Free Wild Cards and Iron Horses by Sheryl Nantus Page A

finger. “Just be careful, sir. My daughter’s not like other women, as you may have noticed. Good evening, Mr. Handleston.”
    “Good evening, Mr. Weatherly.”

Chapter Six
    Samantha stared down at the two small pieces of the broken spring cradled in her hand. The twisted metal stained with oil and shattered almost exactly in the center weighed virtually nothing. So minute and yet so important to making the unique arm mechanism work.
    The door opened, admitting her father. “Your customer has left. Again. And more confused than ever.” He took the seat next to the fire, wriggling down into the thick cushions spread across the old armchair and letting out a pleasurable sigh. “You’re driving him crazy, you know. It’s not good for a woman to tease a man like that. Touching him and all that. Gets the blood flowing, you know.” Her father chuckled. “You could do much worse, if you ask me.”
    She ignored the obvious opening. They had discussed her single status many times, most recently within the last month. And, as usual, they had arrived at an impasse. She wasn’t going to sell herself to any man who didn’t accept her skills and encourage her in her chosen field of work, which ruled out most of the men of Prosperity Ridge.
    “If he wants this fixed in time for his poker games, he’ll do as I ask.” Picking up a magnifying glass, Samantha examined the spring. “There may be a replacement that I can adapt, but I can’t guarantee that it’ll hold for as long as the original. This metal is of much higher quality than anything I’ve seen around here.”
    “Hmph.” Her father crossed his arms, his lower lip jutting out in a fake pout. “You’re going to tell me that some British spring is tougher than our good American steel?” There was a hint of humor in his voice.
    He picked up a dark blue blanket and pulled it onto his lap.
    “Don’t start, Father.” She returned the two pieces to the center of the table, placing them exactly on their drawn image. “I believe my best option is to modify the spring from the inner core of the equimech—
    the third gear, to be precise—cut off a small part of it. It’s too long anyway. I think the designer did that on purpose to increase the amount of money charged to the company. At that length it’s more likely to snap and require a replacement.” She shook her head. “Money. The root of all evil.”
    “I don’t mind a little evil every now and then,” her father mumbled into his blanket.
    She ignored him, concentrating on the metal coils. Her rough fingernail pushed the edge of the spring a fraction of an inch across the paper. “Taking a bit off the end should be enough, but I’ll have to measure the tension and modify it. And then adjust the original back on the equimech, make sure that we didn’t reset the parameters to the point that it won’t hold.” She didn’t look at her father. “Go to sleep, Father. I’ll be up late.”

    “I know you enjoy a challenge, but you better make sure that beast is ready to go in time. I’ve already tweaked the gears as much as I dare. Now you’re going to pull out a spring? What are you going to tell Smithston when he asks why his horse isn’t running?” Jake stifled a yawn. “He said he’ll be by in a day or so. They want to get those beasts on the coaches as soon as possible. Get it out for a practice run, show it off to the investors, that sort of thing.”
    “I’ll tell him it broke under the stress, if we need the extra time. Sort of the truth.” A sly smile twisted the edges of her mouth up. “Besides, I’d much rather be working on a man’s hand than a horse’s ass.”
    “As long as the two aren’t the same.” His eyes strained to stay open. “Don’t stay up too late.” He rubbed the empty sleeve of his shirt at the shoulder. “Bad weather coming in. Don’t forget to check the air filters before the morning flush.” Adjusting the blanket over his lap, he stared into the flames.