What a Girl Wants

The phone chimed with a text message and he reached for it.

But Jim got to it first. “We need to talk?” he read aloud.

Ethan sighed. “That’s all she ever says.” Above everything else was a nagging curiosity about what she obviously needed to say to him. He wondered how long he could remain strong and continue to ignore her. Admittedly, his resolve was weakening. Angry or not, he missed the life they had created together. He had liked knowing where he was headed—his job was solid, one he enjoyed and did well, and his relationship had been comfortable, secure.... Maybe that had been the problem. Emily thrived on new and exciting, changing jobs every few months. He wondered how long the new Play Hard opportunity would keep her happy.

“Do you think she wants to come back?”

Ethan denied himself that hope. “I don’t know.”

“Would you take her back if she did?”

The million-dollar question. He hesitated before saying, “I’m not an idiot, Jim.”

“You’re not answering the question.”

Ethan snatched the phone away before Jim could answer the text, which he knew he was aching to do, and slid it into his shirt pocket. He pulled the truck to the side of the highway behind an old rusted red Volkswagen Jetta and jumped down onto the gravel. He positioned two traffic cones in the inside lane, forcing the oncoming traffic to take the outside lane, as Bailey’s tow truck pulled in front of the Jetta and she climbed out, clipboard in hand.

“I’ll be here if you need me,” Jim called from inside the truck, reclining the seat and shutting his eyes.

“You’re not even going to get out of the truck?”

“It’s a simple backup call. I only came along to get out of clinic duty.”

Ethan shook his head as he closed the truck door. It amazed him how their work ethic differed so drastically. Jim was four years older, yet he’d never shown any interest in advancing his rank at the fire hall. Ethan had worked hard, proving himself to his senior coworkers and landing the position of captain by the time he was twenty-four.

He approached Bailey at the front of the vehicle where she was speaking to a short, frazzled-looking bald man. “I’ll just need your driver’s license and your credit card...and I’ll have you hooked up and ready to go in just a few minutes. Feel free to sit in the truck to wait. The air-conditioning is on and it’s much cooler in there.”

The man disappeared inside the cab of the tow truck and Ethan waited until he was out of earshot before saying, “This car has to be at least thirty years old.” He leaned against the bumper to watch her work, and the metal frame creaked in protest.

“That thing looks about to fall off,” she warned as she put the tow dolly’s coupler in open position by lowering the locking lever all the way down and inserting the locking pin to secure it in place.

Good point, he thought as he stood. “So, before I forget, we’re holding Luke’s bachelor party at the fire hall tonight—poker, darts, beer, the baseball game.... If you’re not doing anything, stop by.” Bailey was a regular at their weekly poker games, much to the dismay of the other guys, whose wallets she emptied.

“Stop by? To Luke’s bachelor party—the ultimate boys night?” She sounded incredulous as she inserted the electrical plug from the dolly into the switch on the back of the tow truck. That way the brake lights and turning signals on the dolly would work while en route to the shop.

“Yeah, why not?” He knew Luke wouldn’t mind. Bailey had always been like a third, less-annoying sister to the groom-to-be, and she kept his ancient, rusted-out truck on the road.

“I have Victoria’s bachelorette party tonight. A wine and cheese in the backyard of the Brookhollow Inn.” She crisscrossed the chains and connected them to the eyelets on the bumper of the car.

“That sounds awful.”

“You’re telling me.”

A loud boom sounded and they both swung around to see smoke and flames coming from the hood of the Jetta.

Great, the piece of crap car was on fire.

Quickly, he pushed Bailey toward the guardrail on the side of the highway and said, “Stay right here!” Then, running to the truck, he rapped on the passenger door to get Jim’s attention before grabbing a jump line of two lengths of forty-four-inch hose and a nozzle.

“What happened?” Jim asked, joining him.

“That car should never have passed its last road-safety inspection,” he muttered as he grabbed his coat and self-contained breathing apparatus from inside the fire truck. Nothing annoyed him more than accidents that could have been prevented. This car was long past retirement and posed a safety threat.

He secured the mask in place before advancing toward the car, spraying the flames that had spread around the base of the vehicle. The last thing he wanted was for the flames to spread to the tow truck. Bailey had just purchased the wheel-lift truck the month before after buying the garage from her uncle. She loved that four-wheel drive almost as much as she loved her motorcycle. It would serve as her primary vehicle in the winter months.

Jim grabbed the Halligan bar to gain access to the fire under the hood. Hurrying, he pierced a hole in the hood and used the tool to pry it open. Moving closer, Ethan sprayed a stream of water, extinguishing the flames.

