Hello and welcome to my readers. Thank you for your feedback and votes on my first story. I hope you enjoy this one. Please let me know if you like it. Comments, feedback and votes are welcomed. Once again, I extend my thanks to Alex the Cat for her continued advice and encouragement.
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"Oh, please car, just another block, pleeeease."
Shelby Foster gripped the large steering wheel as her car surged and sputtered down the busy street. "I can't believe I'm talking to this dinosaur," she muttered, looking frantically for Dave's Garage.
"Oh yeah, Dave fixes these older models," the man at the gas station had said, "Just two blocks down on the right, can't miss it."
"I better not miss it," muttered Shelby, "This excuse for a car won't go much farther." Said excuse for a car was, in fact, a royal blue 1959 Chevrolet Impala convertible. Her Uncle Leo had kept it in mint condition, leaving it to her in his will. His 'baby', he called it. Now her 'baby' was having a bad case of hiccups and Shelby was close to tears.
I sure seem to be hitting rough patches in my life lately, she thought. First it was her supervisor at the accounting firm pestering her for a date. She had told him that she wasn't interested in men, but he was annoyingly persistent. Upper management was no help, so she finally quit. Then Sheryl, her lover of two years, decided that they should see other people. They had a huge fight and she left one morning without as much as a goodbye. The final straw was an accounting mix-up in depositing her final paycheck and her apartment manager threatening her with eviction if she didn't pay her rent immediately. Finally, Shelby decided to strike out for some place different, hoping her luck would change along with her address.
Shelby found a new job and an apartment in Clear Lake City through on-line services. She packed her car, said goodbye to her family and friends and headed out to the great unknown. Six months later and a thousand miles away, she was building a new life for herself. Then last Saturday the 'dinosaur' had arrived on a flatbed truck, much to Shelby's amazement. It was huge and dwarfed her Volkswagen Golf. A week later, she decided to take it for a drive. She felt as if she was piloting a boat rather than a car and now here she was, frantically looking for some one to repair it.
There it was, Dave's Garage, hooray! She turned into the open bay door and turned off the ignition. 'Baby' gave a final shake and was still. Shelby opened the door and climbed out, glad to be on solid ground. "Hello," she called into the garages cavernous interior, "Is anyone here that can help me?"
"Okay, okay, I'm comin', I'm comin," a gruff voice replied. Walking towards her was a tall, heavy set man wearing grease stained coveralls. Shelby immediately noticed his deep green eyes, framed by gray bushy eyebrows. He had a full gray beard and shoulder length gray hair. He looked like Santa Claus, without the red suit. Shelby stared at the man, fascinated. "What's wrong, little lady?" asked 'Santa'. Shelby continued to stare. "Is this your car, miss?" The man said, walking toward the convertible, "what's the problem?"
Shelby snapped out of it, "I, I don't know, I was driving back to my apartment, when it began to jerk and shake, can you fix it, please?"
The man looked at the car appraisingly, "Hmmm, a '59, looks in good shape, can't be too much wrong." He turned and called into the garage, "Hey, Matt, come look at this beauty."
"Right there," was the reply. Was that a woman's voice? Shelby wondered. Matt emerged from a doorway and strode towards them. "Oh wow," she said under her breath, "that's a woman all right." Shelby's heart began to pound. The woman was tall, at least six foot, almost as tall as 'Santa'. She looked to be in her late twenties, about Shelby's age. Brick red hair hung to her shoulders, long bangs brushing red eyebrows. Her deep green eyes were set in a heart shaped face, her skin rosy pink with a dusting of freckles on her nose and cheeks. Although her baggy coveralls concealed her figure, her long limbs and broad shoulders were quite apparent. "Nice '59, Pop," said Matt, "who belongs to this one?"
"This little lady," 'Santa' replied. The red haired beauty turned and looked at Shelby, who was still staring at her. Oh my goddess she's so cute, Shelby thought, I think I'm in love.
Now the redhead was staring back. The woman before her was almost her height, with long chestnut hair, a softly rounded face and hazel eyes that sparkled. Her hip hugger skirt and tight fitting cropped top emphasized a willowy figure with slim hips and perky breasts. Her tanned skin glowed, her legs were toned and she had the cutest little upturned nose. Their eyes locked and the world receded rapidly into the background.
"Hey, ladies," said 'Santa', "when you're done checking each other out, maybe we can determine what's wrong with this car."
"Sorry, Pop," Matt tore her eyes away from Shelby's, "I'll get right on it." "That's my girl," said 'Santa'. He extended his grease stained hand to Shelby, "I'm Dave Callahan and that's my daughter Mattie, she prefers Matt. She can take this old Chevy apart and put it back together blindfolded."
"Hi Dave," Shelby replied, "Nice to meet you," she paused, "and Matt. I'm Shelby, Shelby Foster."
"Hi there Shelby Foster," came the muffled voice from under the Chevy's hood. Shelby walked to her car and peered under the hood feigning interest. She really wanted to look at Matt.
"We own this garage together," Dave continued, "I taught her just about everything she knows about cars."
Dave was fiercely proud of his only child. She was all he had left since his beloved wife Maggie had died three years ago. When Mattie was younger and displayed a natural aptitude for repairing all things mechanical, Dave had encouraged her at every turn. She was at the top of her class in technical school and Dave couldn't have been more pleased. He knew Mattie's choice to enter an essentially male dominated profession would not be easy, but he knew she had the determination to succeed. Mattie knew many men wouldn't want to have a woman working on their car, especially if it was an expensive or a classic model. But she had persisted in her chosen field, her abilities quickly overcoming most male prejudices toward a 'girl mechanic'. Now she had a following among the vintage car collectors and had become an accepted member of the car owners and mechanics 'fraternity'.
Matt had been working quietly during her father's introduction. "Found it," she said, looking up from the engine at Shelby. "Spark plug wires came loose from the distributor. These old V-Eights could run on seven, maybe six cylinders for a while, but you could make a milkshake riding in it." Her face broke into a broad smile, "All fixed and ready to go."
