Twice in a Lifetime by Dorothy Garlock Page A

voice rising a bit. “She needs it more than we do right now.”
    Amos looked over at Clara and forced a thin smile. Sweat beaded on his forehead; he wiped it off with the back of his arm. “All right, then,” he grumbled before sauntering back toward the hotel.
    “You didn’t have to do that,” Clara said. “I don’t want to put you out.”
    He smiled easily. “You’re not. Amos is something of a worrier. He hoards parts like they were made of gold. I practically have to beg for a new fan belt.”
    “Why are you traveling around with parts you can spare?”
    “I race cars for a living,” he said. Holding out his hand, he introduced himself. “My name’s Drake. Drake McCoy.”
    “Clara Sinclair.” She gave him her hand, so small that it almost disappeared inside his; when he let it go, he left streaks of grease behind.
    “Sorry about that,” he apologized. He turned his hands over in the bright sunlight. “Sometimes I wonder when they were last well and truly clean.” Drake grinned. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said it quite like that. You’re going to think it’s been years since I took a bath.”
    “Oh, no,” Clara replied. “I wouldn’t have thought it had been that long. A couple of months, tops…”
    Her joke made them both laugh.
    Suddenly, as if someone had snapped their fingers in front of her face, Clara realized that she was no longer upset, that instead of crying, distraught from bearing the weight of all her problems, she was smiling.
    She was enjoying Drake’s company.
    Daring to risk his notice, Clara took a good, long look at him. His features were strong, if a bit rugged. His jawline, in need of a shave, resembled those of Hollywood’s leading men, while his mouth was almost delicate, curving at the ends so that it always looked like he was about to smile. His eyes were warm and inviting; even his crow’s-feet just added to his charm. She guessed that he was around her age, maybe a little older, somewhere in his early forties.
    If she were being completely honest with herself, Clara would have admitted that she found him handsome. She was so certain she was blushing that she didn’t dare look in the mirror for fear it would only make it worse.
    Fortunately, just as she began to wonder what to say next, Amos returned with a hose and a bucket nearly sloshing over with water.
    “I suppose you’re expectin’ me to put it in,” the older man growled.
    “I can do it,” Drake answered.
    “Never mind,” Amos huffed when Drake tried to take what he was carrying. “I’ll do it better and faster than you, anyway.”
    Once the mechanic went to work, Clara, having regained her bearings, said, “You’re a race car driver…”
    Drake nodded, running a hand through his dark hair. “My father wanted me to be a farmer, but I was only ever good at driving fast.”
    “It sounds exciting.”
    “Some days. Others, I wonder what it would be like to do something different, something slower, where I could help people.”
    Clara frowned. “I work at a bank and there’s rarely a day that goes by that I don’t find myself staring out the window, daydreaming about doing the same thing, only in reverse.” Suddenly, she caught herself, self-conscious that she was revealing too much to a man she’d only just met. Changing the subject, she asked, “So what are you doing in Sunset?”
    “We’re just passing through,” Drake answered, nodding toward his partner. “One night at the hotel and then we’ll be on our way.”
    An unexpected pang of disappointment raced through her. “Well, I’m glad I had a chance to meet you,” Clara said. “And not just because of my truck.”
    Drake chuckled. “Me, too.” He paused, looking as if he was weighing his next words. “As a matter of fact, I’m thinking that maybe we could—”
    But before he could finish, Amos slammed down the truck’s hood, interrupting him. “That oughta do it,” the older man declared. “Filled up the radiator