by Nicole James
They stood that way for a long time, silently watching the rainfall and the lightening flash in the distance.
“Come on, baby. I’m gonna make us something to eat.” He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and led her inside.
They walked into the kitchen, and Summer immediately started to get a pan out.
“No, babe. You sit. I’m making this meal.” He took the pan out of her hands and pushed her toward the kitchen table.
“But Steve, I’m supposed to do the cooking. That’s what you pay me for.”
“Hush, woman.” Steve set the pan on the stove. He took down two mugs and filled them with coffee. Walking over, he set one steaming mug down in front of her.
She looked up at him, smiling. “I could get used to this.”
“Used to what?” He walked back to the stove and lit the burner under the pan.
“Being waited on.”
“Well, don’t get too used to it,” he said, looking sideways at her from the stove with a grin. He went to the refrigerator and got out some eggs, butter, and some other items.
Summer watched him as he got down a mixing bowl and cracked eggs into it, tossing the shells overhand across the room into the trashcan. Then he grabbed a whisk out of a drawer and began beating the eggs. When he was done, he turned back to the pan and plopped in some butter.
He proceeded to make them both steak and eggs while Summer sipped her coffee. She watched him closely, noticing how at ease he seemed in the kitchen. “You seem very domestic,” she remarked.
He turned his head and smiled at her as he dished them both up a plate and carried it to the table. “Not too domestic. This is my only specialty.”
They dug in.
Summer had to admit, it was delicious. “You’re not a bad cook. Why do you pretend you’re helpless in the kitchen?”
“It got you working for me, didn’t it?” He grinned.
She laughed, nodding. “Yes. I guess it did.”
They ate in silence for a while.
Finally, Summer pushed her plate away. “That was delicious, Steve. Thank you.”
He gestured toward her plate with his fork. “Must not have been that good. You didn’t even finish.”
“Are you kidding? There was enough food on that plate for a family of four. I’m stuffed. If I keep eating like this, I’m going to gain twenty pounds.”
“Horse shit! You don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive,” Steve stated, shoveling another forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.
Summer got up to carry her plate to the sink. “Well, I don’t do as much strenuous work as you do, so I don’t need to eat that much. You want me to get fat? You like fat women, huh?”
“No, ma’am. I like you just the way you are.” Steve put his fork down and wiped his mouth, scooting his chair back. “Come here.”
Summer turned from the sink, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. “What?”
“Come here,” Steve repeated.
She walked over to him. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down on his lap. “Steve!” she screeched. “What are you doing? Let me up.”
“Hmm, you may have gained a couple of pounds, at that,” he said with a grin.
“Oh! Let me up this minute.” She struggled, trying to free herself from the arms he had wrapped around her waist, but he held tight.
“Now, now, settle down, woman! I was just teasing you. There’s not an ounce of fat on you, except in all the right places.”
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Are you saying I’m too skinny?”
“I’m saying I like what I see. Now, shut up a minute,” he ordered. Then he took her jaw in his hand and gave a peck on the lips. “Now, get your cute butt up, girl. I’ve got work to do.”
“In the rain?” Summer asked, getting up.
“I’ve got to get that old pickup running for you,” he explained, walking across the floor and stopping in the mudroom. He looked back at her with a smile. “I cooked, you get to do the dishes.”
He stepped out into the mudroom.
Summer carried the dishes to the sink. She could hear Steve opening the freezer chest door and digging around in it. A moment later he came back in the kitchen and set several wrapped packages of meat on the drain board.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“I thought I’d grill out steaks for dinner tomorrow night,” he explained.
“That sounds great. I could bake some potatoes and make corn on the cob,” Summer offered.
“Sounds good, babe. Well, gotta go.”
She followed him to the doorway, leaned against the door jam, and watched as he put on an old quilted lined flannel shirt as a jacket, and put an old cowboy hat on his head. Then, surprising her, he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her up against him for another quick kiss, and then he was out the door, and running across the yard through the downpour to the big metal shed.
She stood watching through the window as he disappeared through the large, open double-doors. Her hand came up to run her fingers across the lips he’d just kissed, remembering the feel of his mouth on hers.
Lord, what was happening to her?
Summer finished the dishes and wiped down the table. She glanced up at the clock above the sink. It was three o’clock. She had all the laundry done, the house clean, and she really didn’t have any other chores to do. She looked out the window toward the shed.
The rain had slacked off to a drizzle.
On impulse she grabbed two bottles of beer out of the refrigerator and headed out to the big shed. Crossing the yard, she entered the doors and stopped just inside, letting her eyes adjust to the dim light.
A metal clanking sound came from the back.
“Steve?” she called out, not seeing him.
“Back here,” came the response from deep inside the shed.
Making her way around some broken down farm equipment, she found him in the back, bent over the engine of an old, beat-up, red pickup.
