Every Yesterday (Boot Creek) (9 page)

“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.”

“Yeah, well, Farley Howard was known as one of the savviest real estate dabblers around these parts for a long time. That is until he retired.”

“What happened then?”

“He went flat-out crazy. Long story. He used to flip properties for big profit. Anyway, by then he wasn’t buying and selling like he had been, and Daddy signed the deed to this place over to me.”

He followed her.

“It’s like my dad knew when the timing was right to move the properties. The golden touch, people would say. This place was a gift to get me started out of college. Told me that it had all the potential to bring great things to me whether I decided to live in it or sell it. I wasn’t too sure when I first got it. But I love it now. I can’t really imagine living or working anywhere else.”

“Show me around.”

She strolled down the hall toward the open space with the long wooden tables. “This is kind of a work area. I use it for projects, get-togethers. Whatever.” She turned to the left and walked down the hall, opening a glass door to a room that was nearly all white, except for playful little bumble bees painted along the walls in random spots that all led to the vat where she boiled down the honeycomb. “This,” she said, “is where the magic happens.”

He leaned in. “Looks like a laboratory.”

“Candle making is very scientific. I think that’s why I like it so much. It lights both the creative and analytical sides of my brain. I used to do a lot of painting, but that was a long time ago.”

“You paint too?”

Why’d she even mention that? Pulling the door closed behind her, she pointed to three large framed canvases across the way. “All of those are mine.”

“You did these?” He stepped forward and looked at them closer. She saw him look at the signature in the corner.

“
Yes. That is my signature.” She pulled her hands to her hips. “Really?
You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“I don’t know. Guess I never met someone that really painted something that I liked before.” He stood looking at the detail of the car in the painting. “You’re really good. You sell these?”

“No. I have a whole studio full of work. I still dabble once in a while, but just for fun.”

“I want this one. It’s the DeSoto.”

“Yep.” She had several that anybody would recognize as the DeSoto, but this one had been an abstract she’d messed around with. Just a small section of the car, but it created an interesting exercise in light and shadow—one that did have a way of captivating anyone who passed by. “You recognize her lines.”

“From a mile away.” His voice held a tone of admiration that made her fidget.

She was always a little uncomfortable when people looked at her work like this. It was a little like being naked. Her whole soul out there for the viewing. And this, the painting, was a part of her life she couldn’t relive. There was a reason she’d kept most of her paintings tucked away behind a closed door. And she wished now she’d left them all there.

He ran his hands along the shiny chrome frame. She’d picked it out because it looked like the bumper on the car.

“The frame is nice too. Pretty.”

“Guys love shiny things. I do too. Seemed like a good fit.” She tried to hide her discomfort with the joke. Being so uncomfortable with people ogling her artwork was part of how she knew painting wasn’t her path. Kevin, Megan’s ex, had been her buffer for that. He’d made her believe in a dream that wasn’t meant to be. As much as she’d loved painting, she didn’t want to show or sell her work. Can’t make money like that. And it didn’t matter anymore. She hadn’t been able to pick up a brush with artistic intent since Kevin died. And thinking of him now disturbed her.

A rush of anxiety assailed her. “How about I show you the inspiration? The car.”

His face lit up, and he dropped his attention from that painting faster than a kid turning his nose up to spinach.

Relieved to get off the subject of her art, she practically race-walked to the garage bay and flipped a row of light switches. The dark glass panels that lined the whole wall brightened, and light danced on the shiny curves of the automobile—metal and flawless paint.

That view still made her heart smile. Daddy’s loving touch had been the last one on this car. If she’d only been able to bring herself to offer up the plan of the limo instead of the Adventurer. Knowing the car was going to be out in the elements, and probably get dirty, this weekend still made her gut ache. But somehow her friendship had to win this battle. She knew Angie too well. If one little thing didn’t go off just right, she’d start worrying that it was some kind of sign.

Noah walked slowly toward the glass. Almost trancelike, he blinked.

She opened the French doors to the garage, and Noah walked right past her like she wasn’t even there. Making his way around the car, he pulled something out of his pocket and held it along the fender of the car.

“What is that?”

“Sorry. Occupational hazard. It’s a magnet. If a car is full of Bondo, it’s an easy way to know without getting all up under the car.” He slid the magnet in his hand across the car, taking his own sweet time. “This is one beautiful car.”

Daddy would have loved the compliment and Noah’s obvious appreciation for his favorite car.

“How many miles?” he asked.

“Twenty-seven thousand seven hundred and forty-two.”

He laughed. “Approximately?”

“There was one previous owner, but there weren’t more than like a few thousand miles on it when Daddy got it. Daddy said that that wasn’t even enough miles to be real love.”

“My granddad had one of these. Exactly like this. I mean, exactly.”

“I didn’t think they were that popular.”

“Wasn’t as much that they weren’t popular as it was there were not many made, so you just don’t see them around. Especially the convertibles.”

“Daddy would take me out on drives. We had a lot of good memories in this car. My mom never did care for it, especially with the top down.”

“Do you mind if I pop the hood?”

“Not at all. It’
s a V-8.
”

“I know.” He was almost curt with the response.

Well, excuse me.

