6. Riley #3
He nodded toward the exposed motor. “You’ve got serious patience. Half the guys around here would’ve ordered a replacement and gone home until delivery showed up.”
“That’s how you get the same failure six months later.”
“How so?”
Riley picked up the brush again. “Something jammed the mechanism. That cooked the wiring. If I replace the motor and leave the real problem buried in there, all I’ve done is install a more expensive part for the machine to destroy.”
Wade adjusted the flashlight as she leaned farther under the casing. “Mac likes repairs that don’t come back through the door.”
“Then Mac and I are going to get along.”
“He might even admit it someday.”
“I don’t need him emotional. I need his payroll department functional.”
Wade chuckled quietly.
Riley scraped the last strip of residue from the gear housing and wiped it clean. The exposed assembly finally looked like a machine again instead of a rat’s nest of grease and scorched wire.
Wade handed her the tea.
She accepted it this time without checking the glass first. Melted ice had weakened the sweetness, but the drink still cut through the heat.
“Keep working like this,” he said, “and Mac will put you on payroll by breakfast.”
Riley set the glass down and picked up the wrench.
“No.”
Wade paused, studying her.
“He’s hiring me because I’m flipping that breaker.” She tightened the next fitting and checked the connection with her thumb. “This machine is going to run.”
Dawn reached the delivery doors while Riley tightened the last bolt on the press cover.
Her hands were black with grease, and grit clung to the sweat along her hairline, but the casing was back together and every tool had been cleared from the moving parts.
Wade stood beside the bench with the flashlight switched off now that morning light hit the rear bay.
“That the last one?” he asked.
Riley tested the bolt once more, then set the wrench down. “Last one. Nobody touches the housing until I say so.”
The front door swung open. Mac appeared with a coffee mug in one hand, crossing the shop while two apprentices trailed behind him, both hesitating as they spotted Riley beside the rebuilt press.
Mac stopped. “Please tell me you two didn’t murder my machine overnight.”
“Give me thirty seconds and I’ll tell you whether it survived.”
Riley wiped her palms on a shop rag and stepped back to check the press one last time. Cover secured. Wiring protected. Nothing left beneath the assembly. Wade moved clear before she had to ask.
Mac lifted his coffee. “You sure about this?”
“No.”
His eyebrows rose.
“I’m sure I fixed what I found.” Riley pointed toward the breaker. “That’s different.”
She crossed to the electrical panel and wrapped her hand around the industrial lever.
For the first time all night, there was nothing else to take apart.
Riley pushed it up.
The motor kicked on with a steady hum.
She returned to the press and tapped the foot pedal.
The press shuddered through its first cycle, the mechanism driving down with enough force to send vibration through the concrete beneath Riley’s shoes. One apprentice let out a startled laugh. Wade slapped the bench.
Mac stared at the machine. “I don’t believe it.”
Riley stepped closer, listening to the motor as the press reset.
There.
A rough note lingered beneath the normal mechanical rhythm.
“Don’t celebrate yet,” she said. “That hum is ugly.”
Mac looked at her. “It’s running.”
“It’s running because I cleared the jam and rebuilt the damaged connections. I still want replacement parts before that motor decides to cook itself again.”
“You fix a machine two mechanics abandoned and your first response is to complain about the noise?”
“My first response is making sure I don’t have to fix it twice.”
Mac shook his head, but a grin broke through his beard. “Go scrub your hands, Riley. Your first shift starts Monday.”
The words landed cleaner than any applause ever could.
A job. Her job.
Wade stepped beside the workbench. “Glad to have you at Copper Shank. Getting these boots down the line is going to be a lot easier now.”
Riley picked up the rag and rubbed at a streak of grease across her wrist. “Just make sure the paychecks clear on time, and I’ll keep the whole shop moving.”
Mac took a sip of coffee. “Might be able to sweeten the deal.”
Riley narrowed her eyes. “That usually means somebody wants unpaid overtime.”
“Not this time.” He tipped his head toward the administrative office near the front of the building. “There’s an empty foreman’s loft upstairs. Small place, deck out back, lock that works. Nobody’s using it.”
Her hand went still.
Mac shrugged. “I can roll it into your compensation. You live there rent-free as long as you’re working here.”
For a moment, the steady thump of the press was the only sound in the shop.
Work downstairs. A door upstairs that belonged to her. No hotel bills. No borrowed name required.
Mac tipped the coffee mug toward her. “How’s that sound?”
Riley watched the running press for a moment, then met his gaze.
“Sounds like a deal, Boss.”