Chapter 6
Six
This is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that I have seen Beck upset by messages on her phone, and it bothers me. Why I even care bothers me more.
As I contemplate this, I take my first sip of coffee and hum with appreciation.
Beck is right. I am a bit of a bear before I have my first coffee of the day.
Not that I would ever admit that to her.
I have a perfectly good coffee pot at home—that I know how to use—but there’s something about getting this first one from Maggie’s before heading into the office. It always tastes better.
Placing the hot coffee back into the cup holder, I open the paper bag one-handed to grab my sandwich and feel a second container inside.
Glancing down and then back towards the road, I pull out the contents.
My usual breakfast sandwich and one Black Forest cupcake with a Post-it note attached to the clear plastic lid.
You deserve something sweet too. Enjoy!
—Maggie.
A smile forms on my face before I take a bite of my sandwich. I’m not sure that I agree with her, but I appreciate the gift, so I’ll make sure I enjoy the treat—later.
I have time before I need to be at work. My first appointment isn’t until ten thirty, so when I see Beck’s car inside the open bay doors at Harper Auto, I pull in and park.
When Dillon hears my door close, he raises his head from beneath the hood of Beck’s car and tips his chin in greeting. Pulling a rag from his back pocket, he cleans his hands as best he can while walking towards me.
He has always been a bit of a loner and hard to get to know, but I like him.
“What’s the verdict?” I ask him, leaning my back against the hood of my truck. I know absolutely nothing about car repairs, but I trust him to tell me how it is.
“It’s a piece of shit. I don’t know where she bought it from, but there is no way it could have passed a safety inspection.
She’s brought it in for work three times since then.
” He shakes his head in disgust as he unzips the front of his coveralls and ties the arms around his waist. “I’m surprised it has lasted her as long as it has, to be honest.”
“That bad, eh?” I scratch the side of my neck. “Can you fix it?”
“Fuck, no,” he snorts. “Even if I could fix the engine—which I won’t—rust is eating away at the undercarriage. Someone screwed her over good.”
I’m contemplating this news when I hear the rumble of Carson’s white Chevy Trail Boss before I see it pull into the parking lot. The man jumps out of the cab and slams the door. Dressed in flannel, faded blue jeans, and worn brown cowboy boots, he’s really leaning into owning a farm lately.
“What’s going on here? Did you forget to invite me to this meeting of the minds?” he asks, striding towards us.
“We didn’t forget,” Dillon mutters loud enough for him to hear. “We just don’t want you here.”
Carson’s mouth drops. “You wound me,” he gasps with his hand on his chest. “I thought we were friends.”
“Unlikely,” Dillon deadpans.
A moment later, Riot’s truck pulls up beside Carson’s. He rolls down the window and rests his arm on the frame. “Is this gathering something I should be concerned about?” He raises an eyebrow.
“Beck’s car broke down last night. I just asked Dillon if he could repair it,” I inform my friends.
“I can’t,” Dillon says firmly, with his arms crossed over his chest.
“Is she okay?” Riot’s brows furrow as he pulls his long brown hair back and secures it with an elastic at the nape of his neck.
“Yeah, she’s fine,” I reassure him. Riot is the perfect example of why you should never judge a book by its cover. His large build and long hair make him appear intimidating, but he has the kindest and most caring heart of anyone I know.
“Interesting. The pieces are falling into place now,” Carson says with a mischievous look crossing his face.
“What pieces?” I ask before taking another sip of my coffee.
“Well, while I was at the mercantile picking up goat and chicken food, someone said they saw you this morning with a certain black-haired beauty in your truck, which I thought was weird because since when would you voluntarily spend time with her,” he explains.
“But then someone else said they saw you holding hands with her going into the bakery.”
Dillon quirks an eyebrow at me, and I roll my eyes. Gossip in this town is relentless.
“Now I find you here checking on her car,” he continues. “What’s with that?”
“That is very interesting.” Riot bobs his head in agreement.
“It’s not interesting,” I deny. “Her car broke down yesterday. I picked her up on the side of the road and drove her home. No big deal.”
“He texted me to tow it in,” Dillon interjects. “From her trailer.”
“Shut up.” I glare at Dillon. “You’re not helping.”
“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.” He raises his palms in the air.
Turning back to Carson, I share, “She didn’t have a ride to work this morning, so I picked her up on my way. We stopped at Maggie’s to grab breakfast and coffee. We never held hands.”
“That’s not what my sources say.” He lifts an eyebrow, trying to see how far he can push me.
“I could’ve picked her up for work.” Riot gives his shoulder a half shrug. “It’s not too far out of my way.”
“Well, I hate to inform you, but your sources are wrong.” I’m not about to tell him Beck kind of held my hand, even if it was only for a moment. Carson could rival Brian in terms of who shares the most gossip. The difference is Carson isn’t malicious—it’s all in good fun.
