by Nancy Naigle
Noah had planned to have one hell of a throw down. Had even found a couple places they might go, but now he was having second thoughts.
“I don’t want to feel like hell on my wedding day,” Jackson said. “It’s like a hundred degrees and I’m going to be nervous, all I need is to spew, hungover, on Angie’s high-dollar wedding gown. Not the kind of memorable day I want to give her, or the example I want to set for Billy.”
“That’s cool.” Three days ago Noah would have felt differently. He hit town determined to save Jackson from Angie’s clutches, but Jackson was happy. It was plain to see. Angie was great and when Noah saw Jackson with Billy, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he was a little jealous. “You’ve got a whole lifetime ahead of you. We don’t have to start it off on a drunken stagger.”
Jackson’s expression softened.
Noah propped the old bed rails from Jackson’s spare bedroom between the truck cab and the tailgate, then pulled a tape measure out and started a list of the bolt sizes he’d need to put this together. “I think we can mount the tailgate to a couple of painted six-by-sixes to give it a good sturdy frame.”
“That’ll look great,” Jackson said and the other guys nodded in agreement. “You said something about license plates as the lamp shades. I’ve got the old lamps from that room. Ford, do you think you could do something creative with that?”
“Sure thing.” Ford gave a little two-finger salute from the bill of his ball cap.
Jackson handed him the stack of license plates.
“I’ll get some paint the color of the truck so we can paint the dresser to match, and we’ll use the car emblems on that.”
“Billy has a ton of cars and trucks. Matchbox types, some Tonka trucks too. What do you think about some shelves to get those off the floor? You ever step on one of those barefoot? Those hurt like heck.”
Noah winced. “I’ve never stepped on one, but my dad used to say that all the time. I can’t tell you how many times I was put on restriction for that as a kid.”
Derek spoke up. “I have an idea for some shelves. Ford and I will take care of those. But for now we’re going to get that painting done.”
“Cool.” The two of them went inside, and Noah turned to Jackson. “Can I have the keys to your truck? I want to go get these supplies. We’ll have this room done in no time.”
Jackson tossed his keys to Noah. “I really appreciate everything. You’ve really come through. But then, you always do.”
Maybe that was because he didn’t have someone else trying to sink her nails into his free time, or making him feel bad for doing something on a whim. Being single had its privileges.
Chapter Seven
Noah drove from Jackson’s house back to Main Street. He parallel parked along the street at the end of the block. This town was so different from where he lived back in California on the water in Malibu, but not so different from where he’d grown up.
People smiled as they walked by, and he found himself nodding and saying hello back, falling back into those casual feelings of his youth. The tall building that housed the hardware store was tucked between a law office and the corner pharmacy.
Noah had his doubts that he’d get what he needed here. It looked like a pretty small place from the outside, but as he opened the door and stepped inside, his hopes increased. The storefront was narrow, but it seemed to go on forever. This building must take up the whole city block from front to back.
The old building had character. The fourteen-foot ceilings were maximized with floor-to-ceiling shelving along the outside walls, and one of those old brass rail ladder systems like you’d normally see in a library so you could get to the taller shelves. The place seemed to be stocked to the gills.
Hand-painted signs hung from chains labeling what inventory was on each aisle.
He stood staring at the sign, trying to decipher where he needed to go.
“Can I help you find anything?” The gravelly voice came from somewhere beyond, but Noah didn’t see anyone.
“Bolts?” He answered loud enough to be heard.
“Up one aisle and to the left.”
“Thanks, man.” Noah followed the instructions and stood facing a wall of dark pecan-stained wooden cubbies. Or maybe they were just dark from years of use. Either way, there were boatloads of them.
He was tempted to count them and do the math to see how many bins really were in front of him. Even the big-box home-improvement stores didn’t seem to have this many items in their inventory of bolts and hardware.
Each slot held a box of bolts, nuts, or other fastener. Some of the boxes were factory labeled, others labeled with permanent marker in shaky print. Some new and shiny, others weathered and peeling. He started going through the old bins of bolts, looking for what he needed.
Sliding the bins in and out, the contents shuffled like coins dropping from a slot machine. It didn’t take him long to figure out the order of things. Then, he easily put his hands on the bolts he needed. Counting them out, he started grabbing nuts to match, spinning them onto the end of the long bolts, one by one.
“What are you doing here?”
He glanced over his shoulder toward the feminine voice, out of habit mostly, because it wasn’t like he knew anyone around here. He hadn’t expected that the woman had been addressing him. Megan stood there in worn-out blue jeans and a white tank top. The way her sunglasses were pushed on top of her head, loose tendrils of brown hair fell across her cheek. Her wide smile was easy, and her eyes danced playfully.
“Hey there. I’m getting some supplies for a project I’m working on.”
“You haven’t been here but a few days and you’ve got a project?”
“Jackson and the guys, we’re making something.”
“Something besides trouble, I take it.” She eyed him with curiosity. She’d clearly already passed judgment on him.
“I’m not the kind of guy who gets into trouble.”
“Because you walk a straight line? Or because you’re good at not being caught?”
