The Country Duet(10)
I walk back to the living room where Dave is already dozing off. “Hey, Dave.”
He looks up to me through groggy, heavy-lidded eyes.
“Um, not sure how to ask this, but what happens when you need help and can’t get to a phone?” My throat tightens, bringing up such a sensitive subject.
“The mail lady knows if my mail isn’t picked up to call the police.”
“How do you get your mail?”
“My fucking truck,” he growls, done for the day.
The man has it all figured out. I massage the back of my neck and turn to leave, feeling a bit better knowing he has a backup plan. No matter how cruel and set in his ways the man is, I’d hate to know he might die one day without anyone knowing.
Chapter 4
Hunter
“Talk low, talk slow, and don't talk too much.” –John Wayne
“Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be there, Frank.”
“Thanks, Hunter.”
I end the call and toss the phone on my dash. There was no way in hell I was going to explain to another man that I needed to go home to shower and change into clean clothes to go work at a damn mechanic shop to help with engine work.
Shit, I’ve apologized to my truck at least twenty times driving down the rocky, dirt road back to town. I hate working at Dave’s; it’s downright miserable, but I keep going back. I kept the information on the down low while home on Thanksgiving break, even though my mom was like a hound dog wanting details about Dave and the job at Frank’s. Let’s just say she got lots of information about Frank’s.
Dave did finally pay me for work, and it did come with a speech about how it was too much money. My job has morphed from the tedious and worthless time out on the farm to taking care of him. His trash no longer overflows and his piss bottles are cleaned out more often. It doesn’t matter if I was going to pull a calf right now, I’d still go home and shower after work at Dave’s.
Showered and in clean work clothes to just get dirty again, I rip open the door of the shop and tumble into another body. A loud oomph escapes the body I crashed into, then a flash of the perfect hue of auburn invades my vision.
Teale jolts backward, flying to the floor with her arms and legs flailing for something to latch on to. I move fast, looping one arm around her waist, catching her right before she crashes into the concrete floor. I pull her up quickly, her arms looping around my neck while her feet scramble to meet the floor. Before they grace the unforgiving floor, the tip of her Chucks connects with my balls.
“Shit!” I hunch over, making sure she’s on her feet before I do and moan out in misery.
She squeaks, barely breaking through my pain-induced fog.
“Hunter, so sorry.” She bends down, peering up in my face. “Was it your tally whacker?”
I shake my head side-to-side, still unable to talk.
“The begonias?” She cringes, asking the question.
This time I nod and somehow chuckle.
“Oh, shit, not the begonias. Want an ice pack or something?” Her voice is growing frantic.
I stand up slowly, still cupping the family jewels. “No, I’ll be fine.”
“Sorry, but it was kind of your fault for busting in here like your ass was on fire.” She twirls a strand of hair around her finger.
This girl makes me smile. Our paths haven’t crossed much with my school and work schedule, but when they do, I’m always finding myself happy.
“That hair twirling thing won’t work on me, Darlin’. Watch where you’re going.” I stride past her.
“If you watched where you were going and weren’t swinging your tally whacker out in the open, you wouldn’t have aching baguettes right now.”
I freeze in place and turn to her. “You know what, Teale?”
She throws a hand on her hip and sasses right back. “What?”
“I’ll take that ice pack.”
She arches an eyebrow, knowing there’s more coming her way.
“To cool down that hot head of yours,” I say.
She huffs then walks out the door, slamming it behind her. I grin when she turns her head, letting her wild curls fly in the chilly air, just to see if I’m watching her. And I’m looking at her until she climbs into her car and speeds off like the Jeff Gordon she is. Any man with a pumping heart would’ve stared at that beautiful ass. It’s a given.
“What do we have going on here?” I ask, walking into the shop.
There’s car parts scattered everywhere surrounding a Dodge Ram truck. It’s a 1999 and known to be full of problems. I didn’t realize how damn tired and hungry I was until the mess in front of me stares right back at me.
Frank tosses down a grease rag, then wipes his brow with the back of his arm. “Towed this piece of shit in this morning. Some passerby broke down out on the highway. Have all the parts to fix it, but need an extra pair of hands.”
I waste no time rolling up my sleeves and working next to Frank. Hours pass by before the truck is put back together. The level of exhaustion right now out powers my need for food. Thank God, I don’t need to study for my test in English tomorrow. I’ve always been able to knock out an essay without blinking. Dad always told me it was because of my art of bullshitting.
“Night, Frank.” I write down my hours and walk into the office.