Spark (MacKenny Brothers Series Book 1) Page 3

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  “My name’s John.”

  “Eric,” I say automatically.

  “Thanks for helping me pick them up, Eric. You have a good day.”

  He gives me another quizzical look, then continues on his way. I watch him walk out of sight, and he doesn’t look back. Shrugging, I head for the reception desk, paying more attention to my surroundings.

  “May I help you?” asks an older woman from behind the desk.

  “I’m looking for a friend, Mr. Lake.”

  “First name?” she asks.

  “I don’t know.”

  She sits back and assesses me. “He’s your friend, but you don’t know his first name?”

  “I’m working on his car. My boss is about to have it towed to a wrecking yard. I was hoping to talk to Mr. Lake and see if I could drop it off at his home…” I pause, searching for the right words. “I’m trying to do something nice here,” I say as an explanation and smile at her convincingly.

  She looks at me shrewdly for a good ten seconds before she starts hitting the keyboard to find Mr. Lake.

  “He’s on the fifth floor, room 503. The elevators are behind me to the left.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  She gives me the barest of smiles before she looks behind me to the next person.

  I follow her directions and find Mr. Lake sitting up in bed glaring at a nurse while she speaks to him. He’s hooked up to machines, and from the expression on his face, he’s not happy. Mr. Lake’s still an ornery old fucker.

  He waits for her to finish, then he says, “I’m not a child. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself.”

  The nurse smiles sweetly at him and replies, “If that were the truth, Mr. Lake, you wouldn’t be here now, would you?”

  She turns on her pretty little heels and walks from the room, smiling broadly at me. I look at Mr. Lake, and his face is so red, I think he’s ready to have another heart attack or a stroke.

  “Hey, Mr. Lake. How are you feeling?” I ask.

  “Suddenly, everyone thinks I’m incapable of looking after myself. I’m frustrated, the food stinks, and I want to go home. But does anybody care what I want? No.” His outburst causes me to laugh.

  I pull out a chair and sit down next to his bed. “Do you remember me?”

  “I had a heart attack. I didn’t lose any of my mental capabilities.”

  “Or your kind way of speaking, I see.”

  The old man squints his eyes at me and throws his hands in the air with frustration. “I apologize, it’s been a bad few days.” Although he’s saying the right words, I can tell by his demeanor he’s had enough of everything.

  “You did suffer a major medical event.”

  Mr. Lake scoffs and looks at the ceiling. “I’m aware of that.”

  Laughter rumbles up out of my chest, and the old guy looks at me. “Sorry, but having a heart attack is a serious, and it can lead to memory loss. Clearly, this isn’t the case with you.”

  “Not that I don’t appreciate the visit, Eric, but what can I do for you?”

  I like his directness—to the point, no small talk, no fuss.

  “The owner of the garage, Theo, would like it if we moved your car. I’ll still work on it. In fact, I have a buddy looking into getting me some parts, cheap, but we need to move it.”

  He frowns at me. “I thought you said it would be fine at the garage.”

  “Things change. Is there room at your home? Do you have a garage or work shed? Something big enough for me to work on it?” I have no intention of explaining to Mr. Lake about my boss, Theo, and how he is a money-hungry asshole who is only looking out for himself.

  “I have a barn. It’s big enough. You sure you don’t mind working on it?”

  “Nope. It’ll be a pleasant distraction on my days off and after work if I don’t have anything going on.”

  “You don’t have a wife, a girlfriend or a… partner?” asks Mr. Lake.

  His subtle attempt to find out my sexual preference makes me laugh louder than before, and soon he joins in too.

  “No, Mr. Lake, I don’t have a wife or a girlfriend. Too busy with work,” I say, grinning at him.

  “Let me get this straight. You’re good-looking, single, you have a job, and no female in this tiny town is interested in you? You sure you’re not gay?”

  More laughter erupts from me. “No, sir, I’m not gay. My life is complicated. I don’t think it’d be fair to bring a woman into it.”

