Mustang Sassy (26 page)

Her most recent lesson? Apparently you can’t just fill up with gas and leave your keys in the car and expect the car to be there when you get back from paying. Her ’Vette, the car she’d dreamed of having since she was a little girl, the car she’d hoped Buck would let her keep when he sold the shop.
That
car,
her
car was now bits of metal strewn across the side of the interstate. Hydroplaned, the officer said. Witnesses reported that it struck a cement truck and careened over the edge of the overpass. Thankfully no one else was hurt. Except for the driver. He was pronounced dead at the scene.

Sass shivered involuntarily. Everyone thought it was her. Buck, Mary-Lynn…even Jordan. Squeezing her eyes and shaking her head, Sass reminded herself that Jordan was a fraud. He was a con artist with a talent for pretending to be someone he wasn’t. Tonight he’d pretended to care. But he didn’t care. He just had a hell of a lot of practice pretending. The proof was in the fact that once Buck had arrived at the station, Jordan had skedaddled, scuttling away like the cockroach he was.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that City-boy was just like every other man who’d come into her life. He didn’t care about her. He never had, and he never would.

A tear slid out of the corner of her eye and meandered down her cheek unchecked. Another followed until individual tears merged into one steady stream. Her eyes spilled over and Sass angrily swiped them away.

“Is this it? It’s darling.”

Sass blinked and rubbed her eyes to clear them, trying to see what Mary-Lynn was seeing as they pulled up the drive to their house. Darling? Was the woman on Valium or something? The house may be one of the originals in Greenview, built in the Queen Anne style with a steeply pitched, cross-gabled roof, but its quaint design left more than a little to be desired. Buck had let the house fall into disrepair over the last twenty years as was evident by the broken spindles in the balustrade along the porch, the weeds growing out of control in the front yard and the cracked walk.

Just wait until she sees inside
, Sass thought.

But Mary-Lynn’s pretenses continued inside, all “oohing” over this and “aahhing” over that.

“Buck, this is exactly as you described it. I love it.” Mary-Lynn turned around in a circle, eyeing the posters on the living-room wall, the piles of magazines and newspapers, the worn sofa and easy chair. “This place is so
you
.”

Sass left Buck and Mary-Lynn in the living room in search of something cool to drink. She opened the fridge, but all it contained was beer and the milk that was probably sour by now. Sass poured herself a big glass of water and added ice. Then she flopped down at the table and stared at the glass.

Buck was getting married.

The ’Vette was gone.

The shop was being sold.

Jordan was a lying, cheating ass.

She had nothing left, not even tears.

Buck entered the kitchen behind her and then tentatively placed his big hand on Sass’s shoulder. “You okay?”

She nodded. Not because she was, simply because there was nothing left to say or do to change anything.

“You hungry? Do you need anything?”

“No,” she whispered.

Buck left his hand on her shoulder for another couple seconds. “Man, you sure scared me.”

Slowly, Sass turned her head to peer up at her father. She blinked her sandpapery eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

He leaned down and did something he hadn’t done since she was a kid, he kissed the top of her head.

After patting her shoulder one last time, he released her and pulled two bottles of beer out of the fridge. He twisted the caps off in his big fist and tossed them into the sink before taking them out to Mary-Lynn. “This is all we’ve got.”

Sass drank her water, her limbs heavy and immovable.

“Is this Anita?” Sass overheard Mary-Lynn ask.

“Yes,” Buck said, slow and thoughtful.

“Well, I can see where Sass gets her looks. Anita was a beauty, wasn’t she?”

Pushing her chair back, Sass suddenly found energy to move. She strode straight into the living room, snatched the family photo from Mary-Lynn’s hands, and held it tight to her chest. She stumbled back into the kitchen where she tore open the drawer in search of the truck keys. Her fingers fumbled blindly as her eyes swam and her head spun. Everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, her hangover, Jordan’s betrayal, the smashed and stolen car, Buck and Mary-Lynn, it was all too much. She’d reached her max hours ago and now her ears rang as she blinked away unwanted tears. Where the hell were those stupid keys?

Just as Sass found the keys, the ringing between her ears stopped, only to be replaced by something worse—Jordan’s voice.

