No. Elle had accomplished it with a droll tongue and a smile she had no idea was bewitching. And it was. Harley was temporarily spellbound.
It wouldn’t last, so he didn’t worry.
True he’d never worked day in and out beside a woman before—all his female companionship had come from far outside the workplace. But he was thirty-one years old, and that had given him plenty of time to learn the art of flirting, finding company, and letting quick connections burn themselves out. What he hadn’t found, since giving it one desperate, four-year try that had not ended well, was a real lasting relationship. Over time he’d simply learned he wasn’t the kind of guy those elusive “good women” wanted to settle down with. He was too focused, too full of weird and crazy plans, too fast-moving to interest a girl who wanted picket fences and kids. Even though he liked kids fine.
So Elle was a beautiful girl who could fit the next let’s-have-some-laughs bill and then the attraction would die down. He knew the pattern.
Except… There was a sprout of something new and different in his thoughts about her: the way she hadn’t needed impressing or tried to impress him; the way her glance had turned his pulse into an air hammer; the way she’d switched from expert mechanic to funny companion in the span of a breath.
The way he’d turned into a drooling schoolboy more than once.
The way he wished with all his heart she’d change her mind and show up at the baseball game.
None of that was like him in the slightest.
He put in half an hour prepping the old truck he had to fix and then pulled into his mother’s driveway forty-five minutes before game time. Television voices murmured in the distance, and mild concern washed over him. His mother never turned on the television before dinner was over. And even then she oftentimes waited for the news.
“Mom?” he called, making his way through the kitchen toward the living room.
He got no reply and he thought back to the call earlier that morning from Ty Bennett, Hailey’s husband. Ty, himself an Olympic triathlete with a silver medal to his name and sights on the next games, had plans to start a local training center once his competition days were over. Still, he already took time out of his busy schedule to help aspiring runners and future triathletes train—including the intrepid Jack Holt. Ty had been calm but concerned on the phone, and rightfully so. On a ten-mile run that took them up and over Klein Hill, the highest spot in town, not to mention a favorite make-out spot, he’d been behind Harley’s mother when she’d caught a toe on a rock and taken a hard fall. At fifty-four, his mother wasn’t old, but she didn’t bounce as well as a thirty-year-old anymore. Harley was grateful she hadn’t broken her arm, but the doctor had warned a sprain could be even more painful in the short term, and it was an injury to be taken seriously.
Harley worried his Energizer Bunny of a mother might have succumbed at last to something out of her control. Maybe she was being a good patient and taking a nap.
He rounded the doorway into the family room and stopped. Dropping his face into both palms, he concealed a groan. When he looked up again, to his dismay, he saw he hadn’t imagined the scene. His mother, blue sling hanging limp beneath her armpit, stood on the top step of a three-foot stool, holding a glass Mason jar against the ceiling with the hand of her injured arm, and a piece of cardboard in the other. Clearly she’d gone out of her mind.
His first instinct was to shout, but the image of her startling and tumbling to the floor halted him. With a deep, constrained breath he cleared his throat. She craned her neck and smiled at him.
“Hello, darling.”
“Mind telling me what the hell you’re doing up there?”
“Relocating a very large spider.”
“Of course you are. Silly me.” He blew the next breath out with frustrated force. “How many pills did you take last time anyway?”
She laughed. “Very funny. I haven’t taken a thing in six hours. I was resting, like I was told to do, and this big guy walked past on the ceiling bold as brass. He can’t stay in here, he needs to go outside. I didn’t want to risk losing him, so I’m moving him.”
“Only you, you insane woman. C’mon, let me do that.”
“No. Unless you swear not to kill it.”
“It’s a flipping spider.”
“One of God’s creatures.”
“So are wood ticks. So are mosquitoes. You kill those.”
“Don’t argue with me, I’m injured and on drugs.” She smiled to annoy him, and he let loose a growl.
