Edmund hoped he’d relayed the message to the woman he spoke to on the phone before his signal cut out completely. The heat of the day settled on his shoulders as he rolled up his sleeves and frowned down at his tux pants. He’d planned on stopping at a town somewhere outside of Kentucky to get new clothes, but his car had other ideas. He managed to look up a shop close by the interstate, but as soon as he exited, he was turned around on back roads and his old baby gave out completely.

When the tow truck pulled up, he was ready to thank the guy for finding him, but the tall, curvy form of a woman in a black mechanic jumpsuit was not what he expected. Her brown hair, with hints of red picked up by the sunlight, was pulled back in a ponytail, and she yanked an oil-covered rag from her pocket as she walked past him to the front of the car.

“You did a number on her, didn’t you?” she mused, waving away the smoke with the rag.

Tongue-tied, he nodded as he watched her lithe body lean over the engine. Sweat glistened on her neck, and she cursed as she reached her hand in.

“Careful,” he said and reached out to pull her back, but she shot him a look.

“I think I know what I’m doing,” she said with a wink. “This is not my first car.”

“And how many have you worked on before?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

She straightened, matching his posture with a grin. “Pushing two hundred,” she said proudly. “I also own my own garage and my own tow truck. How many cars have you fixed up before?”

Edmund coughed to cover his surprise. “None, I’m afraid.”

“Exactly, so if you don’t mind, let me do my work?”

“You really are the mechanic?” he asked before he could stop himself.

She leaned back over the engine, and Edmund’s eyes drifted down to her ass staring him in the face. The jumpsuit she wore did nothing to hide every delicious curve of her body, and Edmund was reminded very quickly of the fact that he was a red-blooded male and currently single.

“What is it with men thinking a woman can’t work on cars?” she grumbled.

“I wasn’t implying that. You just don’t strike me as the mechanic type,” he covered quickly.

She sighed, puffing her cheeks out as she rested her forearms on the edge of the car. “You’re driving a 1966 convertible Mustang, Windsor V8, four-barrel engine with mostly original parts,” she listed with a twitch to her lips. “A car I’ve never seen in person but I can say I’m very happy you broke down close to my town.”

“Damn,” he laughed, holding up his hands in defeat. “Alright, you know cars.”

“Yes, I do,” she said, amused, and Edmund smiled with her. “You’re leaking oil, to begin with, and it looks like your battery’s fried. Let me test it real quick. If it’s the battery, I have a spare that should work on the truck.”

“And if it’s not the battery?” he asked.

She shoved the rag back in her pocket. “Then you get to enjoy my company a bit longer.”

Edmund almost said he would enjoy that but stopped the words at the last second. His plan was to keep driving south, not to stop in some tiny little town he didn’t even see on the map. Dust billowed around him from the gravel shoulder as a hot breeze blew across his face. He really needed a change of clothes and a shower after sweating in this heat. Kristen walked back from the tow truck, and he stepped aside to let her test the battery.

“Well, bad news, I’m afraid,” she said after a moment and slammed his hood shut. “I have to tow you into town.”

“Can you fix it?” he asked, following her to her truck.

“Yeah, but I won’t know the extent of the damage ‘til I get her in the shop,” she explained and reached into the passenger seat for a clipboard. “I might have to order parts, and for us, that means time.”

Edmund kicked at a rock on the shoulder. Just his luck. He was stood up at his own wedding, then his beautiful baby broke down on the road before he could even get out of Kentucky. “Great. Perfect,” he muttered.

Kristen paused in her writing. “Can I get your name?”

“Edmund Eastwood,” he said with an air of pride he’d used since he was a child.

She smirked as she jotted it down. “Listen, Ed,” she began.

“Edmund,” he corrected.

Her smile widened and a glimmer of mischief lit up her eyes. “Edmund. Green Valley ain’t big, but we have a nice inn you can stay at and good food and whiskey. It might not be a dream vacation, but you’ll survive for a few days.”

He ran a hand through his messed-up hair and grimaced. “You’re right. I guess I should be thanking you.”

“I’d wait until you get the bill,” she smirked. “I can tell you now, for this car, the repairs won’t be cheap. The parts are going to be hard to find.”

“Money isn’t an issue,” he told her.

Her smile flickered before she turned away from him. “Good to know. Well, I’ll get her hooked up, and we can head back to town. Oh, and a word of warning, the AC isn’t working in my truck.” She tossed the clipboard inside, and Edmund opted to wait outside the hot truck until she was ready to go. He watched her maneuver the truck perfectly and hook up his Mustang. She waved for him to hop in as soon as she was finished, and they pulled out onto the road.

Edmund watched the forest go by as she sped down the road, taking the turns quite fast. He glanced back at his car, but it was still attached and bouncing happily along.

