Chapter One
Her decision to leave might have been made after an argument, but that was merely an accident of timing. Elle Mitchell’s plans to move from tiny Kennison Falls—literally the only home she’d ever known—had been brewing for months. The argument with her boss, who also happened to be her brother Dewey, had simply pushed her sooner into casting her dice and spinning the roulette wheel then asking her Magic 8-Ball, “Shall I take the new job?” When it had offered an unequivocal “Without A Doubt,” she’d packed her bags.
It was foolish, paying more heed to a toy fortune teller than her caring family, but the 8-Ball wasn’t overbearing, chauvinistic, or hyper-worried. Elle had lived with all three of those for too long. She adored her brother, and she’d make this last attempt to mend the rift with him, but with or without success, she was leaving in the morning.
The lovely, etched-glass door of her beloved Loon Feather Café in the heart of their little town, swung open with the tiniest of squeals, and Elle gently traced the loon in the design. She’d miss this place—Dewey was right about that. Her big, handsome brother sat across the dining room scowling into a menu, and she shook her head. No doubt he was preparing his final assault on her plans.
A cheery, piping tune greeted her as she crossed the entry, and she turned to a large cage beside the door. Two cockatiels, one gray and one white, scrabbled along a perch, happy as always to see a customer. The tune, The Colonel Bogey March, came from little gray Lester.
“Hello, sweeties,” Elle crooned to the café’s two mascots. “
“How-how dee, stray-jer!” Cotton, the white bird, cocked her head.
“Howdy stranger,” Elle repeated and looked at a card above the cage. It contained the newest phrase patrons were teaching Cotton to say. Teaching the bird to speak one phrase at a time was a Loon Feather tradition. I am Cotton.
“I am Cotton,” Elle said.
“I-I-I Cot,” Cotton chirped.
“Good girl! I am Cotton.”
From across the café, Dewey caught her eyes and arched a thick brow. Elle smiled and blew a kiss to the birds. Lester continued with his march.
They were cool birds—more unique town icons she’d miss—but Dewey was one of the coolest men Elle knew. He had a second-to-none talent for repairing anything in the world. His wonderful wife, Rose, was one of the nicest women on the planet. And his son, Jesse, was the only person who’d given Elle true pause about leaving. Without question, her brother had taught her more things, including her knowledge of cars and how to fix them, than anyone she knew. Dewey loved her. She loved him. But he could also drive her into believing that the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard was a sonata. Some days “irritating” didn’t begin to describe Dewey Mitchell.
“You don’t have to spend hours with the birds when I’m on a schedule you know.” He groused as she approached, and she laughed at his grumpy face.
“You have plenty of time.” She made a fist and rapped the top of his head with her knuckles. “I work for you, remember? I made the schedule. “
“Worked.”
“Yes.” She sighed and pulled out the wooden, spindle-backed chair beside Dewey’s. “I’ll miss it. Mostly.”
“Could have fooled me.”
“Well, dumb butt, I won’t miss your ragging.”
He took his turn at a long sigh.
“What did you want, Eleanor? You might have written the schedule, but you don’t know everything. I have six things waiting for me to work on. Especially now that you’re gone.”
“Ooooh, petulance, whining, martyrdom and my full name. You’re in rare ten-year-old form, big bro’.” He curled his lip. “Fine. I wanted to meet with you because I don’t want to leave after that huge row we had last weekend. And I plan to badger you into giving me your blessing.”
At last Dewey’s crusty demeanor fell away, and the big-hearted brother she’d always known surfaced—defeated, but alive and well.
“Aw, Ellie. You’ve always had my blessing, whatever you do.”
“Could have fooled me.” She smiled fondly. Dewey was the eldest of six kids and she held family baby status. He fancied himself her second father.
“Okay, okay, look. I am worried about you, and I don’t want you to get hurt. This Harley Davidson dude sounds a little iffy. But that’s not the truth either. Did it ever occur to you I’m simply sad you’re leaving? That I’ll miss you, you little dork.” He used the nickname from a long-ago childhood.
For the first time a welling of tears burned behind Elle’s eyes. This was Dewey at his stoic sweetest. She might be leaving in large part to get free of him and make her own way but, dang, he was her rock.
“Think about it. You won’t have me sassing you anymore.”
She pressed a knuckle to the outside corner of her eye, stopping a tear before it could trickle free.
“There is that. But there’s also this Horatio Hornblower dude. What the hell do you really know about him?”
