Every Yesterday (Boot Creek) by Nancy Naigle Page B

that you’ll get that car from her this week?”
    “Yeah. Here’s how sure I am.” He took his phone out and dialed California.
    “Who are you calling? It’s like ten o’clock.”
    “Hey, Sonya. How’re things going? Great. I just found the ’58 DeSoto Adventurer. Nope. Not kidding. Set up a cross-country hauler. For next Sunday. Yep. Here’s the address.”
    “You’re not serious. You don’t have anyone on the phone.”
    “Only seven o’clock on the West Coast. I do too. Here.” He shoved his phone inside the cab of Jackson’s truck and pressed speaker. “He doesn’t believe I’m ordering transport before I have a deal on this car, Sonya.”
    “Hello?” Jackson looked skeptical.
    “Hi. Who is this?”
    “Jackson. Who is this?”
    “Sonya at California Dreaming Restoration.”
    “You really work for Noah?”
    “Sure do. And trust me, if he’s found a 1958 DeSoto Adventurer that he likes . . . he’ll get it. This is not the first time he’s had me do this. Got that address for me?”
    Jackson gave him a what-the-heck look. “The address is 12665 Water Loop Way.”
    Sonya’s soft voice livened a bit. “That’s gonna cost you, boss. About as far coast to coast as you could possibly get, huh?”
    “It’s worth it. Set it up.” Noah hung up the phone and laughed. “This is great. Even worth sacrificing a brother of the bachelorhood to the old ball and chain of matrimony.” He slapped the side of the truck.
    “Go ahead. Talk your big game. You just get your money right. I’m going to do something extra special for Angie with your thousand bucks, so you better be ready to pay up. On Sunday. No IOUs.”
    “I’m ready, but I won’t have to pay. Come on, let’s get the hell out of here before she shows up.”
    Noah hopped into the backseat. Jackson pressed the gas pedal before Noah even had the door closed, which was probably a good thing, because if he’d had the chance he’d have walked back over and taken one more look. His heart raced. He’d been afraid to let himself even believe it could be true. The last one he’d found had been one long plane ride from California to Boston, and then a three-hour car ride, only to find that the car had been ridden hard and wrecked a few times. Poor thing was cockeyed on its frame, kind of crabbing along the road. What a disappointment that had been, but that one sitting in the old gas station bay sure looked like the real deal.
    Granddad. I found the one, man. And she’s not getting away.

Chapter Six
    Noah sat at the kitchen table, sipping milk from a coffee cup. Unable to sleep, he’d come downstairs and made himself at home in the kitchen. He’d planned to rummage around to find some cookies, but Flynn was organized to a fault.
    Everything that didn’t move seemed to be labeled, right down to the pantry shelves. Her pantry looked like a grocery store. He’d had an inkling that if he looked hard enough, he’d find a cash register and he could probably swipe his debit card and make a purchase. But since he hadn’t found one, he helped himself to an assortment of cookies. A couple from each of the boxes on the C section of the pantry. Right between the cake flour and crackers. Didn’t seem logical to him. But alphabetical was about as good as any order once you got used to it.
    He dipped an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie into his mug. How was he supposed to sleep knowing the car of his dreams was right here practically under his nose? Dying to see it up close, and hear it run, he was going to have to figure out a way to connect with Megan . . . and quick.
    A noise came from the front of the house.
    He stopped chewing, straining to listen.
    Another rattle. At the front door, and not like someone coming home with a key, besides he was pretty sure everyone was here and accounted for because the lights in Flynn’s part of the house had been dark when they got home.
    He sat up straight, stretching to listen closer. There it was again.