Chapter 4

HOLLY

"NOOOOOO!" Holly wailed desperately, shaking her Keurig, only to hear a hiss, click, and see blinking lights on top. "No, no, no! You can't die on me, buster. You and me – we are a thing. We have a routine. Two strong cups of Café du Monde K-Cups, no sugar, a bit of heavy cream. I don't ask a lot but I am begging for one cup, if not two. You hear me?"

Hiss.

Click.

Blinkity-blink… and na-da.

"Okay, do not panic, Holly. You've got this," she muttered, feeling the burgeoning panic associated with a caffeine addict – and hesitated. Maybe this is what Davy went through? "No! Don't you even think of slumming or excusing his drug addiction. You deserve better. Just like I deserve a working Keurig machine!"

Holly swore angrily, ripping the plug out of the wall, shaking the unit angrily enough to slosh the water and cause even Dr. Freud to raise an eyebrow at the agitation she was displaying. Plugging it back in, she groaned in defeat. Not even the lights were coming on now.

"Plastic… garbage…" she grumbled, unplugging the Keurig again and grabbing her wallet. "You think you are going to ruin my day – well, think again. You might have the upper hand now, but I will have the last laugh. You are going dumpster diving, never to be seen again, and I am going to get some real coffee from a smiling face who understands the need for caffeine and doesn't ignore me or hiss at me. You think you are soooo smart? Well, you are getting replaced – you hear me?"

Kissing the lid that opened, revealing the bucket to insert the K-Cup, she muttered once more angrily.

"Last time you hiss at me and then just spittle a bit of water with coffee grounds – you hear me? I'm going to find myself a new buddy who appreciates coffee," and she flung the unit into the dumpster beside her car – before angrily giving the dumpster, containing the broken Keurig, her middle finger.

"You do not mess with a lady's coffee before ten in the morning."

If you acted like a lady…

A tiny voice uttered in her head, causing her to snarl as she slapped a stained baseball cap over her filthy ponytail. She hadn't even taken a shower yet. No, her routine was all messed up because of today's catastrophe.

Every morning, it was the same thing. Hit snooze three-to-five times, start the coffee, hop in the shower, consume said coffee while another was brewing, then don a T-shirt, coveralls, and head into the shop to work on whatever was left over until the first customer arrived.

Sliding into Butter's front seat, she hesitated. She was barely even dressed. She was still wearing her sports bra and panties that she slept in – and only slipped on her greasy coveralls from yesterday because that was the first thing she saw on her way down to deposit the Keurig in the dumpster.

She started up the car and flung it into gear – driving at a near frantic pace down the silent town's streets making a beeline for the Cozy Cup. Coffee, coffee, coffee, she thought wildly focused. She'd get coffee with extra espresso shots just to get it somewhat close to her normal sludge-like brew.

And heard a honk.

A second passed before something slammed into the driver-side front fender of her car. Holly sat there, clutching the steering wheel, and pretty sure she knew what it felt like to commit murder in the moment that Butter sputtered and died.

Her car died on her.

"Butter?" she whispered, turning the key. "Butter-baby… talk to Mama…"

"Are you freakin' insane?!" a voice yelped angrily from nearby. "You blew through that stop sign..."

Holly felt something ugly click in her brain as her head and neck gave an involuntary spasm like something in a zombie flick. The images, scenes, and thoughts flashing through her head, combined with the sound of her beloved car's painful gasp, was doing something to her psyche. Her baby Butter that she had rebuilt from scratch since she was fifteen, mixed with the death of her Keurig, a significant and growing lack of caffeine, and a slew of other things – well, that terrifying ugliness reared its head when the other ‘being' decided to be aggressive enough to open her door.

"Hey! You hear me? What gives…"

"YOU BETTER BACK THE LETTER ‘F' UP, MISTER…" Holly roared, vaulting out of her car like a demon possessed. "I don't cuss, but you are testing the last straw on this camel's back, now back up before I start spitting!"

"You need to check yourself, woman – and I use the term loosely," the man snarled, not backing down in the shadows as the sun was just starting to color the horizon a faint purplish-blue. "The speed limit is twenty-five, and you popped through a stop sign like it was a suggestion…"

"Like I suggest you check your next words wisely…"

"The police are on the way," the shadow said bluntly.

"Good – they need an ambulance… and a body bag!"

"The heck you say?"

"You heard me, Mr. Magoo. You are the one who blew through the stop sign and…"

"Magoo? What are you, a thousand years old? Is that why you are driving that ‘sled' through town like it's got no brakes?"

"Sled? Sled? Did you call my baby a sled? Like she was a heap of junk? I'll have you to know that Butter was a fine piece of machinery – until you killed her. And you understood the reference – so you tell me!"

"Look, obviously, we are going to agree to disagree…"

"Yep – you are whacked out of your head, blind as a bat, and mowed me down with that beater you call a truck…"

"Now, hold up, Creature-Feature…"

"WHAT'D YOU CALL ME?" Holly surged toward the other man, intent on throttling him. She shoved him hard, saw him stumble as he hopped back up, intent on continuing this argument and paused, cocking his head to the side, almost mimicking her own shocked stance.

