A Bet Worth Making (Grayson County #2) (2 page)

“Well,” he finally said, pausing to let the hood fall back into place. It slammed closed, and I flinched as he dusted his hands together before wiping them on a rag he produced from his back pocket. “She’s out of commission, that’s for sure. Looks like a belt and a hose from where I’m standing. Probably more but I’d need to get her on the lift to know for sure. How do you want to play it?”

“Do you think you can fix it?”

He frowned at the car. “I’m sure I can. Question is whether you’ll want to. She’s no spring chicken.”

I caught myself mid-sigh. Swallowed it. My bangs feathered back to my forehead and stuck there. “I understand.”

“How about I tow it up and have a look,” Frank said, jerking his head back toward the garage. “Diagnostic fee gets applied toward labor on any work done.”

He named his fee and I nodded slowly. It wasn’t like I had a choice. “All right.”

“You staying close by?” There went that piercing look again. Perception. I was the new girl in a town where everybody knew everybody. Mom said it’d be that way. Isn’t that why I’d picked this town instead of the one next door where my namesake lived?

“Planned to. Hadn’t nailed down the details yet,” I said. Both honest and vague.

Frank’s expression softened, again his combination of age and wisdom reminding me weirdly of Dad. Lots of things did, though. “I’m not trying to pry. Just want to make sure you’re square. It’s Strawberry Fest weekend so all the motels are booked for miles. Don’t want you sleeping outside. Or,” he gave me a pointed look, “running off before you can pay for the car repairs.”

That last part wounded my pride enough that I caved. “I’m not running off,” I promised. “I’m actually here about a job. I have a final meeting tomorrow. If all goes well, I’ll be sticking around a few months, actually. I figured I’d do a motel for a day or two, and then, if the job sticks, I’ll see about an apartment.”

“Huh.” Frank gave another grunt, same as before. I still had no idea what the sound meant but this time, there was a flash of something in his eyes before it disappeared again. “No apartments available this time of year,” he continued. “All the kids just got back from college. You need a room rental, Casey’s got one up for grabs if you’re not picky. Although short-term stuff is best kept over at the Holiday Inn in Windsor.” His lips twitched and he added, “Your sanity is best kept there too when faced with those two choices.”

He chuckled at what I assumed was an inside joke since I had no idea what he meant. Was this Casey chick crazy? But I did need a room. And Windsor was not an option. Besides, the job I’d come to consult on was at least in this same town so maybe I could walk to work for a while. Or buy a bicycle or something. Hell, if this heat kept up maybe I’d buy an ice cream truck instead.

I shrugged. “Tell whoever Casey is, as long as it’s clean and roach-free, I’ll take it.”

I spent the next thirty minutes at the shop waiting for Frank to arrange the tow. Even though it was only up the hill, it was a bitch of a hill, especially in this humidity. Given the choice, I’d pay for the truck to drag it rather than have to push it myself. Not that Frank gave me the choice. And for that fact alone, I was warming up to him.

Frank stood behind the counter, jabbing at the keys on an ancient, faded keyboard with a frown that somehow still managed to hold his toothpick inside his lips. “This damn computer will be the death of me. Can’t hardly look up a simple parts list without reloading the page sixteen times,” he muttered.

I would’ve offered to help—but technology and I didn’t much get along either. Even my phone was a basic model. For a city girl, I sure was behind the curve of “modern.”

“Sorry, I’d help if I could, but anything with a cord and plug is allergic to me,” I admitted.

Frank chuckled. “I thought all the young people had the magic touch with machines.”

I shrugged. “I was too busy with Legos and blocks to care much for electronics.”

Frank grunted and I finally realized the sound was meant to be an agreement. Or approval. “I like that. You and I will get along just fine. Too damn many kids with no imagination anymore.”

He was friendly, I realized, as I leaned against the wall next to the window unit and listened to him chatter. Perceptive as hell, a quality that put him just this side of nosy. Still. He didn’t push.

“So, what brings you to Grayson?” he asked.

