"That's amazing. Thanks for the support. Maybe I can sign something for you when the technician gets out here."
"You would really do that?"
"Hell yeah. Anything for a true fan."
I heard some rustling of papers before the woman's voice became slightly muffled. "Listen, there are actually two towing calls ahead of you, but I'm going to radio Ray to come to you first."
Jackpot. "Thank you so much … I'm sorry, but I don't think I got your name."
"It's Candice, but everyone calls me Candy."
"Thank you, Candy."
At the sound of her name coming from my lips, Candy dissolved into a fit of giggles. After a few deep breaths, she managed to compose herself. "Okay, now, you just sit tight, Gabe, and Ray should be there in about ten to twenty minutes."
"I will. I can't thank you enough for all your help," I replied in my sincerest voice.
"Oh, trust me, it was my pleasure."
"Bye, Candy," I drawled.
After another fit of giggles, she replied, "Bye, Gabe."
I shook my head as I hung up the phone. Even after years of being famous, it never ceased to amaze me the reactions fans had. When it came down to it, I was a person just like anyone else, but to them, the fact that I played in a successful band elevated my status slightly above them.
While I waited on Ray, I hopped back onto Jeep's front seat, thanking God again, this time for the leather seats so my soaking jeans wouldn't ruin the upholstery. After opening the dashboard, I took out my notebook. I figured I might as well try to make the most of the time I had. Sure, the Jeep might be stuck, but part of my plan was still intact. After all, I was in the middle of nowhere with no distractions. Nibbling on the pen cap, I closed my eyes and searched for the right words.
Seconds passed. Then minutes. Fuck. Nothing was coming. Not words, not images-absolutely nothing. With a frustrated grunt, I hurled my pen onto the dashboard. Once again, a sense of dread cloaked me. I swallowed hard before taking in a few deep breaths. The last thing I needed was to go into full-on panic attack mode in the middle of nowhere. Lifting my head, I gazed up at the sky. "I could really use some help right now."
At the sound of a vehicle coming down the road, I tossed my notebook back into the glove compartment. I threw open the door and jumped back down into the muddy water then watched as the black and red wrecker moved closer to the stream. After the engine was cut, the driver's side door opened.
When a chunky high-heeled boot slid out, I slowly trailed my hand down my face. Another boot dangled out the open door before the driver jumped down, and I muttered, "Holy shit." The stereotype of a potbellied, trucker hat-wearing guy named Ray was not what I saw in front of me. The owner of the sexy boots wore skin-tight blue jeans, a white tank top, and an open flannel shirt. One would adequately describe her body as bangin', and if I focused any longer on the way her perky tits strained against her tank top, I was going to get a boner right here in the boonies.
I forced my gaze back to her face. Her long dark hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her dark eyes locked on mine. I couldn't help being further surprised by the somewhat amused glint burning in them.
"Looks like you got yourself into mess, city boy," the woman said with a teasing lilt in her voice.
After huffing out a frustrated breath, I dipped my paintbrush into the container of bright yellow paint. Usually when I sat at the table in our formal dining room, I stared out at a sea of culinary delights. Today, however, I merely saw red Solo cups filled with vibrantly colored paints, Styrofoam balls, and a black poster board sitting on top of the plastic drape protecting the table. Basically, it was everything you could possibly need to construct a model of the solar system.
Normally, I didn't enjoy spending my Sunday afternoons painting the planets. After a full week of managing my family's collision business, I wanted nothing more than to drink a glass of wine while catching up on the Real Housewives I'd DVR-ed. But, as it tends to be with motherhood, my life wasn't truly my own, and Sundays inevitably became project time.
"Remind me again when this is due?" I asked as I put the final yellow touches on the largest sized ball we'd deemed the sun.
My nine-year-old son, Lincoln, AKA Linc, glanced up at me sheepishly. "Um, Tuesday."
I shot him my best ticked off mom look. "And why have you only started working on it today?"
"I guess 'cause I forgot."
