Saved by the Ex-Military Mechanic (Curvy Wives of Cedar Falls #1)

Chapter 1 - Lucy

The sound starts as a faint ticking at first—barely audible over my road trip playlist blasting through the speakers. I ignore it, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel and singing along to the radio, pretending I'm not driving my entire life to a town where I know absolutely no one.

But then the ticking becomes a clunking, and the clunking morphs into a concerning rattle. The car coasts to a stop with a pathetic shudder right beneath the "Welcome to Cedar Falls" sign.

"No, no, no," I mutter, turning the key frantically in the ignition. The engine coughs, sputters, then gives up. "Not now. Please not now."

I bang my forehead against the steering wheel, which proves to be a mistake when the horn blares, startling me upright. Great. Now I look like an idiot in addition to being stranded.

The late afternoon sun slants through my windshield, highlighting the dust on my dashboard and the empty coffee cups littering my passenger seat.

I've been driving for six hours straight, the final leg of my three-day journey from Phoenix to this tiny town.

My new home, though I haven't even technically made it into the town limits.

I pull out my phone, relieved to see I have service. Small miracles. The GPS indicates I'm only about a mile from the town center. I could walk, but that would mean abandoning my car—packed with everything I own—on the side of the road. Not exactly an option.

My Toyota Corolla might be twelve years old with peeling paint and a missing hubcap, but it's carried me through college, through Dad's funeral, through my hasty exit from the city when everything fell apart.

I open my glove compartment, fishing for the AAA card I know expired last month. I meant to renew it before the move, but between packing up my apartment and dodging my mother's guilt-laden calls, it slipped my mind. Like so many things lately.

Scrolling through my contacts, I realize with a hollow feeling that there's no one to call.

Not anymore. I've cut ties with most of my friends back home—if you could even call them friends.

My sister hasn't spoken to me since the reading of Dad's will.

And Mom... well, calling her would defeat the whole purpose of moving three states away.

I need to find a mechanic, and I need to find one now. The sun will set in a couple of hours, and the thought of being stranded here in the dark makes my stomach clench.

A quick search brings up "Carter's Auto Shop" as the only mechanic in Cedar Falls. The reviews are sparse but positive. "Riley fixed my truck when no one else could," reads one. "Doesn't talk much but does honest work," says another. At this point, I'll take what I can get.

I dial the number, drumming my fingers nervously on the steering wheel as it rings. Once. Twice. Three times. I'm beginning to think no one will answer when a gruff voice barks, "Carter's."

"Hi," I say, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "My car broke down just outside of town. The engine made this weird noise and then just... died. I was wondering if—"

"Address?" the voice interrupts.

"Um, I don't really have one. I'm right by the 'Welcome to Cedar Falls' sign on Route 16."

There's a sigh on the other end. "Town limit. Got it. Tow truck's out on another call. Be about forty-five minutes."

"Oh." I glance at my watch. It's already after five. "Do you close soon? I can try to find someone else if—"

"We close at seven. But I'll wait." His tone suggests this is not a small concession.

"Thank you," I say, relief washing over me. "I really appreciate it. I'm Lucy, by the way. Lucy Mitchell."

There's a pause, as if my attempt at friendliness has confused him. "Riley," he finally says. "Forty-five minutes." Then the line goes dead.

Well, that was... abrupt. But at least help is coming. I settle back in my seat, trying to calm the anxiety that's been my constant companion since I decided to move here.

Cedar Falls wasn't a random choice. I'd seen pictures of the town in my father's old albums. He grew up here, left as a teenager, and never came back. He rarely spoke about it, but when he did, his eyes would get this faraway look—not nostalgic exactly, more like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

After he died, I found a small journal hidden in his desk drawer. Most of it was mundane—fishing records, expenses—but on the last page, he'd written: "Cedar Falls. Unfinished business." That was it. No explanation.

With nothing keeping me in Phoenix except painful memories and my mother's increasing resentment, Cedar Falls seemed like a sign. A fresh start. A mystery to solve. Something that was just mine.

Now, as I look at the town stretched out before me—glimpses of buildings nestled among towering pines—I wonder if I've made a terrible mistake. I don't know anyone here. I have no job lined up, just a small rental cottage I found online and enough savings to last a few months. What was I thinking?

I check my reflection in the rearview mirror, grimacing at what I see. My dark hair is a frizzy mess from the drive, my mascara smudged beneath my eyes. I try to fix what I can, then give up. The mechanic—Riley—probably won't care what I look like anyway.

