She thought about arguing that “check engine” did not usually mean “imminent explosion,” but opted to just follow his instructions.
“Where are you?” he asked as she shut the door behind her and stood, shivering, in the lightly falling snow.
“Just outside Clear Lake. Interstate 35, near U.S. 18.”
“How near?”
“Half a mile south,” she said, looking at the sign that announced this fact.
A pause, punctuated by faint clicking noises. “Anyone around?”
“Um ... no.”
“Right. Hang on.”
The connection went dead.
Before she could decide whether he’d hung up on her again or whether it was just the bad reception, something popped into view beyond the road sign, dark amid the swirling flakes. No, wait—someone. Someone wearing a black coat and wool cap.Holy crap.
She ran to meet him, all her intentions of starting with an apology driven clear out of her head. “That was amazing!”
He looked at her car rather than at her, his long coat blowing wildly around his boots. “What happened?”
She told him. Without comment, he slid into the driver’s seat and laid his hands on the dashboard. His frown deepened.
“Well, it’s not the engine control unit or the instrument panel,” he muttered.
He spent a few more moments feeling up her car while she watched, skin tingling, envying the junker. Then he popped the hood. They stared at the contents,playing a miserable version of “what’s wrong with this picture.”
She came up with the answer first. “Oh! The alternator belt’s gone.”
Hartgrave blinked at her. “What?”
She’d seen enough tractors at all angles to know what a vehicle was supposed to look like under the hood. She pointed: “Right there.”
“Scheiße.”
“How could I have been responsible for this?”
He let the hood fall shut with a resounding bang. “You weren’t. An alternator belt is mechanical, not electronic.”
“Then—”
“Your car is a piece of dreck and chose this evening to break down.”
She shook her fist at the sky. “Damn you, irony!”
“Exactly. Now go pop the hood and try to start the car.”
“Pop the—why did you close it, then?”
“I desperately needed to slam something.”
She laughed. He looked as if he’d been about to smile in return but thought better of it, and her stomach did its zip-clench-sink routine so rapidly, she had to steady herself on the car.
She almost launched into her kiss-debacle explanation right then. But he hunched more deeply into his coat, rubbing his arms, and she knew it would have to wait until they were both out of the cold.
Her first attempt at starting the car went nowhere. The battery was clearly stone dead. Hopeless, even ifanother car stopped to help—a jumpstart wasn’t enough without an alternator belt.
