Free Finally Home by Lois Greiman Page A

Dickenson.”
    â€œMaxwell Barrenger,” said the other man and grinned as they shook. “I like your apron.”
    Colt grinned back and turned toward the woman who was just lifting her gaze from the apron’s frilly hem.
    â€œI’m Sonata.” She thrust out a perfectly manicured hand and held his just a second longer than necessary. “Sonata Jameson Detric. It’s very nice to meet you.”
    â€œWell,” Emily said, sensing trouble brewing. “Let’s eat.”

CHAPTER 5
    â€œI don’t know what’s wrong with it,” Colt said, and cupping his hands in front of his face, breathed some heat onto them. It was colder than a witch’s rear end standing beside the ancient pickup.
    Emily scowled at the engine. Between it and the open hood, she could see Max approach from the bunkhouse. En route, he popped the collar up on his lambskin jacket and shoved his hands into the pockets. His blue jeans were creatively distressed, his cowboy boots shiny. “What’s going on?”
    Colt shook his head. “Can’t seem to get Em’s truck started this morning.”
    â€œThat’s a truck?” Max asked, staring askance at the vehicle.
    â€œIt was a crazy cool truck,” Emily said and sadly put one mittened hand on the curved fender.
    â€œOh yeah?” Max said, tilting his head the other way, as if another angle might help him see things differently. “What century?”
    Colt chuckled. “In the late forties, this little baby would have been top of the line.”
    â€œYeah,” Emily agreed, though she didn’t have any idea what she was talking about. She just knew she loved the lines of it, and the substance. And of course, the price. The octogenarian who’d placed the ad in the Hope Springs Gazette had asked for three hundred dollars, but she had talked him down to two-fifty, five dozen eggs, and a quart of bread-and-butter pickles. The thought of owning her own ride for the first time in her life had conjured up images of independence and world domination. But in retrospect, perhaps she should have been a little suspicious when he had insisted that she take “the whole thing.” Maybe that was a clue that some parts weren’t necessarily attached with the kind of cohesiveness that one generally expects in automobiles. In fact, although the engine had started after some cajoling, she’d been forced to stop twice on her way to the Lazy to retrieve parts that had gone AWOL.
    â€œIt just needs a little tender, loving care,” she said.
    â€œAnd maybe a paint job,” Max added, at which point Emily had to admit that the amalgamation of colors was more a lack of paint than an actual hue.
    â€œA new carburetor,” Colt said.
    â€œAnd a seat,” Emily admitted wistfully.
    Max glanced into the truck’s interior. “Huh,” he said and not much else. There was a seat, but rodents, time, or some as-of-yet-undisclosed monster had eaten most of it away, leaving passengers and driver to perch as best they could upon the open springs.
    â€œBut the tires are good,” Emily said.
    Max raised his brows, obviously impressed. “You are an optimist.”
    â€œIt’s pretty much a necessity around here,” she said, still staring dismally at her proudest purchase.
    â€œMaybe it just needs a new alternator,” Max said and reached into the bowels of the beast to touch an unidentified doohickey.
    Emily glanced at him. “You know something about engines?”
    â€œNah,” he said, drawing back. “I was just trying that optimist thing.”
    Colt chuckled. “Sorry I don’t have more time to tinker with it right now, Em. I promised Dad I’d run an errand for him this morning.”
    â€œYou’ll have time to pick up our guest though, right?”
    â€œI’ll be there, but I guess you’ll have to use Puke to make your