A Soldier's Promise. Cynthia Thomason

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ course I did.” She paused as he narrowed his eyes at her.

      Diana grinned. “She read the part about how to operate the moonroof.”

      Brenna glared at her.

      “Even though you only needed a jump, I have to bill you for a service call.” His lips twitched as he handed her the bill. “A check will be fine. Alvin knows you.”

      That last part sounded like another dig, as if she was so inept she handed out thirty-five dollars on a daily basis. For heaven’s sake. She wasn’t the only woman who depended on a mechanic.

      She scrounged through her purse a second time and pulled out her wallet. “I assume you’ll take paper money,” she said, handing him three tens and a five.

      “Never had a problem with cash,” he said, tucking the bills into his pocket. He nodded at both women. “I’ll be going, then.”

      He started to get in his truck, but Diana stopped him. “Excuse me, Mike, but are you new to this part of Georgia?”

      Brenna turned to give her friend another pointed stare.

      “Been here a couple of months,” he said, one foot in the truck.

      “Oh. How do you like it?”

      “Okay.”

      “Do you live in town?”

      “About three miles out.”

      He got in the truck, but apparently Diana wasn’t done grilling him. “Do you have family, Mike?” she asked.

      He squinted into her face. Was he offended at the question?

      “I don’t mean to be nosy,” Diana said.

      Brenna huffed. Yeah, right.

      “We’re a friendly town,” Diana added. “Perhaps your wife would like to join us girls some afternoon...”

      “I’m not married.”

      Brenna had had enough, and she was certain the mechanic had, too. “I’m sure this man has to get back to the garage, Diana,” Brenna said.

      “I do,” he said. And as quickly as he’d come into the lot, he left it.

      “What was all that?” Brenna said. “You made that man uncomfortable. I can’t imagine that he enjoys being treated like Mount Union’s catch of the day.”

      “Well, he could be a catch...for you.”

      “I already told you—don’t get any ideas.”

      “You didn’t find him the least bit attractive?”

      “I didn’t find him anything but rude and condescending.” That wasn’t exactly true. Brenna usually drew conclusions about every man she met, and she’d done so with this guy. Mike had a sort of earthy appeal that some women might find attractive. But earthy appeal wasn’t at the top of Brenna’s priorities. Not even close. “Parasitic drain,” she muttered.

      “Well, I think he’s very good-looking,” Diana said. “He’s rugged and well built. And I could practically smell the woodsmoke coming from those eyes of his.”

      So Diana had noticed that feature, too. Still, Brenna wasn’t going to get into this discussion. “Shouldn’t you go home and fix supper or something?”

      Diana smiled. “Don’t be mad at me, Bren. I just want you to be as happy as I am.”

      Brenna stared at the angelic face that was so typical of Diana. “How do you know I’m not? What makes you happy isn’t the same for all women.”

      Diana considered the statement. “Point taken.”

      “You go home to your son and your husband, and I’ll put on my cowgirl boots and kick up my heels at the Riverview. I’ll bet we both go to sleep happy.”

      “Maybe so. But one person won’t be so happy tonight.”

      “Who’s that?”

      “Mike. He didn’t get a tip and he didn’t get your phone number.”

      “You’re impossible,” Brenna said. “He obviously didn’t want my phone number, and he didn’t deserve a tip.”

      * * *

      WHEN SHE PULLED into her driveway, Brenna was thinking about which pair of jeans she’d wear out that night. She parked her car and walked to the front porch of the 1930s-era three-bedroom Craftsman-style cottage she’d bought four years ago and renovated with light earth-toned paint and sage-green trim. Her friends called the place “darling” and “charming.” Brenna was just grateful every day that she called it home.

      She’d only taken a few steps along the brick walkway leading to her front door when she noticed a girl sitting on her wicker love seat. Brenna stopped, stared at the girl and realized she was familiar.

      The girl raised her hand. “Hi, Miss Sullivan.”

      Oh, no. The girl called her Miss Sullivan. Had to be a student. “Ah...hello.”

      “Do you know who I am?”

      Brenna searched the crannies of a mind that had already mutated from school to weekend mode. “I think you’re in one of my classes. Is that right?”

      “Yeah. I’m in your third-period cooking class. My name’s Carrie Langston.”

      Brenna remembered calling the name off her roster, but she hadn’t yet had time to put a face to each student’s name. “Sure,” she said. “Carrie.” She walked the rest of the way to the porch. “What are you doing here, Carrie? How do you know where I live?”

      “It wasn’t hard to find out. I just said I’ll bet you have a nice house, and one of the other kids in class told me you lived here on the river.” She looked at the colorful stained-glass panel centered in Brenna’s front door. “I was right. This is a cool place.”

      Mount Union was a small town. Brenna figured lots of her students knew where she lived. But none of them had ever come calling before. Brenna made a point to avoid sending that kind of welcoming attitude. To keep her school life separate from her personal one, she didn’t go to games or chat with students in the hallways about their problems. There were counselors for that job—and teachers like Diana Montgomery. If her past had taught Brenna one thing, it was that she should maintain a noninvolvement policy.

      “I don’t know why you’re here, Carrie, but if you came to talk to me about school, you could have waited until Monday...”

      The girl’s voice dropped to a chastised tone. “I didn’t come to talk about school.”

      “Oh.” That was even worse. “I can’t imagine anything else that couldn’t wait. This is the weekend, and...”

      “I’m sorry, Miss Sullivan. I just СКАЧАТЬ