“Sass, if you’re home, please pick up the phone. I—”

She yanked the cord for the answering machine out of the wall, picked up the defunct device, and carried it out the door, where she dumped it in the trash bin. Then she got into the truck and drove. Her instinct was to head out to the cabin, but once on the outskirts of town she stopped and pulled over at a familiar spot, her eyes searching the ditch for the small cross she knew was there somewhere.

Closing her eyes, she tried unsuccessfully to regulate her breathing. Every other breath seemed to get stuck in her throat and Sass felt as if she wasn’t getting enough air. She couldn’t go to the cabin. It was impossible. The minute she walked in she’d smell
him
. She’d look around and see
him
. She’d lie on the bed and feel
him
. No. The cabin was out of the question.

After a backhand across her damp cheek, Sass put the truck into first and turned across the highway to head back into town. She pulled up outside of Libby’s complex, parked, and sat for a moment staring at the very blurry light outside of Libby’s door. Sass rubbed her eyes—hard—and then made herself get out. She rang Libby’s bell and waited. When no one answered, she rang again, standing on tiptoes trying to peer into the half window at the top of the door. When Libby still didn’t answer, Sass knocked on the door. Pounded. Finally a door opened. It wasn’t Libby’s though, it was her neighbor’s.

“Would you cut it out,” a tired young woman said. “She’s not home.”

Sass tried to apologize but her “sorry” turned into a strange gargled sound, so she spun around and ran back to the truck. Gunning the engine, she sped off, having no idea where she was going, barely able to see the road with the streetlights casting a fuzzy glow through the windshield.

It was as if the truck drove itself as she found herself parked outside the familiar wrought iron gate. Locked for the night, of course. It took her three tries to grab the top and hoist herself over. Then, with only the moonlight as a guide, she wandered between the rows until she found a familiar sight. Sass collapsed. Her hiccupping sobs were joined by the whisper of wind between the branches of the trees. She curled up into a ball on the damp, grassy mound.

“Mom,” she whispered. “Can you hear me?” She stroked the grass beneath her. “God, I need you. I need you so much.”

Sass writhed with the unbearable pain in her heart, but her sobs were only met with stony silence.

…

Jordan went into the shop early. He couldn’t sleep anyway and there was no point prolonging the inevitable. He dropped the legal-sized box on the desk and began packing up his belongings. They didn’t even take up a fraction of the box. He’d held a job at the shop since graduating from college, yet all he had to show for it was one third of a legal box of personal effects.

With a sigh, he carried the box out of his office and down the hall. He stopped in the open doorway of his father’s office. It was no surprise his dad was there, he lived at the shop. But something told Jordan his dad was there waiting for him.

Stewart sat in the semi-darkness of the room, his reading glasses riding low on his nose. Without glancing up, he called to Jordan. “Come on in.”

After a deep breath, Jordan moved into the office and sat opposite his father, setting the box down at his feet.

Stewart Carlyle put the paperwork down in front of him, removed his glasses and finally looked at Jordan. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I fucked up. Again.”

His father blinked twice and then set his reading glasses back on his face. He held out a sheath of papers. “Do you know what I have here?”

Jordan shook his head.

“An agreement to buy Hogan’s.”

“Really? Buck still wants to sell? Even after what happened?”

“Well, he’s not so sure anymore. He says he doesn’t want to rush anything.”

“I see.”

“I think he has a few reservations about Carlyle’s ethics.”

“Understandable.”

“Here’s the problem. Buck Hogan is selling—it’s just a matter of when and to whom. So, if we don’t buy Hogan’s, someone else will and I’m willing to bet Gerry Ware over in Boulder will put in an offer.”

Jordan swallowed and met his father’s eyes.

“We can’t have that Jordan. I want Hogan’s. I want their client list. I want their equipment. I want their mechanics. Buck’s asking a lot, but I’m willing to pay it. As long as I get everything I want.” Stewart Carlyle rubbed the back of his neck as he regarded Jordan.

“So, what are you going to do?”

Shaking his head slowly from Stewart said, “I’m not going to do a damn thing.”

“What?”

“You are.”

“Huh?”

His dad regarded him over his reading glasses. “You’re a Carlyle, aren’t you? You made the mess, you clean it up.”

