something, an unfamiliar feeling, wouldn’t let him turn away.
“Aw, hell,” he said, and started across the street.
Clara gasped in surprise at the sudden, unexpected sound of knocking on the truck’s roof. Her head flew out of her hands to find a man she didn’t know standing at the window. He leaned casually against the truck, wearing an easy smile. He looked tired, his dark hair mussed and his cheeks peppered with stubble. Looking into his brownish-green eyes, Clara felt something stir inside her, like the unmistakable flickering of a flame, small but undeniable.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice deep, his eyes narrowing in an expression of concern.
“I was…I was just…” She struggled to answer, wiping tears from her cheeks.
“Do you need any help?”
“With what?” Clara asked, her head still muddled.
The stranger smiled. “With your engine.”
“Oh, that.” She had so many troubles weighing down on her that, for a moment, she hadn’t been sure what he meant. She felt embarrassed by how she must look and didn’t want to impose on him. “No, its fine…I’ll just…” she stammered.
“It’s no bother. Let me take a look.”
He reached inside the cab, his arm brushing against Clara’s leg, sending a shiver racing across her skin, and gave the hood’s release a yank. She could only stare as he walked to the front of the truck, waved his arm through the still billowing steam, and raised the hood.
Clara was dumbstruck. She didn’t know what to say or do. Who was this man? Why was he doing this? Should she get out of the truck? Should she tell him to stop, insist that she would take care of it on her own? But then again, what was wrong with accepting his help? She was more knowledgeable about fixing things now than she had been when Joe was alive, but she knew she couldn’t repair the truck’s engine, nor did she have the money for a mechanic.
Feeling helpless, Clara stuck her head out the window. The stranger had moved back to her side of the car, tinkering under the hood. He reached into his back pocket and removed a handkerchief; she noticed the corded muscles of his forearms. When he leaned back and wiped his brow, she quickly pulled her head back inside the truck’s cab, not wanting to be seen. Glancing into the rearview mirror, she saw that her cheeks were flushed.
“Here’s the culprit.”
Clara had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed the stranger return. Once again, he startled her. She found him holding a broken hose, both ends drooping limply.
“These things can take a heck of a beating, but there always comes a point when they give out,” he explained with a chuckle. Looking over the old truck, he added, “You’re lucky it didn’t happen sooner.”
“Thank you,” Clara told him, genuinely meaning it, before quickly turning away. There was something about his eyes, about him , that made her feel a little self-conscious. “I’ll call the garage and see if they have a replacement.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” the stranger said.
Stepping away from the car, he looked back up the street. Clara followed his gaze to the Sunset Hotel, where an older man stood on the sidewalk turning around in confusion, as if he was trying to find someone. The stranger put two fingers in his mouth and gave a short but loud whistle; his companion saw him, waved, and trotted over.
“I wondered where the heck you’d gotten off to,” he said when he arrived, a little out of breath. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he added politely to Clara.
“We still have any radiator hoses in the trailer?”
“Maybe a couple,” the older man answered, scratching the back of his head as he glanced under the pickup truck’s hood. “But what with how hard it might be to find ’nother one, I don’t know if we oughta—”
“Go get one,” her rescuer said.
“Now just hold on a second, Drake. What happens if we—”
“We’ll make do, Amos,” he said, his
“Aw, hell,” he said, and started across the street.
Clara gasped in surprise at the sudden, unexpected sound of knocking on the truck’s roof. Her head flew out of her hands to find a man she didn’t know standing at the window. He leaned casually against the truck, wearing an easy smile. He looked tired, his dark hair mussed and his cheeks peppered with stubble. Looking into his brownish-green eyes, Clara felt something stir inside her, like the unmistakable flickering of a flame, small but undeniable.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice deep, his eyes narrowing in an expression of concern.
“I was…I was just…” She struggled to answer, wiping tears from her cheeks.
“Do you need any help?”
“With what?” Clara asked, her head still muddled.
The stranger smiled. “With your engine.”
“Oh, that.” She had so many troubles weighing down on her that, for a moment, she hadn’t been sure what he meant. She felt embarrassed by how she must look and didn’t want to impose on him. “No, its fine…I’ll just…” she stammered.
“It’s no bother. Let me take a look.”
He reached inside the cab, his arm brushing against Clara’s leg, sending a shiver racing across her skin, and gave the hood’s release a yank. She could only stare as he walked to the front of the truck, waved his arm through the still billowing steam, and raised the hood.
Clara was dumbstruck. She didn’t know what to say or do. Who was this man? Why was he doing this? Should she get out of the truck? Should she tell him to stop, insist that she would take care of it on her own? But then again, what was wrong with accepting his help? She was more knowledgeable about fixing things now than she had been when Joe was alive, but she knew she couldn’t repair the truck’s engine, nor did she have the money for a mechanic.
Feeling helpless, Clara stuck her head out the window. The stranger had moved back to her side of the car, tinkering under the hood. He reached into his back pocket and removed a handkerchief; she noticed the corded muscles of his forearms. When he leaned back and wiped his brow, she quickly pulled her head back inside the truck’s cab, not wanting to be seen. Glancing into the rearview mirror, she saw that her cheeks were flushed.
“Here’s the culprit.”
Clara had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t noticed the stranger return. Once again, he startled her. She found him holding a broken hose, both ends drooping limply.
“These things can take a heck of a beating, but there always comes a point when they give out,” he explained with a chuckle. Looking over the old truck, he added, “You’re lucky it didn’t happen sooner.”
“Thank you,” Clara told him, genuinely meaning it, before quickly turning away. There was something about his eyes, about him , that made her feel a little self-conscious. “I’ll call the garage and see if they have a replacement.”
“I’ve got a better idea,” the stranger said.
Stepping away from the car, he looked back up the street. Clara followed his gaze to the Sunset Hotel, where an older man stood on the sidewalk turning around in confusion, as if he was trying to find someone. The stranger put two fingers in his mouth and gave a short but loud whistle; his companion saw him, waved, and trotted over.
“I wondered where the heck you’d gotten off to,” he said when he arrived, a little out of breath. “Afternoon, ma’am,” he added politely to Clara.
“We still have any radiator hoses in the trailer?”
“Maybe a couple,” the older man answered, scratching the back of his head as he glanced under the pickup truck’s hood. “But what with how hard it might be to find ’nother one, I don’t know if we oughta—”
“Go get one,” her rescuer said.
“Now just hold on a second, Drake. What happens if we—”
“We’ll make do, Amos,” he said, his
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