by Linda Turner
And this wasn’t high school, she thought glumly. She couldn’t make up a failing test grade by doing extra credit or throwing out the lowest score at the end of the six weeks. There were only four tests all semester, and they all counted!
Worried if she’d even be able to pass Max’s class now, she hardly slept that night. And her mood wasn’t any better the next day. Getting dressed for work, she kept flirting with the idea of dropping archeology altogether. The only way she’d been able to afford to go to school was through grants and scholarships, and she would lose those if she failed.
But just the thought of not seeing Max again squeezed her heart. Okay, so he was her teacher and too young for her and there was absolutely no chance of anything serious developing between them, but she loved his class and she’d never been so drawn to a man in her life. How could she just drop his class? She’d never see him again.
Fighting the need to cry, she pulled herself together and reported to work with a determined smile on her face, but she might as well have saved herself the trouble. Sam took one look at her and scowled. “What’s wrong now?”
“Nothing,” she retorted, sweeping past him to store her purse in her locker in the back room. “I’m just tired.”
“And I’m Mother Teresa. Is something wrong with the boys?”
“No.”
“Your mother? Has she been calling you again, trying to get you to move back home?”
A reluctant smile curled the corners of her mouth. “She’s been doing that since the day I moved here eighteen years ago. That’s nothing new.”
“Then what is new? And don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ I’m your boss, remember? The guy who sees you day in and day out and knows you like a book? You always get that sad-puppy-dog look in your eyes whenever something goes wrong.”
“Puppy-dog look?” she repeated, lifting a delicately arched brow at him. “Are you saying I look like a dog?”
“No, of course not! I just said—”
Fighting a smile, she adopted an injured look and sniffed, “You don’t have to repeat it. I heard it the first time.”
Far from impressed, he just gave her a steady look. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong or not?”
“I’m fine,” she insisted, and deliberately changed the subject. “What station do you want me to take? Elizabeth looks like she could use some help today. She’s the one who needs to go home.”
“I told her the same thing,” he retorted, glancing over at the six-months-pregnant Elizabeth with a frown. “She’s just as stubborn as you are. I don’t understand it. I’m surrounded by stubborn women! How did this happen? Is anybody listening? Does anybody care?”
Natalie had to laugh. “Of course we care. But you know yourself that this place wouldn’t be nearly as interesting without us.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “Go help Elizabeth,” he growled. “Hey,” he called after her when she started to head toward station eight. “If you change your mind and want to talk, you know where I am.”
She couldn’t talk to him. After telling everyone for years how badly she wanted to go to college, she couldn’t admit to anyone that she was now thinking about dropping out. “Thanks,” she said huskily, and hurried to help Elizabeth.
She struggled to act as if nothing was wrong, but she was fighting a losing battle. Her eyes burned with the need to cry, and she found it nearly impossible to concentrate. She was usually an excellent waitress, even if she did say so herself. She always kept her orders straight—or she had until today. Time and again, she forgot who ordered what, but the customers were, thankfully, forgiving. So was Sam…until she mistakenly ordered a rib eye for a vegetarian at table six.
“You did what?” Sam growled when she set the steak back on the counter in front of the grill where he was cooking. “How could you confuse rib eye with broccoli rabe? What am I supposed to do with this?”
She winced. “I don’t know…eat it, I guess. I’m sorry, Sam. I don’t know what happened. I guess I wasn’t listening very closely. I was worried about—”
When she hesitated, he just rolled his eyes. “What’s the big secret? Whatever it is, you know you can tell me. But don’t,” he added quickly when she opened her mouth to put him off again. “I don’t need to know. My only concern is you and the boys. Are the three of you all right?”
“Define all right.”
“Natalie…”
She had to smile at his warning tone. “Just kidding. We’re fine,” she assured him. “All of us. Okay? I’m just having a meltdown over a decision I have to make. I’m sorry I brought it to work with me. I just can’t seem to concentrate.”
“Which is why you need to go home early and take care of whatever this decision is you have to make.”
He meant well, but she couldn’t do it. “I can’t afford to, Sam. You know that. The boys are growing like weeds. It seems like they need new shoes every other week. I need all the tips I can get.” When he gave her a pointed look, she had to laugh. It wasn’t often that he used subtlety. “I know. I’m not going to get any tips if I don’t get the orders straight. I’ll work on it. I promise.”
“Just don’t run all my customers off, okay?” he retorted. “I need them to keep the place open.”
“I’ll do my best,” she promised dryly.
She went back to work and, as promised, focused on keeping her orders straight. And for the most part, she was successful. If the smile she flashed her customers was more than a little strained and she didn’t chat with them the way she usually did, she couldn’t help it. She considered herself an optimist—she didn’t usually let things get her down. But then again, the only other time she’d had to face the death of a dream was when Derek had walked out on her. Quitting college didn’t equate with the death of her marriage, but it was close. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been so disappointed in herself.
