Chapter 4: Chapter 4

WREN

I wake up an hour before my 5 a.m. alarm and toss and turn in the unfamiliar bed until I finally get up.

After a small breakfast, I fill a travel mug of strong, black coffee and head out to the shop just outside the apartment.

I noticed the tractor in the shop yesterday when walking by and figure that’s what we’ll be focusing on today.

I tell Puck to lie down on a mat below the tool bench and start to organize the tools one would typically use for tractor repair.

I’m peeking at the exposed engine when I hear the door open behind me.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

I turn around to see Lance eyeing me as he sets his mug down and slides his coat off.

“Uh, good morning. I was just taking a look at the engine. Looks like this is what I’m working on today?”

Lance narrows his eyes at me, his lips in a thin line.

“I’m changing the spark plugs on this tractor.” He approaches me and I take a few steps back when he enters my space. “And you will assist.”

I wrinkle my eyebrows. “Really? That’s how you’re going to play this?”

“This isn’t a game, it’s a job. And I’m your boss at this job. So you’ll do what I say.”

I roll my eyes. “Whatever you say, ~boss~.” I put a sarcastic emphasis on the word. My irritation is at an all-time high with this guy, and I have worked with some difficult people.

The rest of the morning is mainly silent. Lance crouches next to the tractor engine and mumbles to himself while occasionally barking at me to hand him various tools.

After some time has passed, Lance asks me to start the tractor. The engine turns over loudly then dies.

“Fuck!” Lance says as he throws his wrench down onto the dusty concrete floor. “Why won’t this work?”

The question is directed mainly to himself, but I can’t help but respond.

“Have you checked the carburetor?” I ask.

His eyes shift to me.

“For what?” he snaps.

“It could be clogged due to the hard start.”

He pauses and blinks a few times, and I resist the urge to smile. He knows I could be right and it kills him.

“Take a break,” he says.

I raise my eyebrows. “Really?”

“Yes,” he says.

I step toward him. “Maybe I should check the carburetor first?” My teeth are gritted. I stare directly into his eyes.

“No thanks,” Lance says coolly.

“Well then, you check it. I’ll watch.”

“Leave, now,” he says.

I take a deep breath. “Really? You’re THAT stubborn?”

Lance simply crosses his arms across his chest.

“Aaarrrgh! Fine! Have it your way.”

I whistle for Puck and stomp out of the shop. The second the combination of the cool, morning air and warm sunshine hits my face, my anger dampens.

Activity is bustling all around the farm, and I take a deep breath as I watch all the people and animals going about their business.

The hood of my truck lets out a loud creak as I lift it. I’m preparing to replace the timing belt when I hear the crunch of gravel behind me.

“Need a hand?”

It’s not the voice I’m expecting, but then, I don’t know what I am expecting.

I turn to see Grant smiling at me. He isn’t as—focused on me as the previous evening, and his smile seems genuine and approachable.

“Oh, uh, no, it’s okay,” I say. “I mean, you have better things to do, I’m sure.”

I expect him to insist, to push past my comfort and help anyway, but he just shrugs with his hands in his pockets.

He reminds me of a shy boy who’s mustered up the courage to do something brave and endearment creeps into my gut.

“I’m no Lance, but I can be a decent assistant.”

My anger returns though not as fiercely. “Yeah, well, he’s not as great as he thinks,” I say through gritted teeth, then turn back to my truck.

I expect Grant to push harder or start peppering me with questions, but instead he stands next to me and wordlessly assists.

First, I disconnect the negative battery cable and get to work removing the fan belt. Changing a timing belt is a long process, one I’ve completed many times, and I don’t cut corners.

I hand Grant items or ask him to hand me items from my dusty tool bag at his feet. An hour flies by before we are interrupted by Grant’s phone.

“Oh shoot, I gotta take this,” he says, looking at his phone. “I’m going to come by this evening to see if you still need a hand, okay?” He looks up and gives me an easy smile.

“No problem, and thank you,” I say as I wipe my hands on my jeans.

“Sure thing.” Grant turns and strides away.

I turn back to the engine.

I’ve ripped this engine apart more times than I care to count. I know it backward and forward.

In fact, I changed this timing belt before, but that was back when Max was still alive. We had done it together.

The proverbial knife in my heart gives a tiny twist.

No matter how much time passes, I’ll never get used to thinking about Max as being gone.

I dive back into the project. Removing the distributor cap is always a challenge. I give it several taps to try to loosen it to no avail. Despite my best effort, I can’t seem to pry the sucker loose.

This is the type of stuff that makes the wound of losing Max feel like a gaping hole, like more is missing than is left.

Tears prick my hot face as I bear down on the wrench, hoping to free the damn thing. It won’t budge.

Without warning, my anger bubbles up—anger at Lance, anger at the universe for claiming Max, anger at this damn distributor cap.

I continue to push all my force onto the wrench. My hands shake and hurt from the pressure. I let out a wail as the distributor cap finally loosens.

I wasn’t prepared for it and I go flying back as my force is no longer stopped. I prepare to slam into the hard gravel, but hit something else entirely.

Strong hands wrap around my waist and my body stops against the hard chest of Lance Teller. I look up and see he’s just as surprised as I am.

Goosebumps fly up where his skin touches mine and I can feel my cheeks redden. Electricity pulses through me at our proximity. ~God, he smells good~.

He grabs my arms and finally puts distance between us. “Uh, sorry, I—”

“Er, thanks,” I say at the same time. ~God, why am I so awkward right now?~ I turn back to my truck but don’t start doing anything. I just can’t look at his face right now.

“What are you doing?”

I steal a glance at him and see that he’s looking at all the engine parts scattered around the front end of my truck.

“Uh, timing belt.” Apparently I’m not making full sentences again yet.

“Oh, I see,” he says. “Look, I think you may be right...about the tractor...and the carburetor.”

I turn back to him, my hands on my hips, but I don’t say anything. He scratches the back of his neck. ~He’s nervous.~ I force myself not to smile. ~What is the matter with me?~

“We don’t have a new one so we need to go to town.” He tosses me a set of keys, I reach out and catch them. “You’re driving.”