Drive Me Wild. Elizabeth Harbison
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inserted the key into the ignition and called out as she flipped switches, “Taillights, brake lights.” She stepped on the brake pedal, recited, “Back-up lights,” then put it in reverse. “Tag lights on?”
“Yup.”
“Great.” She shifted back into park. “Now I have to check the engine.” She located the hood latch and pulled it. Then, with false confidence, she stepped out into the sun again, moving in front of the engine.
It was a mess. She’d been over it a thousand times in the past two weeks, taken notes, even drawn a rudimentary picture of it with identifying notes, but when she looked at it with no notes or instruction, she was lost.
She could not let Luke know she was anything less than completely sure of herself. She started with the one part she could identify most easily. “First I check the battery to make sure there’s no corrosion and to ensure that the cable’s on tight.” She did so, slowly and deliberately, while she frantically tried to collect her thoughts and figure out what was next.
He must have sensed her confusion, because, without a derisive word, he leaned over the engine, brushing his arm against hers in the process. “What’s that?”
Her bare skin tingled from his touch, and Grace was disgusted with herself. New low, she noted. It had been so long since she’d been with a man that even this lightest of touches from a guy she didn’t even like sent shivers running through her. Pheromones were blind.
She focused on the part he pointed to. “The, uh, the steering-wheel rod,” she said, her voice weak.
“What about it?”
Steering-wheel rod, steering-wheel rod… A flood of information came back to her, right in the nick of time. “I have to make sure that it’s secure, not loose.”
“Right.” He stepped back. “What else?”
She pictured the drawing she’d done. “I need to make sure the brake-fluid level is correct, and that the brake lines are tight and not leaking.” She rattled the list off without looking away from the engine. She could feel Luke behind her, his eyes on her, and she knew if she turned and looked at him, she’d forget all of it.
“I’d check the power steering,” she continued, pointing to various parts as she went along, “power-steering pump, water pump, carburetor, window-washing fluid.” She was on a roll. “I need to check the alternator, to make sure the clamp is on securely and the wires are secured behind it. Then there’s the heater hose, the coolant, the radiator hose, transmission fluid, and oil dipstick.” She checked it all and turned to him triumphantly. “And that’s it for the engine.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s not?”
She deflated like a balloon. As hard as she’d tried, as much as she’d concentrated, she’d still managed to forget something.
“You didn’t check your belts.”
Automatically her hand flew to her waist.
“In the engine.”
“I know,” she said, trying to look at him like he was crazy for thinking she’d had anything different in mind. She bent over the engine and tugged at the fan belt. “They shouldn’t give more than an inch.” She turned back to him. “Words to live by, right, Luke? Don’t give an inch.”
“You think I’m inflexible?”
“If the shoe fits…”
“Hey, you’re here, aren’t you?”
She looked at him in disbelief. “Not because of any great flexibility on your part!”
“I’m being more flexible than you think.”
Something in Grace snapped. She was so sick and tired of feeling like a burden to people—to her lawyer, who was letting her pay in installments; to her mother, who was letting them live with her; to Fred Bailey, who had taken it upon himself to get this job for her; and even to Luke, who had been “persuaded” to give her the job against his will and who now had to take the time to teach her the ropes—that she sometimes thought she might just scream.
“Look, Luke,” she said, with as much control as she could muster. “I know you don’t want me here. I know you think I can’t do this, and I know that even if you did think I could do it, you would resent the hell out of the fact that Fred Bailey suggested that you give me the job.”
He gave a short laugh.
She continued without stopping. “I know all of that, but none of it is going to make me quit. All it’s going to do is make me more determined than ever to succeed at this, so you should be glad that, whether you wanted to or not, you just hired yourself the best damn bus driver you could have gotten.” The timbre of her voice rose as she spoke, and she took a moment to breathe and regain her composure. “Now. I’m going to take the test in two days and I’m going to pass it and I’m going to drive the kids to and from school, and I don’t want to hear one more word about how undeserving I am—got it?”
He looked at her for a long moment, during which she doubted the wisdom of her mini-diatribe, then the wisdom of taking the job, then the wisdom of wearing cut-off shorts that made her feel as bloated as a poisoned cat.
The silence went on so long that she was about to ask if he was all right when he spoke.
“Hit your knees,” he said.
Grace’s mouth dropped open. “What?”
He gestured at the ground. “You’re not finished with the test. Hit your knees and identify the parts underneath the vehicle.”
“Oh.” The color came back into her cheeks. “Okay.”
“What did you think I meant?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “I knew what you meant. I’m supposed to check the parts underneath, front, back and sides. I know that.”
Smiling to himself, Luke watched Grace bend down and look under the front of the bus. He couldn’t help it, he loved the way she looked in those faded blue cut-offs. Her legs were long and shapely, and already tanned even though it was still early in the summer. Somehow those cut-offs reminded him of endless hot summers, and clumsy passion and foolish optimism.
“Luke?”
He was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize for a moment she was speaking to him. “Yeah. Sorry, I was…thinking about something.”
She raised her eyebrows. “You back now? Should I go on?”
“Absolutely, yes.”
“Okay.” She cleared her throat and turned back to the bus, giving him a pretty dazzling view from behind. “I check the stabilizer bar, guide arm, tie rod, tie rod ends—” she emphasized the tie rod ends, he noticed, since that was one of the items she consistently forgot “—brake lines to the disc brakes in front and the drum brakes in back, coil spring, shock absorber, power-steering pump, Pitman arm.” She took a breath. “Make sure there are no leaks in the power-steering box, radiator hose, fuel pump and water pump.” She stood up and slapped her dirty hands against the front of her shorts. “Everything’s okay from the front.”
“Good.” He’d barely been able to keep his mind on the engine parts, so he hoped she hadn’t forgotten anything major. She got down on her hands and knees at the side and started talking again. “All right, here are the transmission lines, and they are not leaking. The cross beams are secure, no cracks or leaks in the mufflers—” she looked back at him “—of which there are two. If you’re to be believed.”
“There are two,” he confirmed.
“It’s just that I’ve never heard of a car having two mufflers,” she said.
“This isn’t a car, it’s a bus, and there are two mufflers