The thought was unsettling for two reasons.
One–she didn’t like seeing her faults in someone else because they stood out and couldn’t be ignored. Was it wrong to do something like steal a truck and trailer when her motives were good? Probably. The Big Ten didn’t have amendments or clauses or footnotes. Thou Shalt NOT was pretty darn clear. Yet she’d jumped in that cab and hit the gas without a second thought.
Two–having things in common with Drake meant that they could find common ground when it came to Felix. Maybe she could give—a little—and he could give—a lot—and they’d find a place where they were both happy.
Yeah. And she’d dress up as Mrs. Claus this Christmas and hand out candy canes.
She turned off her lamp and closed her eyes tight.
Tomorrow would be a much better time to listen to Drake’s side of things.She’d already pulled and pushed herself to think differently—to see him in a better light—and her mind stretched out like taffy.
Tomorrow she’d talk to Drake and see ifshecould be different.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
“Schnitzel!” Drake cursed and jumped back. The chrome trim crashed to the ground, barely missing his boots. He scowled at it. He happened to like these boots. They were a composite toe and nice leather. He’d paid good money for them, and a slice in the leather would have ruined them forever.
The image of Pax’s boots, covered in duct tape just for that reason, flashed through his mind. His brother thought the solution was genius, not caring that he looked like a homeless man even though his boots were in a pristine condition under all that silver tape.
Otis wasn’t feeling well today. He had a migraine or something, and so he’d holed up in his house. His wife, a nice woman in an ugly Christmas apron, told Drake he was free to use the shop if he still wanted to work.
Of course, he still wanted to work. He had a deadline. Christmas Eve wasn’t going to wait around for him to get home. He’d already missed the cookie party.
The awful door squeak scraped through the air and he jerked his head in that direction, his chest filling with hope that Otis had miraculously recovered and come out to help.
It wasn’t Otis; it was Clove. The strangest thing happened. Instead of his heart plummeting to the ground with disappointment, it lifted a little higher and fluttered like a bluebird. Or was it a new bird? Why did he hear music?
He shook his head and stared back down at the chrome. He’d gotten the dent out of it as much as possible and just wanted to put it back in place to cover the dent in the body.
“Oh, man!” Clove came around the trailer and picked her way through the pieces spread all over the place. He and Otis weren’t exactly tidy in their project. “I didn’t do all that, did I?”
Drake allowed a half-smile to form. “You’re a lot more destructive than you think.”
She whacked his stomach with the back of her hand. “Ha. Ha. Ha,” she deadpanned. “What’s the plan today?” She toed the chrome as if it would spring to life at her touch.
He sighed. “Setbacks and irritation.”
She huffed a laugh at his sarcasm. “I’ll help.”
“You?” he eyed her up and down, not lingering on any wonderful curve of her body but not skipping over them either. She didn’t want to spend more than five minutes in his presence and now she wanted to work with him? That didn’t make sense. Maybe she was softening toward him. Then again, maybe she wanted out of Windy Plains, and this was her way of speeding things along. He wished he knew her motivation.
“Yes, me. I’m a homesteader. I got skills.” She took off her coat and tossed it over his on the metal desk. His chest expanded at the sight of his flannel shirt, rolled up to accommodate her shorter arms and tied at her waist. He never wanted it back. Nope. She could wear it every day for all he cared.
“Where should I start?”
He waved to the trailer. “Take the big dent.” He checked his grin, waiting to see what she would do.
She ran her hand over the dent and then glanced toward the back of the trailer, where the door hung open. Spinning around, she grabbed a small sledgehammer, the head the size of his fist.
“Wait, what are you doing?” He held up both hands as if trying to stop shoppers from rushing a store on Black Friday.
“I’m helping.” She went around him and disappeared inside. A moment later, a clang rang through the building and reverberated through his head. He grabbed both sides of his skull to stop the ringing. Maybe that’s how Otis got his migraine.
“Clove?!” The only answer was another loud clang followed by three smaller but nonetheless disturbing thumps. He covered his ears. He zeroed in on where the sound originated and noticed that the bump in the trailer wasn’t so bumpy anymore. She was pounding out the dent and doing a decent job of it from what he could see.
She kept at it for about five more minutes and then came out of the tack room, dusting off her palms and swinging the sledgehammer like she hit a home run. “How’s it look out here?”
He ran his hand over the surface. “Not bad. Not as smooth as it was before the dent, but a whole lot better.”