Minutes later he’d taken the impressive arachnid with its very large yellow-ish body far out into his mother’s veggie garden as instructed. When he returned she was sitting on a leather loveseat, cradling her arm. Her eyes showed the same fatigue he’d seen an hour before.
“Don’t do that anymore,” he said. “Not until you’re healed.”
She nodded. “The arm hurts, I admit. But we saved a little spider soul.”
“That’s just wrong.” He kissed the top of her head. “Maybe we should skip the game. Chris will totally understand.”
Her fire returned in a flash. “Absolutely not! I’m perfectly fine.”
“All right. Then this is how it’s going to be. I’m giving you the drugs. I’ll drive you in your car, and you’re going to be meek and docile all night. No jumping up and down. No pom pom waving. Just watch the game.”
“Might as well stay home.” Her eyes lit with quiet humor, but she didn’t argue, which only told him her arm really did hurt.
“I worry about you.”
He knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say.
“Shall we talk about worry?” Her brow furrowed.
“No ma’am. Let’s not.”
“I’m worried you’re going to corrupt that beautiful girl into shilling for you and that race track project. I’m thinking of starting a “just say no to stock car racing” campaign and recruiting her first. She’s perfectly lovely.”
That was a twist in her argument he hadn’t seen coming.
“I think you are on too many drugs.”
She scoffed. “You’re don’t get to figure me out—it’s in my parental contract. Suffice it to say, I think you should ask her out. Maybe she’ll like you as much as I do and talk you out of this plan that’s scaring your mother to death. She seemed very level headed to me.”
He almost told her they’d discussed very nearly that exact subject, but he wasn’t ready to give her that much satisfaction.
“She likes cars and speed, too, Ma. I’m afraid you might be out of luck before you even start scheming. Besides,” he kissed her on the cheek, “you know I’m not the marrying kind. Now go get ready. We leave in ten.”
“Very interesting.” She turned. “Who said anything about marrying?”
His mother said nothing more about her out-of-the-blue matchmaking thoughts as Harley drove through Sapphire Falls and toward York where the semi-final game was being played. The York Dukes were expected to win, but nobody rooting for the Miners would admit that. Normally Harley would have been nervous on behalf of his brother, a high school junior with a seventy mile-per-hour fastball and a solid sixty for his change-up. The kid was a major talent with a lot on his shoulders tonight. Too much pressure, Dewey thought, but Chris never seemed to notice nerves. Even flying to the field earlier that afternoon and risking being benched, he’d been nonchalant.
“We’ll win tonight,” he said. “Probably even if I don’t pitch. We’ve got Fritz and Wallace—their hitting alone is enough.”
“And if you do pitch?” Dewey had razzed him hoping to get some visible adrenaline running.
“We’ll win for sure.”
With his charming grin and laconic style, Chris always reminded Harley of both his parents. He only wished his dad could have lived to see this. Chris had gotten his love of the game from their father.
They were fifteen minutes out of town when the first engine sputter raised hairs on the back of Harley’s neck. He fr
owned.
“Have you been having any trouble with your car?” he asked.
“No. Not a smidge. Diana never lets me down.”
The SUV sputtered again and the power died beneath Harley’s foot.
“I don’t freakin’ believe this. Three cars in one day? What the hell did I do to the universe?”
He literally couldn’t believe it. Nobody had luck this bad—from the lost engine part, to the tie rod, to the ER trip, to Chris’s forgotten equipment, to the Cutlass… In one heartbeat his mind slowed and his anger dissipated. Memories of Elle’s no-nonsense assessments, her calm demeanor, and her quick easy humor filled his mind. He stopped trying to coax speed out of the Highlander and aimed for the shoulder. Finally he remembered the simplest problem and looked at the gas gauge.
Empty.
“Mom?” His voice held a warning note. “When did you last put gas in this?”
