Head Over Heels. Beth Harbison
me everything you’re checking as you do it.”
“Okay.” Her hands tingled with nervousness, but she wasn’t about to admit to him that this was harder than she thought it would be. If he noticed her shake, she’d blame it on the frozen whipped coffee she’d had on her way in. “First I check the headlights, taillights and brake lights, to make sure there are no cracks.” She walked around the bus, looking at all the plastic covers on the lights as she spoke, then stopped where she’d started again. “Everything looks fine.”
“Everything?” he asked, as if he’d caught her in a lie.
“Oh, the reflectors.” She’d nearly forgotten the reflectors again. For some reason she had made that mistake almost every time. She made another round, then came back and looked to Luke for approval.
He said nothing, just watched her impassively.
She wasn’t going to let him rattle her. “Okay, then. Tires.”
“What about them?” His mouth almost lifted into a smile. Almost.
She couldn’t help but admire the curve of his lips. That was something she’d always noticed whenever she saw him. He had a great mouth. Not full and girlish, but not lipless and hard. Just right.
And, she remembered with a reluctant shiver, he’d known just how to use it.
“Tires?” he prompted. “What are you supposed to look for there?”
She shook herself back into the moment. Tires. “The tread has to be four thirty-seconds of an inch, the rims have to be rust-free and smooth. No cracks. Valve caps on. And you can’t just take them off another car in the parking lot like you could with a normal car.”
“Is this the kind of thing you’re planning to say to the cop who tests you?”
She ignored his question and turned to kneel in front of the first tire. She half suspected Luke might have changed it since she went through this drill yesterday, but it looked the same. “So now I’m supposed to take the hubcap off—” she wrestled with it until it came free “—and check the slugs and grease seal.”
“Lugs,” Luke said.
“Huh?”
“It’s lugs. You keep saying slugs.” For the first time in two weeks he smiled. “You’re talking about tires, not guns.”
“I said lugs,” she lied, disarmed by his grin. What a weapon he had there. “You heard wrong.”
“Uh-huh.” He could see right through her.
She’d always been a terrible liar. “Where was I?”
“You mentioned tread, rims, valve caps, grease seals and ‘slugs,’” Luke said. There was a light in his eyes for a moment, but it dimmed quickly and he was back to business. “Anything else?”
Obviously he had something in mind. What was she forgetting now? She repeated the list in her mind twice before it came to her. “Air! I’m checking the air pressure. And making sure there’s no fabric showing through the rubber tire. Although, frankly, isn’t this the kind of thing they check for you at the gas station when you go to full service?”
“You’re not going to full service anymore, Grace,” Luke said. “At least not on the school’s dime.”
He was right—she wasn’t living in a full-service world anymore. Not here or at home. She went back to her drill, checking each tire in turn. “Next I check the wiper blades, the gas door,” she moved from one part to the next as she spoke, “and the running board.” She stepped on it and pushed hard with her foot. The bus rocked.
What would Michael say if he knew she could identify a running board?
“What are you checking for?”
She was ready with the answer. “To make sure it’s secured tightly.”
“Good.”
This was high praise from Luke. She gave a nod of acknowledgment, her mood lightening. “Now, Mr. Tester, if you wouldn’t mind helping me, I need to make sure the lights are working properly.”
“This isn’t a magic show, Grace,” Luke said. Or, rather, growled. “You’ve got to take this seriously.”
He wasn’t going to allow her even a moment of levity, Grace realized. And he certainly wasn’t going to let her act as if they were friends. This was all business, nothing more.
She was lucky he didn’t insist she call him “sir.”
“Forgive me,” she said, stopping just short of rolling her eyes. “But you said I’m supposed to have a second person, in this case the MVA guy looks at the lights while I turn them on and off.”
“That’s right. Just don’t get cute.”
“God forbid.”
“Well, I know that’s gotten you through a lot of things in life—”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve been cruising on cute for years now, Luke. It worked wonders with the mortgage holder when Michael left.” She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Cute got me lots of clams in the bank too. This bus stuff is just a hobby for me.”
He looked at her for a moment, one eyebrow raised and an expression between amusement and exasperation on his face. “You finished?”
“Are you?”
“For now.” He smiled again. Twice in one day. It was a record.
She couldn’t help but smile back. Which really galled her. Was she so desperate for kindness that this little morsel—even from Luke Stewart, who couldn’t be called friendly, much less a friend—made her feel so grateful? “Then if I may continue…?”
He nodded.
She opened the side door, stepped into the already-hot interior of the bus and took a moment to compose herself.
She inserted the key into the ignition and called out as she flipped switches, “Taillights, brake lights.” She stepped on the brake pedal, recited, “Back-up lights,” then put it in reverse. “Tag lights on?”
“Yup.”
“Great.” She shifted back into park. “Now I have to check the engine.” She located the hood latch and pulled it. Then, with false confidence, she stepped out into the sun again, moving in front of the engine.
It was a mess. She’d been over it a thousand times in the past two weeks, taken notes, even drawn a rudimentary picture of it with identifying notes, but when she looked at it with no notes or instruction, she was lost.
She could not let Luke know she was anything less than completely sure of herself. She started with the one part she could identify most easily. “First I check the battery to make sure there’s no corrosion and to ensure that the cable’s on tight.” She did so, slowly and deliberately, while she frantically tried to collect her thoughts and figure out what was next.
He must have sensed her confusion, because, without a derisive word, he leaned over the engine, brushing his arm against hers in the process. “What’s that?”
Her bare skin tingled from his touch, and Grace was disgusted with herself. New low, she noted. It had been so long since she’d been with a man that even this lightest of touches from a guy she didn’t even like sent shivers running through her. Pheromones were blind.
She focused on the part he pointed to. “The, uh, the steering-wheel rod,” she said, her voice weak.
“What about it?”
Steering-wheel rod, steering-wheel rod…A flood of information came back to her, right in the nick of time. “I have to make sure that it’s secure, not loose.”
“Right.” He stepped back. “What else?”