Kestrel (Hart Briothers #3) by A. M. Hargrove Read Free Book Online Page A

transportation is here.” Then I frown.
    “What’s
wrong?”
    “I
have to figure out how to get both home.”
    “I
can drive one if you’d like.”
    The
thought makes me grin. “Can you drive a super sports car?”
    “Oh,
sure.”
    “One
with seven gears?”
    She
squints. “What in tarnation kind of car do you have?”
    “An Aventador Roadster.”
    “I
don’t know what that is. What about the other car?”
    “It’s
a motorcycle.”
    “Well,
I won’t be driving that nor will this gal be gettin ’
on it either,” she huffs. “Those things are dangerous.”
    If
she thinks the Harley is bad, wait until she sees the car.
    “Don’t
worry about it. I’ll get Mario, one of HTS’ drivers to do it.”
    Not
long after that, the door buzzes and the deliveryman is there. When we walk
outside, they’re driving my vehicles out of the cargo truck. I cringe as I
watch them.
    “Don’t
worry, Mr. Hart. This is a white glove operation.”
    “So
I’ve been told.”
    “Well,
I’ll be.” A long melodious whistle flows out of Shayla’s mouth. “That’s some
kind of fancy contraption you’ve got there.”
    She
eyes the black Aventador , then runs a finger across
the shiny hood. Next comes the Harley. Its gleaming black and chrome would stop
most people in their tracks. Shayla lets loose another huge whistle. “Well hot
damn, Kestrel, you sure like your toys, don’t ya ?”
    I’m
not sure what shocks me more—her use of the word, damn , or the use of my name. I break out in laughter.
    “You
might say I do.”
    After
inspecting both vehicles for damage and being pleased to find none, I sign off
and we head back inside. On the way in, I say, “I’ll take you for a spin in the Aventador when we go to lunch today. You’re going to
love her.”
    “Either
that, or the damn thing’ll scare me to death, one.”
    “I
promise. No scaring.”
    My
comment brings her to a screeching halt. “Kestrel, I may look like an old frump
to you, but I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday. You can’t fool this
ole broad. I get in that car and you’re gonna drive like a bat outta hell. And
you know what? I don’t blame you, cuz if I owned
something like that, I would too.”
    This
woman has made me laugh more in the last couple of days than I’ve laughed in my
entire life.
    “Shayla,
are all southern women like you?”
    “What
do you mean?”
    “You
make me laugh and you speak your mind.”
    “Well,
I imagine so.”
    “Then
I think I’m going to like living in Charleston.”
    The
next couple of hours are filled with intense work as we plow through mounds of
paperwork that needed to be completed. Shayla has stacks of it and she’s been
stonewalled because it all required my signature. Together we wade through much
of it and put a huge dent in it. When the early afternoon hits, we’re both
famished.
    “Let’s
go eat.”
    She
picks out a restaurant and we get ready to go. I open the car door for her and
she gasps. The door lifts upward and it surprises her. Then she notices how low
to the ground the seats are.
    “Promise
me something,” she says with a serious face.
    “Sure.”
    “Pull
my big bottom out of this bucket when it’s time to get out. I’m not sure I’ll
be able to.”
    She
has a devilish glint in her eye and I burst out laughing.
    “You’re
a troublemaker, aren’t you?”
    “Not
saying.”
    I
assist her in and before I close the door she says, “Wait! Take a picture of
me.” She hands me her iPhone.
    I
take a couple of shots of her sitting in the car and hand her phone back to
her, laughing as I do.
    By
the time I get in the car, she’s giggling up a storm.
    “I
just texted those pics to my kids and my son wanted to know what kind of woo-fuckery
I was playing on him. Can you imagine?”
    “No.
If I had said that to my mother, she would’ve fainted, and then clobbered me.
What did you say?”
    “That
I’m not well versed in woo-fuckery, and that I’m sitting in this