A Simple Mistake (Cooper Town Boys #3)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER

ONE

Quinn

I stand up and stretch my back.

I’ve been bent over this tillage attachment on a chisel plow for the better part of an hour, welding new tines into place to replace the broken ones.

It’s a tedious job, but one I love, even if the hours are long.

Planting season is right around the corner, which means I’m busier than an ant at a picnic.

Now is the time farmers are checking over their equipment and making necessary fixes.

Of course, that doesn’t mean shit won’t hit the fan in the middle of planting or harvest. As much as you prepare, things still break. That’s why spring and fall are as hectic as they are for me. I’m the only mobile welder in the area, so my phone rings nonstop.

Ever since I was a young boy, I knew I wanted to find a job where I could use my hands.

I’ve always loved building things—building blocks, Lego, whatever I could get my hands on—so when I enrolled in the welding program through the local career center in high school, I knew I had found my calling.

I soaked up everything I could on the trade and took every course offered.

By the time I was done, I was certified at high school graduation and joining the workforce at the age of eighteen.

I started at a local factory, welding lockers and other metalworks, but I had a hard time adjusting to second and third shifts.

I moved to an auto repair shop with daytime hours, welding and fabricating vehicle rebuilds, but the owner had a hard time keeping me busy.

So, when I met an older gentleman farmer, who specialized on welding farm machinery, I was all ears.

He was looking to retire and wanted to be able to refer his clients to someone.

The initial investment was steep. I took out a business loan I thought I’d never be able to repay, but as word spread and my abilities in the craft grew, I watched that business increase. And increase some more. Now, I work from sunup to sundown, and sometimes that’s not enough.

But I love it and wouldn’t change it for the world.

By the time all the tines are replaced, I’m sweating like a dog.

Even though it’s only mid-April, it’s already unseasonably warm.

I pray this isn’t a look at what the summer and fall are going to be like.

Usually, April is on the wet side, but we haven’t seen the amount of rain we usually see by this point in the season.

When I get everything complete, I take my tools back to my work truck. I found a gently used Chevy 3500HD truck with a service bed, and besides my welder, it’s one of the main keys to my business. It keeps me mobile and has enough box storage space to haul what I need.

“How’d it go?” Ernie asks, joining me at my truck as I finish loading my welder.

“Good. Got ya all fixed up,” I tell him.

“I knew you would,” he replies, leaning on the side of my truck and propping his foot on the tire. “How much do I owe ya?”

“Right at the estimate,” I tell him. “I’ll send you a bill.”

He nods. “Perfect. I’ll have the missus watch for it and get you paid.”

“Appreciate it,” I reply, closing the bed.

“Off to another job?”

“Actually, I’m all done for the night,” I tell him, a little anxious to get home and relax.

“Good deal. No reason to work yourself into an early grave. You gotta lot of life left to live.”

I flash him a smile. “That I do.”

He taps the side of my truck. “Well, I won’t keep ya. Thanks for helping me out, Quinn.”

“You’re welcome, Ernie. Let me know if you have any issues with those tines,” I insist.

“I’m sure I won’t, but if I do, I’ll call ya,” he replies, stepping back so I can get to the driver’s door. Before I get inside, he adds, “Damn glad to have you continuing on Martin’s business. I’m not sure what we’d do if we didn’t have someone who could come out to the farm and help us out.”

“Happy to help,” I reply, sliding into the driver’s seat. “This sure as heck beats working in a factory for eight hours a day.”

He chuckles and nods. “Nothing better than working with your hands, right?” He turns and looks out at the vast flat land he farms. “I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

“I hear ya,” I reply, turning over the ignition.

“Thanks, Quinn,” he states, stepping back and heading for his equipment shed.

I roll down the window and head for the road, thankful to be done for the day.

My back is killing me, as it does often when I spend hours bending over to work.

As I approach the city limits, my phone rings.

My oldest friend’s name pops up on the screen, much to my relief.

Not that I would have turned down a customer, but I’m really looking forward to a little downtime.

“Hey,” I greet after tapping the button to answer the call.

“Still working?” Camden asks.

