Steam is visible curling out of the seams of the hood and the front before I even get the hood up, but when I do, it’s like I’m standing next to a pot of boiling water. The smell of something hot wafts into my nose.
This is bad.
This is very bad.
I think.
In the past six months, I’ve felt helpless, but I’ve never felt this helpless. Tears prick my eyes, and I shine my light around me as I blink rapidly and take deep breaths. Crying will not help anything.
Where do you think crying is going to get you?That mimicking, hateful voice in my head is like fingernails on achalkboard, and I push it back in its box as I swallow around the lump in my throat.
Headlights break through the darkness behind me, and a large truck rumbles low as it comes over the hill. I watch as it slows and pulls over on the side of the road ahead of me.
Please be nice people.
Please be nice people.
Please be nice people.
It backs up until it’s a car’s width in front of me, and I unconsciously step back and to the front driver’s side panel of my SUV so I can get in quickly if I need to.
The engine turns off, but the headlights stay on as the driver’s door opens and a beautiful woman, who looks like she could be nine months pregnant, literally slides down from the driver’s seat, the toes at the end of her long legs are pointed to find the ground.
Her long blond hair is in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a sleeveless short maternity jumpsuit that is tied on the shoulders and a tank top under that with tennis shoes. By the way she’s dressed, you would think it’s summer and not the middle of September.
Her smile is beautiful, and she rubs her stomach with her palm as she waddles toward me. “You look like you could use some help.”
Even though I’m wondering how this small pregnant woman is going to help me, my shoulders sag in relief to have the company. “Yes, I could. Thank you for pulling over.”
She laughs and stops next to me, one hand resting on her arched back and the other sitting on top of her big, round belly, looking at the steaming engine. “Whoa. You need a lot of help.”
The passenger door of the truck slams, and I jump as I turn to see a tall, broad man in a baseball hat step around the back ofthe truck. He’s limping, and he has his own flashlight, which he shines under my hood without even a glance in my direction.
The blond turns to me and holds out her well-manicured hand. “I’m Kinley Abbot, this is my brother, Tucker Harlow. He’ll see what we need to do.”
Her fingers are long, slim, and warm in my hand as we shake. “I’m Nora.”
The man turns and walks to the truck, the way he’s limping looks like he’s in pain, and he lowers the tailgate to reach for something in the bed. He has yet to acknowledge me but turns back to my SUV with what looks like a flannel shirt in his hand and flips his baseball hat around backward.
“Are you from around here, Nora?” She asks, her hand rhythmically stroking her belly.
Keeping my eyes on the man who is tapping something with his fingertips to check the temperature, I answer her. “No, I’m just passing through. I was on my way to Claremore to find a hotel.”
“You almost made it, you’re just a few miles away. Are you from Oklahoma?” She’s not paying her brother any mind. She’s completely comfortable letting him do what he needs to do while she chit-chats.
He folds the shirt over something that he turns. My flashlight is still pointed in the general direction of my SUV, but I can see the muscles of his arm ripple as he does. His t-shirt isn’t tucked into his jeans and has pulled up just over the band to show a tan hip that looks taut.
“Uhm, no, I’m not.” I know she’s wanting me to tell her where I’m from, but I don’t like to give out too much personal information. Because they were nice enough to pull over, I decide to give her some crumbs. “But this drizzle and the clouds have followed me since Springfield. I’ve been wondering if I’m going to outrun it or if it’s going to move past me.”
“How long has your engine light been on?” The deep voice of the man booms from under the hood without even turning in my direction, making me flinch.
Blinking at his back, I clear my throat, it’s a nervous tick I’ve had as long as I can remember. “It came on at the gas station about ten or twelve miles back, but I hoped it would hold out until I could get to a service station.”
“Why, what’s wrong with it?” Kinley chirps, turning her attention to her brother.
Still bent over the front, his head is close to the engine, and his arm is reaching across for something. “You shouldn’t have ignored it, all your coolant dumped out on the road, and your block might be cracked. You’ll need to have someone look at it.”
My breath freezes in my chest as his t-shirt comes up further over his jeans and the gun tucked in his back waistband becomes visible.
