Savior Ch. 15

I looped around and then stopped in front of the shed I kept my bike in. Having seen me get the bike out this morning, Hanna knew what to do, and stepped off.

I'd noticed she was feeling low as we showered and prepared to leave this morning. I didn't know why, but when it became obvious she wasn't going to perk up on her own, I'd decided to nudge her. I'd been surprised to find out she felt like a bad mother. She'd driven from Pineville, more than four hours to the east, with nothing more than hope and determination to find Garrett, and there was no doubt in my mind she'd take on all the Orcas alone and barehanded to get Garrett back. Not having a child, not even having someone I loved other than Patrick, I knew I couldn't understand what she must be going through, but I knew she was being ridiculous. She wasn't waiting on someone to find her son for her, she was doing it herself, and the last place I wanted to be was between her and Garrett.

We'd hit all three speed shops, Oregon Sport Bikes, Conner Moto Touring, and West Coast Harley Performance. When she was laying it all out for Bryan, she didn't have to work that hard to convince him, perhaps because he was the one who had been paid a visit. When she was talking with Bill, at Conner's, and Greg at WCHP, however, she became passionate, standing up and getting into their face about their apparent lack of concern. I just stood back with my arms crossed and watched as I let it happen. If she couldn't convince them of the dangers of getting into bed with the Orcas, nothing I could say would change their mind.

At no point were her problems mentioned, but the fire inside her was clearly on display, and it was all I could do to not smile as she verbally kicked their asses. When we'd left Connor's, she'd slumped, apparently exhausted, but when Greg was equally doubtful of her claims, the fire had returned with even greater intensity.

She'd seemed equally drained after we left WCHP, but there was no doubt in my mind she'd thoroughly convinced Bill and Greg to get on board with us to shut out the Orcas. It was lunch time, so we stopped for a burger. It took a little gentle teasing on my part before she began to claw her way out of her pit of gloom, but before we left to return to the yard, she'd admitted it had felt good fucking over the Orcas.

Grunting, I kicked the bike backwards into its home before securing the door. "Hang on a minute. Let me go see if Patrick needs help."

I hurried across the yard where Patrick was working, flagging the massive loader with a car in its jaws to a stop. I stepped onto the loader and opened the door.

"We're back. What do you need done?"

"Can you go pick up a car for me?"

"Sure. Where?"

"Don't remember. It's written down in the office. Doesn't matter at the moment. You can't pick it up until after five-thirty, when the guy gets home from work, anyway."

"Want me to do this?"

He glanced past me. I turned to look, smiling at Hanna standing where I left her, clearly unsure of what to do.

"Nah. Why don't you teach Hanna to drive her car. The damn thing is in the way."

I snickered. The car was parked in front of his house beside his truck. He was nudging me... and I didn't mind in the least.

"You're sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. Now hurry up. I'm burning diesel."

I snickered. "Has anyone told you that you're a crotchety old fart?"

"Not since last week."

Chuckling, I jumped off the loader and walked back to Hanna.

"Well?"

"I have to go pick up a car later, after the guy gets home from work. You want to go? We'll get dinner while we're out."

She thought about it a moment. "Sure, I guess. I thought I'd cook or something. Try to earn my keep. Is Patrick going, too?"

"No. Not enough room in the truck, and he doesn't like to eat out much. He says the rich food upsets his stomach."

"Why don't you eat with him?"

"I do, sometimes, but I don't want him thinking he has to cook for me."

"You could cook."

I smiled, seeing the teasing in her eyes. "I tried... once. We both agreed it would be best if in the future I just left the cooking to him."

"Maybe I could teach you."

"Maybe, but not tonight. I still have to get the car."

"So, what are we going to do in the meantime?" she asked slowly. It was amazing to watch, seeing the hardness drain out of her. She was beautiful in any case, but when the worry in her face disappeared, she was even more so.