“Nope, just finished up. Heading back to town now.”

“Good deal. Wanna grab a burger and then head to The Lizard?”

I quickly take stock of what I have in my fridge and realize it’s bare-bones. Not even leftovers I can reheat for a quick meal before showering and going to bed early. My mouth waters at the thought of a big, juicy burger and fries. “I’m in.”

Of course, that also means I’m in to go to The Tipsy Lizard afterward, because if I know my best friend at all, he’s not about to let me out of going. But honestly, maybe a good meal and a beer or two is exactly what I need at the end of a very long workweek.

“Want me to pick you up?” he offers.

“Sure.”

“Six thirty give you enough time to get ready?”

I glance at the clock. It’s almost five thirty. “Plenty of time.”

“All right, see you soon,” he says before signing off.

I drive to my little house on the east side of town, pressing the garage opener as I back into the driveway.

The garage is really what sold me on this place a little over a year ago, when I decided to work for myself.

It’s deep enough to fit my truck when I’m home but also has workspace in the back.

The garage door is eighteen feet wide, big enough to accommodate two regular-sized vehicles, and thankfully, the previous owner installed one eight feet tall since they had a boat.

If it was a standard seven-foot door, I’d be screwed.

Cooper Town is a relatively safe small town.

Sure, we have the occasional theft or breaking and entering, but nothing terrible.

I could leave my truck out in the driveway—and I do when I need a bigger space to work—but with the amount of money I have in the toolboxes, I just prefer to keep it inside.

Once I park, I lower the door and exit the garage. My stomach growls, reminding me what little bit I ate for lunch on my way to Ernie’s farm is long gone. Unlocking the back door, I step inside the tiny house and take a seat at the bench to remove my boots.

This house was on the market for months because of its small size and need for a little TLC.

I got it for a steal, thanks to the previous owner just looking to offload it in an overly saturated housing market.

Most people aren’t looking for an eight-hundred square foot one-bedroom, one-bath home, even if the garage is a handyman’s dream.

For me, it’s perfect, thanks to the fact I can use the oversized garage space for my business.

The house is just a place to eat, shower, and sleep, and none of those things require a large space.

I place my boots on the dryer and slowly rise from the bench. There’s a pinch in my lower back and my shoulders are stiff as hell, but I’m sure it’s nothing a good hot shower won’t fix. Well, that and some ibuprofen. When you work bent over a big part of the day, it does a number on your body.

When I reach the bathroom, I crank on the hot water.

One thing about this place is, even though it’s small, I spared no expense on a top-of-the-line water heater.

We installed a tankless system that turns hot and stays hot, so by the time I strip out of my work clothes and turn on a true crime podcast on my phone, steam is billowing from inside the shower and filling the space.

It’s heaven.

Thirty minutes later, I’m dressed in a pair of well-worn jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, since the temperatures still drop at night, and a pair of athletic shoes. I wear work boots most days, all day, and sometimes, I just need the comfort of sneakers, even on a Friday night.

Camden will no doubt poke fun at me for my casual appearance, but I don’t care.

I’m not going out to pick up women. I’m going to hang out with a friend and relax over a couple of drinks.

Not that I’m opposed to meeting someone of the opposite sex and getting to know her better, but I’m not looking right now.

And, as if on cue, an image fills my brain.

One beautiful, perfect picture that always seems to pop up when I least expect it, with her quick wit and smart mouth.

Charli Miller.

My best friend’s older sister.

Ever since I was a young boy, probably about thirteen, I’ve been completely enamored with her.

Okay, fine. I was smitten long before I was thirteen.

Of course, back then, I was just a little boy wanting to play with Camden’s cool big siblings.

Collin and Cade would only allow us to play with them because we tattled on them to their parents, and they insisted we get to play too.

However, the moment their parents turned their backs, the twins took off, leaving Camden and me in their dust.

Charli was usually right there with her older twin brothers. She was a tomboy, climbing trees and hurdling fences until she hit junior high. Then, all of a sudden, she started paying attention to styling her hair and hanging out with her friends at the coffee shop in town.

And I was still paying attention to her.