Promises to Keep, Nan Rossiter [feel good fiction books .txt] 📗

“Now, tell me, do you keep your gun—or guns—locked up?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Why?”

“Just checking,” Macey said.

“Harper’s gonna sleep over tonight,” Maeve said, “and her worried mom wants to make sure our house is safe.”

“No need to worry,” Gage said. “I’m a very responsible gun owner.”

Ben frowned. “How’d you get on this topic anyway?”

“Mace asked if we’d seen the fox lately, and I told her we hadn’t but it better not come back because it would meet a sorry end.”

“It would indeed,” Gage confirmed.

“Hey, Uncle Gage,” Harper said, coming into the kitchen with her backpack over her shoulder and giving him a hug.

“Hey, Harp,” he said. “I hear we’re stuck with you.”

“Yep,” Harper said, beaming happily.

“Don’t forget to take these,” Macey said, as she handed Harper a Ziploc bag with her medicine in it.

“I won’t,” Harper said, stuffing the bag into her backpack.

Macey eyed her sister and warned, “Sometimes she needs reminding.”

“Don’t we all,” Maeve said, suddenly realizing she’d forgotten to take her birth control that morning. She finished her coffee and set the mug in the sink. “Thanks for the coffee,” she said, giving Macey a hug.

“You’re welcome. Hope you guys have fun.” Macey gave Harper a hug, too. “Be good.”

“I will,” Harper assured her. Then she hugged Keeper, whispering, “I’ll be back tomorrow, Keep.”

“You do know we have weeds around here, too,” Ben said as he hugged her, too.

“I know, but we’re going to pick up Amelia Egghart and Mother Clucker this morning,” Harper explained.

Macey raised her eyebrows. “Who?”

Harper looked to Gage for confirmation, but he feigned innocence. “I didn’t pick those names.”

“Yes, you did,” Harper countered, grinning. “Aunt Maeve told me you said a fox would never mess with a chicken named Mother Clucker.”

Maeve and Gage and Ben bit their lips, trying not to laugh, and Macey eyed her sister.

“Don’t worry, Mace,” Maeve said, putting her arm around her young niece. “She’ll be fine with us . . . and you can have her back tomorrow after church.”

25

“YOU GOT YOUR CAR BACK!” ALI SAID, COMING OUT OF THE HOUSE WHEN she heard Mason pull into the driveway. She knew he’d been riding his bike everywhere for the last several days, and because balancing a gallon of milk on his bike was tricky, he’d even taken her up on her offer to drive him to the store to do some food shopping.

“Temporarily,” he said, nodding.

She frowned. “What happened to it?”

“Nothing,” he said.

“Um, it used to be rusty blue . . . and now, it’s ugly gray . . .”

“It used to be Marina Blue,” he corrected, “and now, it’s primer gray.”

“So, that’s not the new color?”

“Um, no,” he said, as if it was a silly question. “Wanna see under the hood?”

“Of course, I’d love to see under the hood,” she teased.

He raised his eyebrows, trying to decide if she was flirting with him. As he walked around to open the hood, a tall man wearing a dress shirt with sleeves rolled up and a tie, loosened at the neck, came out of the house. He had thinning salt-and-pepper hair. “Hey, Mason,” he said.

“Hey, Mr. Harrison,” Mason said.

“I’m glad we were finally able to talk you into joining us for dinner.” He eyed him. “It’s been too long, and you need to put some meat on those bones.”

“Thanks for the invite. I guess I am getting a little tired of grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

David Harrison smiled. “Ali tells us that’s a staple in your house.”

“It is. My mom called it comfort food.”

David squeezed his shoulder. “You must miss her.”

Mason nodded. “I do, but I know she wouldn’t want me moping around, so I’m trying to keep busy. I’ve been working for Black Lab Landscaping every day and, in my free time, Jeff Bresson’s been helping me restore my Chevelle.”

“Jeff’s a great mechanic,” David said. “He knows his cars—especially these old muscle cars.” He looked under the hood at the pristine engine. “Wow, you’ve done a lot—it looks awesome!”

“Thanks! We just put the engine back in. It was a lot of work—thank goodness he was willing to help me. We cleaned off the grime and removed the transmission, bell housing, flywheel, clutch . . . drained all the fluids, got a bunch of new parts—the valve covers, intake manifold—adjusted the rockers . . . cleaned and painted the block . . .”

Ali laughed. “Sheesh, it’s a good thing you came out here, Dad, because I wouldn’t have a clue what he’s talking about.”

Mason smiled. “It’s really pretty simple when you come right down to it,” he said. “I mean, I knew how engines worked before, but I’ve never had much hands-on experience . . . besides changing oil. I’ve never taken an engine completely apart and put it back together, so I’ve definitely learned a lot.”

“Well, it looks great—very clean.” David eyed the outside. “Looks like you’ve had some bodywork done, too.”

Mason nodded. “We had to find new rear quarter panels—the originals were pretty rusty, and I have new bumpers ordered.”

“What color is she gonna be?”

“Same color—Marina Blue.”

“How’s the interior?” David asked, looking in the window.

“It’s clean but some of the seat covers are cracking. Jeff knows where I can get new ones.”

“Well, it looks super,” he said, clapping Mason on the shoulder. “And it’s a good way to stay busy. Keeps you out of trouble.”

“It does. I’ve been running, too, but I have to get up early or run late because it’s been so hot.”

“You must be dead tired . . . I mean really tired by the end of the day,” he said, catching himself.

Mason nodded. “Yes, I definitely sleep better when I’ve been busy.” He looked at Ali. “Do we have time to go for a ride?”

Ali eyed her dad questioningly, but he shrugged. “You’re asking the wrong person—I’m just an underling.”

Ali rolled her eyes. “I’ll go ask.”

Mason closed the hood, and Mr. Harrison took advantage of their minute alone. “Sue told me you asked her to go with you to your appointment with your mom’s attorney.”

“Yes, sir. My mom said everything would be taken care of, but I’d feel better if Mrs. Harrison was there, too—a second