Page 9 of Bear

CHAPTER THREE

Jupiter

One week later

“Bobby Ray?” I closethe door to the office and throw my purse over my shoulder. The lights on the shop floor flicker, and I let out a sigh. I’ve been asking Bobby Ray to take a look at those lights for more than two weeks now. I’m just about to retrieve the ladder and fix it myself when the gloss of a shiny red chrome truck catches my eye. There is a brand-spanking-new F-150 sitting in the middle of the shop floor that I don’t remember seeing any paperwork for. I do a lap around the car and pop the hood. I don’t get crazy about trucks like some people do—I am hard up for pure American muscle—but there’s something about this truck that just screams power, and I am wet just thinking about it.

I sigh as I run my hands over the twin-turbo engine. “Hey there, pretty lady.”

I wonder how she handles on a track. I’m just about to set my bag down and slide into the driver’s seat to see if those 450 horses are really as fierce as everyone says they are when Bobby Ray comes tearing in from outside. “Hey, hey. Hands off the merchandise.”

I pout and step away from the vehicle. “What is she in for?”

“Oil change.”

“This is a brand-new car.”

“Customer’s a pedantic fuck and wants it changed.”

I narrow my eyes. “Who’s the customer?”

This is a small town, and I would have noticed a shiny new Raptor driving around. Hell, anyone in this town with half a heart would have brought this baby right to my door before they even drove it home.

“Some rich guy in Atlanta. Now, can you leave already? I’d like to get this done and get out of here before all the food is gone.”

I hold my hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, I’m going.”

“Besides, it’s Tuck’s turn to cook the family Friday night meal.”

All the blood drains from my face. “Oh, god. I gotta go to the market and get supplies in case it’s as inedible as last time.”

We began the Friday night tradition not long after Mama and Daddy died, but since Tuck is the youngest and still in high school, we never expected him to take on the task by himself.Poor Tuck. You won’t find me in the kitchen much, but even I know how to keep toast from burning.

I bite my lip. “On second thoughts, maybe I should wait until you’re done, and we can grab a bite from the diner next door before we get home.”

“Or maybe you could leave now and prevent him from burning the pot roast this time.”

“Who burns a pot roast?”

“An eighteen-year-old kid who watches too muchMasterChef, I guess.”

The roar of motorcycles fills the lot, and all the blood drains from my face.

“Hey, Juju? What kind of mechanic refuses to fix a motorcycle for a big, scary biker?”

“One who wants to teach the spoiled chauvinist a lesson.”

A beat later, a fist pounds on the steel roller door and the smallest hint of fear twists my gut. “I think I will get home to check on that roast, after all,” I whisper.

“Don’t you dare,”Bobby Ray mouths.

I blow him a kiss and slip out the back and into my Ford Mustang—or, as I like to call her, my one true love. Her engine roars, drowning out the obnoxious pipes of the Harleys, and I peel out of the lot through the back gate with a smile on my face in a cloud of smoke and burning rubber.

---