When Sparks Fly (2 page)

Turning her attention back to the dashboard of the Chevy Malibu, she felt her heart sink as the red engine light flickered on, off, then back on again, glowing steadily. She didn’t have time for a breakdown, or the money for that matter. She’d only owned the car for four days, having purchased it specifically for this trip. Living in Manhattan, she’d never had need for her own transportation, relying on the subway, taxicabs, and occasionally her own two feet to get her anywhere she needed to go. That was one of the great things about city life. Everything you could want was within close proximity.

Though not a stupid woman; she’d earned her M.B.A from Columbia Law School at the age of twenty-six; Monica was the first to admit she knew nothing about cars, aside from the fact that air went in the tires and gasoline went in the tank. She’d never even owned one and had been proud of herself when she’d driven out of the parking lot of Lanny’s Used Cars. As thorough as she’d thought she’d been, asking questions about mileage and fuel consumption, she now knew that she’d been taken, most likely from the first moment she’d stepped foot on the place. The service inspection form that was lying neatly folded in the glove box had been embellished at best and completely fabricated at worst. But there hadn’t been anyone she could ask for help, so she’d made the best decision she could. Too bad that now she and Kimber would suffer for it.

Cursing fiercely under her breath, she started looking for an exit off of the interstate. Unfamiliar with this part of the country, she was relying solely on her GPS to get them to their destination. Unfortunately, the navigation unit only showed the distance until the next interchange, not how close she was to a town.

The Chevy lurched, the gears of the transmission slipping, and she flipped on the turn signal, easing into the right hand lane. Wanting to be prepared if the engine died, she reduced her speed and turned on the flashers. Impatient drivers behind her laid on their horns, giving her the finger as they passed. An eighteen-wheeler blew by, buffeting the car with its wake, causing it to rock. Growing more frustrated with each passing mile, she was thankful for the fact that Kimber was still focused on her movie.

“Oh great; now what?” she muttered, as a burnt sugar stench reached her nostrils. It was then that she noticed a highway sign indicating an exit. “Come on, come on,” she pleaded, “just two more miles.” Hoping the exit would in fact deposit them in a town and not lead to another stretch of empty road, she slowly tapped the brake pedal, praying the engine wouldn’t give out. Taking the exit, she kept the car close to the shoulder and drove for another quarter mile before catching a glimpse of a sign. ‘You are now entering the town of Celebration. Welcome.’

Monica snorted. “Like I really feel like celebrating!”

“What did you say, Mommy?” Kimber had turned off her tablet and was looking out the window. “Where are we?” she asked excitedly. Every new experience was an adventure for the precocious child.

“I’m not sure, baby. But we’re going to have to stop here and get the car looked at. I don’t think it will go much further.” At her words, the engine went quiet and the car stalled. With the loss of power the steering wheel froze, and she both swore under her breath and said a blessing that they were going slow enough for her to coast off the road.

Applying the brakes, she waited until they came to a complete stop before throwing it into park. Gripping the wheel tightly she rested her forehead against it, hoping that whatever was wrong with the bucket of bolts would be an easy fix. She started her new job in Los Angeles in less than two weeks and there were a million things to do before then. She needed to arrange with the moving company to deliver their belongings to the new apartment, enroll Kimber in kindergarten classes for the fall session, familiarize herself with the city….

“Mommy, there’s a man looking at us.”

Kimber’s statement interrupted Monica’s reverie. She snapped her head up to see that there was, indeed, a man peering through the driver’s side window. Hesitating briefly, she rolled it down barely an inch. The man leaned closer and asked, “You all right, ma’am? Do you need help?”

Not entirely trustful of strangers, Monica had to remind herself that she was no longer in the city. Though she wasn’t quite sure where they were, it appeared to be a small town, where help wasn’t necessarily right around the corner. The man seemed to be genuinely concerned; and he had the kindest eyes she had ever seen. “I’m afraid that our car broke down. Is there a mechanic’s shop nearby?”

“Frankie D’s is over on Fourth St. He’s the best mechanic in town. He’s also the only mechanic in town, so there’s not much competition.” The man chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. Noting that she was still watching him warily, he introduced himself in an attempt to dispel her concerns. “My name’s Joe Callaghan. I can give Frankie a call, if you’d like.”