"Please tell me we're not going to have to go back to me really checking your agenda every night instead of me just signing it so you don't get in trouble with your teacher?"
With a scowl, Linc replied, "No. I'll do better, I promise."
My older sister, Kennedy, shook her dark head of hair at me before turning to Linc. "Don't let your mom give you grief. When we were growing up, she was notorious for waiting until the last minute to do her homework and projects. It used to drive Papa crazy."
I stilled my paintbrush to glare at her. "Thank you so much for undermining my parenting."
She grinned. "You're welcome."
As I sat the sun down to dry, I said, "You know, you really shouldn't feel like you have to help. I'm sure you have a ton of other things you could be doing."
"Nope, I'm good. Just waiting until it's time to head to the shop to get started on tomorrow's prep."
Kennedy was co-owner of Harts and Flowers, a combination bakery and florist that used a cutesy play on our last name. The other half of the business was owned by our younger sister, Eleanor Rose-or Ellie, as we called her-who did the floral arrangements.
From our names, one might assume our parents had a thing for the presidents. The love of historical figures really falls to my dad. It had started when his parents gave him the moniker of Abraham Lincoln Hart. He was known as Abe for the better part of his life, and most people in town also called him Honest Abe for the way he ran our family's collision business.
Our mother hadn't really cared too much for the business of naming us, so she had deferred to my father. The truth was Mommie Dearest hadn't really cared too much for anything regarding her three daughters. She'd blown town with a traveling musician when I was just four years old, leaving my father to raise us girls all on his own.
He'd then moved us into the sprawling 1890s home on Main Street, where my sisters and I still lived. The house actually belonged to my great-aunt Sadie. It had been in the Hart family for several generations, and as the only daughter, it had been left to my Aunt Sadie since she never married. Like Andy Taylor having his Aunt Bea move in with him to care for him and Opie, Aunt Sadie helped fill the maternal role we needed since Dad's parents had moved to Florida before we were born. While Dad had eventually remarried and moved out ten years ago, Aunt Sadie's sprightly ninety-year-old self still resided in the house, and she had the room across the hall from me.
Although my sisters and I were in our late twenties and had our own careers, we still lived at home. Some people liked to joke that we were cursed to be old maids like Aunt Sadie, but I liked to point out that in a small town, there weren't a lot of men to choose from. With its population of just under five thousand, Hayesville could certainly be considered a very small town.
Truthfully, I really didn't have time for a relationship. Between running Hart and Daughter and being a single mom, my plate was full. Part of me wished a decent man might come along, one who would make me want to make time for him. At the moment, there was no one on the horizon who fit that bill, so I just focused all my energy on Linc. That was one of the reasons why I was spending my Sunday painting the solar system.
"Just out of curiosity, besides your science project, is there anything else going on at school you've forgotten to tell me about?" I asked.
Linc tilted his head in thought before his dark eyes widened. "Oh yeah, it's Donuts with Dad on Wednesday."
"Who do you want to come? Me or Papa?"
After giving me a you just asked me the stupidest question in the world look, Linc replied, "Papa."
"I'll let him know."
It went without saying that I didn't need to ask Linc's father if he was going to come. I had no idea where he was. The last time I'd laid eyes on Ryan Perkins was when he came to the hospital after I gave birth to Linc. He'd taken one look at him before turning on his heels and getting the hell out of Dodge. It was probably a good thing he ran because my dad was ready to shoot him for knocking up his seventeen-year-old daughter.
Although Ryan had grown up in Hayesville, he'd had his eyes set on Nashville and being a country star. To a teenage girl, there was nothing hotter than having a boyfriend in a band-at least, that was the way I'd felt when Ryan first asked me out. Most of the guys at Hayesville High were intimidated by the fact that my mad soccer skills had found me a place as kicker on the all-male high school football team, but Ryan thought the idea of me kicking guys' asses on the field was hot. It was on our six-month anniversary that I got the second blue line on the pregnancy test.