Warner switches on the radio. We spend the next ten minutes listening to country, and I’m reminded why I don’t prefer it. So much of it is about love, that pure, sweet and intoxicating kind. Unless you’re lucky enough to be at that point in your life, the crooning melody is depressing.
I put my elbow on the door and look out the window as he drives, my good mood deflating with every revolution of the truck’s tires. Warner is the kind of man Tate should have been. I don’t have to know him any better than this. I can just tell.
Warner drives me to Caliverde Auto, and though the tow truck is out on a job right now, it will be available to get Pearl within the hour.
“Thanks for all your help,” I tell Warner, reaching into my purse for my wallet. He doesn’t seem like the kind of person who would accept money for his help, but shouldn’t I at least offer?
When he sees my wallet come out, he shakes his head. “I should be the one paying you for the chance to look under the hood of a vintage Bronco. They’re not exactly common.” The curiosity is there again in those burnt caramel eyes. “You referred to the Bronco as ‘she’ and ‘her.’ Does that also mean you’ve named your vehicle?”
“Pearl,” I answer, a hint of pride creeping into my tone. I love that car. She makes me feel free and untamed.
“Pearl,” Warner echoes, nodding his head slowly. “I like it.”
“That’s good, because if you didn’t, I’d have to change it.”
His eyes draw together. “Really?”
I snort. “No, not really. Pearl is my girl, and her name fits her.” Slipping the wallet in my purse, I come away with something else. “Candy?”
Warner stares at my open palm, then he meets my eyes. “Where I come from, candy has a wrapper.”
“I know, it’s unconventional.” Unscrewing the lid to the wide-mouth Mason jar, I thrust it closer. “They’re to die for. Spicy Peach Rings, and they make them in-house at this place in LA.”
Warner eyes me. “LA to New Mexico? That’s a haul.”
I ignore the two little puzzle pieces he has just connected. It’s not like he cares one way or the other. He is maybe or maybe not married, and he definitely has kids. “Just take one. You won’t regret it.”
He fishes out a peach ring and pops it in his mouth. I widen my eyes and lean forward, jokingly watching him. He nods and says, “Okay, those are good. Spicy, but good.”
I eat one too, and tell him, “I told you.”
He reaches for another. “I need one more for the road.” He takes three and looks at his watch. “If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late.”
“Thank you again,” I say. He waves at me and turns around, and I watch him walk across the cracked asphalt parking lot to his truck. I will probably never see him again.
He doesn’t belong to me, and he very likely belongs to someone else.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve just lost something.
5
Tenley
Shirley hasbrick red lipstick on her teeth, but the makeup faux pas can wait. Barb has something much more pressing to tell her friend. “Did you hear?” she asks in a superior tone, thoroughly enjoying holding court for her party of one.
“Hear what?” Shirley asks, curious but also reticent. Barb can be a terrible gossip.
“A whole parade of trucks came through town this morning. Big trucks,” Barb holds her fleshy hands away from her body, motioning to show the size. “Hauling trailers. They’re coming.”
The corners of Shirley’s lips dip with disapproval, and she taps Barb’s hand, a physical tsk. “Would you stop? You sound melodramatic.”
Barb leans forward conspiratorially, and Shirley smells a secret. “How’s this for melodramatic? I heard they asked Beau Hayden if they could film inside his house and he asked them if they’d also like to crawl up his backside and set up camp.” Unbridled pride skims her cheekbones and eyes, rolling over her face like a wave. Not much tastes as good as juicy truth.
Shirley laughs. “Now that, I believe. Nobody delivers a cutting line like a Hayden.”
* * *
The studio has putme up in a big house close to a river. There is more land and privacy, but I would’ve preferred to stay closer in town, where the crew is staying. For looks, I’m supposed to be staying in the nicer place. Lead actress, yada yada. But I know who’s footing the bill for all this, and the smaller the cost, the better. Still, I couldn’t very well insist on a room at the town’s hotel. Maintaining appearances is paramount to my parents. Despite the zeroes in their bank account (not the kind that come after a big number and are separated by commas), they need me to put on a show.