“Don’t worry,” she said loudly over the wind. “I’ll get us there in one piece.”

“You grew up on these roads?” he asked, trying not to sound as worried as he felt.

“I did,” she said shortly.

Edmund debated being polite and making conversation, but Kristen didn’t appear to be in the mood for a conversation. He busied himself by taking in the details of the cab of the old truck. A necklace hung around the rear-view mirror—a pendant of a horse—along with several old car keys. There was no trash, but the cushions were torn in places. A few spare rags lay in the backseat, along with a change of clothes, and even with the windows open, the scent of oil and honeysuckle lingered, drifting past his nose every now and then.

“Well, here we are,” she said as they drove past a town sign. “Welcome to Green Valley, Kentucky.”

“Looks… quaint,” he said, trying to be polite. “Is this the whole town?”

“Three cross streets and no stop lights,” she said. “This is about it.”

She drove towards the edge of a two-lane road and pulled off in front of a large garage with three doors, looking as if it, too, had seen better days. She parked and hopped out of the cab, taking the clipboard with her.

“The inn is just across the road.” She pointed, and Edmund turned, ready to cringe at the sight of what he might see. He sighed with relief at the perfectly normal, three-story building bearing a stone front and trimmed hedges on the curb. “If you want to reserve yourself a room, I’ll swing by in an hour or two with the damages.”

He nodded. “Right then, I guess I’ll let you get to it.”

She patted him on the shoulder with the clipboard. “Might not be as bad as it looks.”

“The way my luck’s been, nothing would surprise me,” he muttered but thanked her and walked away before she could ask questions he wasn’t really in the mood to answer. He needed to get to a working phone and check in with Tommy to let him know about the unexpected chink in his plan.

As he crossed the street, eyes followed him from storefronts and cars. He smiled politely at them all, wondering why they stared. Small town, he mused, but did they never have visitors? He quickened his pace and was thankful for the cool rush of air as he stepped inside the inn and rang the small bell on the desk.

“Well, now, who do we have here?” an elderly woman asked as she stepped out of a back office. “Looking for a room, are you?”

“Yes. I do seem to be in need of one,” he said with a polite smile. “My car broke down. I’m going to be here for at least a day, possibly more. Do you have anything available?”

“I have most of the inn available,” she said bluntly and flipped open a ledger. “Would you like an upper floor? Front-facing or rear?”

“Main floor is fine, and front-facing.” He reached for his wallet, fascinated as the woman wrote down his information in the ledger, not a computer in sight.

She reached under the desk and handed him a large skeleton key with a numbered tag hanging from it. “Room four, then, should do you well. There’s a mini fridge and microwave in there, and the diner is two doors down. They don’t deliver.”

Edmund nodded as he handed over his card. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good,” she said after swiping his card through a foursquare attached to her phone. “Stay as long as you need. Won’t charge your card until you check out.”

Edmund took his card from her gnarled hands. “Any place close to buy fresh clothes?”

“Head down to your right,” she instructed. “You might not find exactly what you’re looking for, but they sell jeans and t-shirts.” She eyed his dirty white dress shirt and tux pants, all the way down to his scuffed black shoes. “And boots, they sell those, too.”

“Thanks,” he said and turned quickly to find his room.

When the door swung open, he clicked on the light. A queen-sized bed was made up with white and red linens in a room that boasted a desk, mini-fridge, microwave, and a full bath. It wasn’t much, but it was enough, and he went straight for the phone on the desk. He called Tommy, and when he didn’t answer, Edmund left him a quick voicemail with the number to the room. He had a while before he’d hear from Kristen, so he left the inn, walking past the old woman standing at the front desk and outside. He reached the shop advertising jeans and boots, and ignoring the curious looks he received, quickly found his sizes in jeans, t-shirts, and boots. Edmund checked out as quickly as possible and rushed back to his room. For not wanting to be the center of attention or gossip, he sure as hell picked the wrong town to wind up in.

A message waited for him on the machine in his room. Tommy had called back, saying to keep him posted about his car and the town but said he might not want to call his mom just yet. ‘She’s headed to crazy town’ were his exact words.

“She can wait,” he agreed and tossed the bags of new clothes on his bed. “I’m not headed home anytime soon.”

A shower and a nap, in that order. That was what he needed. Maybe later, he’d check out the diner and see if there was a bar in town. A glass of whiskey would be a perfect ending to this shitty weekend.

Can’t say it was all bad, he told himself as he turned on the shower. You did meet one hot-ass mechanic. Maybe she’ll be your first lay since Jenny.

The woman didn’t seem interested in him, but he had some time. Shower first, and he’d worry about charming this woman into his bed for at least one incredible night smelling of honeysuckle and oil.