He gives me a begrudging shake of the head. “No, ma’am. Just promise you won’t talk that way around my Chevelle.” I close my lips tightly, making a zipper and lock motion. Shoving his hands in the back pockets of his Wranglers, he says, “Alright then, we have a deal.”
Chapter Two
TRAVIS
Pulling up in front of the Jenkins Feed Store, I press down the gas pedal a couple of times, making the Chevelle jump and its engine boom to grab Faith’s attention. I can see her staring through the storefront window, shaking her head, and it makes me grin like a middle schooler. I don’t know what it is about this girl, but I like getting a reaction out of her.
I’ve helped out for the past six months now, doing what I can during breaks in fire season. But it’s been a long, hot summer, and one sure to keep burning through the end of November or maybe December.
Fire seasons keep stretching longer and longer. According to my supervisor, Kurt, you could count on a solid six months of work back in the day. But last year, the Rough & Ready Hotshots stayed out well past Thanksgiving. It’s not a trend I relish, but I didn’t go into the job for personal comfort. As Faith would say, “It is what it is.”
The Chevelle’s my pride and joy, although my property and garage house various car renovation projects in every stage of completion. Some would call it a junkyard in the making,but I see a certain beauty in the whole thing. There’s always room for one more good deal.
Thankfully, I’m not tied down with a wife or kids, so I can do what I’d like with my money and time. Nine times out of ten, that’s flipping cars and selling them at auction. As for the tenth, that’s keeping a fine specimen for myself.
The thrill of the entire process is one big dopamine hit. Faith gets it like nobody else. She’s hooked on car renovation shows, which means she always has plenty of questions for me.
Now, I stare at the gold 1968 Cougar GTE 427 parked nearby with a “For Sale” sign, and my stomach twists in tight knots. That’s Mr. Jenkins old car, and Faith’s dream car.
Sure, it could use some work and a fresh paint job, but why she’s selling it, I can’t fathom. Even more shocking is the $15,000 OBO she’s asking for it. Thankfully, folks around this town have no clue what a steal she’s offering. I can’t let her do this.
Faith’s light brown sugar-colored eyes take my breath away as I enter the shop. So does her curvy figure emphasized by the white tank top and cowgirl jeans she wears. I can’t help myself. I stop in the doorway, letting my eyes soak her in for a long moment.
She looks down blushing, and the warm rush of happiness I get every time I see her crashes into me. The feeling has intensified the longer I help out at the feed store, and I don’t know whether it’s a good or a bad thing.
But it does make me count down the days until I see her again. And it has started keeping my eyes from straying to other women. Ask anyone around town, and that’s a new thing for me.
Clearing my throat and scowling to disguise the infatuation raging inside, I ask, “What’s up with your dad’s Cougar out front?” I point with my thumb over my shoulder, emphasizing my question.
Her face reddens, and she looks guilty. Shifting from one foot to the other, she replies, “It’s nice to see you, too, Trav. How’s your day been?”
I stride towards her, watching the way she appreciates me back. She may present herself as a sweet, conservative, virginal church girl to the good folks of Hollister, but she can’t disguise the fire in her eyes. Or the way it flickers into all-consuming flames when she stares at me like this. I swallow the thick knot of desire in my throat, “Don’t change the subject on me, mama. What’s up with that ‘For Sale’ sign?”
The way her cheeks stain when I call her “mama” undoes me every time. She’s the most adorable mixture of sexy curves and timid looks I’ve ever seen, and she’s wrapping me around her finger—inch by inch—each time I see her. Fuck, I should be more careful, but it’s almost too late for that. I want her, and I want her bad.
“Oh, that old thing? It’s been collecting dust and rust at the ranch. I don’t have the time or money to put into her any longer.” The way her bottom lip trembles and her eyes pool as she speaks isn’t lost on me.
A couple weeks back, I sold a 1964 VW Karmann Ghia for $45,000 at an auction in Newport Beach. It required a significant investment in metric tools because I’ve never been much of a foreign car guy, but I can’t deny how easy they are to fix up or resell. Classic VWs have attained a cult status not unlikeThe Rocky Horror Picture Show.
But my fingers are itching to get back to work on American muscle. I’ve got to choose my words carefully, though, because Faith is a proud woman who doesn’t like taking help from others.
“Cut three from the price, and I’ll take her. But there’s a catch. You have to help me fix her up. Once she’s done, you have first dibs, at a reasonable price, before she goes onthe auction block.” I shift from one foot to the other, side-eyeing her while her brain works.
The honest truth is I’ll give her the damn car once it’s complete and eat the difference. If it’ll put a smile on her face and give me a chance to spend time with her and see where these crazy feelings of mine are heading.
Her cheeks go a couple of shades darker. “That’s a terrible deal. You know she’s worth at least twice that much, if not more.”
“Not in this town, sugar. Why do you think I travel to auctions and car shows across the West Coast to sell my shit?”
“Hmm.” Her eyes flicker to the Cougar outside as her thoughts turn. Finally, she asks, “What do you mean by a reasonable price, and how often do you want me helping out?”
Free and every fucking night. But I’ve got to play it cool. Instead, I reply, “Your original asking price, and as often as you can. It’s up to you how long you want this to take.” I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant.
I don’t know if I’m talking about cars or hearts at this point. All I know is I have to find a way to see more of her.
She scowls, considering my offer.
Knowing how much she likes a challenge, I add, “Unless all that talk you’ve been feeding me about how good you are under the hood is just bluster?”
