~ Full Moon Lullaby ~

by

Cheryl Norman

Damn!

Rob Carpenter stabbed numbers into his cell phone, muttering curses to the el cheapo rental car agency. A lot of help they were. Stuck out here on a rural stretch of busy highway, he’d called the toll-free number for help. They’d referred him to their closest authorized mechanic, Pete and Tony’s, here in Godforsaken Petticoat Junction.

"You have reached..." The recording droned on, finally ending with a beep.

"Yeah, I’m on A1A heading east into Fernandina Beach in a tan Toyota Camry in urgent need of mechanical assistance." He left his authorization code and cell phone number, doubtful anyone would call back the long distance number. Should he turn off the Camry’s motor? The engine purred normally. The damn car just wouldn’t go. Well, why forfeit air conditioning? It wasn’t his car and it wasn’t his fault he was stuck here.

For hours, most likely.

Good thing Dad wasn’t with him. He’d lecture Rob about renting only from one of the large nationwide rental car companies. A Toyota? Rent an American-made car, son! Dad hadn’t kept up or he’d know there was hardly a vehicle on the road anymore manufactured and assembled in only one country. This Camry, for example, although made mostly of imported parts, was assembled in Kentucky, for pity’s sake.

Since last year, his father had kept up with very little, especially about the real estate business, even though real estate had made him millions and enabled him to retire at fifty-four years old. Now it was Rob’s to run, and soon would be totally his, if he measured up. Ha. Since when had he ever measured up? But if he could pull off this deal, he’d have plenty of money to show for the past year. Rob was willing to take risks, big risks, to make the big bucks, something his conservative father would never do. And Rob’s gamble had nearly paid off, would’ve paid off, if not for that stubborn county commissioner, Mendoza. Now Rob had flown into buggy, muggy Florida to salvage the mess... and, with any luck, make up the money he’d lost.

Fifteen minutes later a mostly green tow truck slowed, then whipped off the road in front of the Camry. Rob checked his watch and groaned. Nearly 5:00, the courthouse would be closed now. He’d have to wait to do his research tomorrow. The door pushed open from the flatbed wrecker and two bare, shapely legs poked out. His gaze slid up the legs to the cut-off edges of denim shorts, followed by a greasy T-shirt clinging to pointy breasts and exposing a long, creamy neck. In spite of the air conditioner, sweat broke out over Rob’s upper lip and forehead.

The diminutive driver dropped to the ground, her dark brown pony tail swinging from the back of a baseball cap. She slammed the door, then brushed off her hands, heading toward the Camry. Her face hidden by the cap’s bill and dark glasses, her only visible feature was a rosy heart-shaped mouth. Rob doubted she was either Pete or Tony, or that she knew a spark plug from a dipstick. Resigning himself to being towed, he switched off the ignition and climbed out of the car, into the blistering afternoon heat, all the while unable to pull his gaze from that adorable mouth.

She halted at the Camry’s front fender. "You the guy who left the message?"

"Yes, Robert Carpenter." He jerked a thumb toward the rental car. "It runs, but it won’t move."

"Pop the hood and let me take a look."

"Why? Aren’t you going to tow me somewhere?" Anywhere you want, doll!

"If I can’t fix it here."

"You?"

She straightened to her full height--all of five feet--and peered up into his face. A cute little thing, she crossed her arms over the front of her shirt, drawing his gaze to her chest. From this angle, he could read the embroidered name on the T-shirt: TONI. "Yeah, me."

"You’re Toni, of Pete and Toni?"

"Right."

"And Pete’s your husband?" Please, God, let her be single. Rob wasn’t looking to settle down, but married women were definitely off-limits.

"Pete’s my big brother."

Relief swept through him, chased by a strong dose of lust. "I see."

"You wanna open the hood, or stand out here and get a heatstroke?" Her dimpled smile softened her words. Slipping off her sunshades, she wiped perspiration from her forehead.

Dragging his stare away from her breasts, he discovered an appealing face. Eyes the color of bourbon, a shade lighter than her hair, returned his gaze. A smudge of grease marred her olive skin, tempting him to wipe it off with the pad of his thumb. What the hell was happening to him here? It wasn’t as if he’d been celibate.

"Uh, the hood. Right." Emerging from his stupor, he reached inside and pulled the release.

Toni disappeared beneath the hood. "Uh oh."

"I don’t like ‘uh oh.’ What is it?"

She reappeared, ordering him to start the motor. "I need to check the transmission fluid." A few minutes later, she slammed down the hood, shaking her head. "That’s what I figured."

"What?"

"I will need to tow you. It’s too hot for me to roll under it and see, but I think you’ve ruptured a line to the transmission."

He pushed aside a vision of her rolling under him. "How far? I need to get back to my motel."

"Which motel?"

"A little place called Gobel’s Motor Court. It’s a block off A1A, near the beach."

She nodded. "I know it. Kind of out-of-the-way, old-timey motel."

He’d chosen it for being out-of-the-way and nondescript. "Right."

She shoved on her sunshades. "Let me just load up the car and I’ll give you a ride."

"I’d appreciate that." He’d like to give her a ride. He couldn’t stop the wayward thoughts from popping into his mind.

While she worked the hydraulics, Rob admired her efficient, economical movements. She certainly wasn’t like any of his women friends back home. No, sirree. Maybe she’d need to keep the car overnight. He’d have more time to get acquainted, to work up to asking her out. The clouds lifted from his mood. Suddenly he’d found a bright spot in this dreaded trip to Florida. He didn’t understand his strong, immediate interest in Toni the mechanic, but he’d make the most of it.

No doubt about it. He’d fallen in lust at first sight.