Jillian Hart - His Hometown Girl

Then he remembered Mrs. Greenley was watching him. Anyone with good eyesight would be able to see how he felt for Karen, so he closed his mouth and turned to his client. “I’ll bill you for the battery. Have a good afternoon.”

“I’ll sure try.” The older woman glanced across the street before she climbed behind the wheel. “You behave yourself, you hear, young man?”

Zach closed Nora’s car door and waited until she pulled away. Alone, he dared to look across the street again. There she was, with her grandmother at her side, talking with a group of women who’d spotted them on the sidewalk. Their conversation rose and fell with merry energy, but all Zach could see was Karen.

She looked great as a blonde. The lighter color made her eyes bluer. Somehow it made her seem more wholesome, if that could be possible, as if she’d spent all summer outdoors in the sun.

Karen’s words from earlier in the day echoed in his mind, replaying over and over again. Everybody doesn’t know me, not if they believe that. I’m never going to marry Jay.

Words like that could give a man hope.

Home. Finally. Zach snapped on the light switch just inside the door of his apartment over the garage. A bulb popped with a bright flash, leaving him in darkness.

Great. Just great. Too exhausted to even summon up a little anger, Zach rummaged around in the dark. His closet was too messy and so he couldn’t find his flashlight. His stomach grumbled in loud protest, not wanting to wait a second longer for supper. He’d change the bulb later and make do with the light in the kitchen.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck, and he tugged off his T-shirt. Man, it was hot. He headed straight for the air-conditioning window unit and flicked it on high. Tepid air sputtered reluctantly, and the fan inside coughed. A lukewarm current breezed across his heated face.

What? No cold air? He flicked off the machine, marched across the small apartment to the kitchen and yanked open the window above the sink. Humid air blew in. As he circled his apartment, opening the windows wide, his stomach clamped with hunger.

Food. He needed it bad and he needed it now.

Not overly hopeful, Zach scoped out his kitchen cupboards. At the sight of the practically empty shelves, his stomach twisted harder. A can of olives, a stale box of cheese crackers and there was mold growing on the remaining slices of three-week-old bread.

Okay, maybe the refrigerator held more promise. He jerked open the door and stood in the welcome icy breeze, surveying the empty metal racks. There was only a half-empty jar of mayonnaise, the butter dish and an empty container of salsa. His stomach growled so loud, it hurt.

Maybe there was something in the freezer.

Bingo. He’d found supper. Even if it was two beef franks, heavily iced in their original package stuck to the empty ice tray, which was iced to the bottom of the freezer. This was not a problem—he was ingenious and he had a knife.

Using it like a chisel, he inserted the blade’s tip between the thick bed of ice and the frozen franks. Cold air wheezed across his face as he leveled a careful blow.

The phone rang—the shop phone. It was work and he couldn’t ignore it. Reluctantly he set down the knife and knocked the freezer shut with the flat of his hand. A meal, air-conditioning and time to relax—was it too much to ask?

He grabbed the old black phone in the corner by the door.

“Zach’s Garage.” He tucked the receiver between his ear and his shoulder.

“I know it’s late.” Karen’s voice came across the line, tight with strain. “But remember that offer of help you made? I could really use it.”

“You called the right man. Don’t tell me your engine went and died, just like I said.”

“Okay, I won’t, but that’s why I’m calling.” Static crackled across the line. “No one at home is answering the phone. They’re probably outside on the deck, so I’m stranded. I’m at the grocery store.”

“I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, Zach.”

“No problem. That’s what friends are for.” He eased the receiver into the cradle and grabbed his keys.

Dinner could wait. Relaxing could wait. Karen needed him. Even if it was only as a mechanic, only as a friend.

He grabbed a clean shirt before heading out the door.

He spotted her sitting on the curb the minute he turned onto Railroad Street. The night breezes ruffled her silken hair around her delicate face. Her slender shoulders slumped with either exhaustion or defeat. He couldn’t tell which.

She turned at the sound of his truck and waved. Behind her, the lights of the closed grocery store were dim and cast a faint glow over her, emphasizing her willowy shape. She stood, holding a plastic grocery bag in one hand.

He stopped the tow truck in the middle of the road and leaned out the window. “Hey, good lookin’. Need a lift?”

Her new blond locks danced against the side of her face, driven by the wind. “Do you like the new me?”

“There was nothing wrong with the old you.” He reached for his door to climb down and assist her, but it was too late to help her in. She was already breezing through the beams of the truck’s headlights, so he leaned across the seat and opened the door. He gave it a shove for her because it was heavy. “What’s with Helen? I saw her new hairdo.”

“Gramma is having a midlife crisis three decades too late.”

“Good. Everyone needs to try something new now and then.”

Flashing him a grin, Karen climbed inside the cab as if she were used to climbing into big trucks. And then Zach remembered she was a ranch girl and had probably helped her father in the fields through the years by driving hay trucks and tractors.

What would it have been like to grow up as she did, with a solid and close-knit family and hundreds of acres of land to roam on? It was a far cry from living at the edge of town where he’d called a singlewide trailer home. And where he’d struggled to take care of his younger brother and sister.

The bench seat dipped slightly with her weight. The air-conditioning circulated her vanilla and baby shampoo scent. Yes, a man had to have hope. That’s all it was—hope—and not the right to be more than a friend.

Not knowing what to say, Zach released the clutch. The truck eased down the street in a smooth rumble.

He headed north, away from the lights of the small town where rolling fields stretched into the deepening twilight. The roar of the engine and the whir of the cool air through the cab covered up the silence that fell between them. But it didn’t change the fact that she was sitting next to him with only two feet between them.

Yes, it was good for a man to have hope.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, her hand flying to the sassy ends of her hair. “You hate this, don’t you? I can’t get used to looking at myself.”

“Neither can I.” He fought the urge to tell her just how great she looked. He thought her beautiful before, but she looked better now. Not because her hair was different, but because there was a sparkle in her eyes he hadn’t seen in a long while.

“Gramma forced me into this.”

“She strong-armed you, did she?”

“She guilted me into it. Works every time.” Karen shook her head and her jaunty locks swept her slim shoulders. “I’m a soft touch when it comes to her.”

“When it comes to everyone.”

“Sometimes.” She looked unhappy, and he never much thought about the pressures she might face always looked to as one of the well-behaved McKaslin girls, even now when she’d been an adult for many years.

“I have the same problem,” he confessed with a grin. “I’m always a real softhearted guy. That’s why I drive my motorcycle through town at least once a week. So no one suspects the real me.”