Page 5 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
After we hang up, I settle into the drive, watching the world transform around me. The road climbs steadily, hugging the contours of the mountains.
Maybe Wyoming is exactly what I need. Space to breathe. Time to heal. Distance from the humiliation of being cheated on by my fucking boyfriend with my fucking boss. Ex-boss that is. I’m sure Daniel will tell her when he reads my note. At least there won’t be any question about why I didn’t come back from lunch today. Or why I won’t be returning ever again.
The Mustang starts to lose momentum as we climb higher, the engine working harder than usual. I downshift, giving her more gas on the steeper sections. A strange clicking sound starts coming from under the hood, but I ignore it. The old girl makes noises sometimes; it's part of her charm.
But when the clicking turns into a persistent knocking, followed by an ominous plume of steam from the edges of the hood, my stomach drops.
"No, no, no," I mutter, easing off the gas. "Not now, Poppy, please not now."
The knocking gets louder, and the car jerks beneath me. I pull over onto the narrow shoulder, hazard lights blinking as traffic moves past us. When I pop the hood, a cloud of steam billows out, obscuring my view. I step back, coughing, waiting for it to clear.
I know enough about cars to recognize this isn't a quick fix. Something major has gone wrong—head gasket, maybe, or worse. Shit… who do I call? Not Daniel. Never again Daniel.
A road sign fifty yards in front of me catches my eye: "Flounder Ridge - 2 miles." A town, at least. Somewhere to get help.
I close the hood and climb back into the driver's seat, praying she has one last push in her. "Just a little more," I coax, turning the key. The engine protests but catches, sputtering and wheezing.
The "Welcome to Flounder Ridge" sign is small and weather-beaten, the paint flaking at the edges. Population 847, elevation 6,800 feet. I ease the car past it, the engine now making sounds I've never heard before—grinding and sputtering.
Up ahead I see brick buildings that look like they've been here since the gold rush. My eyes scan desperately for anything that resembles a gas station or a mechanic. Relief washes over me when I spot "Jed's Auto Repair" at the far end of the street.
I continue to drive, wincing with each new noise. Poppy gives one final shudder as I pull into the gravel lot, then I turn off the ignition. Steam rises from under the hood like a final exhale.
A man emerges from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag tucked into his belt. He's older, maybe late fifties, with deep creases around his eyes and a cigarette dangling from his lips. His blue coveralls are stained with grease and oil.
"Sounds like you got yourself a problem there," he says, nodding at my car. His voice is gruff but not unkind.
"You could say that." I step out, running a hand through my tangled hair. "I was heading to Wyoming when she started making these awful sounds. I barely made it here."
He approaches the Mustang, eyes lighting up with interest. "Sixty-seven?"
I nod. "My grandfather's. He left it to me when he died."
"Beautiful car." He taps the cigarette, ash falling to the gravel. "Don't see many of these anymore. I'm Jed, by the way. This is my place."
"Skye," I offer, extending my hand. His grip is firm, his palm calloused. "Any chance you can take a look at it?"
Jed circles the car, assessing it with an expert's eye. "Pop the hood for me?"
I reach through the window and pull the hood release. Jed props it open, peering into the engine compartment. He makes small humming sounds as he checks various components, occasionally poking or prodding something I can't see.
"When's the last time you had the cooling system flushed?" he asks.
I bite my lip. "I... don't know. My boyfriend—" I catch myself. "My ex-boyfriend usually handled the maintenance for me."
Jed raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything. "Well, someone hasn't been taking proper care of this beauty. Looks like you've got a blown head gasket at minimum. Might be more damage I can't see yet."
My heart sinks. "How bad is that?"
"On a scale of one to 'you're not driving to Wyoming today'?" He gives me a sympathetic look. "You're definitely not driving to Wyoming today."
I close my eyes, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline that's been keeping me going since I saw Daniel and Alicia together drains away. "How long to fix it?"
"Can't say for sure until I get a better look. Why don't you head over to Rose's Diner while I check it out properly? Get yourself something to eat. You look like you could use it."
He's not wrong. I could definitely use something other than a protein bar to eat.
"It’s just up that way," Jed continues, pointing. "Can't miss it. Only place in town with a neon coffee cup in the window."
