Chapter 8
Fat-Bottomed Girls
Callie
Seeing Duke last night confused whatever feelings I had about my flirtation with Cash.
Before I walked into the bar, I knew his blanket was giving me something, comforting me somehow, but Duke was just kind of a jerk.
My feelings and the contentment I got from his warm, man-smelling blanket is more of a coincidence than anything.
Last night, even though he was undoubtedly still a jerk, there was an attraction, beyond my ability to explain.
He’s straight-forward; he says what he means.
There is no sugar coating or love bombing, just genuinely himself.
Even when he told me to leave last night—which hurt my feelings—it was also pragmatic, he saw the practicality of the situation.
Mentioning it being “handsy” felt almost…
jealous? Like he didn’t like the idea someone might hit on me.
The way he speaks and lives, unapologetically, disarms me but also brings out someone fierce and confident.
The way his eyes feel on my body, the way he pauses at my collar bone, my breasts, my hips, is appreciative, not judgmental. I’ve been judged a lot in my life for being heavier, thicker, larger than the prettier, skinnier girls. Roger liked to poke that wound over and over.
“Jesus, Caroline, how about you worry less about when you’re going to eat next and go for a run or something?” Roger yells at me from behind the wheel of the car.
“I was just asking if you had thought about what you wanted for dinner so we could stop if we need to,” I respond, fearfully, under his attack.
“Yeah, well, you might get rid of your fat ass if you stopped asking.”
Frowning at the memory, I try to ignore the feeling in my stomach that Cash and Duke might be toying with me, seeing me as easy prey. But it doesn’t feel that way.
Duke barely wants to look at me, let alone play games. And Cash? He hides behind his flirty grin, but something in his eyes tells a different story
Completely opposite Duke’s stoic reserve is Cash, who is open and friendly.
He has definite golden retriever energy, something that is contagious and makes me want to dance and relax.
Chase laughter in the sunrise, spin in the rain, and truly understand what it’s like to be loved honestly and selfishly.
Cash feels like that guy, someone I could sit beside and contentedly watch the sunset, a dog’s head resting in my lap.
I suppose I will just wait and see what happens. In the meanwhile, I think Inspiration, Montana might be a nice place to settle, for now.
“Hey, is this Mick?”
“Yeah?” comes a gruff, questioning reply.
“My name is Caroline. Duke gave me your number.” When my phone dinged with a message this morning, I was anxious to see which of the men I’ve met this week was on the other side. It was just a phone number, a name, and ‘Mechanic/tow truck. Tell him I sent you.’
“Yeah, he told me you would be calling. You need me to pull your car out the ditch? He also mentioned you have bald tires.” I roll my eyes at not only the words, but the fact Duke already spoke on my behalf.
“That’s what Duke tells me. So, yes, that’s the gist of it.”
“Can you meet me over there around noon? I’ll get you sorted.”
Peace settles in my chest. Duke didn’t have to do this, even just providing me with the number would have been enough.
He removed any awkwardness or uncertainty from explaining, negotiating, even if I didn’t need him too.
It’s comforting, like he’s a problem solver by nature even if he’s standoffish and hard to read.
After asking Mrs. Cox exactly how to find my car and waving to Mr. Cox as he worked diligently on the flowers he’s trying to coax into blooming, I set off on foot.
According to my directions, it’s only a fifteen-minute walk and it’s another beautiful spring day.
I enjoy the warmth of the bright sun, tying my sweatshirt around my waist about halfway there as I start to overheat.
I thought North Carolina was beautiful, and it is, but Montana feels like I walked onto a movie set where bad things never happen, and everyone gets a happy ending.
I mean, obviously that’s unrealistic but it just—feels—that way.
The quiet peacefulness of my walk holds me tightly as I become more resolute in, I think, sticking around here for a while.
Maybe through the summer, to see if Montana soothes the ache in my chest and heals the wounds in my soul.
Approaching my poor, beautiful car in the ditch brings such heavy sadness to my heart.
She looks okay, and I hope Mick doesn’t discover anything horrible.
This little coupe was the only thing I purchased with my parent’s money after I lost them.
She crossed all over the country after I left Roger.
This car is the only comfort I had at the end, knowing despite everything, I had a way out.