“How did I make such a bad first impression with you? Was it something I said?”
“No. I was just asking.”
He nodded slowly. Why do I even care what she thinks? He felt this unexplainable need to set her straight. To fight for his own honor. And that was a first. “You can trust me. Just like you’re keeping things on task for the bride, I’m doing the same for the groom.”
“That’s comforting. I guess I should thank you.”
“That’d be nice. I mean, we are kind of on the same team. We could even help each other.”
“I was going to check in with y’all tomorrow and be sure everybody had picked up their tuxes, and that Jackson had a gift for his bride.”
“Now you can just ask me.” He put his hand out. “We’ll keep this wedding on the rails, partner.”
She shook his hand. “I plan to do exactly that. So, partner, what is it that you boys are working on that is keeping you out of trouble?”
He wished he’d just said hello. Now he was kind of stuck. Awkward. “Can’t tell you. It’s a secret.”
Her lips pursed in a cute little pout. “I can keep a secret.”
“Sorry. Man-law. Can’t tell a girl.” He shrugged.
She narrowed her eyes. “Is it a surprise for Angie?”
“Guessing is as bad as telling.” He zipped an imaginary zipper across his lips and shook his head.
“Fine.” She walked on by, and he gently grabbed her arm.
“Not so fast. What are you doing here?”
“It’s a secret.” She raised her shoulders and let them drop with a cocky jerk of her head.
“That’s not fair. Mine really is a secret. A surprise. You don’t want me to ruin a surprise, do you?”
“Well, as long as the surprise isn’t for me, then I don’t think you’d be spoiling it. I can keep a secret.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Isn’t it?” She raised a brow.
She had a point. No one would know that he told her, if she kept her mouth shut. But then women were notorious for not being able to keep a secret. At least all the ones he knew were.
“Tell you what,” she finally said. “I’ll tell you mine, if you tell me yours.”
“I have a feeling yours isn’t as good as mine.”
“Guess you’ll never know.”
“Fine.”
The smile stretched from ear to ear. No way he could resist that.
“I love secrets,” she said almost bouncing with excitement.
“No.” Noah shook his head. “I’m not falling for that. You have to tell me your secret first.”
“Okay, but you can’t change your mind. A deal is a deal.”
“The mantra of my life.” And he planned on making another deal with her soon.
“No covert operation. Not a secret or a surprise. Just air filters for the air-conditioning unit, and a few other little things I need for the shop.”
“That’s not a secret.”
“Who says what’s a secret?
“So, you’re picking up stuff for your candle factory?”
“Yep.” She pushed the hair away from her face. “Although the term factory is used rather loosely.”
“When are you going to let me come over and see you in action?”
Her head was puzzled by new thoughts. Was he flirting? “There’s not all that much to see. Seriously, my factory is really just a small operation.”
“Nothing wrong with starting out small.”
“I don’t have any plans to get bigger. I like the size of my business. I’m perfectly comfortable financially, and I’ve got one assistant who can keep things rolling so I can drop and travel when I get the urge. It’s kind of perfect.”
“Sounds like it. I’d still like to see it.” He couldn’t let this opportunity pass. “And I’d love a personal tour of that fancy car of yours too. You don’t see cars like that every day.”
“Happy to show it to you. Whenever you like. Just say the word.”
“How about now?”
She looked stunned.
“I won’t be long. Look.” He showed her his list. “I only need to find a couple more things and then I’m done. I can’t stay long, but I’d love to see your place.”
“Well, okay. I guess I could wait for you. I have to get Mr. Owen to get my stuff for me. I’ll meet you at the counter.”
“Perfect.” He practically ran through the aisles, collecting the things on his list like he was on some kind of million-dollar scavenger hunt.
It wouldn’t take him long to see that car and verify that it really was in as good of shape as it had looked through the window. Please, please, please, don’t let it be ruined with aftermarket junk. That would break his heart.
He glanced at his watch. The guys would wonder what was taking him so long, but they’d just have to forgive him.
They would survive a little while longer without his help. He was dying to get his hands on that car. The sooner the better.
He couldn’t stay long? That sounded perfect to Megan. She could be polite. Show him around and then get on with her day.
She walked over to the counter to wait, hitching herself up onto one of the old metal barstools that were usually filled by men gossiping.
“Megan Howard. How’re you doing, you beautiful young thing?”
“Hi, Mr. Owen. I didn’t even see you sitting back there. I’m good.” He seemed to have shrunk. As a little girl she’d always thought of him as a tall white-haired man. Now he looked more like a gnome that had been here as long as the building. Centuries maybe.
“You still making those girlie candles?”
“Yes, sir.” His wife was one of her best customers. “Business is good.”
“That’s good. They sure make my house smell nice. Put the wife in a good mood too. That’s always a plus. What do you need today?”
People swore her candles had mood elevators in them, but really it was just all stuff found in nature. “I need a new filter for my air conditioner, ten-by-twenty. And some four-foot fluorescents.”
He pushed himself up out of the chair and grabbed a filter from the rack behind the counter. “Just one? Cheaper by the multipack.”
