You Were Meant For Me (Wishful 10)

Ryan strained to hear the tune and finally recognized “It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas.” Certainly the rest of what he’d seen of Wishful fit the bill. As he’d come into the downtown area, he’d noted the holiday decorations mounted on all the light poles and the twinkle lights wrapped around the denuded trees lining Main Street. People bustled along the sidewalk, toting shopping bags and pretty, wrapped packages. It was about as far as he could get from the war zone he’d been walking in mere days ago, and the switch had him feeling more off balance than the jet lag.

Across the room, Elf Girl plugged in the lights and the tree lit up.

Well, I’ll be damned.

The glow of the white twinkle lights bounced off the silverware and gave the tree a warm, inviting glow. Who would’ve thought utensils would make good ornaments for a Christmas tree?

Elf Girl stepped back, crossing her arms and smiling in satisfaction. That smile did something to a man. Certainly it had done something to him. He’d had no intention of stopping in the diner. None at all. Then she’d flashed those dimples at him, and he’d been pulled inside as if she were a kerosene heater that could thaw his frozen hands and feet.

She’d thought he was homeless. He sure as hell looked it after traveling for three days straight to get from Bumfuck, Afghanistan to here. God knew when he’d last shaved. Exhaustion had carved lines around his eyes. He’d been awake way too damned long even before he boarded the MAC flight back to Fort Polk, where he’d picked up the rust bucket of a truck he’d borrowed from a friend still overseas. Smitty had sworn the thing was ugly but sound and would get him the six hours to Wishful. Ryan had believed him—until the ancient Chevy began to sputter and wheeze when he was nearly to his destination. The truck had crapped out eight miles from town.

Ryan had left in such a hurry, he had little with him other than his duffle. Not even a coat to face the frigid December weather. And since when was it this freaking cold in Mississippi in December? He’d found an ancient and smelly jacket shoved behind the seat. It had all kinds of questionable stains, but it was another layer against the chill, so he’d put it on and started walking to town. No doubt that hadn’t helped with the impression of homelessness either.

Too many people would’ve looked through him, pretending he wasn’t there, or gotten nervy, like the other waitress that’d been hiding in the kitchen since he walked in. But not the elf. Her instinct had been to bring bring him in out of the cold, warm him up, and feed him. She’d looked him straight in the eye and hadn’t even balked at the stench of the jacket. Wasn’t that interesting? Nice to know there were people like her out there in the world, even if he himself wasn’t in need of her kindness.

Well, he was thawed out now, and he was losing daylight. If he was gonna get by one of the garages to see about getting a tow, he needed to get moving. Waiting until Elf Girl slipped through the door to the kitchen, Ryan pulled out a wad of cash and left a ridiculous tip—more than enough to cover the soup and coffee—then headed out into the cold.

As it had sounded closer, he took a chance on Lou Perkins’s place, trudging north along the town green until he located Grantham Street. The garage wasn’t hard to find, and the tow truck he desperately needed was parked right out front. The bay doors were closed, but the single door to the office part of the building was unlocked, so Ryan ducked inside. The office was empty. Some kind of hard rock Christmas music blared from the garage. Following the music, he tugged open another door and stepped into the work space. A pair of legs was visible beneath an older model Ford Escort. The work boots tapped in time with the music as their owner sang along with more enthusiasm than skill.

“Hello?” Ryan called.

The feet stopped twitching and the creeper shot out from beneath the car. A skinny, balding man with a graying goatee peered up at him. “What can I do ya for?”

“Was hoping you could hook me up with a tow and some repairs. My truck broke down about eight miles from here.”

The older man’s dark eyes skimmed him from head to toe as he sat up. “You walk all the way here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Reckon you could use some coffee. Pot’s on in the office. I gotta finish up here in the next little bit, ’fore Betsy Maynard swings by to pick this puppy up.” He tapped the bumper of the Escort. “Then we’ll see what there is to see.”

Ryan thought about calling Percy. But that’d blow the element of surprise, and given the family’s reports of his behavior lately, Ryan wasn’t quite ready to give up that advantage. Resigned to waiting, he just nodded. It’d take less time to do this than to hunt up the other garage. And he was really damned tired. Retreating back to the office, he set down his bag and took one of the thinly padded chairs.

“Hey fella.”

Ryan tripped from sleep to wakefulness in an instant, his hand reaching for the combat knife he wasn’t actually wearing at the moment.

The mechanic stood a good three paces away, hands lifted in the universal sign for no threat. “Army?”

“Yes, sir.” Ryan forced his muscles to relax. Damn, he must’ve been more exhausted than he thought if he hadn’t heard the other man enter the room.

“Navy,” the mechanic said. “Thirty years ago, now. You have the look aboutcha. Ready to go pick up that truck?”

The two of them loaded into the tow truck and Ryan directed the mechanic—who was, in fact, Lou himself—to where he’d left the Chevy on the little two-lane highway. Quick and efficient, Lou had the truck hooked up and towed back to the garage in less than an hour. Then he went the extra mile and dropped Ryan off at Percy’s on his way home. Apparently Elf Girl wasn’t the only person in town willing to go out of their way to help a stranger.

Shouldering his bag, Ryan strode up the walk toward the house. The porch was dark, but a light shone from somewhere in the back. He pressed the bell, listening to the tones of it ring and fade before a faint voice hollered, “I’m coming. I’m coming!”

Ryan waited, wondering exactly what to say since he hadn’t called ahead. Before he could decide, a loud crash sounded from inside.

“Percy?” Ryan shouted. He banged on the door, tested the knob. Locked. He checked the immediate vicinity for a key. Finding none and given the reports his mom had passed along about the state of Percy’s health, he dropped his bag, took a step back, and kicked in the front door.

The lock gave way with a snap, the door flying back to hit the interior wall. Ryan charged through with all the speed and efficiency of his Delta Force training, clearing rooms until he found the old man on his knees, one hand braced on the arm of a sofa as he struggled to rise. A lamp lay on the floor, the cattywampus shade casting crazy shadows on the wall.

A quick flash of fear crossed the old man’s face before he firmed his expression. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?”

Ryan picked up the lamp and righted it before offering a hand. “Good to see you too, Uncle Percy.”

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