Page 11 of Jackrabbit

Chapter 7

Colton came back from the diner at three. Beau’s hands were buried in an engine bay when the sound of paper bags rustling hit the shop and every one of his guys started shouting about food. A rabid bunch of animals when it came to food. Every mechanic he’d ever known got so caught up in their work that they forgot they needed to eat. Himself included. His stomach growled as he pulled his hands out of the engine and set the part he’d detached on the stool he had next to him.

“Aw, Joyce sent cookies,” James sighed, his voice already muffled by a mouth full of food. “I love her. Think she’d marry me?”

“She’s a lesbian,” Liam pointed out.

Beau pulled his rag out of his back pocket and wiped between his fingers.

“Oh, so she’s perfect for James.” Xavier laughed and shoved James’ head to the side. “He’s more of a girl than a man, anyway.”

“Why you say that like it’s an insult, huh?” Camila asked, hand on her hip. “Something wrong with being a girl?”

“Camila, wait, I didn’t mean—ow!”

Camila punched him in his arm with the side of her fist, and Xavier yelped.

“Yeah, this girl’ll whoop your ass.” She raised her fist again, every one of the guys flinching. Lord. Even his best was still an HR nightmare. “Mira. Mira.Look at my fist. Be nice or it’s the last thing you’ll see today.”

“Special delivery.” Colton sidled up next to Beau and held out a foam cup with steam curling out the top. There were dark circles under his eyes, but hewas smiling anyway like he always seemed to. “Joyce said you like sweet things sometimes, but were too proud to admit it. So I bought you a peppermint mocha. She said, and I quote, ‘You’d better say that you like it even if you’re lying.’”

Beau glanced down at the drink, then back to the boy holding it before he reached out and took the cup. “How’d you pay for it?”

Colton shrugged and ran a hand through his already-messy hair. “Sneaky old lady dropped forty bucks in my pocket earlier. Thought I’d pay it forward.”

The drink was painfully sweet, the warmth sliding down his throat and into his dead-empty stomach. He hummed. “Get back to phones.”

Nodding, Colton wandered back toward the lobby. His eyes slid toward the group of employees eating and laughing together, though he didn’t say anything to them. Not even when Xavier waved, his mouth bursting with a bite of sandwich.

Hours later, Beau stood in his office doorway and watched Colton stacking paperclips into an impressively large tower. “Go home, boy. Shop’s closing.”

Colton jerked, and his tower toppled, paperclips scattering across the desk. “I could clean the tools. Or, like, wash the shop rags, or—”

“Go home before you keel over, Colton.” Beau stepped into the lobby and unzipped his coveralls.

“Alright,” Colton agreed, his jaw cracking on a yawn. He undid his own coveralls and took them off before slinging them over his shoulder and turning toward the shop to hang them up. Beau stepped aside as he passed, but Colton stopped in front of him. “Hey, uh—my name’s Colt. Or, you know.” He scratched the back of his neck and shrugged. “Call me whatever you want. But people usually call me Colt.”

The jumpy, wild creature in front of him went byColt. Of course he did. Beau stepped back. “Night, Colton.”

Smile flickering, Colton nodded. “Night, Mr. Moore.”

Everyone but Camila had filtered out already, and when Colton hung up his coveralls next to hers she linked her arm through his and tugged him through the garage. She was talking at him, and he was rubbing the back of his neck. Beau turned away and eyed the hallway leading to his back garage. He’d been too tired to finish cleaning up the mess he’d made last night, and now that it was the end of another long as hell day, he was regretting that choice. Sutton would have murdered him for leaving the parts in a mess, and dug him up to murder him again if he’d known some were left on the floor.

Sighing, he zipped his suit back up and flicked off the lobby lights. He shut down the shop and locked everything up and then went to the back garage.

He’d have a few hours of work, maybe, and if nothing was broken he could set the matter down in his own mind. The carburetor could stay apart, but he had to know if anything was damaged at least. Had to have all the pieces cleaned and neatly ordered for when he went to put it back together again. Then he could rest.

Sunset rolled across the garage floor from the open bay door, and he turned on the overhead lights.

But when he started searching for the bits he’d walked past and left on the floor last night, he didn’t find anything. No shining parts on the concrete, nothing out of place. Twelve years he’d owned this garage, and twelve years he’d left the back bay doors open while he worked in the shop. Not once had anyone ever stolen so much as a wrench. Who the hell would do that?

Colton.

No. The kid was a cocky little shit with an attitude a mile wide, but he wasn’t a thief.

His rolling bench was out of place, too. He’d left it where it had rolled up against the back wall after he’d kicked it. Now it was back next to the open hood of the Camaro. And on top, under a clean shop towel, was every single part he’d left out. They were laid neatly on the towel in almost perfect order, every piece next to the one it needed to go into except for a couple of pins.

He plucked up a piece and turned it, and it shone under the garage lights. Clean.