By the time her shift ended and she punched out, she was exhausted. She’d hardly slept last night, and today had been an emotional roller coaster. She still didn’t know what she was going to do about school, but she didn’t have the energy to think about it anymore. She just wanted to pick up the boys at Susan’s, go home and put her feet up for the rest of the evening. Tomorrow would be soon enough to decide what she was going to do.
But she was three blocks from the restaurant and heading for Susan’s when her car suddenly started sounding strange. A split second later, the motor made a loud jarring clatter that seemed to shake the entire car. Her heart in her throat, she hit the brakes, instantly slowing down, but it was too late. The motor died right there in the middle of the street. Powerless, she could do nothing but guide the car over to the curb and coast to a stop. Just that quickly, silence fell like a shroud.
Horrified, she stared at the flashing red CHECK ENGINE light on the instrument panel and felt her heart sink. “Oh, no!” she groaned. “This can’t be happening! Not now.”
Frantic, she tried to restart the car, but she might as well have saved herself the trouble. When she turned the key, the only response was the click in the ignition. The motor did absolutely nothing.
Stricken, sick with worry, she wanted to kick herself. This was all her fault! She should have listened to Nick. Nick Lewis was not only her neighbor, but he knew enough about cars to change her oil for her and check her battery connections whenever her battery needed a charge. He didn’t, however, do major repairs, though he could usually predict when she needed work done. And he’d warned her months ago that she needed a ring job, or she would be asking for some serious trouble.
She hadn’t doubted him for a second, but how could she pay for car repairs when she didn’t even have the money to buy the boys shoes? So she’d started saving every spare dollar she could, but then the refrigerator had gone out and all her savings had gone to that. She’d been left with no choice but to keep putting oil in her Honda every time she drove it. She’d thought she was buying herself some time, but time had, apparently, jus
t run out.
And she still didn’t have any money.
Sick at the thought, she released the hood latch, then stepped out of the car to lift the hood. Not that it did her any good, she thought grimly. She could add oil and water and check the belts and battery cables, but the motor itself was a mystery. It looked just as it always did—grimy and dirty. Had she killed it for good? There was only one way to find out. She had to have it towed to a garage. She didn’t even want to think what it was going to cost. Resigned, she turned back in the direction of the restaurant and started walking.
Out for a ride on a motorcycle to clear his head and the writer’s block that held his creativity in a vise, Max welcomed the rush of the wind in his face. As soon as he reached the outskirts of town, he was going to open up the throttle and fly. Maybe then he’d be able to write more than two sentences when he sat down in front of his computer again. If the fresh air didn’t help, he didn’t know what he was going to do. Maybe stand on his head and stack BBs. Anything to spark his creativity again.
Muttering a curse just at the thought of possibly having to reschedule his book, he didn’t see the woman walking down the street toward him until he was almost even with her. And even then he was well past her before he recognized her. Natalie! What the hell was she doing out walking when it was almost dark? Then he saw her car parked half a block ahead of him with the hood up.
Surprised, he didn’t even think. He just slowed down, checked his mirror, then whipped around in a quick U-turn. Gunning the throttle, he raced back to Natalie, passed her again, then made another U-turn. When he pulled up next to her, he was smiling as he pulled off his helmet. “You look like you could use a ride.”
Stunned, she blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“I was just riding around, blowing the cobwebs out of my head,” he replied with a grin. “You all right? What happened?”
“I think I killed my motor,” she said with a grimace. “It’s been leaking oil and I didn’t have the money—” Suddenly breaking off abruptly, she sighed. “It’s a miserable story. I don’t think you want the details. Anyway, I was walking back to Sam’s to use his phone to call a tow truck. “
“Where you going to take it?”
“I don’t know,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Somewhere cheap, if there is such a thing.”
“I may be able to help with that,” he told her, and reached for his cell phone. Punching in a number from memory, he grinned when his call was answered. “Hey, Smitty, you old goat. Is your wrecker out on a call? Good. I’ve got a customer for you. No, it’s not me—it’s a friend. Her car broke down just down the road from you at the corner of Second and College. How long will it take you to get here? Then I guess we’ll see you in a few minutes. Her blue Honda is parked on the west side of Second.”
When he hung up, he turned to her with a smile. “You’ll like Smitty. He’s the best mechanic I’ve ever known, and he won’t charge you an arm and a leg.”
Natalie knew he meant well, and she appreciated that. But considering the current condition of her finances, anything over fifty dollars was an arm and a leg. The cost of towing alone was bound to be more than that, but what choice did she have? The car had to be fixed. “I just hope I haven’t blown the motor,” she said, worry gnawing at her stomach like battery acid. Looking down the road, she saw a huge black tow truck barreling toward them. “Your friend doesn’t waste any time,” she told Max, nodding down the road. “Here he comes.”
The words were hardly out of her mouth when the tow truck pulled up with a flourish in front of her car and Smitty climbed down from the monster truck to greet them. Natalie took one look at him and blinked in surprise. When Max had said that he was a friend, she’d expected the other man to be close to Max in age. Instead, he was sixty if he was a day, with short curly gray hair and blue eyes that sparkled merrily. Before he said a word, Natalie liked him.