  He eyes me suspiciously, frowns, and says, “Okay. Do you know the big red barn out by Little Creek Road?” I nod. “It’s my place. You can put it in the barn and work on it from there if you like. But I still want to pay you.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Mr. Lake. We’ll work something out.”

  “Yes, we will. My granddaughter, Cherie, is out there from time-to-time feeding my animals, but the barn is never locked. Help yourself to it.”

  I stand, extend my hand to him, and he grasps mine in his. There’s strength still in those old bones. “Sounds like a plan. How long are they keeping you?”

  “I’m sure they are trying to wring me for every last dollar I have. I don’t know. The goddammed doctor wants to keep me in for further observation, so until he gives me the all-clear, I’m stuck.”

  I chuckle. “I’m sure it’s for the best.”

  “Pfft… bloodsuckers!” I grin at him, shake my head, and walk toward the door. “Wait!” I turn around and raise an eyebrow at him. “Could you muck out the horses and check on my chickens while you’re out there… please?”

  Mr. Lake looks uncomfortable. He’s avoiding eye-contact. It must be hard to suddenly have to ask for help as pride often gets in the way.

  “I can do that, but you’ll owe me.”

  “Son, there’s only so much I can afford,” he admits, and all the fire goes out of him.

  “I like eggs, do your chickens lay?”

  “Yes,” he says, looking at me once more.

  “Good. Is it cool if I take some eggs every now and then?”

  “Absolutely! Best eggs in the county,” Mr. Lake says proudly.

  “Okay, and when you get out of here, I’m thinking you can make me lunch on Sundays.”

  His fire comes back. “Won’t be a roast every Sunday, you know.”

  “I didn’t ask for a roast. I asked for lunch, don’t care what it is, so long as I don’t have to cook or prepare it. Fair?”

  The old guy smiles at me and nods. I nod back and walk out of the room. As I pass the nurses station, I stop and talk to the nurse who was in his room.

  “He doing okay?” I ask, gesturing toward Mr. Lake’s room.

  “He’ll be fine. This was a wake-up call. He can’t be looking after his farm and doing all the things a much younger man should be doing. Mr. Lake needs to learn how to slow down,” says the nurse.

  I nod, purse my lips, and head toward the exit. How does an old man with only a granddaughter slow down? It’s obvious he doesn’t have a lot of money, and this hospital stay will probably break the bank if he doesn’t have health insurance.

  Eric

  A week later, and I’m in Mr. Lakes’ barn under the Mustang. The old man is still in the hospital, which makes me think there’s more wrong with him than he’ll admit. His chickens produce more eggs than any one person could possibly eat, so I bought an old wooden desk and made a roof to go over it with a sign saying, ‘Eggs for Sale, Two Dollars a Dozen.’

  I placed it at his front gate, left some eggs out, and I check on it every afternoon. The eggs sell, and so far, the honor system appears to be working. I don’t know what one old guy was doing with all those eggs, but at least now, he’s making some money.

  Today is Sunday, and the heat finally feels like it’s breaking. There’s a cool breeze, and I’m working in my overalls with a white T-shirt underneath. I have Metallica blaring on the portable stereo and am singing ‘Enter Sandman’ at top o
f my lungs.

  The parts from the U.S. Marshal turned up in the shape of a whole goddamn car. It feels criminal to strip it, but I can’t give the old guy a mint Mustang. He’d know I was into something shady. So, I’ve been taking what I need and fitting it to his car.

  I’m engrossed in my work, singing, when someone kicks my boot.

  “Hello?” I yell out.

  I look to my left, and I see tan boots with pink fancy-work on them, walking away, then my music stops.

  “Hello?” I repeat.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  Whoever she is, she’s pissed. She’s even tapping one foot. I roll out and look up at the cutest female I’ve seen in a while, and she’s all kinds of angry. Her foot is still tapping, hands on her hips, and she’s looking down at me with a serious amount of attitude on her face. My eyes travel up her body from her boots to her short skirt, to the way-too-tight tank top, and finally, I lock eyes with her.

  “You first,” I say with a grin.

  “I beg your pardon?” she asks, shaking her head at me causing her ponytail to move from side to side.

  “Who are you?” I ask teasingly.

