Free Wild Ride by Jennifer Crusie Page B

Ethan said. “Thanks for your time.”
    He walked down the midway toward the back of the park, and Mab tried to put her mind back on her paint.
    Demons
.
    The iron clown had said, “Mab” as it stretched out its hand to help her up. Maybe that week she’d been staring at it, leaning in close to put the details in the face, maybe something inside it had been staring back. She tried to look inside the box at Vanth, but the glass was too clouded. Maybe it was staring back, too, shuffing through its cards, getting ready to send her another message. Like STAY AWAY FROM THE CLOWN, HE’S MINE .
    Well, that was crazy.
I am not crazy.
    Maybe she should tell somebody the machine was talking to her with cards. Of course, that on top of everything else could get her committed.
    â€œI need help,” she said out loud.
    The machine whirred and spit out a card:
    FIND THE KEY AND OPEN THE DOOR AND HELP WILL BE AT HAND .
    Mab stared at it for a long time. That could be a fortune. It wasn’t a
great
fortune, but it was . . . optimistic. Optimistic was good.
    â€œOkay, then,” she said, and went back to open her can of primer.
    Â 
    A t six thirty, Mab straightened up, pushing at the small of her back to shove her spine into place, and looked at the Fortune-Telling Machine in the light from her miner’s hat. She had the entire exterior cleaned, primed, and ready for the undercoat, as long as it didn’t rain or drop below fifty degrees the next day. But she still hadn’t found a way into the box.
    â€œThere’s got to be a way,” she told Vanth.
    â€œThere’s always a way,” a light voice said from behind her, and she turned to see the guy with the good shoulders from the Dream Cream there in the twilight, taller than she remembered, more curly-headed than she remembered, but just as cheerful as she remembered, his hands in his pockets, relaxed and smiling that crooked smile at her again. “I’m Joe. From this morning in the Dream Cream, remember?”
    She pulled her paint coat closer around her. “Yes.” She turned back to Vanth to get her bearings. It wasn’t like he was drop-dead handsome. Or built like a wrestler. Or—
    He came closer. “What’s the problem?”
    â€œThe latch.” Mab gestured to the box so she wouldn’t have to look at him because her brain seemed to short out when she did that. “On the back, the latch that opens the door. It’s . . . strange.”
    â€œLet’s see it,” Joe said, and walked around to the back.
    â€œIt’s complicated.” Mab went around the other side of the machine in time to see him pull the door open a couple of inches, using the tail of his shirt. “How did you do that?”
    â€œYou push it and lift it.” Joe tugged on the door again to open it the rest of the way, and Mab heard metal complaining.
    â€œWait a minute.” She went back to her paint bag to get her WD-40 and pumped oil into the hinges and then rocked the door gently back and forth so that it opened a little more. “This is
excellent
. Thank you.”
    â€œYou’re welcome.”
    She pumped in more oil and rocked the door again, and it gave up another couple of inches, enough that she could see inside.
    It was a mess: dust and cobwebs and rust, all of it shrouding the back of the iron statue of Vanth—
    Joe moved in closer to see, too, and she was so aware he was there and near that she stopped thinking about Vanth.
    â€œWouldn’t it be better if you did this in daylight?” Joe said.
    Mab swallowed. “I have the light on my hat. I can do it now. Thank you for helping. Good-bye.”
    â€œOr you could have dinner,” Joe said. “With me.”
    She lost her breath again. It was ridiculous. She hadn’t been this lame in junior high.
    Of course, no boys had talked to her in junior high. And there hadn’t been any boys like this in