“But…”

“No buts, Jordan. I don’t care how you do it, I don’t care what you say or do, as long as it is legal and ethical. All I care about is buying Hogan’s and having Sass Hogan’s talent become a Carlyle asset.”

…

“Sass Hogan?”

Sass’s body ached all over. She groaned in effort as she rolled over and sat up.

“I thought that was you.”

With eyes that felt like sandpaper, Sass turned her gaze on the police officer standing over her. “Hey, Chuck.”

“What are you doing here? You know it’s illegal…” His voice trailed off as his gaze took in the granite slab behind her head. “Oh.”

Rubbing her eyes, Sass followed Chuck’s gaze to the cold granite of her makeshift headboard. She read the words she could repeat by heart.

Anita May Hogan, Beloved Wife, Mother, and Friend.

May 6, 1967- September 20, 1996

She pushed herself to her feet and dusted off the dirt, grass, and leaves that clung to her clothes.

“I’m sorry, Sass, but I need you to leave. At least until the cemetery is officially open.”

Rolling her shoulders to release some of the stiffness, Sass said, “Yeah, I know. I’m going.”

Ten minutes later, Sass found herself at the shop. Like a robot, she clocked in without even acknowledging Al as he sat at the desk filling out orders for replacement body parts. She also ignored Al’s greeting of, “Hey yah, Sasquatch. What’d you do? Sleep in the woods?”

“Where’s Buck?”

“He’s in his office. Some meeting. Said not to be disturbed.”

Sass chewed on her thumb and realized she hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday afternoon. She reached in her pocket for some change and stuck the coins into the vending machine where the ancient candy bars and bags of chips needed dusting off before they could be consumed. Without paying any attention to the taste, Sass ate the Baby Ruth while she paged through the current work orders. “Where’s the Firebird?” Sass asked.

“Cooper’s latest? She’s out in the yard.”

Cooper Laing was a Firebird junkie with money to burn. He had a collection of about twenty beautifully restored birds. Twelve of them had been done by Hogan’s. “I’ll get started on her.”

“Not necessary. Why don’t you help Manny in the hotbox?”

“I’d rather work on the bird.”

Al sipped his coffee as he skimmed his order sheet. “The bird’s taken care of. Manny could use a hand.”

“What do you mean the bird’s taken care of? Who’s working on her?”

Al glanced up. He didn’t need to answer, Sass could read it in his expression. Without another word, she stormed out into the yard where Carlos was busy sanding the body of the 1977 Formula Firebird. Like St. Helen’s a moment before eruption, she trembled and shook with all the anger, hurt, and emotion of the last two days. “What do you think you’re doing?” Her voice was so low it was almost inaudible.

Carlos glanced up. His eyes became hooded and unreadable at her approach. “I’m cleaning the Firebird; what does it look like?”

She stared Carlos down, but he didn’t cower. He simply stood up and puffed out his chest, his black eyes wary.

The pressure inside Sass grew to the point of eruption. “Get out!”

The muscle in his cheek twitched. “The only one who can fire me is Buck. And,” he gave her an up and down appraisal, “you’re not him.”

Sass charged. She shoved at his shoulders, shouting the whole time, “Get out, get out, get out!”

Grabbing her hands and blocking her forward momentum with his body, Carlos shouted, “
Basta!
” He continued in a long-winded diatribe in Spanish, for which Sass could only make out a few words. Finally, he said something she could understand. “You need some serious help, you know that?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.” Carlos’s eyes darkened. “You got an anger-management problem.”

“What?”

“You smashed up the Mustang.”

“So?”

He cocked his head to one side. “Because you thought it was mine.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re crazy.”

“And you’re a lying, cheating bastard!”

“Cheating? You think I cheated?”

“I saw you, asshole. With my own two eyes. Your hands on Tori’s ass, grinding on the dance floor.”

Carlos let loose another mouthful of Spanish. Sass was pretty sure she recognized a few choice curse words. Then his face grew somber. “How the fuck could I be cheating on you? Huh? Tell me that. We didn’t even have a fucking relationship.”

Of all the dirty, rotten denials, this one had to be the worst. “I can’t believe you.”