Doing It Over (Most Likely To #1)(9)

“I can’t afford a new car, Luke.”

He sighed. “That’s what I thought.”

“How much does a new engine cost?”

“These foreign cars usually run a good twenty-five hundred just for the engine.”

Melanie felt her eyes widen. “Dollars? Twenty-five hundred dollars?”

“See why I think you should find another used car?”

If she had twenty-five hundred bucks, she probably would. At least her decision was an easy one. She couldn’t afford the repair, so C-4 in a back field it was.

She reached into her purse and removed her wallet.

“What are you doing?” Luke asked.

“Paying for the tow and what you’ve done.”

Luke waved her off. “Your money isn’t any good here, Mel.”

“I can afford to pay for your time.”

“My time is cheap. Buy me a beer at R&B’s.”

She knew she wasn’t going to win, so she returned her wallet. “You’re on.”





CHAPTER THREE




It was well past noon when Melanie pulled Jo’s Jeep into the driveway of Miss Gina’s Bed-and-Breakfast. Like everything else in town, the footprint was the same. The shrubs had grown, a new tree planted here, a new rosebush there . . . the place could use a coat of paint and the gravel on the driveway was in need of a dusting of whatever it was they used to maintain it.

As Hope and Melanie walked up the stairs, she realized the place needed a bit more than paint. It wasn’t run down . . . not like the motels in Bakersfield, but it wasn’t exactly what Melanie remembered.

The bell on the door rang as she and Hope stepped inside. Like most B and Bs, the old Victorian was made up of small rooms, each of which served a purpose when the house was built at the turn of the twentieth century. To be fair, they served a purpose now . . . only one was a large dining area where a parlor once stood.

When she was a kid, Zoe would sometimes pick up a few hours of work with Miss Gina. Mainly in the kitchen on busy holidays and summer weekends. Jo would complain as she raked leaves in the fall, and Melanie would answer phones and occasionally make a bed or clean a floor. The three of them had enjoyed hanging with Miss Gina and her colorful mouth. The lady never treated any of them like they were kids. She treated them as equals. In a small town, that went a long way.

Before Melanie moved past the threshold, she knelt down to her daughter. “I’ve known Miss Gina for a very long time. She’s harmless, even though she uses bad words sometimes. Be polite.”

“Sometimes you use bad words.”

“Not like Miss Gina,” Melanie all but mumbled.

Hope sent her a look she’d seen in her own face more times than she’d care to admit. Disbelief manifested in a high brow and a cock of the head. Melanie would laugh if Hope’s subtle attitude wasn’t spot-on.

“C’mon.” She dragged her daughter toward the abandoned registration desk. “Miss Gina?” she called.

Silence.

Thud!

Melanie shrugged at her daughter and peered at the ceiling. “Miss Gina?” she called toward the stairs.

A larger thud and a distinctive crash had the two of them running.

They made it halfway up before Melanie heard the smoky voice of Miss Gina. “Son of a bitch!”

Before Melanie made it into one of the guest bathrooms, water sprayed toward the door, a puddle pooled at Miss Gina’s feet.

She held a broken pipe with both hands, unsuccessfully attempting to hold the water in. “Towel,” she yelled the second Melanie ducked her head into the room.

She grabbed one from the far rack and handed it over.

As Miss Gina scrambled to keep the spray from removing the wallpaper, Melanie dropped to her knees to find the shutoff valve for the vintage Elizabethan toilet.

“It’s at the top.” Miss Gina pointed with her chin.

Melanie switched direction, climbed on the commode, and found the crank.

By the time the water stopped trickling, Miss Gina dripped like a leaky faucet, Melanie felt as if she’d had a second shower for the day, and Hope stood in the doorway with wide eyes.

“Are the extra towels still in the hall closet?” Melanie asked.

“Damn pipe . . . I just knew this was going to happen.”

“Miss Gina, the floor? We gotta get this up or your reception area is going to need a new plaster job.”

Miss Gina was a tiny woman who smoked more than she ate, laughed often, and cussed like a sinner on Saturday.

“Yeah, yeah . . . hall closet.”

Depleted from the mess, Miss Gina slumped against the vintage tub while Melanie hustled from the room. She piled towels in Hope’s arms and filled her own.

Hope mimicked her to help mop up the mess.

On all fours, Melanie sloshed up one puddle before tossing the soaked towel into the tub.

Hope handed her towels as if she were the towel girl at the spa.

“This is awful,” Miss Gina started. “I finally have a fully booked week and now this.”

“I’m sure you can get someone out here to fix it.”

For the first time since Melanie walked into the fray, Miss Gina looked her in the eye.

With a pause and a cock of her head, she wiggled a finger in the air. “Melanie Bartlett? Is that you?”