At the rumble of an approaching truck, I look over my shoulder from my position next to my half-sunken car and see a large, tan tow truck with ‘Mick’s Recovery’ painted in bold black letters on the side.
The man who climbs out of the cab is a mountain—easily six and a half feet tall, broad in both shoulder and hip.
He dwarfs Duke and Cash by a long shot. A thick beard covers most of his neck and jaw, and a backwards ball cap is perched on his head.
His blue work shirt—Mick stitched across the breast—strains slightly at the seams. Heavy boots crunch the gravel as he walks toward me.
An easy smile graces his face, so different from the man I spoke to on the phone.
“Caroline? Hey, I’m Mick.” He extends his large, calloused hand in greeting which I eagerly shake and it wraps around mine, covering it completely, warm and firm.
He whistles, lowly. “Look at this. Poor girl. We’ll get her out then assess the damages.
” Walking back up to his truck, he proceeds with Operation Rescue, dragging my car up onto the street.
Walking around the car in appraisal, he tells me, “She looks sound, no underbody damage but Duke’s right, those tires are bald as hell.” He gestures to his truck. “Hop up in the cab, we can head over to the shop.”
Riding beside Mick for the ten-minute drive to his shop is fun. He has his radio on and his window down, enjoying the spring air as much as I was. It’s comfortable, and speaking isn’t necessary.
Hopping down when he parks, I take in his small two-bay garage, with large tires in stacks of four scattered around.
A woman walks out from around an old black Camaro parked in one of the bays, wiping her hand on a shop rag.
She’s wearing blue coveralls with ‘Kayla’ on the pocket.
Her dark hair is cut in a neat pixie cut and her dark eyes are bright and happy as she approaches me.
“Hey, Dad, just drop it there. I can take a look.” She smiles at me with the same easy smile her dad gave me back at the ditch. “Caroline, right? I’m Kayla. New in town or passing through?” She gets right down to the small-town business of interrogating as she watches Mick offload my car.
“Oh, uh, still deciding, I think. Maybe sticking around. Hard to say.” I stutter through the non-explanation.
She laughs as she approaches my tough little car. “No worries, Inspiration, and its people, find a way to burrow inside you. Damn, these tires are bad. I’m surprised you made it this far.” As she reaches the rear, she reads my Carolina plates and raises an eyebrow at me. “Far from home.”
“Yeah, it’s been a journey. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Need an oil change too? I’ll check it. I want to get her on the lift, but everything looks okay. Start her up.” She inclines her head toward the car as she leans down to look underneath and I spring into action.
After a thorough check by Kayla, I’ve committed to four new tires and an oil change. She gives me, what she calls, the friends and family discount, which she tells me with a wink, “On account of Duke calling in a favor.” So my brand-new tires put a much smaller dent in my wallet than I expected.
While she works, Kayla’s friendly questioning continues, and I squirm a little.
“So…Duke, huh?” She looks at me knowingly.
She’s my age, maybe a year or so younger but definitely old enough to find Duke attractive.
I briefly consider that I may be encroaching on someone else’s territory, though I’m not sure whose.
She must see it on my face, and laughs. “I’ve known Duke a long time; he went to school with my older brother.
He’s real good people. Looks out for those that matter to him.
Which is why…” She trails off, not asking the question but hoping for the answer anyway.
I decide to put her out of her curious misery, at least a little.
“He saw me go into the ditch on Tuesday night. He was the first one who stopped. Gave me a blanket while I waited. I went over to Waylon’s,” I add, trying not to picture him sweaty, shirtless, and annoyed, “and asked him if anyone could help with the car and the tires. I guess that’s when he called Mick,” I say, almost more to myself than to Kayla.
It feels...strange, having someone quietly take care of things for me. No fanfare, no strings. Just a favor, just because.
She looks at me like she knows there might be more, but she doesn’t press.
“Well, like I said, he’s a good one. In case you were wondering.
” Her smile is a little bit smug. Grabbing a business card off the counter, she flips it over, writing in tiny, cramped numbers on the back.
“If you need a friend, let me know. It’s hard starting somewhere new, even if for a little while.
And me and Sadie are always looking for friends to have over for dinner or whatever. ”
Taking the card, I slide it in my pocket. I may need a friend or two, after all.
Promising a return Monday, I take off down Main Street toward Mable’s to grab dinner. What else is there to do in this town?