“Just one. I’m hoping I’ll finally get a new unit soon.”
“You’ll save a bundle when you upgrade that old system.” He paused, like he was trying to remember what the other thing he was looking for was. “Okay. And a box of fluorescents.”
“Yes, sir.”
He shuffled down an aisle, and then she heard the same rhythm of scuffling leather against concrete coming back. He held the carton of bulbs under his arm like a football. He laid her items on the counter, and then opened the big journal that stayed on the desk. She sat patiently as the old man wrote in her purchases, painfully slowly. But the monthly billing was convenient, so she went through this ritual every single time she came in.
Noah walked up to the counter and put his things down, then handed Mr. Owen a paint chip. “I need a quart of paint this color too.”
Mr. Owen closed the journal, and then took the paint chip. He held the paint chip up, squinting at it, then laid it down on the counter and put his magnifying glass over it. He mumbled the color code to himself and scrawled it in big letters on a scrap of paper. “No problem. What are you painting?”
Noah glanced over in Megan’s direction.
“Yeah, Noah. What are you painting?” She fluttered her eyelashes, overdoing the innocent look.
He pressed his lips together. “A piece of furniture. Wood. I don’t want to have to do much sanding, so whatever you think.”
“I’ve got just the thing.” Mr. Owen left to mix the paint and Megan leaned against the counter. “Furniture, huh.”
“Yep.”
“Must be for Angie.”
He grinned. He was enjoying toying with her.
“Why else would it be a secret if it weren’t for Angie?”
“For me to know.”
“And me to find out?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Maybe it’s unspoken. Ya know. Like the man-law.”
Mr. Owen walked back over to the counter with the quart of paint. “Got everything else you need, son?”
“Yes, sir.”
Megan thought Noah’s eyes were going to fall out as Mr. Owen carefully looked at each item and wrote out a sales slip. “Old school,” he mouthed to her.
Finally, Mr. Owen finished writing up the sale. Noah had paid cash, which resulted in a painfully slow count back of change before they finally got outside.
“Lord. I could have made that paint with crushed berries in the time he took to write it up.”
“Things are slower in small towns.”
“That? That in there? That wasn’t slow, that was like reverse. Is it yesterday?”
His grin was playful and showed off his dimple. Had she always found dimples this sexy?
“Nope. Still today,” she said with a laugh. “You coming with me or not?”
“Where’s your ride?”
“I walked. It’s just around the block.”
He pointed toward Jackson’s truck parked at the curb. “Hop in. I’ll drive. That way I don’t have to backtrack when we’re done.”
He was in a hurry. “Fine.”
Noah put her box of fluorescent tube lights and air conditioner filter in the back seat of the crew-cab truck, and then held the passenger door for her.
“Where to, madam?”
“Up to the next corner and turn left. Then two streets and I’m on the right.”
There was no traffic, and since it was just a few blocks, there wasn’t even time for small talk.
“Over there? Balanced Buzz?”
“That’s me.”
“Sounds like a medical marijuana shop. What kind of candles are you burning? I guess that could be considered aromatherapy.” His laugh carried.
“Not that ki
nd of buzz.” She fluttered her hands out to her side like wings. “Like bees buzz. I use beeswax. All natural. All the way.”
“Ahh. Okay.” He pulled into the driveway. “You drive a Karmann Ghia?”
“I do. I love this car. My daddy bought it for me in high school.”
“Your daddy was quite the car guy, huh?”
“A car guy. A real estate guy. An into-everything guy.”
“You never wanted a new car with all the new bells and whistles? Usually the types who are environmentally conscious are driving those little micromobiles like a Fiat or Prius. Saving the environment. You doing all the bee-buzzing candle stuff, seems funny you’re driving that.”
“I limit my carbon footprint in other ways. Besides, I can work on this car. Daddy taught me everything I needed to know to keep it going. It’s a fun ride, and a convertible. What more does a girl need?”
“That sounds like a loaded question.” He pulled the truck through the canopy and parked to the side of her car. “This okay?”
“Yep.” She opened the door and hopped down out of the truck. She grabbed her stuff out of the back seat, and then headed straight for the front door. When she opened it, Noah was still hanging back, checking out her little car.
“She’s in good condition.” He ran a hand down the fender. “Not a speck of rust.”
“Thank you. I did have it repainted a few years ago. It’s been a great car, though.”
“This was always one of my favorite years, although the ’57 had a nice low sleek look. It’s a ’72 right? This was the last style change before they quit production.”
“I know,” she said, trying not to sound snippy. What? Did he think just because she was a girl, she didn’t know cars?
He looked up and his gaze met hers. “Nice-looking. A fun ride.”
Was he talking about the car or her?
“Come on in. I’ll show you around.”
“What inspires a girl to live in a gas station?”
“A deal too good to turn down, and a little imagination.” She walked inside and put her stuff down on the repurposed church pew in the entry hall. “Maybe a lot of imagination. Honestly, my dad was a hot mess, but he knew real estate and boy, he could grab things at a steal.”
“Everyone’s got their gift.”