Ice Princess

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

REBEL

If I leave this world, it will be in a shroud of pink. In a pink coffin. Beneath a pink tombstone, stained with the words ‘Rebel Hart, she was many things, but invisible wasn’t one of them’.

As I stalk into Carol Kinsey’s enormous barn, several heads swivel to look at me. Three ladies in particular glare at me, as if they’d want nothing more than to bury me in the pink casket of my dreams.

I smile tauntingly at Marjorie White, who scoffs and returns to her task of wrapping a row of rusty bleachers in dainty, white cloth.

Her two henchwomen barricade themselves on either side of the bleachers’ entrance. Time is against me or I might have considered running up to their human blockade, just to see what they’d do in response.

Continuing on my way, I ignore the whistles that erupt as I pass crew members doing last minute preparations on their monster trucks. The raucous calls are nothing but background noise.

Just then, I spot a frantic man huffing through the barn’s southern entrance. He’s wearing a T-shirt bearing the name ‘Scooby’s Nightmare Staff’. I take out my phone and double-check the email April forwarded to me.

Scooby’s Nightmare .

Yup. It’s my client—Rodney Howard.

The red-faced man stops in front of me, breathing hard enough that I wonder if he needs an inhaler.

“Are you the one from Pink Garage?” He stares pointedly at the pink over-alls covering my pure white undershirt. “Tell me it’s you.”

I like this guy already.

Normally, I’d have to introduce myself as the mechanic. And when I do, I’m either laughed out of the room or I’m forced to do an entire song and dance about why and how I’m qualified to fix a car.

“Yes, it’s me,” I say simply.

He starts fast-walking to the exits. “This way.”

I keep up with him, trying not to let the waves and waves of anxiety on his shoulders affect my own psyche. Whatever’s causing him to respond with this much desperation will only cloud my judgement.

Remain calm, Rebel.

As we move, I pull my hair into a high ponytail and secure it with a clip. “Did you call a welding team?”

“They just got here,” he explains.

“I’ll double-check their equipment before we get started. I don’t want us to run out of rods before the roll cage is secured. If everything’s set, we’ll begin welding. If not, I’ll have to ask you to find what we need.”

“Anything. Just let me know.” He rubs his head as if he has a terrible headache. “It’s our first out-of-state show and we had no idea about the adjusted roll cage dimensions. My assistant must have missed the email or…” He huffs out another breath. “Anyway, what matters is getting this done before the preliminaries in an hour. If we don’t, we’ll be disqualified.”

Once we’re outside of the main arena, he takes a sharp left to one of the outpost barns on the property.

The nearby trees applaud our brisk trot and offer a bit of shade from the blistering sunshine. The smell of freshly turned mulch fills my nose.

The Kinsey’s apple orchard is the biggest, and arguably, the most beautiful in all of Lucky Falls. During harvest time, the air is alive with the scent of ripe apples and during planting time, tractors rumble as they prepare the soil.

My history with the Kinsey family is bittersweet, but their apple orchard holds pleasant memories.

I see a pickup parked outside the outpost. The welding machine is still tucked in the bed. I shield my eyes with a hand, squinting past the sun’s glare in order to make out the model of the machine.

That’ll do. But why hasn’t it been unloaded?

I stalk ahead of the client and enter the outpost. There are five men standing around a bright green monster truck with the words ‘Scooby’s Nightmare’ emblazoned on the side in a graphic font.

Dazzled, I take a moment to admire the machine.

While some monster trucks are just rusty hubs with fancy paint slapped on them, Scooby’s Nightmare is a total beauty. The wheels are the size of tractor wheels and are so new, they carry the scent of rubber. The chassis is fabricated from scratch to match the suspension.

It’s clear the client spent a pretty penny on this masterpiece.

“Well, I’ll be. Rebel is that you?”

I turn to the voice and come face-to-face with Clifford Davoe, an old high school classmate.

“Cliff.” My eyebrows shoot up. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Girl, how have you been?”

I smile tightly as Clifford’s eyes drag up and down my body.

“Still the beauty of Lucky Falls, huh?” He gives me another, obvious once-over and then glances at his crew. “This girl had all the seniors eating out of her hand. Everyone was gunning to date the bell of Cornblue High.” Clifford ambles over, arms outstretched. “Come give me a hug, girl.”

I step back. “It’s good to see you, Cliff, but let’s save our catching up until after we get Scooby’s Nightmare up to scratch.”

The smile teeters on his face and he flashes me a look of annoyance.

Frankly, I don’t care. I’ve long out-grown being called ‘girl’ by men my own age. Besides, we’re here to get a job done, not to shoot the breeze.

“Let’s unload the machine,” I say, moving toward the truck. “How many lengths of the iron rod did you bring, Cliff?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m afraid there’s no salvaging this.” Cliff nods to the monster truck, his demeanor a tad cold.

Mr. Rodney gasps. “What do you mean? Can’t we adjust the roll cage to meet the competition standards?”

“Uh-uh.” Cliff shakes his head. “The cage is supposed to protect the driver if the vehicle turns over. It’s specific to the frame of your truck. You’ll need to order the part from the manufacturer.”

