Not even a few moments later, when he heard the motor start or felt the spit of gravel against his calves as she roared off toward the airport.
He hadn’t been walking for very long along the highway when a big silver truck slowed down next to him.
He glanced over.
Aw, hell’s teeth.
Truck Donegal’s big square handsome face was hanging out the window. “Where’s your truck, McCord?”
“Long story.”
He said nothing else. But his entire body was tense as a compressed spring. Prepared for anything Truck might want to throw down.
They regarded each other unblinkingly.
“Hop in,” Truck said finally, neutrally, and surprisingly mildly. “I’ll take you back to town.”
J. T. hesitated. He’d look like an ass, or worse, a chicken, if he refused.
He sighed.
Truck unlocked the door. And J. T. went around to the passenger side and got in.
The inside turned out to be spotless and polished. A little air purifier in the shape of a pine tree hung from the rearview mirror. The guy took good care of his truck.
This was a guy with pride, in general.
And a guy with pride would really suffer over not being able to find work for more than a year.
They drove in absolute silence for about two minutes.
And then J. T. smelled something... unusual. “What’s that smell? It smellsgreatin here.”
Truck cleared his throat. “Got me a catering gig. A little wedding down in Lightning Forks. That’s why I had to set out early.”
J. T. turned around. On the little seat behind them several trays were indeed covered in Saran Wrap and heaped with things.
Many of them on sticks.
“Is that... chickensatay?”
Truck kept his eyes on the road as he took the little curving exit into town.
“I Googled it,” Truck admitted, not looking at J. T. “And it actually sounded pretty tasty. So I got me some chicken and I made some. And it turned out great. And I made some other stuff I read about when I read about the satay. And that turned out great, too. Turns out I have kind of a knack for this stuff.” He said this with a sort of mild, bemused pride. “And I’ve been cooking a lot of stuff since. To make a long story short... Kayla Benoit—you know, from the dress shop in town?—is hooking me up with weddings and baby showers.”
J. T. was astounded.
A slow smile spread over his face. “Daaaaamn, Truck.”
The guy swiveled his head and grinned at him.
J. T. was a little worried about what might go down between Casey and Kayla now, though.
They drove in silence for a moment.
“McCord, I owe you an apology for—”
“I appreciate the gesture Truck, but it’s Britt you owe the apology to.”