“I doubt that.” Turning to Dillon, he asks, “So what’s up with Beck’s car?”
“It’s cooked. She will have to get something else.”
“Fuck, that won’t happen.” Carson shakes his head sadly. “Beck doesn’t have money to buy anything else.”
“I’m surprised she had enough money to buy that piece of junk,” Riot says. “I offered to help her buy something better but she wouldn’t hear of it.”
Dillon grunts his agreement.
“What am I missing?” I look between them. “What do you mean she has no money?”
I know how talented she is, and I know how much money tattoos like hers cost. Her living expenses can’t be that much; she’s living in a trailer on free land, for crying out loud.
Carson takes off his hat and pushes his mop of brown curly hair back with one hand and places it back on his head before explaining. “I think Braden soaked her pretty good before they split.”
“Claire said he fucked up her credit too.” Riot nods his head in agreement. “Apparently he racked up a bunch of debt on her credit card.”
“He’s such a fucking asshole.” Dillon shakes his head. “It really pisses me off when I see him driving around in a brand-new truck, when she’s been driving that deathtrap.” He thumbs over his shoulder towards the garage.
Before I can get any more information, I hear a gruff voice. “Do you boys not have somewhere else to be? You have been out here gossiping like hens for far too long. I don’t know about the rest of you, but Dillon has a job to do.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Dillon mutters and drops his head at the sound of his father yelling from the open door of the garage.
Harold, who is closer to eighty than seventy, refuses to stay home even though Dillon has been running the garage for years. He spends most of his day sitting in a chair by the door, grumbling at customers, and giving his son a hard time.
“Good morning, Harold,” Carson cheerfully calls to the old man. “How are you this morning?”
“I’d be better if you got back into your noisy truck and left,” he hollers back.
“Jesus Christ, Dad. Give it a rest.” Dillon rubs both temples in a circular motion and blows out a large breath. Turning back to us, he says, “I’ll let Beck know that the only place her car is going is to the junkyard.”
“Thanks for picking it up last night. I’ll settle the bill with you for the tow,” I tell him.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. It was no big deal.” He waves me away.
“Now you’re giving my money away,” Harold grouches, leaning heavily on his cane. “It’s hard to say what would happen if I left you in charge. The garage would go bankrupt, and we would be out on the street.”
“He’s only going to get worse if I don’t get back to work. Catch you guys later,” he says through gritted teeth as he turns and stomps off past his father.
“Are you heading into the office?” Carson asks me.
“Yeah.” I check my watch. “I’d better get going. What are you guys up to?”
“First, I’m going to get back in my noisy truck.” He laughs, pointing to his truck. “Then I’m going to the house and fixing the fence that stupid goat broke out of for the third time this week.”
“Sounds fun,” I chuckle. Carson took possession of his nana’s farm after she moved into a retirement community. He subsequently inherited her motley crew of animals, including a mischievous goat named Ollie. I don’t envy him.
“Just living the dream, man.” He claps me on the shoulder before walking to his truck. Starting it, he revs the engine twice and chuckles at Harold’s deepening scowl. “See you later, losers.”
“What about you?” I ask Riot as Carson peels out of the parking lot, making as much noise as possible, and heads back to his farm.
“I was at the lumberyard picking up supplies, and now I’m trying to find the will to return to the house from hell,” he puffs out, visibly shrinking into his seat. Not an easy feat when you are as large as he is.
“That bad, eh?”
Riot flips houses for a living, and he says that the one he’s currently working on is a never-ending nightmare.
“The worst, but I can still see its potential.” He hesitates for a moment before asking, “Are you sure Beck’s okay? Is Braden still bothering her?”
“I don’t know; she never said,” I confess. Maybe I should have asked her more about her ex. I assumed he was completely out of the picture since they broke up.
“Okay.” He runs a palm over his mouth, then drops it onto the steering wheel as he tries to formulate his thoughts.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you.
You’ve been circling each other for years.
But she’s been through a lot lately. Don’t fuck with her feelings if you’re unsure of yours. ”
Sighing, I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is not a conversation I am prepared to have, let alone standing in a parking lot where anyone could hear me. “Nothing has ever happened between us but it’s complicated. I promise I would never intentionally hurt her.”
“Alright.” He nods his head firmly before saying, “I’ll check on her tonight and see if she will tell me what’s going on. I doubt she will, but I’ll try. Catch you later.”
I feel eyes on me as I watch his truck drive away. Looking towards the garage, I see Harold watching me. “Have a good day, Harold,” I call to the old man.
He tosses a hand in the air in dismissal before slowly turning and retreating inside.
Chuckling, I get into my truck and head to the office.