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Freeing.
Perfect, actually. Until now.
Poor Agnes.
Fallon hoped she’d be up and running as soon as possible so they could continue on their journey.
To find her true self.
To figure out what direction she went next.
Or, hell, maybe she’d just ride off into the sunset and never worry about her future again.
She’d “just be.” Simply exist and do whatever the hell she wanted. She’d follow the wind whatever direction it blew. She’d chase every sunrise and sunset. She’d swim with the tides. Climb one mountain and ski down another.
She had cut those corporate chains that had kept her bound. She was no longer a slave to a computer, to her phone, to anyone.
She’d “just be.”
Happy.
Healthy.
Free.
A new Fallon who didn’t answer to anyone or anything anymore.
Well, she’d been traveling along that path until she hit this bump in the road.
A bump she could deal with. However, her guess was it wouldn’t be cheap or quick. It would take time and money. Good thing she had plenty of both.
This was a slight inconvenience she could easily deal with since she was no longer held to any expectations, no longer had to attend scheduled meetings, and definitely no longer had to be present at appointments.
A smile spread over her face and Fallon took a long, deep, relaxed breath as she stood outside Dutch’s Garage near where the young mechanic had parked the Yamaha. He had told her to wait there while he went and brought the rollback around from out back.
She offered to follow him inside to give the secretary her information but he said she could do it when they returned with Agnes.
Well, he didn’t call Agnes by her name. He kept calling her a sled.
A sled.
So damn strange but kind of quirky. She wondered how that name came to be since when she heard the word sled, she thought about the kind of sleds kids rode down snowy hills.
In the end, it wasn’t important.
Nothing was more important than getting Agnes repaired, getting back on the road and heading to the next destination, wherever the road led her. Hopefully this time in one piece.
She glanced toward the garage and the open bay door Whip disappeared through. He wasn’t standing there but some other guys were, including the bushy bearded garage owner she recognized from the picture.
Three other mechanics, all wearing coveralls similar to Whip’s, hovered just inside the open doorway, all staring in her direction. She never saw such a handsome crew of mechanics before at the dealership she used to take her vehicles for service.
She turned to face them directly, returned their once-over, shot them a huge smile and gave them an exaggerated wave. Laughter escaped her as they suddenly scattered like roaches when someone flipped on a light, apparently finding something to do.
Were they not used to outsiders around here? When she mapped out today’s route last night, she swore she was near the Pennsylvania Grand Canyon and if so, they should be used to hikers, mountain bikers and even tourists who chased the changing autumn leaves.
She shrugged to herself and looked up. The warm sun, clear blue sky and unexpected laughter were so damn soothing to the soul.
Maybe her career didn’t turn out quite as she had expected. But, honestly, this was so much better, even with a broken-down bike. She counted herself lucky that she could toss everything else aside and “just be.”
Yes, even though today had a slight hiccup, she was still so damn lucky. She was learning to appreciate the little things and not get stuck on the things that didn’t matter.
Her attention was drawn to a noisy rollback coming around the corner of the garage. Whip pulled up next to her and yelled over the engine noise and through the open passenger-side window. “Get in.”
Get in.
She climbed onto the step, opened the passenger door and, using the vertical metal handle next to the door, hauled herself up and into the cab.
The rig was far from new and the interior stunk like gas and old motor oil. Wrappers and empty cups were strewn along the passenger-side floorboard, as well as clipboards and messy papers covering the dashboard.
She squeaked in surprise when she sat on something hard hidden under a piece of paper and yanked whatever it was from under it. She held it up.
Before she could figure out what it was, Whip snatched it from her fingers.
“What is it?” she asked him.
He fisted it. “Just a mint tin.”
“Oh.” She snagged it back and opened it. “I could use a…” She lifted her gaze to Whip. “Mint.”
He shrugged.
She lifted the tin to her nose. “Is that tobacco?”
“Mmm hmm,” he mumbled.
The tin had several hand-rolled cigarettes inside. She didn’t know many people who smoked anymore, but she did know those who still did tended to buy tobacco in bulk and hand-roll their own. Never being a smoker herself, she wasn’t sure if it had to do with the quality or the cost.
