volume on the TV, shutting out any potential complaints Darcy might have about the crack-of-dawn departure. But seven-thirty? Who in his right mind got up at that ungodly hour of the morning?
Pepé brushed against Darcy’s ankle. She scooped him up and held him against her shoulder, his nose snuffing against her ear, and his whole body trembling. He let out a little doggy sigh that matched Darcy’s mood exactly.
“I know, sweetie,” she murmured, stroking his furry ears. “But look at the bright side. If I can’t pay to get my car back, it means we never have to see that awful repo man again.”
And the thought of that actually made her feel better—until she remembered that the luggage she’d brought home from Mexico was still in the trunk of her car, which was currently sitting in the impound lot of Lone Star Repossessions.
Darcy had always had difficulty relating to her father. Growing up, she’d known him primarily as the balding head sticking up over the black vinyl recliner and the empty chair at the breakfast table during deer season. He was a man with perpetual grease beneath his fingernails and a permanent frown on his face, a man whose life had been scripted for him since the fateful day in ’67 when he hit a home run with Lyla Scarsdale in the backseat of his GTO. Shortly after their shotgun wedding and the birth of their daughter seven months after that, her father discovered his mechanic’s salary was never going to afford his wife the lifestyle to which she desperately wanted to become accustomed.
And now, as he presented Darcy with the keys to her new loaner car parked on the grease-stained floor of his mechanic shop, she could see he’d been absolutely correct. The car had four tires and ran. It also had sun-bleached paint, hail damage, and a headliner that drooped like the hem of a twenty-year-old skirt. It hadn’t been the most beautiful car when it was fresh off the lot fifteen years ago, and age hadn’t improved it in the least.
“You can use it as long as you need to,” her father said.
“Why? Because nobody else on earth would get near it?”
“It’ll get you where you need to go. That’s all that counts.”
Darcy cringed when she thought about what her first stop today was going to be. John Stark thought he’d had the last laugh last night, but if he saw her driving this car today, the hilarity would begin all over again.
“The tires were shot, so I put on new ones last week,” her father said. “So at least that part of the car is safe.”
“Are there parts that
aren’t
safe?”
“The transmission’s a little slow. Just be careful pulling out into busy intersections.”
Good Lord.
“The tires are probably worth more than the car itself.”
When her father offered no argument against that, Darcy sighed. Just what she wanted to be driving. Four tires whose value was diminished by the car attached to them.
She looked out the door to her father’s pickup truck. She’d never had any desire to be seen behind the wheel of one of those, but anything beat this heap.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Just for today, could you let me drive your truck?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll bring it back in two hours.”
“Nope.”
“One hour.”
“Nope.”
“But—”
“
Nobody
drives my truck.”
Darcy put her fists on her hips. “So you’re telling me if Dale Earnhardt came back to life and wanted to drive your truck, you’d tell him to forget it?”
“Darcy, if God himself offered me heaven on a silver platter for the keys, I’d tell
him
to forget it.”
Darcy didn’t think the exclusive use of a Ford F-150 was worth eternal damnation, but that was her father. And since her mother quit driving after the train-crossing incident three years ago, they were a one-vehicle family, so grabbing her mother’s keys and taking off wasn’t an option.
“Besides,” her father said, “you don’t know how to drive a car that has a manual transmission.”
Okay, so she’d
Pepé brushed against Darcy’s ankle. She scooped him up and held him against her shoulder, his nose snuffing against her ear, and his whole body trembling. He let out a little doggy sigh that matched Darcy’s mood exactly.
“I know, sweetie,” she murmured, stroking his furry ears. “But look at the bright side. If I can’t pay to get my car back, it means we never have to see that awful repo man again.”
And the thought of that actually made her feel better—until she remembered that the luggage she’d brought home from Mexico was still in the trunk of her car, which was currently sitting in the impound lot of Lone Star Repossessions.
Darcy had always had difficulty relating to her father. Growing up, she’d known him primarily as the balding head sticking up over the black vinyl recliner and the empty chair at the breakfast table during deer season. He was a man with perpetual grease beneath his fingernails and a permanent frown on his face, a man whose life had been scripted for him since the fateful day in ’67 when he hit a home run with Lyla Scarsdale in the backseat of his GTO. Shortly after their shotgun wedding and the birth of their daughter seven months after that, her father discovered his mechanic’s salary was never going to afford his wife the lifestyle to which she desperately wanted to become accustomed.
And now, as he presented Darcy with the keys to her new loaner car parked on the grease-stained floor of his mechanic shop, she could see he’d been absolutely correct. The car had four tires and ran. It also had sun-bleached paint, hail damage, and a headliner that drooped like the hem of a twenty-year-old skirt. It hadn’t been the most beautiful car when it was fresh off the lot fifteen years ago, and age hadn’t improved it in the least.
“You can use it as long as you need to,” her father said.
“Why? Because nobody else on earth would get near it?”
“It’ll get you where you need to go. That’s all that counts.”
Darcy cringed when she thought about what her first stop today was going to be. John Stark thought he’d had the last laugh last night, but if he saw her driving this car today, the hilarity would begin all over again.
“The tires were shot, so I put on new ones last week,” her father said. “So at least that part of the car is safe.”
“Are there parts that
aren’t
safe?”
“The transmission’s a little slow. Just be careful pulling out into busy intersections.”
Good Lord.
“The tires are probably worth more than the car itself.”
When her father offered no argument against that, Darcy sighed. Just what she wanted to be driving. Four tires whose value was diminished by the car attached to them.
She looked out the door to her father’s pickup truck. She’d never had any desire to be seen behind the wheel of one of those, but anything beat this heap.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Just for today, could you let me drive your truck?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll bring it back in two hours.”
“Nope.”
“One hour.”
“Nope.”
“But—”
“
Nobody
drives my truck.”
Darcy put her fists on her hips. “So you’re telling me if Dale Earnhardt came back to life and wanted to drive your truck, you’d tell him to forget it?”
“Darcy, if God himself offered me heaven on a silver platter for the keys, I’d tell
him
to forget it.”
Darcy didn’t think the exclusive use of a Ford F-150 was worth eternal damnation, but that was her father. And since her mother quit driving after the train-crossing incident three years ago, they were a one-vehicle family, so grabbing her mother’s keys and taking off wasn’t an option.
“Besides,” her father said, “you don’t know how to drive a car that has a manual transmission.”
Okay, so she’d
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