  “No, no, and hell no! This is my granddaddy’s place. Who the hell are you?”

  “Oh, so you’re Cherie.” I stand and extend my hand.

  She looks me up and down, hands still on hips. “How do you know my name?”

  I grin at her. “Your grandfather told me about you. Said you’d be here from time to time feeding animals and stuff. I’ve been coming out every day and haven’t seen you once.”

  “So, you’re the one who’s been feeding the animals?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m not a country boy, so I hope I’ve been doing okay. So far, they haven’t complained,” I reply with a wolfish grin.

  “You. Still. Haven’t. Told. Me. Your. Name.” Cherie pauses between each word, exasperation evident in her tone.

  I extend my hand again. “Eric Hill, Mr. Lakes’ mechanic, and part-time ranch hand.”

  She grasps my hand and tries to squeeze it tightly. It’s cute as hell. To let her know I’m more than capable of handling her, I squeeze back, not with my full strength but enough to let her know I’m stronger. Cherie gasps, and I release her. I like the sound, and I’m wondering what noises she’d make, naked and underneath me.

  “How did my granddaddy convince you to do all this?”

  “He dropped the Mustang off to get fixed, and that was where he had his heart attack.” Cherie nods. “The owner of the garage wouldn’t let me keep working on the ‘stang there. So, your granddad suggested I work on it out here and wrangled me into looking after a few things.”

  “So, it was you who put up the stall out front?”

  “Yes, ma’am. He told me I could have the eggs, but there are too many for one person, so I take what I need and sell the rest.”

  Her face clouds over. She looks me up and down and not in a good way.

  “Oh, really? So, you thought you’d rip off a sick old man, did you?”

  It’s my turn to place my hands on my hips. I’m a good foot taller than her, and I lean over. “Lady, I don’t know what male turned you into such a distrustful piece of work, but I don’t operate that way. Mr. Lake asked me to help out. You think on my days off, and after work, I want to be taking care of animals and working on a car to be paid in eggs? The money for the eggs is in the jar behind you on the shelf. Have a nice fucking day,” I reply icily as I stalk away.

  Too much trouble.

  She’s been burned and good.

  I don’t need the aggravation or stress. What was I thinking getting involved with the old guy? He’s going to be another person I disappear from when my time here is up.

  I’m so angry I don’t realize she’s talking to me until I get to my bike, and she grabs my arm. I whirl on her, and she stumbles backward.

  “I’m sorry. I knew someone was feeding and looking out for the animals, I didn’t know who. I misjudged you, and I shouldn’t have. You’re right, I’ve been screwed over in the past, and it colors the way I look at the world, but I shouldn’t have been so quick to label you.” Her face is flushed, and she’s talking quickly. She looks upset, and my instinct is to make her feel better.

  I run a hand through my hair and look up at the sky. “I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I’m out of practice with… women. Actually, people in general.” I look down, her pretty little mouth is slightly open, and she looks surprised. “What?”

  “You’re out of practice with women? You?” Cherie asks. A blush creeps up her throat and colors her face.

  I grin at her and nod. “Yeah, I don’t know too many people here apart from the guys I work with, but I don’t socialize with them.”

  “How long have you lived in Breckenridge?”

  “Three years.”

  “You’ve lived here three years, and you don’t have any friends? Male or female?” she asks disbelievingly.

  I unzip my overalls to the waist and strip off the top part of them, revealing my white T-shirt and arms. Cherie’s face goes a deeper red, and she looks quickly away.

  “I don’t socialize. I guess I like the quiet life,” I say as I grin at her.

  “That’s umm… weird for someone like you,” she replies.

  “Someone like me? As in a mechanic slash ranch hand?” I ask cheekily.

  Cherie looks up at me. “No, as in single and hot—”

  “You think I’m hot?” I ask as I lean against my bike.

  “I have to go. Nice meeting you. Thank you for looking after Granddaddy’s farm and for selling the eggs.” She turns around, stumbles, and walks quickly toward the barn.

