down, a boy—somewhere between twelve and fourteen, judging by his size—shuffled toward them, one hand cinched around the strap of a backpack he had draped over his shoulder, the other stuffed in the pocket of jeans at least a size too large for his thin frame. “Okay, I guess.”
Sam yearned for a pair of scissors so that he could whack off enough of the kid’s hair to see his face.
“Craig, I’d like you to meet—” She stopped short, then looked at Sam in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember your name.”
“Sam Forrester.”
Smiling, she extended her hand. “Leah Kittrell.”
He held up his palm, reminding her of the grease that stained it.
She tucked her hand behind her back. “Uh, right.” She turned to her nephew and, smiling again, wrapped an arm around his shoulders and drew him to her side. “Sam, this is my nephew, Craig. Craig, Mr. Forrester.”
“Sam will do,” Sam offered, then smiled at the kid. “Nice to meet you, Craig.”
Craig mumbled a barely audible, “Yeah. You, too.”
“Sam is here to discuss restoring the car,” she told her nephew.
He glanced up at Sam through the mass of bangs he hid behind, then dropped his gaze and turned away with a mumbled “Whatever” and headed back toward the house.
“Hey!” Leah called after him. “Where are you going?”
“Homework.”
“But don’t you want—”
The door slammed, cutting her off. Heaving a sigh, she turned and gave Sam an apologetic smile.
“He really is a nice kid. He’s just been having a tough time. Losing his father hit him pretty hard.”
“Tough blow for a kid his age.”
“Yes, it is.”
He frowned, remembering the boy’s reference to homework, as well as her mention earlier about school. “Isn’t school out for the summer?”
“For most students. Craig failed two classes, so he has to go to summer school.”
He nodded, wondering if the kid’s father’s death had anything to do with his failure.
She opened her hands. “So? What do you think? Are you interested in the job?”
You’ve really stepped in it now, Sam thought, realizing too late his mistake in allowing her to go on believing he was a mechanic. He supposed he could tell her the restoration would take more work than he’d first thought and make a fast exit.
But that would mean leaving without getting the information he’d promised Mack, which didn’t settle well with him at all. He owed Mack. Big-time. And he was determined to honor that debt.
Pursing his lips thoughtfully, he studied the car as if considering whether or not he wanted to take on the job while buying himself some time to figure out what he should do.
Getting the information for Mack wasn’t going to be the easy-in-easy-out mission he’d first thought. Mack had warned him about Leah’s obstinance in refusing to discuss her father, but Sam hadn’t taken him seriously until he’d gotten a taste of it himself. It was going to take some time to finesse her into telling him what he wanted to know.
And restoring the car might be just the ploy he needed to gain that time.
But if he agreed to work on the car, he’d be saddling himself with a troubled teen. Sam had seen the resentment, as well as the grief, that shadowed the boy’s eyes and suspected it was the loss of his father that had put them both there. Sam had lost a father, too, at a fairly young age. Not to death, but a loss just the same, and he understood what the boy was going through…and where he’d end up if someone didn’t intervene.
He had a month, he reminded himself, with nothing to do but puzzle out the direction he wanted to point his future in. He could think as easily working on a car as he could lying on his back on some sun-drenched beach surrounded by bikini-clad women.
Decided, he said to Leah, “Yeah, I’m interested.”
He would swear he felt her sigh of relief from five feet away.
“I have no idea what kind of payment to offer you. I know nothing about this kind of thing or how long it would take to complete the job. I guess it would simplify matters if you’d simply tell me what you’d charge for the restoration, then I could determine whether or not I can afford to hire you.”
“Since you want your nephew to help with the restoration, I suppose the work will need to be done here?”
“That would be best. He comes here after school each day.”
Nodding, he began to circle the car again. “I’ve only got a month to devote to the job, but I think I could get it done in that length of time. Most of it, anyway.”
“Are you saying you’ll do it?”
Smiling, he stroked a hand over the Mustang emblem on the hood. “Hard to say no to a beauty like this.”
“We haven’t decided on a fee yet,” she reminded him.
He hitched his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling. “Most carriage houses like this have an apartment overhead. Does this one?”
“W-well, yes,” she stammered as if wondering why he’d ask. “Although not a full one. Just a bedroom, sitting room and bath.”
Lowering his chin, he met her gaze. “Tell you what. Provide me with room and board for the next month, and we’ll call it even.”
“Room and board?” she repeated dully.
“I’m not from around here. In order to do the work, I’d need a place to stay.”
She nervously wet her lips. “I suppose that would be okay. The apartment’s furnished. I keep it ready for relatives and friends who come to visit. But I don’t cook,” she was quick to inform him. “Not regularly, at any rate.”
“As long as I’m allowed access to your kitchen, I can see to my own meals.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “And that’s all you want in exchange for doing the work? Room and board?”
He hid a smile. “If you’re worried I’ll demand sexual favors, I won’t.” He waited a beat, then added, “Although I wouldn’t turn them down if offered.”
She jutted her chin. “I’ll want references.”
He shrugged. “Fine with me. None will be local, though. Lampasas is where I call home.”
Her brows shot high. “How on earth did you hear about the ad I placed? Lampasas is hours from here.”
He shot her a wink. “I
