Thirty and a Half Excuses
Page 35

“Thank you.” His voice hardened. “But if you ever have a vision in which you see yourself physically harmed, I want you to call me immediately.”
“Mason…”
“Rose, I’m the assistant DA. I have the power to protect you.”
“Not without proof.”
“Just promise you’ll tell me, and I’ll sort out the rest.”
“Okay.”
I pulled into David Moore’s uncle’s used car lot. There were a lot of clunkers and a few newer cars and trucks. A sign reading Henryetta Moore for Less Used Car Lot leaned to one side, threatening to topple over onto the road. Mason and I stayed in my car, staring out through the windshield.
“I should have asked you if you had any idea what kind of truck you want or how much you want to spend.”
“I have no idea what kind of truck. And price? I know I want something reliable. I don’t want something that’s going to break down all the time.”
“Then this might not be the place to get a truck.” He pushed open his car door. “But let’s check it out. If we don’t see anything, we’ll drive to Magnolia.”
“Okay.”
A short man with a large belly waddled out of the small building. Back in the day, this lot was a gas station. It had been converted to a used car lot about ten years ago.
“Can I help you young folks?” the salesman asked, wiping his hands on his jeans and smearing orange powder down his legs. There were still chip crumbs on his chin. “You two look like you’re in the market for a nice sedan.” His eyes lit up as he cocked his head to the side. “Or maybe a minivan? Getting ready to start a family?”
I looked down at my stomach. Was he insinuating that I looked pregnant?
“No, actually,” Mason said. “We’re looking for a pickup truck.”
“Ho boy!” the guy said. “So we’re shopping for the man of the household today. Just brought the wife along to keep you company, aye?”
I expected Mason to correct the guy, and he did, but not about our relationship. “The truck is for the lady.”
“Oh.”
It wasn’t unusual for women to drive pickups in Fenton County, but they usually owned farms.
He extended his hand and Mason shook it. “I’m Earl.”
“Mason.”
I shook Earl’s hand next. “I’m Rose.”
“Can I just say that you two make a really cute couple?” Earl grinned.
A blush rose to my cheeks. “Actually, we’re—”
“Looking for truck that has working air conditioning. Also it has to have less than sixty thousand miles.” Mason turned to me. “Do you care if it has stick shift?”
“Uh…”
“Do you know how to drive one?”
“No.”
He turned back to Earl. “We won’t discount a truck with stick shift at the moment, but we’d prefer an automatic.”
Earl led us to the section where the trucks were parked, and I glanced up at Mason with confusion.
Trust me, he mouthed.
Turned out I was trusting Mason Deveraux with lots of things.
Chapter Eleven
It also turned out that Mason knew what he was doing. Between what he knew about trucks and what he learned on the Internet browser on his phone, he decided a Ford F150 with a backseat and a longer truck bed was my best option on the lot.
When I gave my driver’s license to Earl so that we could take it for a test drive, Mason handed his over too. As Earl was writing his name in a binder, Mason said, “That’s Mason Deveraux III, the assistant district attorney.”
Earl looked up, wide-eyed, before glancing at the papers again, his hand shaking as he finished writing.
Mason winked at me.
Earl let us take the truck on a test drive alone, saying he was supposed to go with us, but if he couldn’t trust the assistant DA, who could he trust?
Mason chuckled as we walked over to the vehicle. “I bet he’s in there hiding all evidence of his illegal activities while we’re on this test drive.”
“Why would you let him get away with that?”
“No harm in putting the fear of God into him. Besides, you never know. This incident might scare him straight.”
“Do you really think so?” I asked.
We reached the back of the truck, and Mason tossed the keys to me. “Nah, but hope springs eternal. Contrary to popular belief, it is not my goal to put half of Fenton County behind bars.”
I got behind the wheel, nervous to be driving something so big. Maybe Violet was right. Maybe it would be ridiculous for me to buy a truck.
“Oh, no you don’t.” Mason said, buckling his seat belt.
I turned to him in surprise.
“I know what you’re thinking, and your sister is wrong. There is no reason on earth you can’t drive this truck. In fact, I won’t let you out until you drive it around Henryetta.”
I laughed. “You think you can keep me in here until I drive it?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m probably the most stubborn man in southern Arkansas. You’re driving this truck. You may decide you don’t want to buy it, and I’m fine with that, as long as it’s not for the wrong reason.”
“And what’s the wrong reason?”
“Fear. It’s okay to be frightened trying something new, but don’t let fear stop you from living your life.”