The names, characters, places and events in this book are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. All characters are over the age of 18. Any similarities to real persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
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It was too good a day to work, Hershel thought. It wasn't like he hadn't been working six days a week for so long now and even on a Sunday; he mostly spent the afternoons after church catching up on paperwork as well as getting the basics done -- like shopping for groceries and doing laundry. All the things that had to be done. Not that he was complaining as that was life as a self-employed contractor. But yesterday he'd finished his last job, fixing-up a foreclosure on Oakmont Lane, with a day to spare and every cell in his body cried out for rest. Anything that didn't involve cement or plaster dust or paint. No, sir, he needed a change, a rest, a break.
He valeted his truck, an ageing Chevy with too many miles on the clock, which basically meant dumping a load of fast food and candy wrappers, useless receipts and notes, ripped gloves and the detritus that accumulates in any busy workman's vehicle into the trash can and then giving the interior a quick vacuum and polish. Surveying the results, he didn't fool himself that it looked like a new truck straight from the showroom but it looked a lot better than before. That got him into the holiday spirit so he threw some food and cokes into a cool bag and headed out eastwards to visit Lake Erie Bluffs Park on the other side of Cleveland. It was about eighty miles away and, apart from one or two stretches through Cleveland itself, traffic was light. As he drove, he sang along to WDOK, a classic country station, and with every mile his spirits lifted as the mercury in the thermometer rose. It had been far too long since he'd had a beach break and he remembered Lake Erie Bluffs from when his family used to visit when he was a boy.
It was just after ten when his truck pulled into the blacktop parking lot. There was plenty of space as only a few other vehicles were parked up. It was a Tuesday, after all, he thought, and school's not yet out. He swung down from the cab and fetched his cool bag from out the truck bed. As he did so, he caught his reflection in the driver's side window. In it, he saw a pleasant, rugged face with a square chin, not what women would call Hollywood handsome, but rugged and tanned from mostly working outdoors. He had short, sandy hair and what he called designer stubble although that was more not bothering to shave than any deliberate intent. Brown eyes crinkled with laughter lines. Not bad, he thought, but he was sorry that he was 'free and single' at the moment.
He was just about to walk past the picnic tables to the bluffs when he noticed a woman crouching over a tire on her Chevrolet Cruze. For a moment he thought about walking past as it was hard to approach a woman in these days of feminism without her thinking you were demeaning her or, worse, her wondering if you were about to attack her. However, he could not leave a fellow Chevy owner to struggle and it would have spoiled his day if he didn't at least offer to help. Making sure she heard his feet coming her way he walked over.
"You okay, ma'am? Anything I can help with?" he asked.
The woman looked up and squinted up into the sun. He saw she was about his age -- in her mid twenties or at most only a couple of years older. "I'm alright, thanks," she said.
That was the response that Hershel expected so he half turned to walk to the bluffs and find a path down to the beach. But then the woman spoke again.
"Actually, I could do with a hand. I've gotten a flat and just can't get this tire off. Why do they make these nuts so stiff?"
And, with some surprise, Hershel found his own nuts going stiff as the woman stood up. She was dressed to beat the heat in a pair of tight denim cut-off shorts and black bikini top beneath a loose, sleeveless white knit top. She drew the top together over her breasts simultaneously hiding yet drawing attention to her D cup boobs which filled her bikini top nicely. Her narrow waist flared out to her hips while below her shorts her long, tanned athletic legs ended in a pair of sandals which showed her painted toenails.
He took in her body with a glance and before she could think he was perving over her he quickly raised his eyes to look her in the face. She had a pretty heart-shaped face with full lips made for kissing and eyes the blue-gray color of the lake itself. Her hair was tied back in a pony-tail and, from what he could see, was a light brown with blond highlights running through.
"Let me try," he said.
She handed him the wheel nut wrench and it was his turn to crouch by the jacked-up wheel arch. The woman stood next to him, giving him a close-up of her tanned legs but he was also so aware that his face was only a foot or so away from her snatch. Concentrate, he told himself, don't think about it. Applying himself to the task in hand, he twisted the wrench. She was right, the nut was stuck. Using more of his arm strength he applied more pressure and felt the stubborn nut give. After that, it was the work of fifteen minutes or less to get the tire off and fit her spare. In the heat, he was sweating but it was his good deed for the day, he thought. As he was putting the old tire into her trunk, he saw a nail sticking out of the tread.
"That's the trouble -- you must've run over it," he said, wiping his hands on a rag.
"Thanks for mansplaining that," she said with a grin taking the sting from her words. "Seriously, thanks so much for doing that -- I appreciate that."
"No problems, ma'am."
"No need to call me ma'am. My name's Heather. Heather Dooley," she said with a smile that lit up her face. With that she put out her hand and they shook. Her grip was quite firm and she had a good hand.
"Hershel Myler," he said.
She looked down at his little cool bag and pulled out a cooler from the back seat of her Cruze. "I always bring far too much. Look, why don't we head down to the beach together and we can share lunch later? Call it payback for the tire?" Her lovely smile appeared again.
"That's a deal, ma'am -- Heather."
Chatting, starting to get to know each other, they walked over the grass then through a stand of pines and firs and down the bluffs path to the beach. The lake sparkled in the sunshine and was a slightly darker blue than the nearly cloudless sky. They walked along the beach to a sheltered spot near some limestone boulders. There were a few other people, some with dogs, on the sands. Hershel found that Heather was divorced and worked at Mohr's Building Supplies in Cleveland. He figured he'd be paying it a visit real soon. He also listened to her chat about her little daughter, Willow, "The only good thing that useless man ever gave me," she said.