I hesitated and his eyes flicked to me before settling back on the ancient computer screen whose keyboard he was plucking away at. I played with the cap of the second bottle of water I was nursing, going over my prepared story once mentally before I spoke out loud.

“My dad grew up a couple of counties over,” I said carefully. “I had some time between jobs back home and when the Stafford project posted, I thought I’d spend some time here, see small town livin’, as he called it.”

Frank’s brows drew together, his expression forming a question. Before he could ask the only one I didn’t want to answer, I pushed on in a different direction. “I grew up in Hartford. Big city compared to all this,” I said, waving a hand.

“I guess it is, isn’t it? What sort of work do you do, then?” he asked. Eyes back on the computer. Good. Dodged it.

I relaxed. Let more of my weight fall back against the wall. This I could talk about all day. “I studied architecture and design, but I’ve recently branched into building restoration. Old houses mostly, although I’ve done some urban planning and development as well.”

I fell silent as a pang went through my chest. The restorations had been something Dad and I had fallen in love with together. In fact, I’d taken the new construction here in Grayson on purpose. Nothing to remind me of the way he and I used to spend hours watching the Home & Garden channel and arguing over how we would’ve done the restore differently—and better—than the hosts.

“That right? You should’ve talked longer with Ford. He’s looking to build a place up on the hill. Summer, his fiancé, says she wants southern classic.”

The hill. This place was so small, he’d called it “the hill” like there was only one. It made me smile. “Sounds like a fun project. Coincidentally, the job I’m here to consult on is a southern classic design. Antebellum with a dash of contemporary, the email said.”

Frank chuckled. “Yep. That must be Summer, Ford’s girl. She’s particular enough to be doing the legwork although her daddy, Dean, is footing the bill. Wedding present.”

I snapped my fingers. “Dean Stafford, that’s the one.” I wasn’t even surprised he knew them. “The project sounds interesting. The proposal had a nice mix of the traditional and modern. I like Summer’s vision. Hopefully, I’ll get to work on it.”

He nodded, glancing over. The gleam was back. “That room of Casey’s might be perfect after all. It’s not far to the Stafford’s place at Heritage Plantation. More than likely, you’d be able to catch a ride up the hill in the mornings. Then again, I guess it’s a doable walk to the hill itself, if you’re sturdy.”

“I’m not fragile.”

He eyed me. “No, I imagine you’re not. I’ll take you over when we’ve finished here then.”

Something about his sharp eyes made me shift. I wanted to ask what he’d meant about my sturdiness but couldn’t bring myself to voice it. For the first time since leaving Hartford, I wished Gavin had come with me. But no, I told myself, he needed to be with his unit. Besides, this was for me. I’d made Dad a promise, and since that promise was all that I had left of him, I intended to see it through.

The tow driver showed up with the Nissan and ten minutes later, Frank had it stored in the garage in an open bay. I stood outside and watched Frank pull the bay door closed and then did the same with the heavy front door. It stuck and he gave it a final yank to secure it in place before turning toward an old pickup.

“You’re not going to lock up?” I asked.

“It’s secure,” he assured me. I waited for him to elaborate with details about an alarm system I’d failed to notice but he didn’t. Maybe if my car had been worth more than the deductible, I’d care. As it was, he stood more to lose than I did. So I let it go.

Frank chattered as he drove us down the hill and turned right, the same way Ford had driven off. Anytime he asked me a question that aimed for personal, I redirected with a topic change about building design and Grayson town history. It worked, but made me wonder if I was really fooling him or he was just trying to be polite. That look in his eyes earlier had said he didn’t miss much.

“How long have you been running the garage?” I asked when the town gave way to trees and I ran out of buildings to question him on.

“I’ve owned it since my pop, Lord rest his soul, passed it to me. But I only work it one or two days a week as needed. Most folks go to Windsor, to the big dealerships nowadays. The rest of the time I’m foreman over at Heritage Plantation, Dean’s place. I’m not too bad with a wrench but I’ll take a spade and soil over engine grease any day.”

