Hearts on Fire 8: Saving C.C.(3)

By: Dixie Lynn Dwyer

“Are you freaking kidding me? Not even five hours of driving from upstate New York and this happens?” She took the next exit, no clue as to where she was headed.

She couldn’t find a gas station or a mechanic shop until she headed closer toward the beach town. She saw the main entrance before a small bridge. Treasure Town-Welcome to Paradise, the sign read.

“Paradise? God, I hope so because I may be stuck here for a while.”

She debated about stopping before the bridge. It didn’t look as if there was anything but souvenir shops, a few low-level hotels, and tourists. Should she just stop here and get it towed, or was there something better on the other side? C.C. took a deep breath and felt the pull to go up the bridge. Her car continued to sputter and smoke so much she could barely see. Then she caught sight of the numerous businesses, the crowded beaches, and the boardwalk. She spotted the large sign, Treasure Mechanics. She was barely by the entrance when the car died. Right there in the middle of a semi-busy road. The first thing she did was hit the hazard lights. The blink, blink sound was a reminder of the other many times this crappy car had her stuck on the side of the road.

She slammed her hand on the steering wheel, shifted it into neutral, and got out of the car. She’d done this before, at least five times, and the car always survived once she got it to a mechanic. Could it really be on its last leg? Shit.

She started to push the car. Well, attempted to, as cars honked and complained she was causing a traffic jam.

“Hey, you need some help? What happened?”

She looked up and caught sight of a really big, attractive guy in a navy blue T-shirt and dark pants. He had grease on him, and on the breast of his shirt was a small logo that said Treasure Mechanics.

“Oh God yes. It died. I thought I would make it into the parking lot.”

He stared at her, and his eyes looked lower and then over her body. She felt a little something and then looked down, noticing her breasts were pouring from the light pink camisole she was wearing. It was hot out. She had no AC and wore the skimpiest amount of clothing she had so she wouldn’t sweat her butt off.

“Let us help you.” He then turned and whistled.

She looked up from the driver’s side, barely seeing over the old Cadillac Seville’s roof, and spotted another big guy coming from the garage, wiping his hands on a dark rag.

Holy God, did he look muscular and mean, really mean, with his dark hair and even darker eyes taking in the scene in front of him. He appeared annoyed, and she felt intimidated to say the least.

He nodded toward the first big guy with the blondish brown hair.

“Her car died. Help me push it into the garage.”

The big guy looked her over quickly and then took his time coming to the car.

The closer he got, the taller he got. Holy shit was he big. Like six feet plus some. She swallowed hard and immediately took in the sight of him, muscles and all.

“Miss, if you step aside, I’ll help my brother, and we’ll get the car into the garage.”

She moved out of the way.

“Can I help?” she asked.

“No,” the other one said kind of quickly.

She moved to the side, and both big men pushed her car with what appeared like very little effort and got it into the garage. The big guy bent over into the car to place it in park and to turn off the hazards. He had a mighty fine ass in the camo pants he wore. She quickly looked away.

“You vacationing here?” the guy with the blondish brown hair asked her.

“Just passing through. I think.”

He looked at all her stuff in the back seat.

“Where from?” the other one asked as he pulled the lever and she heard the hood click. He then passed very close by her, taking in the sight of her body again.

“New York.”

He nodded. “Thought so.” He then lifted the hood.

She wasn’t sure if his reply was meant to be sarcastic, or if he had a problem with New Yorkers, but she kind of took offense to it. But considering that she didn’t know these men from Adam, she should be nice and hope they didn’t hammer her over the head with a big-ass bill.

As the hood lifted and the smoke filled the garage, the two men waved their hands in front of their faces. She coughed and stepped out of the garage bay.

“Jesus, that car looks shot,” some other mechanic said as he and two other men walked closer.

“We’ll know soon enough. Kyle, why don’t you get all her information? We’ll see what the problems are.”

“Okay, Frank,” the guy said, and she looked at the one named Frank before she moved to follow Kyle.

“It’s probably the transmission or the engine. I’ve had it worked on a bunch of times, but the last mechanic said it should last a while longer.” She said hoping to get across that she wouldn’t let them pull the wool over her eyes and get ripped off. But then again, the car was probably shot. She wouldn’t be shocked if it died right here and never started again. God, now what am I going to do?

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