The Mechanics of Mistletoe - Liz Isaacson Page 0,69

the shop until at least six. Then there was dinner and homework and checking on her parents. Lincoln had to have a bath, and dishes had to be done. Laundry washed and dried. Notes signed. Tests studied for. Yard work completed.

Sammy was busier than ever, and while she didn’t want to trade in her life for a slower one for very long, she knew she’d need to take a day off very soon to find some balance and peace.

She grabbed onto the bottom of the truck and pulled, sliding out from beneath it. Grunting, she got up and brushed her hands off. “It’s not good news,” she said. “I think this truck needs to be scrapped for parts. I could try to put on another belt, but you burn through them in less than a month now. It’s just a bad design, and the heat is too close to the belt.”

Ranger nodded, his mouth set in a line and his eyes looking at something just beyond her. “Can I get that in an official diagnosis?”

“That is my official diagnosis,” Sammy said with a smile. “You can’t repair this, Range. It can’t be reused. Now, there are some parts you could recycle. I’d do that.” She nodded to the other truck that was the same make and model. “Keep this truck and use the parts on that one.”

“That’s a good idea,” Bishop said, looking at Ranger. “Then we just need one new truck.”

“Right,” Ranger said. “Okay. I’ll talk to Bear.” He shook Sammy’s hand, and she saw him start to visibly relax. He held things so tightly, and only when he released them did he feel like a normal human. “Sorry Bear isn’t here.”

“It’s fine,” Sammy said. “Could I refill my water bottle in the house, though?”

“Of course,” Bishop said, falling into step beside her. “And I’m sure we have something left over from this week I could heat up for lunch. Does that sound good?”

“Sure,” Sammy said. She liked Bear’s brothers and cousins. They’d all treated her kindly over the months, and she’d never been made to feel like she didn’t belong at family functions or on the bench with Bear at church.

The walk to the homestead only took a few minutes, and Sammy ducked into the bathroom to clean up. When she entered the kitchen, she found Bishop stirring something on the stove that was sizzling and popping.

“What did he find?” she asked Ranger, who’d slouched on the couch. She sat on one near him, glad to be off her feet for a minute.

“Rice,” he said. “He’s making ham-fried rice and eggs for lunch.”

“Sounds amazing,” Sammy said, her mouth watering with the thought—and the smell of the salty ham now filling the air.

Bishop worked like a pro in the kitchen, and Sammy liked watching him. He’d just turned from the stove with the pan of rice and said, “It’s ready. Let’s eat,” when her phone rang.

“It’s my mom,” she said, standing. “I’ll be right there. You don’t need to wait for me.” She stepped away, knowing full well they’d wait for her. “Hey, Mom,” she said. “I only have a second. What’s up?”

A sob came through the line, and Sammy froze. Her pulse froze. Her breath froze right there in her lungs. Everything froze.

She got thrown back in time five years. Her mother had called to tell her about the accident, and the conversation had started the exact same way—with a sob.

Sammy struggled to breathe, finally breaking through the ice in her chest. “Momma?” she asked, a certain level of hysteria in her voice. “What’s wrong?” She was aware of Ranger coming closer, and then he stepped in front of her. He wore only concern on his face.

“It’s Daddy,” Mom finally said. “He fell, and I can’t get him up. He can’t get up. He keeps losing consciousness.”

“Mom,” Sammy said sharply. “Don’t move him, okay? Have you tried to move him?”

Her mother could only cry in response.

Bishop joined them, his phone out and up, a question in his eyes. Sammy nodded, seizing onto the idea. “I’m going to call nine-one-one, and I’ll send Gary Mitchell over. I’m up at Shiloh Ridge, but I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

Still, just crying. She watched Bishop tap on his phone three times, then a fourth to call emergency services.

“Mom,” Sammy barked. “Tell me you heard me.”

“I heard you,” she said. “He hit his head, Sammy. I’m so sorry. I’m usually right behind him, but he went in without me, and I was