After a thorough walkabout and once satisfied that the fire was completely out, he put the tools away and approached Bailey while Jim filled out the report inside the truck. “You okay?” He rubbed her shoulders, noticing the goose bumps on her forearms, despite the heat waves radiating from the highway.

“Yeah... That was just so sudden.”

The car’s owner had jumped out of the tow truck and run some twenty-five yards away while his vehicle was consumed by flames. He joined them now, shaking slightly.

“My car,” he said, wide-eyed as he stared at the charred mess.

“It only takes a small spark to ignite into major flames,” Ethan told him, then turned once more to Bailey. “I think you should unhook the car. That thing is a hazard. You don’t want it in your shop.” Who knew what else was wrong with that wreck? In his professional opinion, it was a chance too risky to take...not to mention his personal concern as her friend.

“What? You won’t tow it?” The man looked frantic at the thought of being stranded on the side of the highway any longer.

“I seriously doubt there’s a whole lot Bailey can—” Ethan started, but Bailey interrupted.

“Of course I will.”

Ethan shot her an annoyed look and lowered his voice. “I really don’t think it’s a good idea, Bailey.”

“I appreciate your concern, Ethan, but it’s not your decision to make. We both know Uncle Doug would never leave this car stranded.”

She was right, and while he wanted to argue, he knew his words would fall on deaf ears. Bailey had been on her own since she was seventeen. She’d lost her mom to cancer at twelve, and she’d been desperate to escape her family home where her father and two overprotective brothers had driven her crazy. Listening to the advice of others was not her strong point. She insisted on doing things her way. That stubborn independence was one of the things he liked about his friend, unless he was going up against it.

“Fine, it’s your shop.” He shrugged, but he couldn’t resist taking a jab at her. “Oh...and be sure to have fun tonight,” he said with a smirk as he hopped back into the fire truck.

* * *

ARRIVING BACK AT the shop fifteen minutes later, after dropping the frazzled Mr. Huntley at the Brookhollow Inn for the evening, Bailey wasn’t surprised to find the door locked and no one around. Nick wouldn’t be there unless he had to be. She let herself in and picked up the mail on the floor. Flicking through the envelopes, she was happy to see payments for work completed last month.

Her uncle had run the shop on an invoicing system for the town locals. Only out-of-towners were required to pay at the time of delivery and even then he accepted personal checks. When she’d taken over the bookkeeping and accounting side of the business several months before, there had been many outstanding, unpaid invoices. In a few short weeks, she’d collected on almost all of them and the shop’s finances were in much better shape. Unfortunately the surplus in revenue had been one of the reasons her uncle had been able to talk her into giving Nick the job as her apprentice that summer.

She pushed through the swinging door that led to the bays where two vehicles awaited paint jobs. Might as well get them ready for pickup and parked outside before bringing in the Jetta. Though she wasn’t sure what she could do to fix the old car. She’d try her best, but she suspected it was headed for the junkyard in town.

Sighing, she tied her hair back into a ponytail at the base of her neck, tucking the strands beneath her collar. Detail work was her least favorite job. She’d rather be under the body or peering under a hood any day.

Approaching the workbench where all the paint supplies and air-brush color cans were, she noticed several detail brushes in containers of warm, soapy water and six or seven spray cans in the trash under the desk. Had Doug come by and completed the work himself? Since retiring, he sometimes came by to tinker with a vehicle or two. Bailey suspected he was going crazy at home with nothing to do. However, she couldn’t remember the last time the older man had taken on any paintwork, claiming his less-than-rock-steady hands and less-than-perfect eyesight couldn’t be trusted anymore.

Bailey flicked the light switch on the wall to see the vehicles more clearly. Checking the work order, she approached the first one. A Toyota Corolla brought in a few days ago by Mrs. Norris. There had been body damage to the left side of her front bumper after she’d hit a newly placed concrete divider in the grocery store parking lot. Inspecting the bumper, she was shocked to see the expert paint job. Doug could claim he wasn’t as good as he used to be, but his work rivaled hers any day. The second vehicle, a Ford Focus that belonged to Dr. Carson, the local pediatrician, was done with the same precision and care. Bailey felt herself relax. One less thing to worry about.

* * *

ETHAN STRAINED UNDER the weight of the three cases of beer he balanced on his forearms as he continued to wait in the long line at the liquor depot. The beer-can-shaped clock hanging above the register revealed it was six-thirty. The men would be arriving at the station in less than an hour. The blood pressure and cholesterol screening had gone on past five o’clock, putting them a little behind in their bachelor-party preparations. Each month there seemed to be even more women in Brookhollow coming to the free clinic, and today he’d even caught a few getting in line for a second time in one day.