Josh crossed the threshold to Zeke’s shop the next morning at seven forty-five. Wailing country music pouring out from a boom box from the eighties assaulted his rock and roll-loving ears. He called out for Zeke, but got no response.
He’d been so impressed with the high-tech tools the day before, he hadn’t given much thought to the other side of Zeke’s shop. A rickety metal desk by the entrance held stacks of papers, one weighted down by a black rotary-dial phone.
He’d never seen a phone like that except on old television shows. He lifted the receiver up and placed it against his ear. A steady dial tone sounded, so he poked his finger in the number seven hole and twirled it around. It made a clicking sound on its slow journey back around the dial. It must’ve taken forever to dial a number back in the day. Interesting.
The old tube computer screen on the desk and the stacks of handwritten invoices littering the desktop showed Zeke wasn’t big on technology. Maybe he’d ask the old guy if he’d like help updating his systems.
Moving deeper into the shop, Josh spotted a pair of jean-clad legs and worn work boots sticking out from under an old rusty truck.
The music was so loud Zeke would never hear him, so he crossed to the boom box, turned it down, and then waited.
And waited.
When Zeke’s legs didn’t move, Josh kneeled down on the dusty floor and peered under the truck’s chassis. Zeke softly snored. His hand clutched a wrench that lay across his slowly rising and falling chest.
Morning nap time, apparently.
Josh stood and, spotting a broom in the corner, figured he’d make himself useful until Zeke woke up.
After the floors were clean, he got the hose out and sprayed down the driveway. While blasting pine needles and dirt along the concrete, he glanced up and spotted Sue Ann walking out the door of a big house down the street and getting into her car. Everyone lived a stone’s throw away from one another. Was that a good or bad thing? He’d always wondered what it’d be like to have a big family, but after seeing how screwed-up Megan’s was, maybe it wasn’t all roses and sunshine.
With the front looking a little more presentable—he’d come out and pull some weeds for Zeke later—he ventured back inside.
Zeke was draining his to-go cup of coffee. “You’re late, Granger.” Before Josh could respond, Zeke added, “If you’re going to work here, we need to go over the rules.”
“Okay.” So it was a job? He thought he was just helping the guy out for the day.
“Rule one. Don’t mess with my music. Got it?”
“Yep.”
“Rule two. I like my workspace dirty. Makes me feel like I’m accomplishing something. No more cleaning up.”
Not sure what he meant by that, Josh just nodded sharply and said, “Right.”
“Rule three is . . . well, I forget what rule three is, but don’t do it and we’ll get along just fine.”
“You got it. So what can I do to help?”
Zeke rubbed his chin. “Well, since you’re the new guy, it seems fitting to send you over to the diner for more coffee and some donuts. Then we’ll pull us a tranny.”
Not bothering to mention he didn’t drink coffee or eat donuts, Josh was happy to comply. A year ago, if you’d asked him where he saw himself, it was out of the FBI, but never in a dusty old mechanic’s shop in a tiny town. He still wanted to get a counseling degree, but for now, this could work too.
After Meg sent off the paid reservation receipt to Mr. Randall and transferred his third of the weekly fee to her new business checking account, she drafted an e-mail alerting all of their existing clients about the new lodge. Just as she was about to hit “Send,” her phone signaled she had a new e-mail. “Cross your fingers for me, Casey. I just got a response from my loan officer.”
Casey stopped typing on her computer. “Well?”
Afraid to look, she drew a deep breath and tapped the screen. After she read through the e-mail twice, she let out the breath she held. “It’s only half of what I asked for. She said it helped that I had over twenty thousand in my account—thank you, Josh—but that was all the loan committee would approve. She said I could come in this afternoon and sign the papers.”
“That’s great, Meg, but what about the other half?”
She settled in the guest chair in front of Casey’s desk. “I was just getting ready to send an e-mail to all of our clients to drum up some pre-booking money. If I can get enough, I think I can just barely squeak by and have everything ready by September.”
“That’s risky.” Casey’s face turned all mama-is-not-happy. “If you spend their money in advance and then have delays and can’t open on time, you’re screwed. And our clients will be upset with all of us.”