When Last We Loved Read Online Free PDF Page B

muffler's hanging by a piece of solder. Your radiator is as hot as a sheriff's pistol after a bank robbery, and you haven't got a plug wire that's worth a plugged nickel.” He wiped his greasy hands on an equally greasy rag, and Cassie knew that she could kiss her nest egg good-bye.
    “How much will it cost to repair it?”
    “How far you planning on driving it?”
    “Nashville.” The minute the words left her mouth, Cassie regretted them. She might as well have said that she was headed for the moon.
    “Darlin', you couldn't get to Denton in this for less than two hundred and fifty.” The mechanic shook his head slowly, as if amazed that the car hadn't conked out sooner. “I'll be honest with you, young lady. If I was you, I'd get rid of this old clunker first chance I had. It ain't gonna do nothing but cost you your hard-earned money from now on.”
    Cassie turned away so the man wouldn't see the tears that glistened in her violet eyes. She'd slit her own throat when she'd torn up Hoyt's check. It would take nearly every cent she had to fix the car. Shimmering waves of heat radiated off the pavement and she felt like she was wilting away with her dreams.
    “May I think about it for a while?” She wondered how the man could stand the weight of those gabardine coveralls on such a hot day.
    “Take all the time you need,” he assured her breezily. “That car certainly ain't going nowhere.” He chuckled at his own wit and hurried out to service a car that had pulled in next to the gas pumps.
    Cassie crossed the sheet and strolled in the shade while she mentally debated her options. Maybe she could sell the car to the mechanic and take the bus to Nashville. The mere thought of lugging her guitar and all those heavy boxes on a bus overwhelmed her, though, and she discarded that idea. Besides, who wanted an old “clunker” that needed over two hundred dollars’ worth of work?
    A blast of cool air tickled Cassie's bare arm as two men pushed open a wooden door, and she looked sideways at a large red and black “Waitress Wanted” poster propped up in a picture window. She tilted her head back and saw winking neon lights advertising the Stardust Steakhouse. Suddenly she knew how she could pay her auto-repair bill and quite possibly fatten her pocketbook at the same time.
    “Well, if it's good enough for Ruthie... ” Cassie stepped through the door Into a dimly lit bar and restaurant. Stale cigarette smoke, the malty aroma of draft beer, and a honkytonk rhythm grinding from a corner jukebox told her the establishment was open for business.
    “If you're looking for your daddy, kid, he just left.” Whiskey and smoke had hoarsened the deep voice that taunted her. A middle-aged man wearing a long white apron and carrying a frosty mug of beer stepped out from behind the bar.
    “I'd like to speak to the manager, please.” Cassie looked into bloodshot eyes that bore a strong resemblance to the map she had tucked into her purse.
    “I'm the owner. Does that suit you?”
    “Of course. How do you do?” Cassie extended her hand.
    The man ignored her gesture, but she didn't let that stop her.
    After that scene with Hoyt yesterday, she could tame wild horses. “I'm Cassie Creighton and I'd like to apply for the job.”
    She nodded in the direction of the poster.
    “I don't hire minors.” He turned and walked back toward the bar.
    “Wait. please.” She wasn't about to let this opportunity slip through her hands. She almost tripped in her haste to catch up with the man. “I'm not a minor. I just look young.”
    “How old are you?” Bushy black eyebrows arched In amused speculation. The man tapped his foot, impatient to get back to the card game she'd interrupted.
    “I'll be twenty-one next month. Why? How old are you?”
    “I don't hire smart alecks, either.” He resumed his walk toward the bar.
    “Come on, Ingram, give the kid a break,” a customer chided, whirling around on his barstool.
    “Yeah,” another