They were both standing in the single lamp post near the center of town, in the light, looking at each other with something akin to horror. The man standing before her, who she had shoved into the street, was none other than Captain Cade Pruitt from the fire department. The hottest man she had ever met in her life has slammed into Butter and called her ‘Creature-Feature'?

"Look, Creature-Feature," he snapped hotly as the red and blue lights in the distance suddenly appeared, growing closer. "I don't know what you think or where you get off, but I suggest you get out your insurance and do not lay another hand on me, or I'm filing for assault, too."

"You pronounced it wrong," she snapped. "‘You're AT FAULT' – not assault."

"I'm not at fault – you hit me."

"Look, Captain Pruitt…"

"Well, you have me at an obvious disadvantage…" the firefighter snapped hotly, tempers still flaring obviously as he looked at his truck and rolled his eyes, rubbing his forehead in frustration. A patrol car pulled up not a moment too soon, stepping out and looking at the two of them curiously.

"What do we have here, fellas?"

"Sherriff Hart, Captain Pruitt flew through the stop sign and hit Butter…"

"Are either of you hurt?"

"His eyesight!"

"Her brains!"

"Whoa now," the sheriff began, fighting back a smile. "Look, obviously something happened, and we have two cars that are damaged. Luckily, we have no injuries…"

"Yet," Holly grumbled – causing Cade to point at her while glaring at the sheriff like they were both children fighting over who was right and who was wrong.

"And tempers are high," the sheriff continued over her. "Everyone needs to take a minute, breathe, and let's work things out. I need to get a few bits of documentation, statements, and Beary – you think you can fix these, or do we need to get them towed all the way to New Braunfels?"

Holly hesitated, looking over the truck in the pale dawn light, and saw that the front bumper was damaged, but it could be beat out – just like the crumpled side panel. Yeah, it would take some time and work, but she could repair it.

"Hold up," Cade said in a weird voice, reminding her of a rooster being strangled, causing both Holly and the sheriff to look back at him. His face had this scrunched, confused look on it as his eyes widened in disbelief. "You're… Barry?"

"She's our Beary," the sheriff smiled. "Best mechanic there is in two counties, aren't you, Beary?"

"I am," Holly said bluntly, raising her chin a notch as she stared at the man like he was beneath her. "My name is Holly Beary – and most folks in this town call me ‘Beary.' I have never once been called ‘Creature-Feature' and then expected to repair a car."

"You've gotta be kidding me…"

"Nope."

"You're the mechanic in town?"

"The same."

"The one I needed to talk to about replacing the belt on my truck, fixing the leak, and doing the maintenance…?"

"Still her," the sheriff chuckled, pointing between the two of them. "Have you two met yet? I feel like there's more to this and…"

"You're Barry? The same Barry… that has the hots for me? I thought Barry was a guy – and you're just a greasy, tiny thing."

That statement, combined with the dawning horror on the handsome captain's face alone, was enough to deflate every inch of her soul – added with the sheriff's laughter; yeah this was a morning she would never live down in a billion years. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, putting off enough warmth to fry an egg on her forehead.

"I do not have the hots for you…" she hissed, and to her horror, the man pressed his lips together and held up his hands, uncurling his fingers as he rattled off names.

"Jude, Rodney, Marshall, Jacob, Mayberry, Chief Marcum… shall I continue?"

"I heard about it too," the sheriff whispered – and she glared at him, only to keep from looking at Cade Pruitt's smug face. Did he have to be right, and that was why he was counting names off on his fingers, to prove a point?

"What's this?" she sputtered, completely mortified, all of her defenses snapping to alert as she started mimicking him, uncurling her fingers like he'd done. "Hmm? Hmm? Are we counting brain cells or IQ points?"

"Now, Beary… flies and honey," the sheriff chuckled, scribbling on his notepad. "Flies and honey, remember?"

"I don't want to catch anything that has to do with that wretched man!"

"Her license plate says it all – anyone but her!"

"It's BUTTER!" she snarled, every muscle seizing in her as she made two fists and her voice shook with intensity as she hollered at the irritating man. "My car's name is Butter, and you've killed her."

"She's barely got a dent – and heck, it matches half the other pitting and bruises on the body panels. And who names their car anyhow? You act like you're driving a Porsche when that thing is…"

Holly was boiling.

She ignored the other half of his sentence, walked over, and slammed her boot as hard as possible down into the dent on his old truck. There was such an overwhelming and satisfying bolt of pleasure from the jarring sensation that slammed up her leg at the feeling, seeing the dent deepen, and hearing the disbelieving gasp from Cade.

"WHY YOU LITTLE…"

"Captain Pruitt!" the sheriff interrupted loudly. "I suggest you not finish that statement since you are going to need Beary to help repair your vehicle…"

"I'm not touching his truck," Holly said primly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Nope. I refuse."

