can’t be good,” she noted while Heath parked next to a tow truck with Hal’s Garage emblazoned across the door.
“What?”
“All those guys debating over my car. In my perfect fantasy world, I’d hoped it was already fixed, and the mechanic wouldn’t have minded trading his services for one of my best clay pots.”
“Uh, yeah. I don’t think Hal does pots.” Eyes narrowed, his befuddled look was one to which she’d sadly grown accustomed to seeing in others. Instead of viewing a glass as half-full, she saw it as bubbling over with a splash of orange and a maraschino cherry. Liam had constantly harped at her to be more realistic, but why? What did it hurt to be happy? Or at least, try?
After turning off the engine, Heath looked to her bulging belly, then asked, “Need help getting out?”
“No, thanks.” She cast him a smile. “I think I’ve got it.”
But then she creaked open her door, only to get her purse hooked around the seat belt, which left her hanging at a steep angle.
As was starting to be the norm, her rescuer anticipated her needs and was there to help before she could even ask.
“Sure you’re ready for motherhood?” he teased, untangling her purse strap.
“Ha-ha...” She should probably be offended by his question, but little did he know, she’d wondered the same since learning she carried Liam’s baby.
“How about trying this again, only with me here to catch you.” He grazed his hand to her outer thigh, helping her swing her legs around. His touch proved electric, which was surprising, given her condition. Then he took her hands, guiding her the rest of the way down. Even though she’d set her sandal-clad feet to solid ground, her legs felt shaky beneath her. She needn’t have worried, though, as Heath stepped in again, cupping his hand around her elbow to help keep her steady.
“Thanks.” She tried acting normal, even though her runaway pulse was anything but!
“No problem.” Easing his arm around her waist, he asked, “Wanna just wait in the truck, and I’ll give you a report on what Hal found?”
“That’s sweet of you to offer, but you’ve already done enough. I wish I had some way to repay you.”
He waved off her gratitude. “Anyone in my position would do the same.”
No, they wouldn’t. Her ex was proof.
“Those guys standing around your car?”
“Yes?” She waddled around the garage’s south side.
“The big one with the ’stache is Hal. The other two are his twin sons—Darryl and Terryl. They’re identical, save for one’s a crazy Dodgers fan, and the other’s crazy about the Mariners. You may want to avoid them when the two teams play—not a good time.”
She laughed. “I appreciate the advice. Hopefully, your friend Hal will get me back on my way in the next hour or so.”
Famous last words.
After introductions—Libby hid her smile upon noticing the twins wearing hats from their respective baseball teams—Hal shook his head and frowned.
“Wish I had better news for you.” He tucked a shop rag in his shirt pocket. “Electrical system’s shot. Fried like Sunday-supper chicken.”
Libby’s stomach knotted so hard it startled the baby. She rubbed the tender spot where she’d kicked. “But you can fix it, right?”
“Well, sure. Me and my boys can fix damn near anything—pardon my French.”
“You’re pardoned. Just please tell me you’ve got the parts and I’ll be on my way before sunset.”
Darryl laughed. Or, it might’ve been Terryl. She’d forgotten which team each preferred.
The one wearing a Dodgers cap said, “Ma’am, finding all these parts is gonna take me hours—maybe days—on the internet. You’ll be lucky if you’re out of here in a month.”
“You hush.” Hal elbowed his son. Turning to Libby, he said, “You have my solemn word that I’ll get your ride fixed as soon as possible. But I’m afraid my boy’s right—it ain’t gonna be fast, easy or cheap.”
“Oh?” Stress knotted her throat. Was this really happening? She barely had enough cash for the gas she’d need for the rest of her drive to Seattle. There was no way she’d have enough for repairs and staying over however long it took to get the work done.
Swallow your pride and ask Mom and Dad for help.
Libby raised her chin. No way would she surrender just yet. “You don’t really think it’ll take a month to find parts, do you?”
Hal shrugged. “No telling till we get started.”
Hugging herself, she nodded.
Heath didn’t do tears, so when he noted Libby’s eyes filling, he slipped back into take-charge mode. “Hal, do what you can, and since Libby doesn’t have a cell, keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
To Libby, Heath said, “Let’s see what we can do about finding you a cheap place to stay.”
“I—I’ll figure it out,” she assured him. “I’m grateful for all you’ve done, but I can take it from here.”
“Motel’s just down the road a piece.” Hal barked at his sons to quit lollygagging and get back to work. “Tell Gretta I sent you and she’ll discount your rate.”
“I think I have more pull with her than you,” Heath said, already guiding Libby back to his truck.
“Wouldn’t be so sure about that. She told me you missed Sunday supper yet again.”
Heath ignored Hal’s comment. He had his reasons for missing most every Stone gathering, and his mother damn well knew it.
It took all of three minutes to reach the inn that had been in his family since the 1940s, when Bent Road had been a weekend fishing mecca for Portland, Seattle and even San Francisco’s wealthy vacationers. In the 1930s, the CCC or Civilian Conservation Corp, had provided badly needed infrastructure to the area to allow for its growth. But when a 1942 wildfire destroyed the row of vacation homes that had lined the coastal bluffs, the town’s soul suffered a direct blow. The motel was lucky to have survived the fire.
Decades later, Bent Road’s tourism consisted of Heath’s family’s place, and a few fishing lodges specializing in charter trips on the Umpqua River.
“This Gretta we’re meeting is your mom?”
“Yeah.” Heath had been so lost in thought, he’d momentarily forgotten Libby was with him.
“Do you two not get along?”
“We’re good. It’s complicated.”
Her
