Cynthia Thomason - A Soldier's Promise

“’Scuse me.”

She stepped aside. He sat in the driver’s seat and turned her key in the ignition. Nothing. Not even the clicks she had heard earlier.

Brenna cringed. She was thankful Diana hadn’t left yet. She might need a ride after all.

Diana spoke in Brenna’s ear. “Have you ever seen this guy before?”

“No.” Even if this man were just an Alvin’s employee, she would have remembered him. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It’s just interesting. He could be our first new man in town in a long time. Maybe he’s single and you and he...”

Brenna frowned at her friend’s blatantly coy grin. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not looking and you know it. And if I were, I wouldn’t be scouring Alvin’s Garage for a date.”

The man got out of the car and opened the hood. He next opened the hood on his truck and finally removed some battery cables from a box in the cargo area.

“What are you doing?” she asked him.

“Charging your battery.”

“Oh.” She watched his practiced, abbreviated movements. He didn’t waste time or effort. He appeared to know what he was doing.

Diana nudged her. “He’s good-looking, don’t you think?” she whispered.

“Stop it.” But the comment did make her study his face again.

Though he remained basically expressionless, his features demanded her attention. Serious to a fault. Yet fine lines around his eyes and mouth indicated he’d done his share of smiling, or maybe frowning. And his eyes. Now that she really looked, she found herself staring into them. Very dark, intense. And much too thoughtful for a guy who spent his time staring at spark plugs. Or did cars even have spark plugs these days? Brenna recalled reading that everything in cars was digital now.

After a few minutes, he disconnected the cables, got back in her car, fiddled around with knobs on the dashboard and started the engine. The Mazda purred like the sleek kitten it was. He got out, took the work order from his pocket again and wrote some numbers down.

“That’ll be thirty-five dollars,” he said.

“What did you do?” she asked. “I didn’t see you fix anything.”

“Nothing needed fixing.” He covered his mouth with his hand.

Brenna stared at Diana. She mouthed the words I think he’s laughing at me.

Diana shrugged. “Appears so.”

“What’s so funny—” she pointed to his pocket embroidery “—Mike?”

“Women, I guess.”

“What? That’s just demeaning....”

He readjusted the seriousness to his face. “The problem with your car was what we call a parasitic drain.”

“And what exactly would I call it?” Brenna asked.

“Probably a dead battery.”

“And why did it die?”

“It was raining this morning. Did you have your lights on?”

“Of course. It’s the law. Why do you...” She realized where he was going with the discussion. “I must’ve left them on when I got to school,” she admitted.

“Not only that, you left your satellite radio running all day. Between the two the battery was drained.”

Diana snickered. Brenna ignored her.

“I know I should have turned the lights off,” she said. “But I wasn’t aware that the radio could drain the battery.”

“It wouldn’t by itself.” He pushed his cap up, releasing strands of dark hair onto his forehead. “Did you ever read the owner’s manual on this car? It would tell you stuff like that.”

“Of course I did.” She paused as he narrowed his eyes at her.

Diana grinned. “She read the part about how to operate the moonroof.”

Brenna glared at her.

“Even though you only needed a jump, I have to bill you for a service call.” His lips twitched as he handed her the bill. “A check will be fine. Alvin knows you.”

That last part sounded like another dig, as if she was so inept she handed out thirty-five dollars on a daily basis. For heaven’s sake. She wasn’t the only woman who depended on a mechanic.

She scrounged through her purse a second time and pulled out her wallet. “I assume you’ll take paper money,” she said, handing him three tens and a five.

“Never had a problem with cash,” he said, tucking the bills into his pocket. He nodded at both women. “I’ll be going, then.”

He started to get in his truck, but Diana stopped him. “Excuse me, Mike, but are you new to this part of Georgia?”

Brenna turned to give her friend another pointed stare.

“Been here a couple of months,” he said, one foot in the truck.

“Oh. How do you like it?”

“Okay.”

“Do you live in town?”

“About three miles out.”

He got in the truck, but apparently Diana wasn’t done grilling him. “Do you have family, Mike?” she asked.

He squinted into her face. Was he offended at the question?

“I don’t mean to be nosy,” Diana said.

Brenna huffed. Yeah, right.

“We’re a friendly town,” Diana added. “Perhaps your wife would like to join us girls some afternoon...”

“I’m not married.”

Brenna had had enough, and she was certain the mechanic had, too. “I’m sure this man has to get back to the garage, Diana,” Brenna said.

“I do,” he said. And as quickly as he’d come into the lot, he left it.

“What was all that?” Brenna said. “You made that man uncomfortable. I can’t imagine that he enjoys being treated like Mount Union’s catch of the day.”

“Well, he could be a catch...for you.”

“I already told you—don’t get any ideas.”

“You didn’t find him the least bit attractive?”

“I didn’t find him anything but rude and condescending.” That wasn’t exactly true. Brenna usually drew conclusions about every man she met, and she’d done so with this guy. Mike had a sort of earthy appeal that some women might find attractive. But earthy appeal wasn’t at the top of Brenna’s priorities. Not even close. “Parasitic drain,” she muttered.

“Well, I think he’s very good-looking,” Diana said. “He’s rugged and well built. And I could practically smell the woodsmoke coming from those eyes of his.”

So Diana had noticed that feature, too. Still, Brenna wasn’t going to get into this discussion. “Shouldn’t you go home and fix supper or something?”

Diana smiled. “Don’t be mad at me, Bren. I just want you to be as happy as I am.”

Brenna stared at the angelic face that was so typical of Diana. “How do you know I’m not? What makes you happy isn’t the same for all women.”

Diana considered the statement. “Point taken.”

“You go home to your son and your husband, and I’ll put on my cowgirl boots and kick up my heels at the Riverview. I’ll bet we both go to sleep happy.”

“Maybe so. But one person won’t be so happy tonight.”

“Who’s that?”

“Mike. He didn’t get a tip and he didn’t get your phone number.”

“You’re impossible,” Brenna said. “He obviously didn’t want my phone number, and he didn’t deserve a tip.”

* * *

WHEN SHE PULLED into her driveway, Brenna was thinking about which pair of jeans she’d wear out that night. She parked her car and walked to the front porch of the 1930s-era three-bedroom Craftsman-style cottage she’d bought four years ago and renovated with light earth-toned paint and sage-green trim. Her friends called the place “darling” and “charming.” Brenna was just grateful every day that she called it home.

She’d only taken a few steps along the brick walkway leading to her front door when she noticed a girl sitting on her wicker love seat. Brenna stopped, stared at the girl and realized she was familiar.

The girl raised her hand. “Hi, Miss Sullivan.”