  I sit on my bike watching her ass in the mini skirt as she hurries away from me. It’s been a while since a woman has caught my attention. This one seems like too much trouble, but my dick thinks differently as it twitches in its confines. It’s nice to know she thinks I’m hot.

  I start the bike, ride up to the barn, honk my horn, and do a two-fingered wave at her.

  Cherie waves frantically at me, so I stop.

  She comes running over. “Do you eat pizza and drink beer?”

  “I’ve been known to try them on occasion.”

  “Well, as a thank you for looking after things, would you like to meet at The Roadhouse on the outskirts of town at say seven-ish?”

  “Pizza and beer?”

  Cherie places one hand on her hip, squares her shoulders, and says, “Yeah, and you can buy the beer.”

  I laugh at her, and her eyes go to my throat. “Sounds good. Want me to pick you up?”

  Slowly, she drags her eyes up to meet mine. “No, I think I need to have my own way of getting home.”

  I wink at her. “Hmm, okay. See you then.”

  I ride out of the farm feeling happier than I have in years. On the way out, I pass an old truck which must be hers, and I wonder if it’s been serviced in a while. Much like the Mustang, it needs a bit of tender loving care. Come to think of it, maybe it’s what we all need.

  Cherie

  Could I have made a bigger dork of myself than the way I acted with Eric? The man is a walking advertisement for sex. He must be six foot six with shoulder-length dark hair that you could hang onto while having the ride of your life. And those arms.

  He’s everything I like in a man. Which means he’s wrong.

  Granddaddy said I have the worst taste in men, and he’s right.

  The last one said he loved me, and I believed him, even when he said there were no jobs available, and I supported him for six very long months. I came home early one night from my waitressing job to find him having sex with my best friend.

  Can you believe it?

  I can’t even choose my friends properly, and it made no sense. Tracey and I had been friends since before school. I would never have done anything so horrible to her. I followed her to Nashville while she chased her dreams of making it big as a country singer. I loved her, I help
ed her, and she betrayed me.

  Not that I should be surprised. Most of the men I’ve dated over the years have been losers. I read somewhere once that we subconsciously date our fathers. Mine was a loser who either stole or lied his way through life. Dad ended up dead with a needle sticking out of his arm. My mother was only interested in his stuff so she could sell it and move out of town. I was fifteen. Tracey helped me through all of it, and her betrayal cut me to the core.

  After I found Tracey and my ex together, I moved back home. The home I never wanted to come back to. Too many bad memories of useless parents. I truly believe some people should have to get a license to have a child. If it weren’t for my grandfather, I wouldn’t have come back, but then I wouldn’t have had somewhere to run to. Don’t misunderstand me, he’s a lovable old, cranky pants, but he’s not getting any younger, and he won’t listen to me. I want him to sell the farm and buy something a little closer to town, maybe in a retirement village?

  Granddaddy will have no part in it. Says when he dies, it’ll be on his own two feet on the land he loves. I think the land he loves is plotting to kill him. He told me I will get everything when he’s gone, which includes all the back taxes he owes. I’ll have to sell everything to pay for them.

  Sighing, I run a hand through my hair. I’ve taken it out of the ponytail, washed it, and lightly dried it. It’s a little too long right now, falling below my shoulder blades. When I work, it either has to be up or in a hair net. The hair net makes me feel old. I’m only twenty-two. I feel like my bones are stretched thin, and my skin is pulled tight, giving me a grotesque appearance when I wear that thing. So, I try to wear my hair down as much as possible away from work. I have to wear flats when I’m working, but my feet still ache at the end of my shift. I don’t want to be a waitress forever. I like looking after people and always wanted to go into social work. Granddaddy says it’s my bleeding heart, maybe. I like to think if I survived my childhood, I could help others in a similar situation, perhaps help them find their way to the right path.

  I don’t wear a lot of makeup, but tonight I go to extra lengths to make myself look good. I have on a neutral shade of eyeshadow which makes my eyes pop. I’ve curled my lashes, and I’ve applied a nice, thick layer of mascara to make them look fuller than they are along with a little blush and bright red lipstick. As I appraise myself in the mirror and smile. I look great. It’s been ages since I’ve gone to this much trouble.