Hearts and Hazelnuts

1

The sun crept over the horizon, washing the room in watery light. Jordan Hart had already been up for more than an hour, and his eyes crossed as he stared at the computer screen. There was not enough coffee in the world to make his brain function well enough for this, but he had no choice. He needed a job, and that meant scouring the postings. Something somewhere had to pan out.

He worked with his hands. Computers were not his strong suit.

Jordan blew out a breath, stood up, and crossed to the kitchen to pour more coffee. Three months before, he’d been living on the northeast side of Portland and making enough money to live comfortably. Working on cars all day, enjoying a beer with friends at night, he’d been happy. Well, content, if not exactly happy. And then, from one moment to the next, everything went to shit.

No one knew the general manager had been craftily embezzling profits for more than a decade. Jordan certainly hadn’t. He’d come in, worked his shift, and collected a pay check. But despite servicing everything from late-model sedans to high-end sports cars, the shop wasn’t making much of a profit. And when the absentee owner finally looked into the financials…well, Jordan was employed one day and jobless the next.

It sucked because he liked the shop, and he loved the work.

Things went downhill from there. When he failed to find a job within the first few weeks, he had to dip into his savings to pay rent. He didn’t have enough to sustain himself for long. With no employment prospects, Jordan had to give up his apartment.

Moving in with his brother was a blow, but Jordan reminded himself it was only temporary. At least John was a good guy and didn’t treat Jordan as though losing his job were somehow his fault. Since their parents were gone, the brothers were close and they always had each other’s backs. John had even tried to get him a job at the Massey Ferguson dealership where he was the service manager. Working on big, diesel engines was Jordan’s first and truest love. But there were no openings, at least not for a permanent position. Jordan filled in a few days, but that was it.

Coffee in hand, Jordan sat back down in front of the computer. He’d expanded his search past the Pacific Northwest, and it looked like he’d have to move if he wanted to find a job that used all his skills. Jordan was certified to work on just about every kind of engine, something he took pride in. The classes required long hours of hard work. They’d also been worth every penny, every curse, every drop of sweat and blood.

Jordan didn’t want to leave Oregon. He couldn’t imagine it. It went beyond just the perfect weather—four distinct seasons without prolonged temperature extremes—though that was a big draw. It was the place he’d grown up, and he was proud to be an Oregon native, through and through.

The ring of his cell phone broke the quiet in the room, and Jordan snatched it up, grateful for the interruption. He was even more glad when he saw his brother’s name on the screen. There could only be one reason John was calling so early in the morning.

“I got a line on a job for you.”

Thank God. “Yeah? You need me to come in?” Jordan stood and headed toward his tiny bedroom so he could dress.

“Sorry, man.” John sounded apologetic. “But it’s a day thing. One of the farmers out in Newberg needs service, and my guys are swamped. Beckett is desperate because he’s supposed to harvest today. I told him about you, and he’s willing to have you come out.” John sighed. “I know it’s not much, but Beck’s a good guy and he’ll pay you fair. And a day’s work is better than nothing, right?”

“Yeah, of course. I want to work, John.”

“I know, kid. I’m sorry.” Another quick breath. “Okay. I’ll text you the address. Get out there as soon as you can.”

“I’ll be on the road in a couple of minutes,” Jordan assured him.

Jordan dressed, poured his coffee into a travel mug, checked his tools, and climbed into his truck. One of the best investments he’d made was his expansive set of Proto tools. He kept them in a triple-locked tool chest attached to the bed of his Silverado.

The drive to Newberg only took about forty-five minutes, and once he cleared the area surrounding Portland, I-5 was fairly deserted. He set the cruise control at only five miles over the speed limit. That was not the day to get pulled over for speeding.