I smiled because, based on his wistful tone, he meant it. And I knew exactly how he felt. It was the same warm fuzzies I got when I restored an old house or designed a classic concept for new development. Gavin always teased me for being so logical but the truth was architecture was emotional for me. Always had been.

“What sort of plants do you grow there?” I asked.

Frank slowed to take a hard left onto a dirt road I would’ve missed on my own. The truck jostled as the pavement ran out underneath its aged tires and gave way to packed gravel and dirt.

“Everything from corn crop to chrysanthemums to experimental herb remedies.  My green thumb falls somewhere in the middle. I like the sort of thing that can dress up a space, be it greenery or color, but I’m not too picky as long as it keeps me out in the fresh air.”

I snorted. “Whatever this air is, I wouldn’t call it fresh.” Stale, oppressive. Heavy. Not fresh.

Frank chuckled. “Hartford doesn’t have humidity.” It was somewhere between a statement and a question.

I shook my head. “Not like this.”

“Not many places in the world are quite like this,” he agreed and this time there was pride in his words.

I shifted tactics again. Best to keep the conversation jumping around. “So, about Casey and this room. Maybe we should’ve called first. Or texted. Is it all right to just show up?”

“Nah. It’s fine. Casey’s more of the show-up kind anyway. And,” he paused to give me a onceover, “you’re definitely going to have more of a shot at the room if you show up.”

I opened my mouth to ask about that one but Frank continued, “Casey doesn’t normally do roommates. Bad experience way back, I think. But the room is empty and, well, a little help with the mortgage doesn’t hurt. I think there’s a certain Yamaha dirt bike that’s beggin’ to be bought.”

“Casey’s into dirt bikes,” I said, surprised.

Frank chuckled. “Casey’s never not been into dirt bikes.”

I sat back and pictured that. I couldn’t help but be impressed over a girl who rode. Maybe this roommate thing could be cool.

The truck jostled over several potholes where the gravel had been rubbed away and then Frank pulled up to a small house nestled between a break in the trees. It was in good condition with solid, inexpensive framework. Not cheap, though. That was good. The roof looked fairly new and the porch was a cute little thing with the perfect corner for a swing and—

Shut up, Jordan. It’s not like it’s yours. Who cares?

A garage painted in deep red to match the shutters sat to the right. Parked off to the side was a beat-up truck that could’ve been a twin of Frank’s if not for the ugly brown color. Frank’s was at least a discernible shade of green.

“End of the line,” Frank said. He didn’t move to get out so I assumed he meant end of the line for me. I got out and grabbed my bag from the truck bed. As I stood there in the dirt, a twinge of uncertainty twisted in my gut.

I was in the middle of nowhere. No car. No friends for hundreds of miles. No one even knew where I was, not exactly. Shit, why hadn’t I texted Gavin on the way here to let someone know? And, in a moment, I’d be stranded with no way back to civilization. What if this Casey chick did, in fact, turn out to be crazy?

Frank leaned toward me and spoke through the open window. “Truck’s there so just knock on the door and you two can work it out. Casey doesn’t bite. But if you want a ride to the Holiday Inn, just call me and I’ll come and get you.”

I nodded and typed in his number as he rattled it off. “Thanks,” I said, feeling slightly better to have a contact out here.

“No problem. I’ve got to take a look at a sick tractor or I’d walk you in.” He looked genuinely concerned now. Was my expression that terrified?

You’re a grown-ass adult, Jordan
. Geez.

“No, no. I’m fine.” I forced a smile. Forced myself to mean it. “Really. You go ahead. I’ll call you if I need you. And I’ll talk to you soon about the car.”

Frank nodded. “Yep. We’ll chat soon. Good to meet you, Jordan. Good luck.”

“Thanks. For everything,” I added.

Frank smiled and gave me a sort of wave-salute.

I stepped back and watched him swing wide into a U-turn before heading back to the road in a gravelly cloud of dust.

When the truck was gone, I turned back to the little house.
No time to rethink it. You’re here.
Daddy’s voice was so clear in my head, it made me smile: The only move is forward.