Miss Trailerhood by Carina Taylor (the top 100 crime novels of all time .txt) 📗

Riley again. She pushed me back with a grin. “She’s just going to march back in here, you know.”

“Why?” I whined as I followed her outside and down the steps. “I thought the sock idea was great!”

We climbed into the car and began our drive to Portland. I didn’t have a chance to have a deep talk with Riley, but spending time with her was enough for me.

On the way home, Wren finally opened up to us about her boy troubles. “I broke up with Jadyn.”

“Good for you!” I said. Riley squeezed my hand in warning. I mouthed an apology.

“Are you all right?” Riley asked her.

“Yeah. You both were right. Some guys just aren’t worth your time. He kept getting mad if I didn’t text him back right away. He got mad when my ex-boyfriend, Mason, held the door for me on a group date.”

Mason was winning my vote.

“I don’t like older guys, I’ve decided.”

I nudged Riley’s arm where it rested next to mine. “See? Those young guys are where it’s at.”

Riley fought a smile but didn’t win.

Wren continued. “Anyway, I’m not a puppet. If he can’t respect me and the fact that I’m independent, he doesn’t deserve my time.”

“Preach,” Riley said. “You’ll find a good one someday. I promise.”

Riley squeezed my hand, and I almost drove off the road as I tried to look into her eyes.

Chapter FifteenNate

It had been a hectic few weeks. I’d been gone for three days for a shoot in eastern Oregon. When I got back, I had lots of editing to do and a few quick sessions in Portland. I hadn’t been able to spend as much time with Riley as I would have liked.

Riley told me she and Wren had been spending more quality time together. I guessed it was the girls’-night stage of Wren’s breakup.

But I also wondered if Riley was using it as an excuse to pull back again.

I walked down the street, studying the surrounding houses. I wanted to see what the draw was here without Riley by my side. I wanted to know what she saw in this place. This was where she had run to when she learned she’d be raising her sister. She’d returned to the familiar, even though it didn’t hold good memories for her. It was interesting how people always felt safe in the familiar.

She didn't have to keep living here. She could be part of our family, and this time, I hoped that she’d be part of our family in a more permanent way.

“Nate! How you doing?”

I glanced up and waved to Nascar Jim. He was wearing pants, thank the good Lord above. He also wore a T-shirt with a picture of a potted plant on the front.

“Doing fine, Jim. How are you?”

“Great! You got some extra time?”

“Er, maybe?”

“Perfect. I could use a little help. I’m trying to mount my bike, but I sprained my wrist the other day, and it keeps giving out on me. I need to change the front tire on it.”

If I couldn’t help a man lift a bicycle when he had a sprained wrist, then I was probably the worst type of human. At least, that’s what Nola would say.

“Alright! Where is it?”

“Oh, I keep it inside. I don’t want the weather to rust it.”

I nodded. A lot of people kept their bikes inside, especially in Oregon, if you didn’t have a garage or anywhere to park it out of the rain.

“Want me to take my shoes off?” I asked when I reached the top of his small porch.

“Nah, don’t worry about that.” He waved me inside.

I stepped inside the black single-wide and laid eyes on a Nascar museum. Aha. So, he was a die-hard, through-and-through fan. Nascar memorabilia and potted plants lined the shelves and walls. “Wow,” was all I managed to say.

“Yup. Riley has really helped me with my green thumb. That girl can get plants to grow.”

I nodded as I stared at the life-size cardboard cutout of Dale Earnhardt Jr. I was having a hard time looking away from his scarily lifelike eyes.

“All right, it’s right in here.” He led the way around a short, false wall into the kitchen.

There was his bike. In the middle of the kitchen.

His motorcycle.

“This is the bike?” I asked incredulously.

“Yup. She’s a beaut, isn’t she?”

“She is at that.” I stared in awe at the ‘bike’ in the kitchen. No wonder he couldn’t lift it up onto the wood blocks next to it. Even without a sprained wrist, it would take two people.

“So...it’s in your kitchen.”

“Yeah, safest place for it.”

“How—how did you get it in here?”

“Up the steps. That’s how I sprained my wrist.”

I stared at the brick of a man in front of me. I’d written him off as an overweight, middle-aged man. Now that I looked at him, that barrel chest did look pretty solid. That man had muscle. He’d probably snap someone like me in two like a saltine cracker.

I moved to the front of the bike and scooted the wood blocks closer to the bracing point. I didn’t know much about motorcycles, but I’d seen a few mounted in shops before. I was more of a Jeep and truck man. My brief interest in motorcycles had been curbed by my mother, who made me watch a two-hour compilation on YouTube of motorcycle wrecks. By the time I was sixteen, I couldn’t look at a motorcycle without imagining my brains being scrambled across the side of the road. My mom’s methods might have been extreme, but it had definitely cured that daredevil side of me.

“So, you and Riley, huh?” Jim asked as he moved to the other side of the bike. He latched on with one hand. “You dating that girl?”

“I’m trying to,” I said as I grabbed on the other side. We lifted together, and I nudged the wood block beneath it with my foot. It wasn’t nearly as heavy as I was expecting, or Jim was lifting more than me. I couldn’t be sure.

“Help