No Perfect Hero(8)

It’s a pretty car, that’s for sure.

Well-loved, but someone’s been putting used parts in it and while that’ll keep it going for a while, they’ll break down faster.

Looks like she’s got a busted carburetor, but I might be able to work up a temporary fix that’ll last her another hundred miles or so. Long enough to get her to a bigger city with a chain or a custom shop that carries Mustang parts.

It doesn’t take me long to root around and realize she’s got a stuck float valve.

A little shake, a little tap, and it comes loose.

It’s just going to get stuck again – once a carburetor starts going downhill, it goes fast – but she’ll be all right for another day or two of driving. Just have to make sure she knows to get it replaced in the next city she hits, whenever she hauls ass out of here – and out of my life – in the morning.

“Hey now, War,” a familiar voice says from the doorway. “Keep right at it, and you’re going to put me out of a job.”

I roll myself from under the car, picking up a rag and swiping at the grease on my fingers.

Stewart Saxbe stands in the open garage, leaning one shoulder against the frame with an easy smile, his brown eyes glittering and his mechanic’s fatigues straining against his blocky, muscular frame.

He’s like me, ex-military, and can’t let go of those old habits that say stay in shape and combat-ready at all times. We weren’t deployed on the same team, even if we shared the same base camp many times, but you might say we served together in Afghanistan.

Jenna got to work alongside Stew and a few others I’d trust with my life.

Or hers.

But Jenna was the one who didn’t come back.

No time to let myself linger on those memories, though.

I offer Stewart a smile as I stand, reaching out to clasp his hand firmly. “Just taking care of a nuisance. Nosy neighbor who’ll be gone as soon as her car’s fixed.”

“I heard. Flynn gave me the rundown.” He lifts his brows. “Figured I’d come take a look on the way home. What’s wrong with it? Sweet lookin' ride.”

“Bad carburetor.” I shrug, leaning my hip against one of the work tables. “I popped the float valve loose. It’ll hold till she can get it done up right.”

He gives the car a measuring look, then pops the hood and leans in to peer. “Looks all right,” he says, reaching a hand in and fiddling around. “Hm, the choke needs adjusting, too. You sure you want to send her on her way with this?”

“Not much choice,” I say.

I can’t really tell Stewart the real reason I want her gone quickly. I can’t tell anyone.

I trust him more than anything, but he’s friendly with everyone, and he might let something slip. News travels too easy in a small town, and it's too easy for it to reach somebody connected to Dennis Bress. “I doubt you stock a carburetor for this particular model of Ford. Unless you just happen to have one on hand?”

“Nah, but I could get a custom order in a few days. Fix her up good as new. Then she won’t have to worry about breaking down before she gets somewhere safe.”

I grimace. A few days.

He’s right, and I can’t think of any reason to argue that wouldn’t draw suspicion and make him wonder why I’m so adamant about getting this girl out of here. “Won’t that be expensive, for a classic like this?”

“That’s what eBay’s for.” Chuckling, he pats the hood, straightening and giving the car an appreciative once-over. “Besides, having a pretty girl like that around? Should keep you plenty busy while you're back in town – and that’s just what you need.”

It’s exactly what I don’t need.

And exactly what I’m afraid of.

Too bad I’m out of excuses, for now. I’ll take it.

It’s not like my stay in Heart’s Edge is finite. I have time. I can wait until Haley West and that adorable kid – her daughter, I'm guessing, the young lady who isn’t a munchkin – get their need for a little rustic mountain life out of their system after a few days and head on down the road.

Dennis Bress isn’t going anywhere.

Neither am I.

Not until I get what I’m after.

Stewart gives me a long look, measuring, knowing. He's a good friend, always seems to know what’s on my mind, even when I don’t say anything – or maybe because I’m not saying anything.

Thoughtful, quiet, he leans against the driver’s side of the Mustang and folds his arms over his chest, studying me.

“You’re not upset about the girl,” he says softly. “It's something else eating you, isn't it? And if I know you as well as I think I do, War, it’s the same something you’ve been upset about for thirteen years.”

I tense, looking away, grinding my teeth. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“No, you never do. Listen, Warren...” He sighs. “I thought maybe you’d come back to Heart’s Edge to get some closure, but you’re still as raw-edged as a razor, ready to cut shit to pieces. Why are you really here?”

“It’s home. Don’t think I ever need an excuse to come home.”

“If it was home,” he points out quietly, “you wouldn’t be paying to stay in a room.”