"You’re damn well going to cooperate or I’m going to shove you so far up that tailpipe you’ll be breathing fumes for a month." Carolina cursed breathlessly, a much more serious threat had she been speaking to something other than the rusted bolts under the hood of the Ford Escort in front of her. She’d spent seventeen minutes trying to figure out what was wrong with the wretched car. Finally finding the problem, she’d spent the past eight minutes trying to loosen the blasted bolt that seemed to have been welded on permanently with rust. But her threat must have worked because with one more desperate turn of her wrench, the bolt gave way, turning at least a quarter-inch. She dropped the wrench on the ground and cried out victoriously. The war might not be over, but she’d won this battle and she was damn well going to celebrate it-even if that celebration was confined to a few brief seconds of gloating in the otherwise empty garage to a hodgepodge of vehicles all waiting their turn for her ministrations. OK. Celebration over. Barely noon, it had been a long day already, and with a week’s backlog of jobs, she wasn’t getting out of the shop anytime soon-if ever. Wiping her damp brow, she turned to retrieve the wrench she’d carelessly tossed behind her and nearly ran into the solid…
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