Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“Got people to do those things for me,” boomed Mr. Fox, whose sweaty face shone in the inn’s porch lights. He was clearly unsteady on his feet.
“Can you open the trunk please?” Ryan was all business.
Mr. Fox managed to pop the trunk open, and Ryan lifted up the floor, revealing the spare. Shrugging off his jacket, he tossed it aside, and I hurried over to pick it up off the grass.
“Can you do it?” Mrs. Fox asked.
“Yeah.” He rolled up his sleeves in quick, masculine motions that turned me on, revealing his muscular forearms and wrists.
“Oh, you have a tattoo,” said Mrs. Fox. “Our grandson has one of those.”
“The damn fool,” said Mr. Fox.
I thought I saw Ryan’s brow furrow, but I couldn’t be sure. He was walking around the car, putting something in front of the wheels.
“Well, I should get back inside,” April said. “Thanks a million, Ryan. Nice meeting you, Stella.”
I nodded. “You too.”
“Do you work here too?” Mrs. Fox asked me.
“No. Just visiting.”
“And you’re some kind of mechanic?” Mr. Fox squinted at Ryan, who was using a long metal wrench to remove some bolts from the flat tire. It was clear from the man’s tone what he thought of mechanics.
“No,” Ryan answered.
“He’s a handyman, dear. Isn’t that what she said?”
Ryan ignored them, using his foot to stomp down on the wrench.
“Easy there, boy,” barked Mr. Fox. “That’s an expensive car.”
I held my breath and wondered if Ryan would object to being called a boy. I certainly would have, if I were him. He didn’t appear to, but I did notice that he didn’t ease up on his stomping.
While Ryan was jacking up the car, Mr. Fox looked at his watch. “How much longer is this going to take? Maybe I’ll go in and have another drink. And it should be free, to compensate me for my troubles.” He stuck his hands on his hips and planted his feet in a stance that said Entitled Old Fart.
“Now, now,” hushed Mrs. Fox.
But the crotchety old drunk went off, listing all his grievances about Cloverleigh, from the poor lighting on the road in to the servers who weren’t quick enough to the high prices they charged for food that was too fancy for him and their failure to stock his favorite bourbon even though he’d told them numerous times what it was.
From there he moved on to complaining about his grandkids with their phones and tattoos and stupidity. “Not one of them chose my alma mater,” he griped. “And one shithead was dumb enough to join the military. He’s gonna be sent to some godforsaken country in the Middle East and get himself killed, and for what?”
“Chad,” said his wife. “Remember your blood pressure.”
“I wouldn’t have high blood pressure if the country hadn’t gone to hell in a handbasket ten years ago! The whole war is pointless. We can’t win, and those people don’t want us there. Now my idiot grandson will be in the middle of it, alongside a slew of other low-IQ idiots.”
Ryan froze in the middle of placing the spare tire in position.
Inwardly I prayed the guy would stop talking, but he didn’t.
“Bunch of arrogant cowboys going over there to play at being soldiers, that’s all there is. If any one of them had any brains, they’d be in college.”
“Now, now,” Mrs. Fox said. “College isn’t for everybody.”
“Well, they could at least be here contributing to the economy,” he scoffed. Then he gestured toward Ryan. “Like this boy here. He’s got some useful skills, at least.”
I couldn’t take any more.
“He’s not a boy,” I said loudly. “He’s a man. Actually, he’s a U.S. Marine who served in Iraq and Afghanistan.”
“Stella,” Ryan said, tightening the bolts on the wheel. “Don’t bother.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t help it,” I said hotly. “It bothers me to hear someone talk that way.”
“That true?” the asshole said, squinting at Ryan. “You were over there?”
“Yes.”
“Then you should know better than anyone that there’s no chance of victory and the whole thing is just a big, expensive waste of our time and money.”
Suddenly Ryan jumped to his feet, dropping the wrench to the pavement and squaring off against the old man. “I lost buddies over there,” he growled. “Good men. Brothers and fathers and sons. I watched them get blown apart. They paid more than you’ll ever be worth. So don’t stand there and tell me it was a waste.”
“You ever kill anybody?” the old man asked.
“Fuck off,” Ryan said, shoving him so hard on the chest he fell backward on his ass.
I gasped, and Mrs. Fox shrieked.
Ryan marched past me. “Let’s go, Stella. With his college degree, I’m sure he can figure out how to get his car off the jack.”
“Come back here!” bellowed the asshole, still on the ground. “You can’t do that. I know the Sawyers! I’ll have you fired!”