Page 5 of Nixon’s Promise

He glanced at the undamaged radiator and commented, “Got lucky.”

He was right. Normally when the belt snapped it would hit the radiator and punch a hole in it.

“Totally,” I agreed.

“You take this apart yourself?”

“Yeah.” I stopped tightening the bolt I was working on and gave Nix my attention. “It’s just a belt and the tensioner pulley. No reason to take it to a shop. They’d charge me five times what the parts cost.”

“I agree. I’m just impressed. Don’t know many women who’d have the wherewithal.”

From a man like Nixon, that was a huge compliment.

“Thanks.”

“You need any help?”

“Nope. Just have to put the belt on, and I’m sure Zack can manage to hold a crowbar so I can feed the belt around the pulley.”

“I’m sure he could, but I wouldn’t mind helping.”

“I really don’t want to take up anymore of your day. Again, I’m really sorry about Sally and Goat. I’ll remind Zack he needs to be more careful. The last time she got out he chased her around for almost two hours before he finally caught her.”

“That was his first mistake.”

“What was? Leaving the gate open, after I’ve told him approximately five-hundred times to be careful? Which, considering we’ve had the pony about a week, is approximately seventy times a day.”

Nixon’s lips curved up into a smile. The small act completely transformed his demeanor. In an instant, he went from unapproachable to easy-going.

“No. Chasing her. Just like with any woman, you need to exercise self-control. Slow, calculated movements. A gentle hand and a firm voice. And above all else—when you’ve finally roped her, handle her with care and concern.”

My body trembled and my nipples pebbled.

The rumors were true—Nixon was deadly. Both in words and actions. If I’d been the type of woman a man like him would pursue, that one statement would’ve had my panties in flames and me flat on my back.

But I wasn’t that type of woman. I was average at best. And right now covered in grease, my mediocrity couldn’t be disguised with a cute outfit, makeup, and good hair. Not that I tried all that often or all that hard.

Sometime in my mid-twenties I’d learned I was who I was—a tomboy. And I began to like who I was—therefore I didn’t try all that hard to pretend I was something different. And by all that hard, I meant I didn’t try at all.

So, no, I would never be a woman worthy enough to be on Nixon Swagger’s arm. And that sucked, but it was what it was.

“Maybe my kid brother could learn that sooner rather than later. I have a feeling it might be easier to teach him that lesson than to teach him how to remember to lock a gate. Though, I’m not real sure I want him at fifteen to learn anything more about girls than he already knows, seeing as he’s making it his mission to piss-off every father in Kent County.”

Nixon chuckled and it sounded more than a little rusty.

He quickly recovered and asked, “So, do your parents live around here then?”

Damn, I hated this part. I thought as the months slid by and I’d perfected my explanation down to the minimum, it would get easier. It hadn’t.

“No. My dad and stepmother passed away. They live with me now.”

“They?”

“Yeah. My brother, obviously. My sister, too. She’s almost seventeen. She’s not trying to piss off other people’s parents because she’s too busy trying to make sure I know she not only hates it here, but hates me more for making her live here.”

“Damn, McKenna, I’m sorry. My dad died almost five years ago. It’s not something you get over.”

“No, I guess it’s not.”