I smiled, pulled her in close, and brought my lips close to hers. "I have a suggestion," I breathed.

"What?" she purred in return.

"Patrick told me to teach you to drive your car," I whispered like a lover. "He said it was in the way."

She pushed me back, blinked several times, glanced to her car sitting beside his truck, and then pushed me back even harder. "You ass!" she snickered. "I thought you were going to say something else. That's mean, getting me all worked up for no reason."

I kissed her quickly. "That's for later, when we have more time." I leaned in close again. "Tonight I won't be so tired... and I can treat you right." I smiled as she flushed.

"Oh God. If you treat me any more right, I may not be able to stand it."

I kissed her again, a little more slowly, a little more erotically. "We'll find out later."

She held my gaze for a moment, her color high. "Can you just move my car?" she asked, her voice almost begging.

I tried, but I couldn't stop the snicker. I jerked my head toward the house. "Come on. Let's do this."

"Oh, God, yes please," she murmured.

"Not that. Teaching you to drive a stick."

"Oh..." she murmured, then smiled.

I'd left the keys in her car overnight, and we settled into the car and closed the doors. "Okay, do you know what the three pedals are?" I asked as she adjusted the seat.

"Gas, brake, and clutch," she said as she touched each with her foot.

"That's right. You work the gas and brake with the right foot, the clutch with the left. You press the clutch in to stop the car and to change gears. Got it?" When she nodded I continued. "Press the clutch all the way to the floor. Good. The shift pattern is different than what you're used to. Here's first," I said as I covered her hand on the shift lever. "Second," I continued as I pulled the lever back. "Third, and fourth," I said, moving the lever though the pattern. "Reverse is a little different. You push down, like you're trying to push it through the floor, then over and back. Now you do it. Start in first and remember to let the clutch out each time."

I watched as she rowed through the gears. She had a little trouble with reverse, trying to go forward instead of back because that was what she was used to, but then remembered. "Okay, you're done. Have fun," I grinned as I made to get out of the car.

"Wait!" she cried.

I chuckled. "Okay, ready to try it with the car running?" She nodded. "Clutch in. Good, now start the car. Keep the clutch in until I tell you."

I saw her start to pump the throttle, but then she remembered and just turned the key. The Bug whirled over then growled to life. "That's way easier than it used to be!"

"Yeah. There have been a few improvements. Okay, reverse. Now, breathe on the gas as you slowly let the clutch out." She promptly stalled the car. "That's okay. Everyone does that. Try again with a little more gas and let the clutch out a little slower. Easy!" I warned as she revved the car too much.

She did as I instructed, and with a lurch the car started backwards. She backed out into the path then stopped, stalling the car again.

"Clutch, then brake. Try again, in first this time."

She stalled the car three times before she got it moving, but I kept encouraging her, until, on the fourth start we were off with a lurch. We puttered around the yard, Hanna shifting into second, then stopping to start all over again.

"Wow. The brakes are so much better... and it goes better too."

I smiled, enjoying watching her focus on something other than Garrett. "Like I said, a few improvements."

At the end of my ninety-minute lesson she wasn't stalling the car anymore. She initially had some trouble as the autostick she was used to was just enough like a manual that, after she stopped having to concentrate so hard, she sometimes fell into habits and muscle memory. After another ninety minutes of repetition, she'd gotten used to the new shift pattern and could find each gear without having to look at the lever, she'd also smoothed out her shifts considerably, and even more importantly, she was remembering the clutch every time so there was no more griding of gears. She still wasn't as confident or smooth as I knew she'd get, but she had the fundamentals and just needed more practice. We puttered along in third gear, and as we went around a corner, the little car struggled at the slow speed, so she downshifted to second, and though she slipped the clutch a little too much, there was no hesitation.

"We need to go. Why don't you go park it by Patrick's truck?"

"I thought you said he said it was in the way?"

I glanced at her, but she was smiling. She was on to him, just as I was. "Then he can move it."

