Page 19 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

I wondered how much of my conversation he heard.

Hopefully none of it.

I had spent the last five years keeping my private life contained within the boundaries of Marigold Ranch. Willow Creek knew the accident ended my barrel-racing career and that Pops died not long afterward. They knew Meme and I still operated the dairy, though most probably assumed we had more help than we did.

They did not know about my prosthetic.

They did not know how close the ranch was to failing.

They did not know that some months I delayed paying myself so the ranch hands could receive their checks on time.

Small towns turned information into currency. One concerned question at the bakery could become a full story before lunch, and I had no intention of becoming Willow Creek’s newest charitable project.

The office door opened roughly forty minutes later, bringing in the sound of the rain and the sharper scent of motor oil. Jax entered first, carrying himself with the kind of quiet confidence that made it clear he had been working on vehicles for most of his life. He was taller than Beau by perhaps an inch, and slightly leaner, though…

Beau followed him inside, wiping his hands on a shop towel.

The resemblance between them was obvious now that they stood beside one another.

And neither man looked particularly pleased.

My stomach dropped.

“How bad?” I asked.

Jax glanced at Beau, apparently deciding his brother could deliver the news.

Beau leaned one shoulder against the filing cabinet and folded the stained towel between his hands. “The truck made it back without falling off the tow bed, so that’s something.”

“That isn’t real comforting.”

“It wasn’t meant to be.”

I lowered the mug to the table. “Can you fix it?”

“Yes.”

Relief loosened something in my chest, but it disappeared when he continued.

“Your water pump failed. The belt is damaged, the tensioner needs replacing, and there are a few other things I’d strongly recommend addressing before you put it back on the road.”

“How many other things?”

His mouth pressed into a thin line.

“That many?”

“The truck is nearly forty years old.”

“It has character.”

“It has a lot of corrosion and problems.”

“Same thing, if you’re sentimental enough.”

Jax made a sound that might have been a laugh covered with a cough.

Beau’s lips twitched, but his expression remained serious. “I can repair it. The problem is parts. I have the belt and tensioner here, but not the correct water pump. I can get one delivered by Thursday, Friday at the latest.”