Hand in hand he left with the stranger, whose name he didn’t even know.
Leaving nothing behind but his innocence.
9
Three Years Later
“It’s gonna cost about eight hundred bucks, give or take.” At least the aging mechanic had the good graces to appear apologetic. One look at Mike’s worn jeans and torn T-shirt broadcast the news of too little money and too many problems.
All his carefully hoarded earnings, poured into a vehicle he’d keep fixing, one of the few things left of his daddy’s. Mike pushed his Stetson back on his head—something else he had of the man he’d admired above all else. “I’m kinda tight on cash. Know anyone around here looking for help?”
The mechanic waited out the whirr of a torque wrench, then lifted the bill of his John Deere cap and scratched his head. “What kinda work you looking for?” Was that hope on the man’s face?
In all his years on the farm, Mike hadn’t learned the first thing about fixing cars and trucks. He could, however, talk a spooked horse into eating sweet feed from his hand.
“I’m pretty good with horses, farm work.” He swallowed around a throatful of dust and toyed with the brim of his hat. “I also play bass, do some backup singing, if there’s any clubs or bars around here looking for musicians.”
“You don’t say.” The concern on the man’s face relaxed into a toothy grin. “My nephew’s in a band. I think they might be looking for someone to fill in for a while, but I’m not sure what they need. You hold on right here, let me step into the office and call him.”
Mike fidgeted, casting a worried gaze at his Bronco and back to the closed office door. He had a few more dollars put away than the eight hundred, but when counting on yourself and no one else, best to keep an emergency fund handy.
The man returned a few moments later, his grin giving away the answer from the nephew. “Ted says to meet him at The Rarin’ Stallion in an hour, ready to show what you got.”
“Um… Where is that? I’m new in town.” Rarin’ Stallion. Sounded like many of the other places Mike had played.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Mike’s savior said. “It’s about a quarter mile that way.” He pointed down Main Street. “You can’t miss it.”
Not far. Walkable. “Thanks, man.” Mike extended his hand. One problem down, a thousand more to go.
“Where you staying?”
Fuck. With the Bronco in the shop, where was he going to sleep tonight? “I… uh…”
“Don’t you worry ‘bout that none. I got some trailers for rent on the edge of town. Nothing fancy, mind you, but it’s a roof over your head and a bed to sleep in.”
“How much?” Mike mentally calculated the math, based on the expected rent.
The mechanic leaned against the Bronco, crossing his arms over his chest. “How long you planning on staying?”
Mike would have left already if his ride hadn’t let him down. “Long enough to get my Bronco fixed.”
The guy raked his gaze up and down Mike’s body, but not in an overtly sexual way. Good, because… um… no. “Tell you what. While you’re helping my nephew out, I’ll charge one hundred a week, utilities and household items included.”
The trailer must not be worth much, but Mike had slept in some questionable places in his day, and in some cases woken up somewhere he shouldn’t have been. What would his mother think of him now, knowing he’d dived headfirst into the kind of lifestyle she and his stepfather lectured him against? Nope, not going there. His life was his alone. No one who’d turned their back on him got a say.
He smiled, some of his worries easing. “Thank you.”
The man waved a dismissive hand. “Aw, it’s nothing. I’ll be looking for you down at The Stallion. I like to get a beer there every now and then.”
“While I appreciate your kind offer, how do you know I won’t turn out to be awful on the bass and no use to your nephew at all?” He’d once been too trusting, and gotten burned for his naiveté, leaving him wary of anyone when trust came into the picture. No one offered something for nothing, and they usually wanted more payment than the thing’s worth.
The man shifted his gaze right and left and put his lips near Mike’s ear. “I saw the CD case in your Bronco. A CD case with your picture on it. I’m thinking if you got your own CDs, you have to be better than half the guys Ted’s had in the band over the years.”
Mike groaned and closed his eyes. He’d meant to hide the CD cases. Even with the flimsy evidence, hiring a man based on a CD case wasn’t much of a vote of confidence. Anyone with a pulse, then. “Thank you. I’ll be by to talk about the trailer after I’ve seen your nephew.”
Mike tucked away things he didn’t want mechanics to see, like the CD cases. Bad enough the garage owner saw them. He hefted his guitar case and shut the back door.
The air outside the garage was dryer than dust, pulling his skin too tight. He needed a beer to clear his throat. Looked like he headed to the right place. He ambled down the sidewalk, barely checking right and left for the businesses he passed by. The scent of pizza made his stomach rumble, but a full stomach before an audition never set well with him.