"Damn, that's a nice car," I muttered as we pulled to a stop at the curb. In the drive was a silver Pontiac Grand Prix with a For Sale sign in the window. I left the truck idling as we walked to the front door. I rang the bell, and a moment later, the door opened. "Mr. Tyson? I'm with O'Neill Recycling. I'm here for the car."

"That's it in the drive."

"Yes, sir. You said it won't run?"

"No. The engine is seized, and they wanted too much to rebuild it. I've been trying to sell it, but the wife wants it out of the drive," Tyson said as the three of us walked to the car.

"Patrick said you'd take two-fifty for it?"

Tyson frowned. "I think the car is worth more than that."

I nodded in sympathy. The car was worth more than two-fifty, and I didn't want to lose this deal. "That's our standard price for a non-running car," I said before pausing as if thinking. "I tell you what. It's a nice car. Don't tell Patrick, but I'll give you three hundred for it and I'll have it out of your driveway in ten minutes. Maybe we can sell the doors off it or something."

The man thought a moment then extended his hand. "Deal. It's worth that to not have to listen to the wife bitch about it anymore."

I chuckled as I pulled a wad of cash from my pocket and peeled off three bills. "There you go."

"Do you need the title? I have it in the house."

"If you have it, I'll take it. I need you to sign a bill of sale, though. Do you have the key, so I can load it?" The man handed me the key. "Hanna, would you mind taking the clipboard out of the truck and have Mr. Tyson sign the bill of sale and get the title while I load?" As Mr. Tyson turned for his house, I took Hanna's arm. "See if you can get him to sign the title. Just ask. Don't press him, okay?" I murmured.

"Sure."

As Hanna charmed Tyson, I backed the truck into the drive. I was blocking most of the road, so I hustled. I already had the car on the rollback and was raising the bed when she appeared. I jerked a thumb at the cab as I finished raising the bed, and then climbed into the cab. I pulled into the street and stopped at the curb. I hadn't blocked anyone as I loaded, but booming the car down would take longer.

"Wait here. I won't be a minute," I said as jumped out of the truck. I secured the car and then climbed back into cab. "Did he sign the title?"

"Yes, why?"

I smiled. "You hungry?" I asked as I pulled away from the curb.

"Starving."

"What are you in the mood for? This calls for a celebration."

"What does?"

"That car. We paid three hundred dollars for a car we can part out and get fifteen hundred, maybe two thousand for. Better, if we the car isn't totally hosed, we might be able to rebuild the engine and, because he signed the title, sell it and pocket three, maybe even thirty-five hundred in profit. Either way, this is a score!"

"The parts are worth that much even if it doesn't run?"

"Absolutely! We can take all the bits off the engine, the alternator, starter, air conditioning compressor, stuff like that, and sell those. As clean as the car is, the body panels will bring top dollar. We can sell the doors for a couple hundred a piece, the fenders and bumpers for maybe a hundred each, another couple hundred for the hood and trunk. The wheels are perfect and they'll easily bring a hundred each. Plus, there's all the interior stuff. Hell, even the tires are new enough to sell. I take it back, more like two thousand to twenty-five hundred for the parts."

"Seven to ten times your investment? That's not bad."

He grinned. "No, it's not. Not every car will bring that much. A totaled car is worth about three to four hundred in scrap metal, so that's why we pay the two-fifty, but we can usually salvage something and sell it to the body shops to increase our profit, but it's not often we get a car as nice as this one."

She nodded and smiled. "In that case, no fast food. How about that first place we went?"

"Sotherland's?"

"Yeah, that's the place. I want a piece of their meatloaf."

I grinned. "Sotherland's it is."

I parked the rollback in the far corner of the lot, taking five spots, but there was little choice. Inside, we ordered, then talked and laughed, filling each other in on our backgrounds. Conversation flowed easily as we ate. I told stories about growing up with Patrick, leaving my parents completely out of the stories, and I appreciated the fact she didn't pry. She countered with a few stories about growing up in a solid, middle class, blue-collar family, and how her parents nearly disowned her when she announced she was marrying Carl.

