“How do they work?”
Maggie gingerly stepped onto pavement so hot she could feel the burn through her sandals. “I don’t know, Jo Ellen. And that is the problem.”
“Well, I have Oscar.”
“Yeah, he’ll be a big help.”
Shielding her face from the sun and smoke, Maggie walked to the front of the truck and stared at the hood.
“Do you at least know how to open it?” Jo Ellen asked as she joined her.
“Do you?” Maggie fired back.
“I’ll ask Oscar.”
Wiping her brow, Maggie bent down and tried to see if she could find a latch. Of course, she couldn’t. She felt around, pressed everything she could stand to press—it was so hot—and swore mightily.
“Is this a Chevy?” Jo asked. “Or a Ford?”
“It’s a pain in the— Oh!” She hit something and it unlatched, popping up and drowning them in a cloud of smoke and steam.
They stumbled backwards, automatically holding each other to keep from falling.
Maggie waved the smoke away, sputtering.
Jo Ellen, bless her sweet heart, put her hands on her hips. “Do you think it’s the radiator?”
“Do you even know what a radiator looks like?”
“No, but that’s what they say in the movies. It’s always the radiator.”
Irritation skittered up her sweat-soaked spine. “This is not the movies, Jo. Will you please use that phone for good and call Triple-A or something?”
“I would but I don’t have a signal.”
On a grunt, Maggie let her head drop back, but straightened at the faint hum of a motor. “Someone’s coming.”
“Threesomeones,” Jo Ellen said, squinting down the shimmering road.
Maggie turned to follow her gaze, sucking in a breath at the sight of three menacing-looking motorcycles.
“Oh, dear,” she muttered. “Now we might be in the movies.Easy Rider.”
Jo snorted. “They’ll help us.”
“Or kill us.”
Undaunted, Jo stepped into the road and waved. “Hello? Help! Also, please don’t be a gang!”
“We’re on a back road in rural Florida,” Maggie said. “It is absolutely a gang.”
The bikes slowed as they approached, driven by three men in black leather vests with long gray beards.
“And ZZ Top is on tour again,” Maggie said under breath.
Jo shot her a look. “We need help, Mags. Let’s be nice, okay?”
Oh, sure. Let’s be nice to the tattoo-covered Hells Angels in the middle of nowhere.
