“It’s a burning chemical smell.” I unbuckle my seat belt to lean over him to check the dashboard. “Don’t you smell it?”
He sniffs over and over again. “Maybe? Something faint?”
“I’ve smelled it a lot in the shop. It’s not a good sign.”
I bang on the dashboard, and the temperature gauge unsticks and swings from normal to hot. A delayed warning chime sounds, and the check engine light illuminates.
“Oh, shoot. Pop the hood.” I jump out of the motorhome and lift the hood, releasing a puff of white smoke. Coughing, I fan the air. “Believe me now?”
He leans out the window. “It was fine before. What happened?”
“I don’t know. Once it cools down, I’ll check the transmission fluid.”
Of course, luck isn’t on our side. I groan when the dipstickcomes out squeaky clean. Hoping it’s a fluke, I check one more time, but I get the same result despite the fluid level being full when I checked yesterday.
“Uh . . . I think we have a leak.”
“Can you fix it?”
Easier said than done.
I enter the motorhome through the RV door and unzip my suitcase. Transmission fluid I brought, thank goodness, but depending on the source of the leak, I might not have that specific spare part.
“I have to find the leak first. It’s going to take time. Come on outside and give me a hand. It could be anything from a worn seal to a faulty torque converter. If it’s not an obvious fix, we might have to delay the drive until I can figure it out.”
“Delay?” His voice cracks with panic.
“It’s not the most ideal, but it is the safest option. You don’t want this thing to catch fire while we are cruising down the road.”
“Whatever you need to do. You’re the expert.”
I wink at him, appreciating his confidence.
Lifting my loose hair into my usual high bun, my brain clicks into work mode, and an imaginary checklist forms in my head. I lean into the hood, checking the radiator lines and behind the grill, but there’s no sign of a leak. I let my head drop in frustration.
Throughout each check, the heat of Tristen’s gaze tickles between my shoulder blades. Unable to take it any longer, I spin around and pin him with a stare of my own.
“What is it?” I snap.
“I’ve never seen you in action before.”
“Well . . . stop it. You’re making me nervous.”
A slow grin pulls at his beard, and his blue eyes twinkle with satisfaction.
“Focus, Tristen.” I clap my hands together with each word. “Exploding motorhome.”
But maybe I say it a little more for me than him.
Lowering myself to the ground, I crawl underneath, wincing as the rocks dig into my spine. Ignoring the pain, I continue down my checklist. Transmission lines, good. Pan gasket, good. Input and output seal, good. I pause when I get to the bell housing, noticing a dark red droplet dangling above me. Frowning, I know I have to peek inside, but there’s a chance I’ll be showered in red transmission fluid. I shift away before I start prying the cover with a flathead.
“I think I found something with the torque converter. It—” I shriek as liquid pours out next to my shoulder.Ah, man.It got on my white t-shirt too.That’s the thing with this job. I’m always ruining my clean clothes.
“Reese?” Tristen drops into a push-up position, fear etched on his features. His hand curls around my ankle as if he’s about to yank me out. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a little transmission leak. Give me a second to put everything back the way it was. I think I know what the issue is, but I’ll need to take it completely apart to verify.” I grunt through the words as I wiggle back out. “Then I might need to call one of the auto shops to weld the cracks shut.”
Tristen sucks in a breath and kneels beside me. “Reese, you’re bleeding.”