He lifted the hood and leaned in. A soft whistle filled the air. A swirl of pride coursed through her.

“This is one sweet car.” He shut the hood and then took the bottom of his shirt and wiped his fingerprints from it. “Really nice. Do you know what you’ve got here?”

“I do.” Her nose tingled. The memory tugged at her, threatening to pull her down. “The last memory I shared with my daddy. She’s a beauty.”

He looked like he was getting ready to say something, then he walked back over to the door where she was still standing. “This was a Mobil gas station?”

Relieved for the shift in conversation, she said, “Yeah. Did the red Pegasus give it away?”

“Pretty much. It’s cool how you’ve worked in the memorabilia around here.”

She flipped the lights off and closed the door behind them. “Man, you should have seen this place when I first got it. One heck of an eyesore. Out of business for going on forty years, the dust on top of years of grime had piled up so thick, we had to scrape everything down before we could even begin to start cleaning it.”

“Grease and dust can build up quick. That’s why I’m such a stickler about cleanliness in our shop.”

“It took a while, but I had help from my friends. I’m pretty resourceful. Bartered with contractors, worked for two months straight cleaning up, trucking off old parts and junk just to get the place prepped for repair and renovation.”

“Well, you’d never know to see it now.”

“I wanted to embrace its previous function as a gas station rather than try to camouflage it. That never seems to turn out well. So I shopped auction houses and went to swap meets to find just the right memorabilia to decorate with, trading some of the finds from the garage to recoup my investment.”

“Ever go to the big one in Pennsylvania?”

“Yes! Got some great stuff there. Who knew people would pay for old oil cans.”

“You’d be surprised. I love all the old memorabilia. They have a whole day set aside for that stuff at the big auctions every year. You ought to meet me at one of the big auctions some time. There’s one coming up in Scottsdale. It’s a blast. I’ll bring you in on my VIP.”

“That would be fun.”

“You could even sell your car there.”

“Oh, I’ll never sell.”

“Never? That’s a long time.” He laughed. “Show me the rest of the place. I’m assuming you don’t sleep in the car.”

“No. I have an apartment on this end of the building.”

She gave him a quick tour through her place.

Noah leaned into the doorway of her bedroom. “That red Pegasus headboard. Is that sign vintage?”

“Yes. It was here at the gas station when I got the place. There were a bunch of old signs. It was hard to pick what to keep and what to sell, but that Pegasus caught my eye right off. Besides, it was too darn big to haul anywhere. It wouldn’t even fit in the bed of a pickup truck unless we stood it up and I was afraid it would get broken.”

“Really cool,” he said. “There’s a lot of that kind of memorabilia at the auctions I go to. Real Americana stuff.”

“You should’ve been here back when I got the place. We’d be so filthy at the end of the day going through all the old, oily, greasy stinking mess that we used to tease that we needed to build a car wash just to get us clean.”

Noah grinned. “I can imagine. Did you make that old gas pump lamp out of things you found here?”

“No, the glass-cylinder visible gas type pumps that had been part of this station were long gone by the time I got it. There were a couple old metal ones that some guy paid me pretty good money for. They looked like junk to me, but they more than paid for that one.”

“When was this place originally built?” he asked.

“Nineteen thirty-three. At least with the building being mostly block there’d been surprisingly few problem with the building structurally.”

“The thirties makes sense,” Noah said. “The exterior has that almost art deco design to it.”

She turned and led him back out to the living room.

“I like this place and I like you, Megan Howard.”

A blush rose, heating her cheeks. People usually teased her about her odd choices, but Noah seemed to get it.

He looked at his watch. “I got to run. Think I could get a rain check to come see the rest of the place?”

“Sure.”

“Cool. I love this place. It’s really great. You’ve done amazing things with it, and I’m blown away by your talents.”

“Thanks. I’ll admit when Daddy signed over the place I wasn’t very appreciative, but I’ve really grown to love it.”

“I can see why. It suits you.”

He made her nervous when he held her gaze like that. “Out this way,” she said, trying to recover. “But you said you’d tell me your secret.”

He got to the door and stopped. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes. Are you as good as your word, Noah Black?”

“I am.” He pointed his finger at her. “Not a peep. Especially not to the other girls.”

“What is it?”

“We’re all working on a room for Billy. It’ll be a huge surprise for Angie too. All Jackson’
s idea. He
’s really excited about it.”

“You’re kidding? That is too sweet.”

“Yeah. We’re making him a bed that looks like a truck.”

“He will go wild. That kid is one hundred percent grade A boy, and does he love trucks. I take that back. He loves anything with an engine in it.” She suddenly felt closer to Noah. “Jackson’s the best. Angie will cry like a baby.”

“Good tears. But I hope I’m long gone before the tears fall. I’m not good at seeing a girl cry, no matter what kind of tears they are.”

“Oh, they’ll be good tears, and I promise you I will not mess up this surprise. It’s too good.”

“You know,” he said. A crease formed across his forehead. “Since you’re in the know, anyway, maybe you could help out.”

“How’s that?”

“What if you paint a mural in the room? Just a couple cool things on one wall, make it look like the truck is at an old gas station, or driving through the countryside. Take some creative license.”