The minutes crawl by. I flip through radio stations, finding mostly static until I land on what sounds like local community radio. A woman with a gentle voice is reading announcements about a farmers market and an upcoming town festival.

Cedar Falls is celebrating its 150th anniversary this weekend, she says.

There will be a parade, a bake-off, historical reenactments.

The whole town is getting involved. The excitement in her voice makes me feel even more like an outsider.

By the time she finishes, I've sunken low in my seat, overwhelmed by the smallness of this town and my conspicuous arrival.

The sound of an approaching vehicle jerks me from my thoughts. A tow truck comes into view, navy blue with "Carter's Auto Shop" painted on the side in bold white letters. It pulls up behind my car, and I watch in the rearview mirror as a tall figure emerges.

In my mind, I'd pictured someone older, maybe with a beer belly and grease-stained overalls—the small-town mechanic stereotype. But this man...

He's tall, at least six-foot-two, with broad shoulders that taper to a trim waist. He's wearing a simple black t-shirt that stretches across his chest and faded jeans.

His face is all angles—sharp cheekbones, a strong jaw dusted with a rugged beard.

But it's his eyes that catch me off guard when he approaches my window.

They're amber, almost golden in the late afternoon light, startling against his tanned skin.

He doesn't smile as he gestures for me to roll down my window. I comply, feeling suddenly self-conscious about my appearance, my broken-down car, my entire existence.

"Lucy Mitchell?" he asks, his voice deep and resonant, just as abrupt in person as it was on the phone.

"That's me," I say, attempting a smile that feels wobbly. "You must be Carter, right? Thanks for coming to my rescue."

“Yes. Riley Carter.” He doesn't acknowledge my gratitude, just looks past me at my car's interior, his gaze cataloging the packed backseat. "Just moved here?" It's not really a question.

"Yeah, today actually. Well, trying to, at least." I laugh nervously. "Not the grand entrance I was hoping for."

His expression doesn't change. "Pop the hood."

I fumble for the lever, feeling like I'm failing some test I didn't know I was taking. The hood releases with a metallic click, and Riley moves to the front of the car without another word.

I exit the car, stretching my cramped legs. Standing, I'm even more aware of how tall he is and how he seems to take up all the available space. I watch as he leans over my engine, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he checks something. I force myself to look away.

"What do you think it is?" I ask, trying to fill the silence. "The car was fine this morning. I had it checked before I left Phoenix, and—"

"Alternator," he interrupts, straightening up. "Dead. You'll need a new one."

"Oh." I bite my lip, my mind immediately going to cost. "Is that... expensive?"

Something flickers across his face—annoyance? Pity? It's gone too quickly to tell. "Parts and labor, around $500."

I try not to visibly wince. That's a decent chunk of my savings, money I was counting on to get settled. "How long will it take to fix?"

"Depends if I have the part. Need to get it to the shop first." He moves back to the tow truck, all business. "Get what you need for the night. Car won't be ready before tomorrow at the earliest."

I nod, then scramble to gather my overnight bag, purse, and laptop from the passenger seat. Riley works quickly, hooking up my car to the tow truck with ease. I hover awkwardly, not sure if I should offer to help or stay out of his way.

"Um, where exactly is your shop?" I ask. "And is there somewhere nearby I could stay tonight? I was supposed to pick up my rental cottage key from the landlord, but—"

"Shop's in town. Mile down this road, left at the first light." He secures the final chain, then looks at me directly for the first time. "There's a motel across the street. Nothing fancy, but it's clean."

I nod again, clutching my bag to my chest like a shield. "And I can just... ride with you? To the shop?"

Riley glances at my luggage, then at the packed car now hitched to his truck. Understanding dawns in those amber eyes. "Everything you own in there?"

"Pretty much," I admit, feeling vulnerable under his scrutiny.

He doesn't comment, just opens the passenger door of the tow truck and steps back, waiting. I climb in, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. The cab smells like coffee and motor oil, with a faint hint of something woodsy—cologne or soap, maybe. It's not unpleasant.

Riley slides into the driver's seat. The engine rumbles to life, and we pull onto the road, my car trailing behind us like a reluctant child.

As we cross the town line, I feel a strange mix of dread and anticipation. Welcome to Cedar Falls, I think. So much for fresh starts.