Mr. Rodney’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. “The manufacturer? Even if I got in touch with them today, it would take weeks to ship out. The competition starts in an hour. We don’t have time for that.”

“Cliff, the roll cage can be welded,” I speak up.

“Yeah.” Cliff crosses his hairy arms. “But to get the right specifications, it’ll take three months and way more materials than we have at the shop right now.”

Mr. Rodney staggers back.

I turn to the old man in concern. “Mr. Rodney, are you okay?”

“My son’s coming to the arena today,” he whispers, massaging his throat. “We’ve been estranged since his mother’s passing, but I reached out to him about the competition…”

My heart twists in my chest. I can practically feel how badly Mr. Rodney needs this.

“Forgive me. I’m rambling.” His chest caves in with a sad exhale. “Maybe this is a sign that he’s better off without me.”

My bottom lip trembles.

If my rolling stone of a father had cared half as much as Mr. Rodney, he wouldn’t have walked out on me and mom.

Mr. Rodney swallows hard. “If it can’t be helped, it can’t be helped. I’m sorry to waste everyone’s time.”

“No,” I say firmly.

Every eye darts my way.

Resolve surging in my heart, I motion to the monster truck, “I’ll work on the dimensions and find a design that’s both secure and safe for the driver.”

Cliff snorts.

I ignore him. “Mr. Rodney, I already suspected the roll cage would be difficult to build. That’s why I asked you to contact a welding team. I believe we can get this done by the preliminary judging.”

Mr. Rodney looks up at me with hope filling his dark brown eyes. “Is there anything I can do?”

“See if the organizers of the show can judge Scooby’s Nightmare last. If not, do your best to switch with someone later in the lineup. The more time we have, the better.”

“Great idea. I’ll make it happen.” Mr. Rodney leaves the barn with a few of his assistants trailing behind him.

Cliff swaggers up to me, a smirk on his lips. I’ve seen that expression a million times before and I know exactly what it means:

You shouldn’t waste your pretty face on hard labor.

Can someone who looks like you really be that smart?

Awww, it’s cute that you think you can fix this.

I motion to one of Cliff’s men. “Bring out your welding machine and your tools. I’ll decide on the design of the roll cage after I see the materials we have here.”

The worker’s eyes swing to his boss, waiting for direction.

I look at Cliff too.

His amused expression annoys me. ‘ Get the machine and get to work, Cliff! We don’t have time for this!’ is what I want to say.

Instead, I smile prettily. “Is there a problem, Cliff?”

“Rebel, anyone with half a brain could tell that there’s no fabricating a roll cage in an hour.”

My eyes narrow.

Cliff raises both hands. “I’m not saying this because you’re a woman. Don’t get me wrong.” He moves toward me, his tone slipping into that of a father coaxing a wailing toddler. “Why don’t we call Mr. Rodney back and tell him to drop out of this competition, then you and I can go grab a drink?”

“Alright, I’ll call him,” I say easily.

Cliff chuckles and shoots his crew an ‘I told you so’ grin.

Lifting my phone, I tap out the number and wait for the client to answer.

“Hello?” Rodney croaks.

“Mr. Rodney, the current welding crew is unwilling to cooperate. I’d like to bring my own guys here? Is that okay with you?”

“Y-yes, of course. Anything to get it done in time.”

Never taking my eyes off Cliff’s face, I hang up. “Cliff, you’re fired.”

His smile collapses into a hard frown. “What the?—”

I stop his angry tirade by speaking louder. “Get your things and get out now. I have a job to do.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“And I’m not going to repeat myself.” I shift my focus to my phone so I can call another company. I already have someone in mind. The welding crew that April and I use at The Pink Garage is ideal. We’ve got a good rapport with them and at least they won’t question my judgement.

As I’m dialing my colleague’s number, Cliff grabs my arm.

I whip my head up, glaring at his fingers.

His spittle flies when he says, “You were always like this, Rebel. Acting all high and mighty when you’re nothing but a pretty face from the trailer park.”

My lips tighten into a firm line, but it’s not because of his words. I’ve been called ‘trailer trash’ all my life. Cliff would have to try harder to hurt me.

My eyes slide down to my phone.

Fifty-five minutes left.

Restlessness pours into me and makes my fingers jittery. We’re working against the clock here. I don’t have time for his temper tantrum.

“Let me go, Cliff.”

He yanks me forward instead so I collide with his chest.

None of his crew members come to my aid. Not that I expect them to turn against their own boss.

I’m on my own.

I struggle to free my arm from the bigger man, but he’s got a rock-hard grip. I claw at his hand with my fingernails. “Let go!”

Cliff snarls at me, his bruised ego turning him into something ugly. “I bet you could get away with anything thanks to that pretty face of yours. Well, sorry. I’m no longer one of those losers from Cornblue who worships you. I won’t let anyone disrespect me. Much less a woman like you.”

Fear skitters down my throat as his fingers tighten on me.

My voice trembles, “Cliff, I said let?—”

Something whistles through the air. I see a black blur come dangerously close to Cliff’s face. A moment later, it thunks to the ground by his feet.

Cliff yelps. “What was that?”

I scan the disc on the floor.

It’s a hockey puck.

At that moment, a low voice rumbles from the doorway. “Let her go or the next shot won’t miss.”