Lori Love ignored the purring voice and gave the mounting bolt on the transmission of the old Ford one last turn, laying all her weight against the wrench.

"Oh, yeah. Work it, darlin'."

When the bolt felt tight enough, Lori wiggled the body part in question and tossed a grin over her shoulder toward the blonde behind her.

Her best friend, Molly, leered, eyebrows raised in suggestive appreciation. "Do fries go with that shake, girl?"

Lori stood and set the wrench on her tool chest. "I had no idea this look got you so hot." She smiled up at Ben Lawson, standing behind Molly and very pointedly looking at the ceiling. "You should get some coveralls, Ben. Molly likes them."

He rolled his eyes. "Are we done talking about Lori's ass yet?"

"Oo, I don't know," Molly cooed. "It's so cute and perky. Doesn't it just make you think about—"

"You," Ben interrupted, "are the strangest girlfriend I've ever had."

Lori nodded in agreement. "She's a strange girl, all right, but then you've been sheltered in this small town. Now, Moll, did you come here just to ogle my bottom, or is there something else I can do for you today? Lube job, maybe?"

They both descended into snorting laughter while Ben resumed staring at the ceiling in disgust. He was slightly more mature than the two of them put together. Good thing, considering he was the chief of police.

"I actually stopped by for a different reason," Molly answered. "Quinn's finally acknowledged that he can't fix his backhoe. He needs help. I'm hoping you'll stop by his place."

Thinking of Molly's older brother, Lori frowned. "Quinn's an architect. Why in the world does he own a backhoe? And why would he think he can fix it himself?"