He turned as she approached and straightened up when he saw her. “Darlin’, you’re an Angel. I was just thinking how good a beer would taste,” he said, nodding toward the bottles she carried.
She held one out to him, and he took it, twisting off the top. He flipped the bottle cap across the shed with a snap of his fingers and turned the bottle up drinking thirstily.
Summer took a sip of her own beer and looked around the shed. She noticed several antique cars that were in the middle of being restored. “What are all these?”
“My hobby, I guess you could call ‘em,” he replied.
She noticed a car covered with a tarp. “What’s under that tarp?”
He turned, following her gaze. Walking over to it, he pulled the tarp back to expose a beautifully restored, cherry red, ’56 Chevy Bel Air in perfect condition.
“Wow. That’s a pretty car.”
He showed her several other cars, all in different stages of restoration. One of them was so rusted out, that it looked like it’d been sitting in a junkyard for years.
“You can fix that one?”
“Sure. As a matter of fact that ‘pretty car’, as you called it, used to look just like this one when I first got it.”
She couldn’t believe it. “You can do all that?”
He smiled. “Yeah, I enjoy it. It was my first love. I was going to start my own business, had a partner lined up and everything.”
“What happened? Why didn’t you do it?”
He shrugged. “It all fell apart. Life got in the way. I had other responsibilities by then, a wife and baby, and the old man needed me.” He nodded back toward the house.
She thought it sad that he’d let go of his dream. She looked around at the cars. “What do you do with them?”
“I sell them. Make a little extra money on the side. Actually, sometimes the profit from these cars has kept this place afloat.”
She noticed a car, way in the back, practically hidden. “What’s that one?” she asked.
She followed him over and watched him flip the tarp off. Dust flew everywhere, and she imagined that he hadn’t had the tarp off this one in a very long time.
“It’s a 1970 Dodge Charger,” he informed her.
Summer admired the car, which seemed to be in showroom condition. “Is it very valuable?” she asked, leaning down to look inside.
“Yes. Actually it’s probably worth more than any of the others, but I won’t sell it. It has sentimental value.”
She straightened back up and smiled. “Why? Was this your first car?”
He was quiet a moment, and then he replied softly, “No. It was my father’s car. He bought it just before he left for Viet Nam.”
“Oh.” Summer wasn’t sure how to respond. “He was killed there?” she finally asked.
Steve nodded, and then covered the car back up with the tarp.
Summer stared at him.
He took a long pull off his beer, and then turned and walked back to the pickup truck.
She followed.
“Can you drive stick?” he asked, changing the subject.
She stared at him blankly. “Stick?”
“Yeah. You know, stick shift? Manual transmission?”
“I…I don’t know,” she replied honestly.
“Well, darlin’, this truck is manual transmission, four on the floor. So, you’re gonna have to learn. Think you can handle it?” he asked with a grin.
“I don’t know. Do you think I can handle it?”
“I guess we’re gonna find out, aren’t we?” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I should have this finished up by tomorrow, so you’ll have your first lesson then.”
Summer downed the rest of her beer and looked over at the truck worriedly.
Steve laughed.
Chapter Six
Summer carried the breakfast dishes to the sink and turned on the hot water.
“Uh-uh, no time for that, babe. Driving lesson time. Let’s go,” Steve informed her, getting up from the table.
She didn’t even turn around. “I really need to get these dishes done. Maybe tomorrow would be better.”
Suddenly his arm was there, reaching over her shoulder, turning off the water. “Not a chance, babe. You’re not getting out of this, so don’t even try.”
She could feel his body trapping her between him and the sink. She turned her face to the side, toward him. “Steve.”
“I’m absolutely serious, sweetheart. So, put on your big girl panties, and let’s go.”
Then she didn’t have a choice as his hand slid around hers, and he was pulling her toward the door to the mudroom.
“Remember to be patient with her, Son,” Pop advised him from his spot at the kitchen table, his coffee mug raised to his mouth.
“I will be.”
“If he gives you any shit, darlin’, just run his ass over.” This from a grinning Cary as he slouched back in his chair and winked at her as Steve pulled her past.
Steve looked back over his shoulder. “You. Get to work, smartass.” Steve led her out the door, down the steps, and across the yard toward the rusted pickup. Summer yanked up hard on her hand bringing him to a stop. It brought him around to face her, a frown on his face. “What?”
“Just…wait a minute. I’m not ready to get in the driver’s seat yet. Can I watch you do it first, work the clutch and stick thingy?”
The corners of his mouth pulled up. “Yeah, okay, babe. You can watch me work the ‘stick thingy’ first.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
“Get in the truck, babe.”
She walked around and got in the passenger side.
He climbed in the driver’s seat. When she was settled and buckled up, he said, “Okay. Watch what I do. You work the clutch with your left foot, the gas and brake with your right. Got it?”
She nodded.