Not sure that she had much of a choice, Monica nodded. “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.” Glancing behind her to check on Kimber, she turned back to him as he was lifting his phone to his ear. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you also call us a cab?”

“No cabs in town,” he answered, shaking his head. “It’s not a problem, though. I can take you where you need to go.”

It was then that she noticed the blue pick-up truck parked behind them. Hearing him say, “Yo, Frankie, got a tow for you,” as he walked away, she prayed that neither of these men were serial killers. Squaring her shoulders, she stepped out of the car and took a deep breath in. Exhaling slowly, she felt a miniscule amount of tension leave her body. “Better than nothing,” she muttered, walking to the back and opening the door.

“Come on, munchkin, looks like we’re stuck here for a while.” Leaning in, she unbuckled Kimber’s safety belt and helped the little girl climb out of her booster seat. Smiling as she always did at her daughter’s enthusiasm, she wasn’t surprised when the girl’s curiosity took over, leading her to a patch of flowers blooming by the roadside. She looked adorable in her yellow jumper, white anklets peeking out over the top of her hot pink Keds. Tied off with a purple ribbon, her blonde curls were pulled back into a ponytail, which swung back and forth as she skipped along admiring the vegetation.

“Frankie should be here in fifteen minutes.”

Joe had moved up beside her, keeping a respectful distance so as not to crowd her. Monica had been so engrossed watching her daughter that she’d forgotten they weren’t alone. “Thank you,” she said, glancing over to study him surreptitiously. He had the physique of a man who performed physical labor as opposed to one who sat behind a desk. Wearing a red t-shirt which fit snugly across his chest, the short sleeves showed off tanned muscular arms. Faded denim hugged his hips and she couldn’t help but notice how the back pockets fit snugly over his derriere. Dusty brown boots, scuffed and well-worn, covered his feet, completing the rugged-man look.

His light brown hair was cut short but not too short; it was starting to curl at the nape of his neck. She lifted her gaze to his face to find him watching her and meeting his eyes she was struck again by how kind they appeared. He grinned at her and she felt a quick ‘thump thump’ of her heart when a dimple appeared on his left cheek. She smiled back politely in an attempt to remain nonchalant, doing her best to ignore the butterflies that were beginning to flutter in her stomach. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll start gathering our things.” Calling out to Kimber, she watched as her daughter scampered over, a bouquet of dandelions clutched tightly in her hand.

“I picked these for you, Mommy,” the little girl announced proudly, thrusting the wilted blooms forward.

Monica knelt down, accepting the flowers graciously. “Thank you, sweetheart. They’re beautiful.” Her heart warmed as Kimber’s arms wrapped around her neck, and she gave her daughter a tight squeeze. “We’ll put them in water as soon as we get settled into a hotel room. Assuming there is a hotel in this town?” She directed her question at Joe.

“Sorry,” he said, disappointing her for a second time. “The nearest hotel is in Springfield, twenty-six miles from here. We do have a motel but it’s full up already.”

“Big going on’s in town?” she asked sarcastically, her irritation beginning to show.

“Fourth of July celebration,” he explained patiently, not taking her caustic tone to heart. He could only imagine how stressed she felt, having her car break down in the middle of a strange town, stranding her and her daughter. He’d noticed that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and wondered if she had a man in her life. Being alone must surely add to her worry.

Lack of jewelry wasn’t the only thing he’d noticed. While she began unloading suitcases from the trunk of the car, Joe took the opportunity to study her the way she’d been scrutinizing him. Her shoulder length brown hair was pulled back from her face with a blue flowered bandana that had been folded into a headband. Golden highlights glinted in the sunlight, adding a shimmery look to the silky texture. Watching it brush against her back as she moved left him with an overwhelming urge to run his fingers through the strands.

She leaned into the trunk and he couldn’t help but admire the shapely curve of her ass. The cheeks looked as if they would fit nicely in his hands and at the thought the front of his pants tightened considerably. Disconcerted by his attraction, albeit a physical one, to a perfect stranger, he went over to the car to help unload, hoping the distraction would provide some relief. The opposite proved true.