Confusion turned immediately to consternation on his mother’s youthful face. “Oh, Harley, I’m so sorry. I knew it was low, and I planned to put it in after my run this morning. I totally forgot.”
He sighed and closed his eyes. She could be forgiven. He, however, should have known far better than to head out without checking the fuel level. Driving 101. How many times was he going to look like a raw recruit today?
“I’ll call Ty. If I can’t reach him I’ll get Joe or Tucker.”
He dialed three times. He struck out three times. He gave two more numbers a try, but nobody was picking up. If they were all at the field already, there still should have been coverage. Then again, maybe not. Technology didn’t always play nice in the boonies.
“Now what?” he asked. “I could go through the entire list of people I know. I even tried someone at The Stop and got nothing. Did we drive into the Twilight Zone?”
“Call Elle.” He stared at his mother who shrugged fatalistically. “If we are in the Twilight Zone she won’t answer either. I saw her number on that paper you set down in the kitchen. And I saw you pick it back up and put it in your pocket. Call her.”
“You aren’t a mother, you’re a Russian spy with cyber eyes.”
“Maybe.”
His heart thrummed as he dug into his back pocket for the paper. Shooting his mother a stern frown, he punched in the number and waited, planning for her voice message but hoping for a live voice.
“This is Elle.”
For a moment he wasn’t sure which he’d gotten. But she waited and no instructions for leaving a message followed.
“Elle? Hey, this is Harley.”
After a short pause, she spoke again, that bell-like laughter of hers floating below the surface of her words. “Well hi, boss. Don’t tell me. The Cutlass didn’t make it to your mom’s.”
“That is an incorrect guess.”
“Wow, hey good for the Cutlass. So, then, what’s up?”
“Wonder Woman ran out of gas.” He scowled again at his mother. She smiled in reply.
“Wonder…? Wait, Diana Prince stranded you? That’s impossible.”
“I’m living proof that it is one hundred percent possible. I’ve called five people as well as the gas station in town. Is there any chance you could bring us a couple of gallons of gas?” He hesitated. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ask, but you made the mistake of saying ‘anything.’”
“I’ll be happy to. Where are you?”
He would have preferred to sit there on the phone with her. Her voice sent calm enough through the cell phone’s magic atmosphere for him to forgive his mother, the gods of bad luck, and even the clock ticking away the time before the first pitch.
He gave her quick instructions and hung up. Once he met his mother’s satisfied eyes his agitation returned.
“Stop looking so proud of yourself. You’re the cause of this.”
“Maybe I did it on purpose.”
“You probably did. A spy can arrange almost anything.”
Elle arrived less than twenty minutes later, a full gas can in hand, a sympathetic smile for her new friend Jack on her lips, and a teasing one for Harley that made his blood heat. It didn’t help his insanely growing crush that she’d changed from her jeans to a pair of denim shorts with a turned-up hem, and a plain, heather-gray, V-neck T-shirt that whispered and snuggled around her breasts and curves like a soft tabby kitten.
And the curves were insanely hot, something he’d neither noticed nor cared about earlier in the day. They were gentle rather than voluptuous, nipped in at the waist and flared at the hips. Her legs went on forever, neither skinny nor too muscular. She looked like an athlete—a runner or a dancer, and yet the same elegance he’d seen in her before refined all her movements.
Once more with the hopelessly shallow, he told himself.
“I was planning a big attack on your mechanic’s ego,” she said, handing him the two-gallon can and opening the gas cap for him. “But then I remembered that I drove Diana Prince myself from the grocery store to your mother’s house. I should have noticed, too, but I didn’t. So, we’re even. Two bad mechanics.”
“Sounds like a new branch office of my shop.”
He emptied the gas into the tank while Elle checked on his mother. Thoughtful as well as beautiful. What was it about this girl? He saw women all the time and had learned long ago to keep his thoughts in check. Elle Mitchell made him want to abandon all his manners.
