Page 54 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

I didn’t know it yet, but the broken water pump was quickly becoming the least of my problems.

Chapter

Eight

BEAU

By ten that morning, I had already rebuilt half a front suspension, argued with a supplier over a defective alternator, and listened to Dad explain for the third time that retirement did not mean he had to stop correcting the way Jax organized the tool chest.

None of it should have left room for Carson Rome.

Apparently, my brain disagreed.

Her truck sat in the second bay with the hood up, waiting on parts that wouldn’t arrive until sometime tomorrow. I’d already removed what I could and made a list of everything else that needed attention, though the list had grown longer the more time I spent beneath the hood.

The water pump was the immediate problem.

The brakes concerned me more.

The front end had play where I didn’t want any, the belts were worn, and at least two hoses had been pushed far past the point where I would have replaced them on my own vehicle.

James had taken care of that truck, I knew that much. Which meant most of the neglect had happened after he died. Not because Carson didn’t care. Anyone who had watched her stand beside that old Chevrolet yesterday could see how much she cared.

The problem was probably simpler.

Money. There was never enough of it when something important needed fixing.

I leaned against the fender and looked over the estimate again. I’d kept the labor fair. Not cheap, but fair just like she asked, even though every grain in my body was telling me to knock some of the 0’s off.

Dad’s warning from the night before still sat with me. There was a difference between helping someone and making them feel helpless. Carson would notice immediately if I removed half the labor because I knew James. She would also probably throw the invoice at my head.

So I hadn’t.

Instead, I had gone through every repair and separated what needed to be handled now from what could safely wait. That had been the right call.

“Are you planning on fixing that truck or marrying it?”

I looked up. Jax stood beside the tool cart with one hand around a bottle of water, watching me.

“Replacing the pump would probably be cheaper.”

“Depends on the wedding.”

“I hate you.”

“You’ve been staring at the same page for five minutes.”

“I’m pricing parts.”

“The parts are already priced.”

“I’m double-checking.”

“You double-checked twenty minutes ago.”

I set the clipboard down. Jax had always been irritatingly observant when he wanted to be. Most of the time he couldn’t remember where he left his phone, but if he suspected I was thinking about something I didn’t want to discuss, suddenly he had the attention span of a detective.

“I’m making sure she doesn’t end up back here in two weeks.”