“Here, let me help you with that.” Reaching around her to lift a heavy suitcase, his arm brushed against hers and he felt his palms grow sweaty. Gripping the luggage tightly so it wouldn’t slip out of his hand, he walked to the back of his truck and hefted the bag into the bed. As he did, a furry head popped up and he heard a squeal behind him.

“Mommy, look! A doggie!” Kimber ran towards the pick-up at the same time a red and white Australian Shepherd hopped over the side and landed at her feet.

“Kimber, be careful!” Monica wasn’t fond of dogs, having been bitten when she was a little girl by a neighbor’s half-grown puppy. It had been an unfortunate case of an over exuberant canine playing a bit too rough but the experience had left a permanent scar on her psyche long after the physical one had faded.

“It’s okay,” Joe reassured. “Leroy wouldn’t hurt a fly.” As if to prove his words, the friendly pooch was licking Kimber’s face to her great delight.

“Mommy, look. He doesn’t have a tail.” Turning to Joe, she asked, “What happened to his tail?”

“He was born without one.” Crouching down beside her, he began scratching behind the dog’s ears, grinning as Leroy groaned and leaned into his hand. “It doesn’t stop him from wagging his behind though, see?” Kimber nodded, giggling at the sight of the little stub tail wiggling furiously.

The dog was practically turning himself inside out with excitement and even Monica had to admit that he seemed nice. Trying to quell the niggle of apprehension that caused her hand to tremble, she reached out slowly to pat his head. He thrust his nose upward, catching her off-guard and she drew in a sharp breath, then relaxed when he laid his chin on her hand, looking up at her with soulful doggie eyes. Running her fingers across his muzzle, she smiled when he licked her hand. Her smile turned into full blown laughter when he started prancing around, his stub tail moving so quickly, it was a blur. She glanced over at Joe and her heart made the same ‘thump thump’ it had earlier.
Stop that
, she admonished herself.
No sense getting all googly-eyed over someone you’ll never see again.

Giving Leroy one last pat, she turned back to the car. “I need to get the rest of our stuff.” No sooner had the words left her mouth than a flatbed tow truck rumbled onto their street, coming to a rest in front of the Malibu.

“Hey, Joe.” A blond-headed man in his late thirties jumped out of the truck and walked over to them. Dressed in grease-stained overalls and wearing a ball cap that sported the name of his shop, he didn’t quite fit the serial killer image that Monica had envisioned earlier. “Ma’am.” Nodding in her direction, he reached into the driver’s side window of the Chevy and released the hood latch. Propping it open, he disappeared underneath and was soon joined by Joe, both of them mumbling back and forth. Leaving them to their inspection, she pulled the last remaining items from the backseat and took them over to Joe’s truck, while Kimber played with Leroy.

Leaning against the side of the pick-up, she realized there hadn’t been another vehicle pass by since she’d stopped. In fact, with the exception of Joe and Frankie, she hadn’t seen another living soul. Closing her eyes all she could hear were the chirps and whistles of birds and the occasional rustle of leaves in the soft breeze. She couldn’t remember a time in her life when it had ever been this quiet. Even in the dead of night, the city was filled with sound; car alarms blaring, police, fire, or ambulance sirens shrieking, men and women alike shouting and screeching. Music throbbed and pounded at all hours, like a pulse keeping the city alive. She imagined that if the noise ever stopped, the city would die. But here the quiet seemed natural; not funereal. It was calming, peaceful, and it made her wonder if too much silence could drive a person insane.

“Hate to tell you this, ma’am but your transmission’s shot.” Frankie’s statement interrupted her musing. Straightening from the side of the truck, she opened her eyes to find both men standing in front of her silhouetted against the afternoon sun. Lifting her hand to cut the glare, she squinted at them until Joe moved forward creating a shadow on her face. She smiled a ‘thank you’ as she lowered her hand then turned her attention to the mechanic.

“Shot as in ‘all it needs is some fluids and bedrest’ or shot as in ‘it needs to be towed to the local cemetery and we should call a priest’ ”?

“She’s funny,” Frankie remarked, looking at Joe. Turning back to Monica, he answered her question. “Shot as in it needs a new transmission. Not brand new, mind you. A rebuilt will do. Appears that there was a slow leak; fluid got too low and the transmission seized up.”