As soon as he started making the big bucks… Ha! Katie would’ve been satisfied had he earned just a few bucks. Or at least used some caution in the way he threw her money around.
Because they couldn’t afford parking, she’d finally agreed to sell the truck. But it was a decision she’d long regretted. If she’d had a reliable vehicle, maybe she would’ve left sooner.
The Welcome to Dundee, Home of the Annual Bad-to-the-Bone Rodeo, Population 1,438 sign she’d seen thousands of times in her youth appeared in her headlights. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, Katie began to relax. She’d make it home safely. After traveling 640 miles, she was only another ten or so from her parents’ house—
Suddenly the Cadillac gave a loud chung, and the lights on the dashboard blinked out. Katie frantically pumped the gas pedal, hoping to get a little farther, but it didn’t do any good. The car slowed, trailing smoke.
“No!” Katie shifted the transmission into neutral so she could crank the starter. Returning to Dundee in her current situation was pathetic enough. She didn’t want anyone she knew to see her stranded on the side of the road.
But the car wouldn’t start. She was pretty sure it was dead.
Her tires crunched on the snow-covered shoulder as she managed to pull over without the aid of the power steering that had gone out when everything else did. Then she sat, listening to the hiss coming from the engine and watching smoke billow out from under her hood. What now? She couldn’t walk the rest of the way to her folks’ house. The doctor didn’t want her to be on her feet. Just two weeks ago, she’d experienced premature labor pains and he’d told her she had to take it easy.
Sitting inside a dead car wouldn’t get her anywhere, though. For all she knew, the engine was on fire and the car would momentarily explode, like so many seemed to do on television.
Wrestling her luggage out of the back seat, she dragged it a safe distance. Then she perched on the bigger suitcase and shivered in the cold night air as she watched several cars pass. She didn’t have the heart to stand or make herself noticed. She’d hit rock bottom. Life had finally gotten as bad as it could be.
And then it started to rain.
BOOKER T. ROBINSON switched on his windshield wipers as he descended into Dundee. It was a chilly Monday night, cool enough that he thought the rain would turn to snow before morning. Dundee typically saw a lot of snow in February. But Booker didn’t mind. He was comfortable living in the farmhouse he’d inherited from Grandma Hatfield. And any kind of extreme weather was good for business.
Sticking one of the toothpicks from his ashtray into his mouth, a habit he’d developed when he quit smoking over a year ago, he calculated how much longer it would be before he had Lionel Richman paid off.
Another six months, he decided. Then he’d own Lionel & Sons Auto Repair free and clear. He could buy the lot next door and expand. Maybe he’d even give the business his name. He’d kept “Lionel & Sons” because it had been that way for fifty years, and the people of Dundee didn’t like change any more than they’d liked him when he first moved to town. But since he’d taken over, he’d developed a solid reputation for knowing cars and—
The sight of an old banged-up sedan parked off the highway up ahead piqued Booker’s curiosity enough that he braked. He owned the only tow truck in the area, which was currently at his shop. But he hadn’t received a distress call on his radio. Yet.
Where was the driver? He couldn’t see anyone inside or around the vehicle. Whoever owned the Cadillac had probably already walked or hitched into town, looking for help. But if the smoke pouring from beneath the hood was any indication, the car hadn’t been sitting too long.
Chewing thoughtfully on his toothpick, he pulled up behind the stranded vehicle, left his lights on so he could see and climbed out. If the car was unlocked and he could get under the hood, it would probably be smart to take a look while he was here. Chances were the car had a busted hose—a problem he could solve without going to the trouble of towing the Cadillac to his shop in town.
The moment he stepped out of his truck, however, he realized he wasn’t as alone as he’d thought. Someone—a woman, judging by her size—peered at him from around the front of the car. She was wearing a man-size sweatshirt with a hood that shielded her face from the rain, a pair of faded jeans with bottoms a little wider than he typically saw in these parts and—his eyes darted back to her feet—sandals? In February?
The car had California plates. Leave it to someone from sunny California to run around in sandals all winter.
He shrugged on his leather jacket as he walked over, stopping well short of her. He didn’t want to frighten her. He only wanted to get her car going so he’d be able to meet Rebecca and Josh for a drink at the Honky Tonk and not be interrupted later. “Having trouble?” he asked above the sound of the wind.
“No.” She pulled the hood of her sweatshirt farther forward. “Everything’s fine.”
The wind made it difficult for him to hear. He took the toothpick out of his mouth and moved closer. “Did you say everything’s fine?”
She moved back a distance equal to his advance. “Yes. You can go on your way.”
Booker glanced at the smoke rising from her car. He might’ve thought it was just steam coming off a warm engine on a cold night. Except steam didn’t explain the luggage or why this woman was standing on the side of the road in a sweatshirt so wet it dripped along the hem. And it sure as hell didn’t explain the distinctive scent of a burned-up engine.
“Everything doesn’t smell fine,” he said.
“I’m just letting the engine cool.”
The engine was going to need a lot more than a good cooling. He could tell that without even looking at it. But Booker didn’t say so because this time when she’d spoken, something about her voice had sparked a flicker of recognition.
The California license plate flashed through his mind. He didn’t know anyone from California, except…God, it couldn’t be…
“Katie?” he said, trying to make out her face despite the shadow of her hood.
He saw her shoulders droop. “It’s me,” she said. “Go ahead and gloat.”
Booker didn’t respond right away. He didn’t know what to say. Or how to feel. But gloating was pretty far down on his list. Mostly he wanted to leave so he wouldn’t have to see her again. Only he couldn’t abandon her, or any woman, on the side of the road in the cold rain. “You need a lift?”