Young Buck: A Slow Burn Small Town Romance (Green Valley Heroes Book 5)

Chapter 27

Working as a PI and dating a firefighter meant odd hours spent together. It should have also meant lots of sexy times. But for a solid two weeks after our date, Buck had held out. This had been a maddening development, seeing as how he’d turned up the sweet and sexy, showing up at my door each day looking fine.

It didn’t take long for me to figure out that Buck was trying to woo me—to focus less on the physical things—even though the chemistry between us crackled. He found tender ways to touch me and kiss me, but never let it get too heavy, even though I could see it cost him something to hold back.

It cost me something, too. It made me slow down and savor his sweetness. It made me remember qualities I’d given up on in a man. Not jumping his bones every chance I got made me get to know him. He talked about our future: me meeting his family and the two of us going on weekend getaways together. Slowing down forced me to admit to myself that I really liked this guy.

Last night, the dam had broken. Both of us had finally given in. Infused moonshine and classic soul music on my back porch had been too much. He’d asked me to dance, and held me close. We’d been doing okay until the playlist shuffled. Barry White was why we’d spent all night in bed and fallen asleep at sunrise. Barry White was why I’d left the house for the first time half an hour earlier and reached the Winston Brothers Auto Shop just before five.

“Hey there, Cletus.”

The man looked up from his clipboard, unfazed that I’d shown up unannounced. The garage bays were open and the air was fresh with fall rain. I’d arrived near closing time in hopes of finding him alone.

“Hey, Loretta. What’s doing?”

After giving me a quick glance, he returned his attention to his paper, his eyes washing back and forth. I took a look around the garage, to the cars he might have available for me to borrow. I wondered what might fit my bill.

“I need to go see a mechanic.”

Cletus glanced down at himself in his coveralls then shot me a self-satisfied smile.

“Looks like today’s your lucky day.”

“I mean I need to investigate one. In Hinckley.”

“Riggins Repair Garage?”

“You know it?”

He nodded. “Bought parts from them a few times. Wheel hubs, lift supports, taillights—that kind of thing. Tim Riggins runs a good shop. You said you’re investigating him?”

“One of his associates,” I said vaguely, some part of me regretting that I hadn’t started with Cletus. I might have known that he’d come across Tim professionally. Between his freakish recall and a brain that thought about things differently, he would remember every detail. “What else can you tell me about him?”

I had out my notebook in a flash. Cletus set down his clipboard, attentive now that he could play a role.

“A few years back, he had a good, long streak of awful luck. First, there was the fire. Then, he had a real tough time with the insurance company. They denied him, saying the fire was arson and the claim was fraud.”

“What do you think based on what you know of his character?” I knew how to ask and write all at once.

“He didn’t do it. I can tell the difference between a guy who runs a garage for the money from a guy who’s in it ’cause he loves cars.”

“Do you know of any enemies?” I prodded.

“No local competitors, if that’s what you’re asking. There’s no geographic advantage to auto parts anymore,” Cletus answered with redoubled certainty. “The buying and selling nowadays is done online.”

I finished writing, then hooked my pen onto the front cover of my logbook before putting it back into my bag.

“Cletus Winston, you just helped me more than you know.”

“Course I did. You know I’m always willing to help you with a case. You did the right thing by coming to me.”

Cletus picked up his clipboard with another self-satisfied smirk, ready to move on now that he thought I’d gotten what I’d gone there for.

“Actually...” I didn’t want to crush the man’s ego. “Questioning you on your automotive expertise is only the main reason why I came.”

He put his pencil back behind his ear.

“What else? You need a car?”

“Not just any car—one that needs repairs. I need to pose as a customer.”

He put down his clipboard again. “I could go there with you, in disguise.”

“Thanks for the offer, Cletus. But me going in alone is part of the act.”

“Oh.” Cletus looked disappointed, but he recovered quickly and moved on, threading his fingers in his beard and appearing once again to think.

“The car needs to be driveable. I need to be able to get it to Hinckley and back. But I want it to need some simple repair he can do on the spot, something that would let me keep him talking.”

Cletus thought for a second, then smiled conspiratorially. “Then I’ve got just the thing.”

“Hello?”

I walked into Riggins Repair Garage as I might have walked into Winston Brothers Auto Shop, starting in the front office and craning my neck to see who was there. Instead of clamoring to be noticed, I ran an appraising gaze over the space. It was simple, but clean, a high counter with a credit card reader and a computer on a lower desk. A shelf behind it displayed things for sale: leather cleaner, air freshener trees, and motor oil.

