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"Wiz said cute." Erin made air quotes. "She's already finished the garage and is moving to the house now."
"She's so fast." Her talents had been wasted in the service because she didn’t have a degree. She didn’t need one—she was brilliant.
"Yeah. She's amazing." Erin nodded. "I'll wait for the oil and air filters to come in, then work on the van. Wiz will probably finish before I can get the van done. What she wants isn't enough to pay for her expertise. Not even close."
"That's what she wants." Ryan shrugged. He wouldn't second guess her. "But even after she's installed the hardware, she'll have programming. That might take even Wiz a while."
They worked together until the big morning rush was over, then Erin went to the garage. Ryan bussed tables, filled more orders, and re-arranged the bakery items to cover the gaps. They'd probably sell out. Fridays were always busy; commuters needed the extra caffeine and sugar to get through the last day of the week. In the coffee shop, everything was clean, nobody was waiting, and the regulars had moved to drip coffee. He put the 'ring for service' sign on the counter, locked the register, and entered the auto shop. Erin might need help. Or that was his excuse, and he was sticking to it.
Under Wiz's van, a pair of long, coverall-clad legs stuck out. He ducked. "Need any help, Erin?"
Her sparkling emerald eyes met his for a second, then she returned to the undercarriage. "Can you call Kelly's, and ask where my filters are? I ordered them last night online."
Ryan snorted. "They probably forgot to check internet orders. William is off in Missoula for some stupid meeting. I'll call." He returned to the coffee shop and grabbed the phone.
"Kelly's, lowest price always, may I help you?"
"Craig, it's Ryan. Did anyone pull internet orders this morning? Erin ordered some filters last night."
He sighed. "Probably not. I'll get it done and out to you ASAP, man. Sorry about that."
"Happens. Okay, it happens when William is gone."
"Yeah. Can't run the checklist if you can't read." Craig scoffed. "I'll have 'em out shortly, I hope."
"Thanks." He and Craig had far too many conversations about slacker civilians. They couldn't seem to get organized or be efficient. Or actually care.
Ryan pulled a few more espressos for the late commute crowd, bussed tables, and refilled the thermal pots. Unable to stall further, he took a deep breath and checked with the lady brigade. Safely behind the counter again, he tried to cool his burning cheeks by thinking about Alaskan flightlines in the winter. If it was up to those women, he'd be wearing nothing but a swimsuit. Or nothing, period. He shuddered. He'd never been a fan of strip clubs, but after working here, he'd never enter one again. Ryan leaned into the garage; Erin was lowering Wiz's van. "Craig brought you the filters?"
Erin pulled the lift supports away. "Yeah. Said the assistant manager had forgotten to pull the orders, like you thought. Civilians." She sniffed.
"Yeah. That's what he said." They both cracked up.
Erin moved to the far side of the van. "The raw stock for the build is in the back of the van. If you're not doing anything else, can you get it out for me?"
"Sure. I checked everything, and the regulars are all settled in; I’ll listen for the bell." He opened the back doors of the van and pulled out lengths of two-inch angle iron, one-inch straight stock, large sheets of lightweight aluminum, and a box with nuts, bolts, and some hinges. Ryan stacked it all on the floor, separated by type, then returned to the coffee shop. He'd have liked to help more, but he had a job to do, and it wasn't welding. He wasn't much of a welder, anyway; his specialty was jet engines.
He wiped tables. Maybe he could get Erin to teach him more about welding, and he could become a specialty welder. Hmm. Or maybe not 'cause that would land him in the oil fields, and he really didn't have any desire to live there, no matter how good the money was. With his part-time jobs, and the compensation from the Veteran's Administration for his arm, he did well enough for now, although he certainly wasn't living the high life. No expensive trips to Vegas, but he could probably swing a decent trip to Reno occasionally. He snickered. He'd been to Vegas enough. Too many crazy bachelor parties before and divorce bashes after deployments. He frowned. Welding sparks would probably do a number on his plastic prosthetics, too.
The door chimed, announcing a woman, but not just any woman. Long, straight mahogany hair swished across her chest, big, dark brown eyes and full ruby lips made promises, while a low-cut silky tank top and a short, tight skirt highlighted every asset perfectly. She strutted on sky-high heels like a model on a runway. Maybe she was a model—a lingerie model. What's she doing in Marcus?
As she sashayed to the counter, she smiled; a slow, sultry smile, like she had a secret. She held out her hand. "Well, well, well." She ran her eyes up and down, undressing him more openly than the little old lady brigade. "You must be Ryan. Erin's been holding out on me. She said she had a new employee, but she didn't say he looked like you." Her voice was low and slightly rough; a bedroom voice.
Ryan automatically held out his hand but couldn't quite get his brain in gear enough to say anything.
She squeezed his hand, then ran her fingers over his palm when he let go. "I'm Samantha Kerr, Sam to my friends, which you certainly are. I'm Erin's lawyer."
"Hi. Ryan Walsh. Nice to meet you." His voice came out strangled. He cleared his throat.
"Nice to meet you too." Sam chuckled. "But, as nice as you are, I need to talk to Erin. Is she here?"
"Yeah, she's in the garage. If you come through the gap there, I'll take you back." He pointed.
"Thanks." Her heels clicked on the concrete.
Ryan opened the garage door for Sam and followed her in. Erin was trying to clamp some angle iron together. From her scowl, it wasn't going well. "Erin, your lawyer is here to see you." He should probably try to make the title sound more believable.
Erin looked up and smiled. "Sam! What are you doing here?"