“What’d you do to this poor lady’s car?” he teased Max. “Cut her off with that bike of yours?” Not giving him a chance to answer, he turned to Natalie with a grin and held out his hand. “I’m Smitty. Don’t worry about a thing. If he made you have a wreck because of his crazy driving, we’ll make him pay for the repairs.”
“Max didn’t do anything but call you,” she said with a smile as she placed her hand in his for an easy shake. “I’m Natalie. And unfortunately, I’m the one who killed my car.”
“Oh, I doubt it’s that bad,” he scoffed. “What happened?” When she told him how the motor was acting before it quit on her, then mentioned the ring job she should have gotten months ago, he didn’t bat an eye. “Don’t plan the funeral yet. Let me get it back to the shop and take a look under the hood. It may not be as bad as you think.”
“I told her you were a crackerjack mechanic,” Max told him with a teasing grin. “Does the word pressure mean anything to you?”
“Do I look worried?” Winking at Natalie, he added, “I’m good. What can I say?”
“That’s why I called you,” Max retorted. “I know you won’t jack the bill up and fix anything but what’s really broken.”
Interrupting, Natalie delicately cleared her throat. “Speaking of the bill—”
“I won’t stick it to you,” Smitty assured her. “I’ll call you tomorrow after I’ve had a chance to check everything out.” He quickly got her phone number and address, then asked, “Do you need a ride home?”
“I’ll see that she gets home,” Max said dryly.
Amused at the quickness with which he answered, Smitty grinned. “Maybe you should ask her first if she likes motorcycles. Not everyone’s as crazy about them as you are.”
“Don’t get started on bikes,” Max warned teasingly. “Just because you’re an old fogy and won’t ride on anything that doesn’t have four wheels doesn’t mean Natalie’s the same way. She’s cool—”
Amused Natalie waved her hand between the two of them. “Hello? Just in case you guys didn’t notice, I can speak for myself.”
“Of course you can,” Smitty said promptly. “Tell him you’re not an old fogy just because you don’t want to race down the road like Steve McQueen. And don’t ask me who Steve McQueen is,” he growled. “If you don’t know, I’m not telling.”
“I’m not one of Max’s typical freshmen students,” Natalie replied, chuckling. “I grew up watching The Great Escape, so yeah, I know who Steve McQueen is. I’ve just never ridden a motorcycle before.”
Max frowned. “Does that mean you don’t want to? You don’t have to be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
With no effort whatsoever, Natalie could imagine him saying those same words in much more intimate circumstances. Heat spilled into her cheeks at the thought, but she met his gaze head-on. “Do you have another helmet?”
Nodding toward the helmet that was mounted on the back of his bike, he grinned. “I never go anywhere without one. Is that a yes?”
She hesitated, but she couldn’t deny him any more than she could deny herself this one little adventure with him. “Don’t make me regret it.”
“You’ll love it,” he promised.
Turning to Smitty, she said ruefully, “It looks like I don’t need a ride home, after all. But I will need a vehicle while my car’s being fixed. Do you have any kind of loaner I could use? I have to take my sons to school, then go to work and school myself, and I don’t know how I’m going to do that without wheels.”
“No problem,” he assured her easily. “I’ve got a VW bug I keep for just that reason. The garage opens at six. I can have one of my workers drop it off in the morning if you can bring him back to the shop afterward. Is six-thirty too early?”
Relieved, she started to smile, then hesitated. “I don’t have a lot of money….”
“The loaner’s free,” he assured her. “My competitors think I’m crazy, but I don’t think customers should have to pay for repairs and a rental, too. Okay?”
Natalie could have hugged h
im. “Okay! Thank you!”
A few minutes later Smitty drove off with her car trailing behind his wrecker, leaving her alone with Max. When he handed her his spare helmet, her heart thumped crazily. Too late, she questioned her sanity. Whatever possessed her to agree to this?
“You know, this might not be such a good idea after all,” she said quickly. “I can call Susan…my babysitter. She’ll come and get me and take me and the boys home and you don’t have to bother. You’ve already done so much already….”
His mouth quirking into a grin, he lifted a brow at her. “You’re not chickening out on me, are you?”
She wasn’t falling for that one. “Nice try, Professor,” she said dryly, “but it’s not going to work. There’s nothing wrong with a good healthy dose of fear.”
He laughed. “Smart girl. If I promise not to bite, will you get on the bike?”
Still hesitating, she eyed the motorcycle with more than a little misgiving. But he was right—he wouldn’t bite. And if she kept hemming and hawing, he was going to ask what she was really afraid of, and she wasn’t going there. “I’m just nervous,” she said, cursing the color that rose in her cheeks.
“I’ll take every corner on two wheels,” he assured her with a smile. “Here…let me help you with that.”
He took the helmet from her and stepped toward her. His eyes met hers in the glare of the streetlight, and suddenly there wasn’t enough air in her lungs. Carefully, gently, he helped her put on the helmet, then fastened the strap under her chin. “Okay?” he asked huskily as his fingers brushed against her throat.
She couldn’t have said a word if her life had depended on it. The rush of her blood loud in her ears, she could only nod numbly.