“In order to start the truck, the clutch has to be engaged. So you push down on the clutch pedal before you turn the key. It’s best to start it in neutral.” He took the stick shift in his hand and gave it a loose shake back and forth. “That’s neutral. See?”
She nodded again.
He started the truck. “You use first gear to get the truck moving. Once it’s rolling, you shift to second. You don’t drive far in first. Okay?”
She nodded.
“Put your hand over mine, so you can get a feel for the gears.”
She laid her hand over his, feeling the warmth of his skin. At the contact, something shot through her, and she looked up at him wondering if he felt it, too.
Their eyes met and held.
“Okay, so…” He slid his hand forward and to the left. “This is first gear.” He moved his hand back and down. “This is second.” He moved his hand forward and to the right. “Third.” He moved his hand back and to the right. “Fourth.”
Summer looked down at their hands.
“Think of it as a capital H. And over here is reverse.” He moved his hand over to the right and down. “Now you try it.” He slid his hand out from under hers.
She shifted through the gears, first, second, third, fourth.
“Now find neutral.”
She moved the gearshift to the center and shook it back and forth.
“Good.” He moved his hand back to the gearshift under hers. “Here we go.” He slid it into first. “The trick is managing the clutch. You depress the pedal, push it into gear, then you have to ease off the clutch as the gears engage. Feel that?”
The truck began to roll forward.
“Yes.”
He gave it more gas, and the truck moved faster. “Feel that? The engine is straining like that because the gear is too low. That sound? That means you need to shift into the next gear. Watch what I do with the clutch.” He depressed the pedal again and shifted into second, her hand moving with his. “You have to ease on the gas pedal, giving it some gas, as you ease off the clutch. Feel that? Feel how the gears engage?”
She nodded, smiling at him. “I think I get it.”
He pulled the truck down a dirt trail into the backfield and continued shifting through the gears, up and down, stopping and starting. Letting her get a good understanding of how the truck responded to what he did with the clutch and gas.
He brought the truck to a stop, put it in neutral and turned it off. “Your turn, babe.”
She looked at him. “I don’t know.”
“Sweetheart, I can explain it all day, but you’re not gonna understand it until you actually give it a try. Come on, you’ll be fine.” He reached for the door handle and yanked it open.
They changed places.
“Okay. What do you do first?” he asked.
She looked over at him. “Start it?”
He grinned. “And what do you have to do to do that?”
She depressed the clutch and turned the key.
“Good, babe. Now what?”
“I put it in first.” She slid the gearshift into first.
“And now?”
“Ease off on the clutch, and give it some gas.”
He nodded.
She did. The truck lurched forward a few feet and died. She looked over at Steve in a panic. “What did I do?”
He laughed. “Honey, that happens to everybody the first time. You just let the clutch out too quickly. You just need to get a feel for it. Try again.”
She did, and again the truck lurched forward and died.
“Try again,” Steve said patiently.
After the third time of stalling it, she banged her head down on the steering wheel. “I’ll never be able to do this.”
Steve laughed and reached over and patted her shoulder. “First gear is the touchiest. Once you get it down, the rest shift pretty easy. Try again. Just ease the clutch out slower, and give it a little more gas.”
She tried again.
This time the engine revved.
“Too much gas, babe. Ease the clutch out.”
She did as he said, and the truck rolled forward. She practically jumped up and down on the seat. “I did it, Steve. I did it.”
He laughed at her excitement. “Watch where you’re goin’.”
“Okay. Now what?”
“What’s that sound mean? Feel the engine struggling?”
“Yeah. It means I’m in too low a gear.”
“And?”
“I need to shift into second.”
“So, do it.”
She depressed the clutch.
“Feel that? When the clutch is in, we’re just coasting. The gears are not engaged. Shift.”
She shifted into second. This time, the clutch wasn’t as touchy when she let it out.
“Now you got it, darlin’. Give it some more gas. Get the speed up and shift to third.”
Soon she was shifting through all the gears.
“Okay. Take it back to the yard.”
She turned around and headed back to the house. She pulled up behind it and stopped.
“I did it!” she exclaimed excitedly, turning to Steve.
“Yup. You did great, darlin’,” he pronounced, slapping her thigh. “Well, she’s all yours. Take her out on the highway and keep practicing. I’ve got to get back to work.”
She watched as he twisted, yanking on the door handle, preparing to climb out. “But, Steve, the highway? I’m not sure I’m ready for that.”
“Sure you are.” He climbed out and came around to the driver’s window, resting his forearms on the frame. “You’ll do fine, sweetheart.” Then he leaned in the window and kissed her. “Go on, now. Make me proud.” He stepped back and winked at her. She started the engine, put it in gear, and pulled slowly down the driveway. Looking in the review mirror she saw him standing there smiling after her, then he turned and headed to the barn.
*****
That evening, Steve was at the grill, turning the steaks.
Summer walked past with a platter of baked potatoes. “Hmm, there’s nothing like the smell of steaks on the grill.”