she’d printed off of his skin. Studied how the lines moved with different positions of his arm. How the skin looked when he was relaxed, and when his arm was up and the skin was taut.
What did she know about him? He was a damn good mechanic and great at custom paint jobs. Artistic, like her, only in a different medium.
He was good looking, a real ladies man. Didn’t spread himself thin, but close. He was an equal opportunity man, liked both women in the life and Towners. Pecan was full of good-looking women, and she couldn’t blame him for wanting to sample the merchandise. He was a single male in a small town.
Then there was his work with the Blue Mustangs. She’d heard nothing but good about what he’d been trying to do, increasing the fundraising side of their lifestyle to include kids with cancer and organizing rides to escort fallen soldiers to their final resting places in the area. Those were all good things, things that showed you what a man was like on the inside.
That’s when it hit her: she knew exactly what to do with his art. She grabbed a black pencil and started to sketch.
*****
He couldn’t concentrate. He’d been daydre aming instead of rebuilding a carburetor for one of the Towners. He could still feel her fingertips on his skin. The flesh over his ribs warmed every time he thought about her. He was acting like some fifteen year old virgin with his first crush.
He couldn’t wait for closing time so he could see her again.
Attempting to focus on the task at hand, Christian never noticed Atticus coming in through the bay door. “You need a hand with that?”
He started, dropping the screwdriver he’d been holding loose in his hand. “Something I can help you with?”
“Yeah, I heard you hit my kid up for some ink.” Atticus leaned against a support pole, his arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight.
“I did. Saw something she did a couple of years back on Sam. Thought she might could fix an old mistake.” He picked the screwdriver up and attacked the innocent carburetor.
“I thought I warned you to stay away from my daughter. I guess I was just talking to myself.” Pulling away from the pole, Atticus tried to make himself look even bigger than he was already.
Christian stood, letting everything drop to the floor and facing the old man. “You warned me, but you don’t control me. I don’t want to fight you, old man, but you seem to have come here looking for one.”
“She don’t need to get caught up with the likes of you. I know what kind of man you are, seen more than a few young bucks like you in my day. Hell, I might’ve even have been you at one point in my life. I don’t want that for my little girl.” Atticus moved forward threateningly.
Christian stood his ground. He really didn’t want to scrap with the old man. “What do you think you know about me? Rumors? They’re a disease in small towns and in clubs like this one. You don’t like me, I get it, but you aren’t going to tell me what I can or can’t do with my personal life.”
“No, I guess I can’t, but I can sure as hell make sure Sandy doesn’t become another notch on your bedpost.” Atticus spit the words out like they tasted bad.
“Well, that’s up to your daughter, now isn’t it?” Christian knew he was pushing the old man’s buttons, but damn if he wasn’t tired of the way he was being treated. “I don’t force women, and I don’t lie to them.”
“You don’t stick around, either.”
“Not if it’s not right, no.” Christian sat back down on the old milk crate he used as a seat and picked his tool and his part back up, dismissing the old man with his action.
“My daughter, she’s no fool. She’ll see you for what you are. She always does, eventually.” With those parting words, Atticus left.
No, she’s no fool, Christian thought to himself as he returned his attention to the carburetor in
What did she know about him? He was a damn good mechanic and great at custom paint jobs. Artistic, like her, only in a different medium.
He was good looking, a real ladies man. Didn’t spread himself thin, but close. He was an equal opportunity man, liked both women in the life and Towners. Pecan was full of good-looking women, and she couldn’t blame him for wanting to sample the merchandise. He was a single male in a small town.
Then there was his work with the Blue Mustangs. She’d heard nothing but good about what he’d been trying to do, increasing the fundraising side of their lifestyle to include kids with cancer and organizing rides to escort fallen soldiers to their final resting places in the area. Those were all good things, things that showed you what a man was like on the inside.
That’s when it hit her: she knew exactly what to do with his art. She grabbed a black pencil and started to sketch.
*****
He couldn’t concentrate. He’d been daydre aming instead of rebuilding a carburetor for one of the Towners. He could still feel her fingertips on his skin. The flesh over his ribs warmed every time he thought about her. He was acting like some fifteen year old virgin with his first crush.
He couldn’t wait for closing time so he could see her again.
Attempting to focus on the task at hand, Christian never noticed Atticus coming in through the bay door. “You need a hand with that?”
He started, dropping the screwdriver he’d been holding loose in his hand. “Something I can help you with?”
“Yeah, I heard you hit my kid up for some ink.” Atticus leaned against a support pole, his arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight.
“I did. Saw something she did a couple of years back on Sam. Thought she might could fix an old mistake.” He picked the screwdriver up and attacked the innocent carburetor.
“I thought I warned you to stay away from my daughter. I guess I was just talking to myself.” Pulling away from the pole, Atticus tried to make himself look even bigger than he was already.
Christian stood, letting everything drop to the floor and facing the old man. “You warned me, but you don’t control me. I don’t want to fight you, old man, but you seem to have come here looking for one.”
“She don’t need to get caught up with the likes of you. I know what kind of man you are, seen more than a few young bucks like you in my day. Hell, I might’ve even have been you at one point in my life. I don’t want that for my little girl.” Atticus moved forward threateningly.
Christian stood his ground. He really didn’t want to scrap with the old man. “What do you think you know about me? Rumors? They’re a disease in small towns and in clubs like this one. You don’t like me, I get it, but you aren’t going to tell me what I can or can’t do with my personal life.”
“No, I guess I can’t, but I can sure as hell make sure Sandy doesn’t become another notch on your bedpost.” Atticus spit the words out like they tasted bad.
“Well, that’s up to your daughter, now isn’t it?” Christian knew he was pushing the old man’s buttons, but damn if he wasn’t tired of the way he was being treated. “I don’t force women, and I don’t lie to them.”
“You don’t stick around, either.”
“Not if it’s not right, no.” Christian sat back down on the old milk crate he used as a seat and picked his tool and his part back up, dismissing the old man with his action.
“My daughter, she’s no fool. She’ll see you for what you are. She always does, eventually.” With those parting words, Atticus left.
No, she’s no fool, Christian thought to himself as he returned his attention to the carburetor in
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