Elle laughed. “Harley Holt. Yeah, I don’t really know that much. He runs a car shop about five miles out of Sapphire Falls. He’s done some motorcycle racing. His shop is legit as far as I can tell, and he asked smart questions when we talked on the phone, so I don’t think he’s trying to scam anything.”
“And he’s willing to hire a woman mechanic?”
She stared. “Rose would have your head for that question.”
“Yeah, she would.” Dewey shrugged. “But she wouldn’t run off for no good reason to take a job with a strange man, either.”
“Bull crap.” Elle sat back. “Rose left Boston on her own, drove cross country with a kid and a car and not much more. Look what she got—you. Maybe I’ll find my prince, too.”
“Don’t say that. You come on back here when you get this out of your system.”
“Chauvinist.”
“I’m not. I’m—”
“A Neanderthal of an overbearing, big brother.”
His mouth twisted ruefully. “Let’s go with that.”
From across the room, Rio Pitts-Matherson, the Loon’s favorite waitress and pastry baker, headed their way with an order pad in her hands. Elle dug quickly into her purse and produced a folded sheet of paper.
“Here. I copied this last night. This is the most complete bio I’ve found on Harley Holt. You can see what he looks like, and may I say it’s not too bad. He has kind eyes. I’ll be fine, Dewey.”
He unfolded the story, which she’d copied from a Nebraska newspaper, about Harley S. Holt’s final race win and the opening of his new business, HSH Motors, outside of Sapphire Falls. The story was only six months old.
“Kind eyes.” Dewey scoffed. “I don’t like him.”
“Why, because he’s better looking than you are?”
“Now who could be better looking than Dewey Mitchell?”
Rio reached their table and grinned, her bright red pony tail hanging thick to the middle of her back. She’d been in Kennison Falls only two years, and had married a local stable owner and horse breeder. But she might as well have been native-born. Everyone loved the fun and fiery former city girl,
Elle tapped the picture of the sandy-haired man in the photo. His thick nearly-blond locks fell to his shoulders, and intense blue eyes dared the world to take him on. She couldn’t deny that the idea of working for a Norse god hadn’t exactly dissuaded her from applying for the job, the guy had also been professional and straightforward on the phone. For all she knew he was married, settled, a professional dad—as Dewey was these days. The bottom line was, she wasn’t worried about Harley Holt, despite the comic book name. Nor was she worried about moving away from home—she could always come back.
What she really worried about was her ability to make it without her brother’s constant presence. He might no longer always tell her what to do when it came to fixing cars, but he was there for a consult or to listen to an engine and hear, with his expert ear, whether something was adjusted properly. Elle knew she rarely made a mistake—but she’d never had to second guess herself, because of Dewey. Her brother had perfect pitch when it came to engine sounds. Elle craved the chance to learn whether or not that talent ran in the family.
“Whoa, come to Mama.” Rio added a whistle. “I don’t know, Dewey. This guy in the picture might give you a run for your money.”
“Not counting David.” Elle grinned when she mentioned Rio’s equally-gorgeous husband.
“That went without saying.” Rio nodded. “So what can I get you two?"
“Talk her out of running away with this one.” Dewey wiggled his brows.
“Oh my gosh, is that the guy you got the job with?”
Elle nodded. “Not bad, right?”
“Oh come on,” Dewey grunted. “How can he have a reputable shop that’s only been around a few months? Good looks don’t make a talented mechanic.”
“You are jealous.”
“Worried. I’m ceding my baby sister’s welfare to another baby.”
“He’s close to your age, dumbass. Thirty-one is ancient.”
“He’s not my age in car experience years.”
“You don’t know that.”
Rio gave Dewey a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Let her go, big brother. You’ve trained her well.”
“Thank you.” Elle shot Dewey a self-satisfied smile before placing her hand tenderly on his arm. “I’ll be fine. Rio is absolutely right—I trust what my Jedi Master has taught me.”
“All right.” Dewey shook his head and blew out a breath. “Dumb, Neanderthal, big brother act is over. You have my blessing, Ellie, and you have my confidence. You’re damn good at what you do. But know this. If anything, and I mean anything, goes haywire, I’ll be in Sapphire Falls faster than Jimmie Johnson, Junior Earnhardt, and Kyle Busch combined.”
“I know you will.”
Elle leaned over, kissed his cheek then looked up at Rio.
“Two Effie-burgers and two pieces of your French silk pie afterward. And one check, this is my treat.”
She looked back down at the picture of Harley Holt, and her stomach leaped with anticipation.
And more than a few nerves that she’d never cop to in front of her over-protective big brother.