Brandon never took his eyes off the road, a good thing because he was navigating his way through a maze of rusted truck beds and totaled car bodies. “I told you, babe, modern dealerships—”
“Are dollar-driven bastardizations of commercial greed. You told me that last night when I first mentioned car shopping to you.” When Brandon started to respond, Nate said, “Look, I understand how you feel, but when you said you had a little something different in mind, I never dreamed you were taking me to a junk yard.”
Brandon pulled up in front of a hulking cinder block garage and cut the motor. “I prefer to think of it as an ‘automotive rehabilitation center.’”
Nate snorted. “Rehabilitation, huh? I hate to have to tell you, Bran, but this is where cars come to die. We’re sitting in the only live one here.”
Brandon took a deep breath and let it out slowly. If Nate didn’t know any better, he’d say Brandon was going for the ‘heartfelt sigh’ approach. Then he said, “Alright. If you really want to go, we’ll go. I understand that it isn’t fair of me to inflict my interests on you. A good marriage is about compromise, after all.”
Nate knew it was a crock the minute he heard it, but when Brandon turned big blue puppy-dog eyes on him, Nate was a goner.
“Fine. We’ll go in, but if I don’t see something really impressive in the next five minutes, I’m leaving.” He reached over and pulled the keys out of the ignition. “With or without you.”
Brandon smiled. “Deal. Come on. I called Cain this morning to tell him we were coming. He’s expecting us.”
Brandon led him around to the side door of the garage and knocked twice. A raspy voice yelled out, “It’s open.” Brandon turned the knob and opened the door.
Nate expected the inside of the garage to be as cluttered as the grounds, but it was surprisingly neat. All four walls were covered with peg boards holding various wrenches, sockets, and tools. Instead of the harsh fluorescent lights most garages used, this one had four large skylights assisted by several rows of track lighting. A lift held a battered Silverado about eight feet off the ground, while two more cars waited their turns in the bays nearby. It wasn’t until they got closer that Nate noticed a pair of legs sticking out from under one of the cars.
Brandon said, “It’s us, Cain.”
Nate watched as the legs got leverage against the cement floor and wheeled the man attached to them out from under the car he was working on. He wiped his dirty fingers on his coveralls and shook hands, first with Brandon, then with Nate. “How’s it going, Sheriff?”
“Fine. Cain Lucas, this is my fiancé, Dr. Nathan Morris. He’s looking for a car.”
“Sure thing. I think I might have something he’ll be interested in. Just give me a sec to wash up, and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”
When Lucas walked across the room to wash his hands, Nate took that moment to study him. He was about thirty and had waist-length black hair secured with a leather thong at the nap of his neck. Most women would kill to have a silky mane like his, but there wasn’t anything feminine about Cain Lucas. He was tall, at least six-four, and had broad shoulders which threatened to burst the seems of his coveralls. When he turned back around, Nate noticed his bronzed skin and dark eyes. Nate was willing to bet those eyes didn’t miss much. His chiseled features reminded Nate of pictures he’d seen of American Indians in books and museums.
Lucas dried his hands on a clean shop rag and walked back over to where Nate and Brandon were standing. “So, what exactly did you have in mind, Dr. Morris?”
“Something dependable that gets good mileage.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows at Brandon. “And you brought him here?”
Those were Nate’s thoughts exactly, but Brandon wasn’t going to go down without a fight. “Nate just thinks he wants some wimpy little foreign job because he hasn’t seen your selection yet.”
Lucas looked as skeptical as Nate felt, but all he said was, “You know where the other garage is. Go on ahead while I lock up here and I’ll meet you up there.”
The drive to the second garage was more pleasant than the drive to the first. Whereas the lower part of Cain’s property was littered with car and truck remnants, the upper half was beautifully landscaped. Nate could just make out a house in the distance, but Brandon pulled the Camero off the main path and headed down another road through a stand of trees. He parked the car in front of another massive garage, this one made of brick instead of cinder block.
Brandon and Nate got out of the Camaro just as Lucas pulled up in a beat-up Chevy truck. He went around to the side of the building, motioning for Brandon and Nate to follow.
Lucas unlocked the deadbolt and flipped a switch just inside the door. He said, “Come on in. Everything in here is for sale except the Harley. That one’s mine.”
Nate walked inside and then stopped at the threshold, amazed at the display he was seeing. Brandon whispered, “This place is something else, isn’t it.”
It certainly was. Twenty cars, all of them classics and all beautifully restored, were lined up on each side of the garage. A chopped-out Harley Davidson, the only motorcycle in the garage, stood in one corner. Three of the walls were decorated with antique gas and oil signs, and a display of framed car adds from the thirties and forties took up the other. A restored bubble-top gas pump took up the corner opposite the bike.
Lucas pointed to a red fifty-seven Ford Thunderbird heading up the first row. “If your looking for something dependable, I’d say this one is your best bet. She’s as close to all original as you’re going to get. I bought her from the original owner. All I did was drop in a new motor and give her a new paint job.”
Brandon nodded. “She’s a beauty, but we’re a Chevy family.”
Nate said, “We are?”
Brandon looked absolutely offended. “Yes, we are.”
Lucas grinned. “In that case, I’ve got a great little fifty-five Chevy four door I just finished with. I changed the transmission from manual to automatic and painted it back to it’s original finish.”
Lucas led them down the row to the car he was talking about. Nate had to admit, the car was nice. He might have even considered it, if he hadn’t glanced over and seen the car at the end of the row.
Nate pointed to the striking black beauty with something akin to awe. “What’s that?”
Lucas followed his finger and said, “Oh, that’s a thirty-four Ford, five window coupe that I bought from a guy in Minnesota. But you don’t want that car, Doc.”
Nate didn’t hear him. He walked over to the coupe and caressed one round headlight. “What year did you say she was?”
“She’s a thirty-four, but—”
“Did you do all the restorations yourself?”
A trace of pride tinged Lucas’s voice. “Yeah. She was just a rusted out shell when I got her. Took me eleven months, but I finally got her done.” He saw the way Nate was tracing the car’s curves with one fingertip and said, “Look, Doc, I think you’d probably be happier with something else. I’ve got a couple of Sedans that are worth looking at.”
For the first time, Nate heard what Lucas was saying. “Why wouldn’t I want this car?”