I smiled as we picked over the remains of our dinner. I'd enjoyed this dinner more than most, and it was because of my companion for the evening. There was something about her that tickled my fancy beyond her beauty and sensuality. I recognized that I identified with her and her son, and I certainly admired that she was getting out of a bad marriage to give Garrett, not to mention herself, something better, but it was more than only that.

It was her strength. She'd dealt with so much, but in spite of it, she wasn't bitter or jaded. She didn't act like the world owed her something, and I liked that she took responsibility for her bad decisions and mistakes. I admired her spirit, determination, and willingness to fight for what she wanted.

She'd fought for her marriage, but Carl was too fucking stupid to realize what he had. Realizing he'd never change and be the husband she deserved, she'd battled her way out of the marriage, dealing with more dirty tricks and abuse than anyone should have to. And now she was here, having tracked Garrett to Bayport and then finding allies to help her get him back. Here was a woman who knew what she wanted and didn't wait around for someone to give it to her, and I liked that about her.

Our meal over, I paid and escorted her to the exit. "Well... shit."

"Does it always rain here?"

"No. Last year we went three entire days without rain. Set a record."

She looked at me, clearly trying to decide if I was yanking her chain, before she made up her mind and smirked. "Yeah... a regular drought."

I glanced at the sky, but it was clear the rain was going to stick around for a while, and it probably wasn't going to let up. "Want me to go get the truck?"

"Let's go," she growled before dashing into the rain.

We sprinted across the parking lot, Hanna shrieking. The truck didn't have remote locks, so we had to stand in the rain as I unlocked her door. As she clambered into the cab, I hurried around to the other side. I heard the thunk of her unlocking the door for me, so I yanked it open and climbed inside.

"Ah, refreshing!" I crowed as I squeegeed the water out of my hair and off my face.

She glared at me, though her slight smile gave her away, as she wiped the water off herself and flicked her wet fingers at me. At least the rain was warm this time.

"I'm wet."

"Well..." I began slowly, "the truck is a little cramped, but once the windows fog up, we should be okay." I leered at her and waggled my eyebrows.

She giggled. "Not that kind of wet."

"Oh," I murmured as if I'd just found out my dog had died.

She smiled at me as I started the truck. "That'll be later, when we're back at the yard."

As we left Sotherland's I remembered her laundry would be ready today. I didn't say anything, but hoped she'd spend the night. She didn't have any clothes at my place, and it was easier, and closer, to pick up her laundry than it was to go to her motel. I pulled the International into the parking lot at WtF. The lot for the small strip mall wasn't made for a rig this big, and like at Sotherland's, I had to park well always from where I needed to be.

"Wait in the truck."

She held my gaze for a moment. "Okay. Just put it on my tab," she said softly.

I winked at her. "You got it."

I trotted across the parking lot. The shirt laundry was closed, but the self-wash part of WtF was always open, and the attendant that did the washing and folding in the evening could retrieve laundry. I picked up her clothes, paid, and then hurried back to the truck, the rain pattering on the plastic protecting the clothes. I heaved myself into the truck and hung her clothes on the hook above the rear glass placed there just for that purpose.

"Thank you."

I smiled. Since she wasn't apologizing and thanking me with almost every sentence, I took her gratitude as she intended it. "You're welcome."

From WtF, it was only a short drive to the yard. "Are you going to unload tonight?" she asked as the truck growled to a stop in the yard.

"No. Not in the rain. It'll wait until tomorrow."

"What if it's raining then?"

"Then I'll unload, but I know it's raining now, and it might not be raining in the morning."

"Good point," she said as she grabbed her laundry, climbed out the truck, and ran for my trailer, using the plastic bag like a shield from the rain.