Free In Too Deep by Norah McClintock Page B

ditches.
    â€œSo far, so good,” I said. Morgan would have melted if she’d been there with me. He had his shirt off and was displaying his awesome six-pack. Even I couldn’t help but admire the shape he was in.
    â€œGive Bruno your keys,” Mr. Wilson said. “He’ll take care of your car. We’ll go to the house to wait. The kitchen crew is working on dinner. I’m sure we can get someone to rustle us up some lemonade.”
    As we walked up to the house he pointed out the compound’s garages, its classroom building, its bunkhouse. “The place started out as a car graveyard. I salvaged and fixed whatever I could. Still do. I trained as a mechanic in the armed forces. Then I spent some time teaching at a technical high school. That’s what got me interested in what I’m doing now. I’d get these kids in my class—tough guys who were only there because they weren’t old enough to drop out yet. They figured my class would be an easy credit. Well, they were wrong about that. I made them work—really work. Some of them couldn’t hack it. They’d skip, just like they skipped the rest of their classes.
    â€œThe ones who stuck with it, though, started to change. They’d fix something and it would work, and it was like they couldn’t believe it. Then they’d want to learn more. The kids had finally found something they could do, and that made them feel good.
    â€œOne thing led to another, and I left teaching and moved up here. But I’d read about some of the stuff that was happening down in the city, some of the trouble kids were getting themselves into. I started to wonder what would happen if I got some of those kids out into the country, laid down some rules, and taught them a trade. Maybe they’d end up with decent jobs instead of prison sentences.”
    We climbed the porch steps, and he held the door open for me. This time when I entered the house, it was full of life. Music was coming from speakers in the living room. Mr. Wilson immediately turned it down a few notches. A guy poked his head in, looking like he was ready to yell at whoever had messed with the volume. But when he saw it was Wilson, he quickly disappeared again. Mr. Wilson winked at me.
    â€œCome on,” he said.
    He led me through to the spacious kitchen. Three guys in chef’s aprons were preparing the evening meal. One was chopping vegetables for a salad. One was adding seasoning to a huge pot of something on the stove. The third, Lucas, who had been banned from the record store, was setting the kitchen’s long table.
    â€œSmells good, guys,” Mr. Wilson said. “This is Robyn. We’re giving her a tune-up. Lucas, how about getting us a couple of glasses of lemonade?” He turned to me. “We’ll sit out on the back porch. It’s nice and cool out there this time of day.”
    I followed him outside. That’s when I finally spotted Nick. He and Derek, one of the guys who had rescued me from the ditch, had their shirts off and were chopping wood beside a lean-to that was half-full of firewood.
    â€œI keep the boys busy,” Wilson said. “But none of it is busywork. Come winter, that wood will help to keep the house warm. I’ve got fifty acres. In season, we even do a little hunting, get a deer or two. They make good meat.”
    Lucas appeared with two frosty glasses of lemonade on a tray. Mr. Wilson waved me into a chair. We sipped lemonade while he asked me about my job and my plans for the future. I glanced at Nick every now and then, but he never looked back at me. He was right about Wilson, though. He was no-nonsense but really nice. It seemed like no time at all before Bruno appeared and announced he’d finished with my car.
    â€œSupper is almost ready,” Wilson said. “You’re welcome to stay, Robyn.”
    â€œThanks,” I said. “But I can’t. I already made