"You're the mechanic – and I'm the victim," Cade snarled, holding out his hand toward his vehicle. "You hit me, attacked me, and made the dent bigger… and now you are refusing to work on my truck?"

"I reserve the right to provide service to anyone," she repeated pertly, giving a little curtsy in her coveralls – before giving him the finger behind the sheriff's back. Yeah, this guy might be gorgeous on the outside, but on the inside, he was as ugly as sin. She had never been so blatantly rude or crude to anyone, but in this case, it felt justified.

The man's mouth dropped open as he flung up his hands in the air in sheer frustration. The sheriff handed him a slip of paper, which only started another round of ‘You gotta be kidding me!' exclamations, followed by the repeated, ‘It's her fault' comments that seemed to be the current mantra this morning.

Beary almost said something to egg him on – only to get handed a ticket from the sheriff as well. He arched an eyebrow and looked at her.

"I'd stop if I were you," he whispered quietly. "You do not want this to go further – am I clear, Beary?"

"Yes, sir."

"See if you can get Butter out of the main road before we start to have a little traffic – and I'll calm down the fireman."

"I'm not working on his truck."

"That's your prerogative."

"I'm not."

"You mentioned that."

Holly grumbled ‘I'm not' once more under her breath and looked away from the grin on the sheriff's face as he turned to walk off to where Cade was waiting, obviously furious.

Marching over to Butter, she popped the hood and expected to feel a stab of pain in her chest if the engine was seized. How could this happen? It wasn't a bad dent, and it couldn't have hit the engine block causing damage. She would have seen oil everywhere, or it would have been smoking, right?

Looking around under the hood, Holly slid back into the driver's seat and leaned to get her flashlight out of the glove box. She gave the key one more try now that she was calming down slightly and hesitated as it suddenly hit her.

Holly pushed the clutch in and turned the key, hearing a click. Without so much as a sound, she moved slightly to peer into the engine compartment once more and winced. The positive cable slipped off the battery post at the impact – and in her frustration, she'd let off the clutch, causing it to die.

The sheer mental state of panic, the coffee, and everything else had put her in a real tizzy. Her car didn't start because of her. She forgot to push in the clutch – and didn't tighten down the battery terminal when she worked on it the other day.

She panicked.

She lost her temper.

She made a complete fool of herself – to the guy she had a crush on. The guy who knew Holly had a crush on him and called her ‘Creature-Feature.' Yeah, she was pretty sure that this moment, this day, could not get any worse.

"Hey Beary?"

There was something in the sheriff's voice that caused her to turn around nervously. Maybe it was because she was coming down off the mountain of rage and drowning in the Guilty Sea. She felt like the biggest nitwit, had made the greatest scene, and even if she did repair Cade's truck, she would always be ‘Creature-Feature' to him.

Not a great first impression.

"Yeah, Sheriff?"

"I hate to be the one to tell you this, and I don't know how to say it, but Captain Pruitt mentioned it first – and now that the dawn is here, and well… I know you got those pretty white leather seats, but…"

"What is it?" she asked warily, almost as if she was privy to the conversation between Mother Nature and Karma, saying ‘Hold my beer'…

"Well, ah, Beary? Um, I think you might have started your period. Do you got any shop rags or those plastic seat covers like they use at those big fancy dealerships?"

"Cade… Pruitt… noticed?"

"He said he thought you were hurt 'cause there was blood on his truck fender from where you kicked it, but when you looked under the hood – well, I noticed that…"

Sheriff Hart noticed the back of her pants.

Holly left menstrual blood on Cade's truck from kicking it – and he thought she was injured. It wasn't just any sort of fluid, but period blood. She was torn whether to gag, cry, or scream in horror at the nightmarish event unfolding before her very eyes.

Maybe all three?

"Thank you, Sheriff Hart," she mumbled, wishing the asphalt beneath her would open up and swallow her whole. Yeah, there was going to be no living down any of this anytime soon.

"Let me get you something…" he began – and Holly moved, angling her backside away from Cade, then realized she was facing Scoops, turning again to face the bank, then the wishing well, and realized there was no place under the sun to hide her stained backside. Nope. This was a case of ‘suck-it-up' and ‘hurry,' if there ever was one. She wasn't waiting for the sheriff to carry her back something to save her seats. She'd treat, scrub, or replace them to save that measly scrap of pride.

Holly slammed the positive cable end back on the battery, slid into her car, and shoved the clutch in. Butter fired right up, causing both men to look up in her direction. She put the car in gear, did a turn around the circle in town where the wishing well was and drove home.

Forget the coffee.

Forget the town.

She was never leaving her place again, and obviously, it was time to quit her own drug of choice — caffeine. Nothing was worth this humiliation, the damage to her car, her psyche, her nerves, her fragile self-confidence. Wishing she could start today all over again, she whispered to the broken pair of eyes in the rearview mirror that were blurring with tears.

"Run detox program, because no amount of coffee was worth any of this."