“Hello?” a male voice replied.

Precisely as I’d hoped, Tim appeared, looking more neutral than he had the first time I saw him. He wore coveralls like Cletus’s and wiped his hands with a shop towel. I scrutinized his features, comparing him to Buck. There was no conclusive resemblance. He was just as tall, but his hair was darker. He had blue—but not piercing blue—eyes.

“I was hoping you could help me.” I made sure to sound frantic. The hysterical woman was a cover most men believed. “My taillight...I was waiting on my paycheck to get it fixed. But I got a call from Nashville this morning. I need to get to an audition. I got on the road an hour ago; Highway Patrol already got me twice.”

I strongly suspected Cletus could have come up with something simpler. But he’d committed himself to the task, going so far as to conduct undercover intel on parts Riggins Repair Garage had in stock. He’d even broken the taillight in a way he assured me was easy to fix. It should only take a good mechanic half an hour.

I stopped to catch my breath. I was rambling on purpose, attempting to seem more frenzied with every wring of my hand. He nodded in a way that told me he bought the story.

“You can’t be late to a Nashville audition. Those labels don’t mess around.”

The touch of humor in his voice either made him extremely charming or a textbook example of a nice guy.

“Thank God you understand,” I gushed. “My GPS said this was the closest mechanic. So I was hoping you had time to do the repair. Or at least put on some of that red tape so the damned thing doesn’t look so bad.”

He put down his towel and set his hands on his hips. “Let’s have a look.”

“Thank you. I’m still three hours from my audition. And I really can’t afford more tickets.”

“I’m not surprised you got one,” he commiserated. “Highway patrol in Putnam County ain’t too kind.”

He led me out and I looked again for similarity to Buck. Five minutes later, he’d driven my car into one of the front bays. I lingered as I waited, doing more observing than talking as I let him get to work.

Whereas the office had been silent, the garage had speakers, with country music filtering through. The back wall had a pegboard hung with tools but a different kind of wall was on the side. That one held framed pictures of classic cars that didn’t look like posters—maybe cars he’d worked on himself. It made me think of the classic car I’d glimpsed in Buck’s garage. Beyond car stuff, sports memorabilia was on display.

“You ever play ball?”

A poster of the Commodores’ latest season schedule made it easy for me to ask. Tim followed my gaze.

“In high school. Not for very long.”

He went back to removing the broken taillight, which I’d seen Cletus clop askew myself.

“My brother coaches a team,” I lied.

“Whereabouts?”

Most people made polite conversation, a consequence of Southern home training.

“Knoxville,” I lied. “It’s just peewee football. From how some of those parents act, you’d think it was the NFL.”

He chuckled. I quieted for a long few seconds. Avoiding sounding too eager was rule number one.

“Were you ever any good?” I finally asked.

“Actually, I was.”

“Then why’d you only play for a little bit?”

“Had to let go of the dream for the real world, I guess.”

I stopped asking questions long enough to let him get back to work. All the while, I pretended to peruse. Tim, meanwhile, frowned in his crouched position, and dove into his repair. Not that I was everybody’s cup of tea, but I was still an attractive woman, a woman who had worn a revealing top as bait. He’d engaged in polite conversation, but made no effort to flirt. Up close, I could confirm that he did not wear a ring.

“So after I leave here...” He seemed close to being done. Being eager to pay confirmed my cover and paying in cash would leave no trace. “I think I need to take Rogers Boulevard, then Rogers Avenue, or Rogers something-or-other. A lot of roads here have the name Rogers.”

I didn’t miss the sour look that came over Tim’s face.

“You remember the governor from a while back? Rex Rogers?”

I feigned excitement with a little gasp. “He’s from here?”

“All the boulevards are named for his wife.”

“So she’s from here?”

“She was from here.”

“Did you know her?” My heart raced in anticipation of his answer. But he spoke quickly, and tersely.

“No.”

“Probably before your time.” I pretended to wave it off.

“Forget Rogers Boulevard,” he said, using a towel to wipe off the new taillight that now sat where it should. “There’s a better way out of town, and a faster way to Nashville than the interstate.”

“Oh. You must go there a lot.”

“I’m headed down there Saturday. A friend of mine plays on Music Row.” A look I couldn’t read came over his face. “Anyway, you can make good time from here. The cops aren’t too bad the back way. I’ll write down the names of the roads.”