“I really appreciate this,” he said when he’d screwed the cap back on the car’s tank. “It seems I’ll need to put you on the payroll a few days early.”
She frowned. “Hardly. You don’t pay people for helping out.”
“You know. There’s not a lot in the way of services between here and York,” he said. “Would you be willing to follow us in case this doesn’t get us all the way into town?”
She folded her arms and stared with skeptical amusement. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”
“There’s a hot dog in it for you.”
“You already tried that.” Her lips began to curve slightly.
“I’ll make it a full meal deal. Chips, soda, the works.”
“How to wow a girl.” Elle considered him as her smile grew. Waves of attraction and pleasure shimmied through his belly. “Oh what the heck. I’m halfway there, and I never made it to the restaurant for supper. Throw in a Three Musketeers bar and you’re on.”
“My pleasure.”
He ducked his head into the car. “Elle’s coming to the game with us.”
“Fantastic!” his mother replied. “Kind a dud of a first date, though, with your mother.”
“It’s not a date,” Elle said.
“Not a date,” he agreed. “Just a thank you for rescuing us.”
“My smart boy. Couldn’t have planned it better myself.”
Elle shot him a silent, furrowed-brow question, and all he could do was shrug. “Mothers be crazy,” he said.
Chapter Seven
Elle settled onto the hard stands along the third base line, squeezed into the over-crowded bleachers between Harley and Jack and praying the Harley side couldn’t sense her racing pulse. There really was a crazy fanaticism about the Sapphire Falls visitors, since most of the crowd consisted of Miner fans. And still, the fan zealousness was nothing compared to the electricity zipping along her skin where her arm pressed against Harley’s. Her saving grace was that they’d missed half an inning and Chris Holt’s first strikeout, and Harley’s attention was immediately riveted on his brother.
This whole thing was insane—sitting here as if she belonged when she should be getting acclimated to the town and finishing the grocery shopping she’d never accomplished. As for allowing a lightning-quick attraction to consume her, especially when it had blazed simply because an unexpected meeting with her employer, who wasn’t supposed to be handsome, had surprised her…
“Woo hoo! Yeah! Perfect pitch!”
Harley’s call-out from beside her, forced her to focus on the game. She’d missed a second out, so she settled b
ack and shifted so she wasn’t touching the man who was her employer not a new guy she’d met in a bar.
“Two more, kiddo!” Jack formed a megaphone with her hands, and added her voice to the calls for a strike out.
Chris Holt stood still and slight on the mound, ball buried, waiting, in his glove, his concentration absolute. Shorter than Harley, he nonetheless had the same physique: slender-waisted, broad-shouldered, and clearly built more for strength than speed. He proved it with his wind-up and rocket-launched curve ball. The umpire indicated strike two.
“Wow,” Elle said. “Does he keep up that amazing speed?”
“Usually,” Harley replied.
Chris threw two balls that barely missed the outside corner of the plate but the next one screamed across the plate leaving the batter staring before he whacked the dirt with the bat. The crowd roared. It was only the end of the first inning. Elle couldn’t imagine how they’d keep up that level of excitement.
“I’m impressed,” she said. “Poor kid, though. There’s so much pressure.”
“I think the same thing every time he plays,” Harley said. “It’s a double-edged sword being stand-out good in a small town.”
“But you should know how that feels,” she said. “You have plenty of awards—I saw them.”
“I was a successful motorcycle racer.” His shrug was genuinely modest. “I didn’t do most of that around here. In Sapphire Falls dirt bikes are a much bigger deal. I didn’t have anywhere near the expectations on me that little bro there does.”
She watched Chris trot off the field and accept congratulatory back slaps from his teammates. Only after the York players had taken their field positions did she realize how concentrating on the game had quelled her butterflies. She chanced a sideways glance at Harley and to her relief, found she could assess his profile with pure appreciation instead of flighty hormones.
Sapphire Falls: Going Zero to Sixty (Kindle Worlds Novella) Page 5