
“Aw, look. This one wants to visit.” The ridiculous baby voice Jolie uses does the trick. I finally look away and focus on the dog wagging its tail as it ambles toward us. The woman says something to the men, and then the three of them follow. The dog gets sidetracked, taking a bit to sniff and then repeatedly lifts his leg to water the tires and tufts of grass.
As the trio nears, Jorie scrambles off the roof of the car. “Oh, my gosh, Canis Major! I recognize the logo on your hat; you’re our new neighbor!”
The woman’s teeth flash as her full lips stretch into a stunning smile. She reaches her right hand over the chain link fence to shake hands with Jorie while removing her dark glasses with her left.
My heart skips then thrums an erratic beat within the cavity of my chest, sending butterflies flittering into my belly as her startled gaze clashes with my own.
I’ve seen those eyes before. Moreover, she recognizes me, too.
“Don’t close your eyes, Elle. I need to see you’re pleasure.”
