In an instant, Cletus was at my elbow, his hand wrapping around my waist.
He must’ve realized I was about fall down, because he scooped me up in his arms and said, “You’ll have to grab my banjo and carry it on your lap.”
“What?” I stared up at him, at his brown beard and his perma-serious hazel eyes.
“My banjo case, you’ll need to carry it on your lap. I can’t carry both you and the case unless I put you over my shoulder. But I think that would be counterproductive, seeing as your skirt is extremely short and has already hiked up around your thighs.”
I glanced down at myself and found his words to be an understatement. I’d taken my cape off earlier. Along with my beard, hat, and staff, it was in the cab of the truck. Therefore I was basically mooning the darkened parking lot.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I shook my head to clear it. “Just…just put me down. I’ll figure something out.”
Cletus deposited my feet on the ground but didn’t move away. “Did your daddy already leave?”
I nodded. My dad and brother would be on duty tonight. I had no desire to call them for a ride.
“That’s too bad. I meant to talk to him about the mail sorter down at the station. It’s due for maintenance. Do you happen to know if they’re having any troubles?”
Non-sequiturs and rapid subject changes weren’t unusual for Cletus, so I shook my head, having no idea what he was talking about. “I’m sorry, I have no idea.”
“Hmm… Well, what about your momma?”
“She’s visiting my aunt Louisa in Texas, who has cancer, so I don’t know how long Momma will be out there.” My teeth chattered and I glared at the monster truck.
Aunt Louisa had no children and had never been married. She’d lived alone in a huge house on a horse farm in Texas for the last fifteen or so years. My momma and I had visited for a few weeks every summer and I’d spent my entire summers during college keeping her company and running errands. Sometimes she’d come to our house for Christmas.
She was the kind of person who kept others at an arm’s length. Even after spending months with her, I never felt like I really knew her. But my momma and aunt were very close.
I heard Cletus sigh. With his arm still around my waist, he walked us both to his banjo case and picked it up. “Well, looks like you’re coming with me. Do you have a sweater or something?”
“Naw, Cletus. I don’t want to be a bother.”
His hand gripped me tighter. “Nonsense. You’re no bother. But I have to make a stop before I take you home. What about that sweater? A coat maybe?”
“I have a wizard cape in the truck,” I offered weakly. “I wouldn’t have driven it tonight if I thought the problem was this serious, I didn’t expect it to break down.”
“They never do.” Cletus grunted and kicked my driver’s side door shut; he then pushed me gently against it. “Hold still,” he said, placing his banjo back on the ground. He took off his red and black flannel jacket and handed it to me.
I thought about pushing it away, but something about his deadpan expression told me not to argue.
“Thanks, Cletus.”
“You’re welcome, Miss James.”
I frowned at the formal salutation. Cletus Winston was the third oldest of the Winston kids and was a full six or seven years older than me. “You can call me Jessica, you know.”
“Nope. You’re my teacher. It wouldn’t be fit.” He grabbed his banjo case in one arm, me with the other, and marched us to his car.
“Wait.” I glanced over my shoulder. “I didn’t lock the truck.”
Cletus shrugged. “I wouldn’t fret too much about it. In order for someone to steal the beast, they’d have to install a new engine.”
***
After the seventeenth switchback I lost count. Cletus was taking me up the mountain to check on a friend’s house before he could take me home.
We fell into a surprisingly companionable silence as he focused on navigating his Geo Prizm. That was also surprising—Cletus’s car choice. Here was a guy who worked on cars for a living. He, Duane, and Beau found old classics and fixed them up to sell at a hefty premium. According to my daddy, the Winston Brothers Auto Shop was doing gangbusters business.
And Cletus was driving a 1990 Geo Prizm painted primer gray.
I tried to use the quiet time to ponder my own car situation, figure out a solution. Instead I spent ninety-nine percent of my brainpower slapping away thoughts of Duane Winston and his tongue. He really did have a lovely tongue. Unlike most of my previous kiss-encounters, Duane seemed to be a man that actually knew what he was doing with his tongue. He used it in the most delightful ways.