gas.” Tom cracked the door open, letting in the wet and the cold. “Cut the wheel to the left, and try to find the most solid ground you can.”
“What do you think I’ve been doing?” She motioned to the door. “You’re seriously going to push?”
“Unless you want the honors.”
She hesitated, then unsnapped her seat belt. “Yes, of course, I should push. It is my car.”
Tom snatched her arm before she could open her door. “Do you want my manly-man card too? Please, I’ll never live it down with the guys if they hear you pushed. Let me do this. You’re the driver of this team.” Beneath the wooly knit of her sweater, he could feel the rough, ribbed skin of her arm. He’d always wanted to ask her about how it all happened. He’d only heard bits and pieces of a trailer fire. How painful it must have been. Then to live with the constant reminder . . .
“We’re not a team.” She slipped her arm from his touch.
“Okay . . . we are for now. Unless you want to sit here all night.” He jostled her shoulder, also coarse and jagged beneath her sweater. “Come on, if I can’t push us out of this, I’ll hand in my man and Marine cards.”
She reared back. “You were a Marine?”
“Yes, and still am, I guess. Hoorah . Just no longer on active duty. Ready?” Popping open his door, Tom’s first step sankinto a pool of icy water, filling his shoe with ooze. Nice. He sloshed around to the back of the car, the rain soaking his hair and jacket, slipping down his collar, trickling down his neck and back.
At the back of the old Beetle, Tom anchored his backside against the car, hooking his hands under the fender as he tried to find good footing. He’d bet his ruined Nikes that the temperature had dropped a southern, damp, frigid degree or two in the past fifteen minutes.
“Ginger?” he called, glancing around, the rain water draining into his eyes and the crevasses of his face. “Ready?”
The engine whirred, coming to life. Tom ducked into place. “Okay, go!”
He pushed, his feet anchored against nothing but ooze, as Ginger fed the Bug a bit of gas.
But all combined, their efforts produced nothing but spinning tires and spewing mud. Extracting his feet from the sucking mud, Tom sloshed over to Ginger’s window and tapped on the glass. She inched it open.
“Hey, Tom, I think we’re still stuck.”
He laughed. “Now you’re Captain Obvious. I’m going to rock the car a bit. You didn’t eat a lot of food at the buffet, did you?”
“Such a funny man you are.” She shut the window and faced forward, a slight, happy curve on her lips.
Yeah, she wasn’t as hard and defensive as she let on. Tom rounded back to the VW, the rain still thick and heavy. If it took this to get to know her, to break down the barriers, he’d do it again. And again.
“Okay, Ginger, give this Beetle Bug some juice!”
The engine rumbled as she let off the clutch. Tom rocked the car, straining to dislodge it, adding his Marine muscles to the German horsepower.
Come on . . . He’d dealt with worse in Afghanistan. Lord, can You get us out of this?
The car lurched free, dropping a shivering, soaked-to-the-bone Tom into the mud. The red taillights beamed five feet ahead. Ginger tooted the horn in celebration.
Thanks, Lord.
Pushing out of the mud, Tom scrambled for the passenger door. But Ginger stuck out her hand as he started to sit.
“I just had the car detailed.”
“W-what?”
“And these are leather seats.”
“Y-you’re joking.” Meanwhile, rain slithered down his face, into his ears, and pooled at the base of his neck.
“Yeah, I’m joking. Get in here. You’re letting in the cold air.” Her laugh warmed his soul.
“You’re a regular riot, Alice.” He dropped into the seat with a squishy slosh . “Where’s a hero’s welcome when he deserves one?”
“You’re right. Thank you. Very much. The stallion of Rosebud to my rescue.” She shoved the heat slider to high and eased the Bug
“What do you think I’ve been doing?” She motioned to the door. “You’re seriously going to push?”
“Unless you want the honors.”
She hesitated, then unsnapped her seat belt. “Yes, of course, I should push. It is my car.”
Tom snatched her arm before she could open her door. “Do you want my manly-man card too? Please, I’ll never live it down with the guys if they hear you pushed. Let me do this. You’re the driver of this team.” Beneath the wooly knit of her sweater, he could feel the rough, ribbed skin of her arm. He’d always wanted to ask her about how it all happened. He’d only heard bits and pieces of a trailer fire. How painful it must have been. Then to live with the constant reminder . . .
“We’re not a team.” She slipped her arm from his touch.
“Okay . . . we are for now. Unless you want to sit here all night.” He jostled her shoulder, also coarse and jagged beneath her sweater. “Come on, if I can’t push us out of this, I’ll hand in my man and Marine cards.”
She reared back. “You were a Marine?”
“Yes, and still am, I guess. Hoorah . Just no longer on active duty. Ready?” Popping open his door, Tom’s first step sankinto a pool of icy water, filling his shoe with ooze. Nice. He sloshed around to the back of the car, the rain soaking his hair and jacket, slipping down his collar, trickling down his neck and back.
At the back of the old Beetle, Tom anchored his backside against the car, hooking his hands under the fender as he tried to find good footing. He’d bet his ruined Nikes that the temperature had dropped a southern, damp, frigid degree or two in the past fifteen minutes.
“Ginger?” he called, glancing around, the rain water draining into his eyes and the crevasses of his face. “Ready?”
The engine whirred, coming to life. Tom ducked into place. “Okay, go!”
He pushed, his feet anchored against nothing but ooze, as Ginger fed the Bug a bit of gas.
But all combined, their efforts produced nothing but spinning tires and spewing mud. Extracting his feet from the sucking mud, Tom sloshed over to Ginger’s window and tapped on the glass. She inched it open.
“Hey, Tom, I think we’re still stuck.”
He laughed. “Now you’re Captain Obvious. I’m going to rock the car a bit. You didn’t eat a lot of food at the buffet, did you?”
“Such a funny man you are.” She shut the window and faced forward, a slight, happy curve on her lips.
Yeah, she wasn’t as hard and defensive as she let on. Tom rounded back to the VW, the rain still thick and heavy. If it took this to get to know her, to break down the barriers, he’d do it again. And again.
“Okay, Ginger, give this Beetle Bug some juice!”
The engine rumbled as she let off the clutch. Tom rocked the car, straining to dislodge it, adding his Marine muscles to the German horsepower.
Come on . . . He’d dealt with worse in Afghanistan. Lord, can You get us out of this?
The car lurched free, dropping a shivering, soaked-to-the-bone Tom into the mud. The red taillights beamed five feet ahead. Ginger tooted the horn in celebration.
Thanks, Lord.
Pushing out of the mud, Tom scrambled for the passenger door. But Ginger stuck out her hand as he started to sit.
“I just had the car detailed.”
“W-what?”
“And these are leather seats.”
“Y-you’re joking.” Meanwhile, rain slithered down his face, into his ears, and pooled at the base of his neck.
“Yeah, I’m joking. Get in here. You’re letting in the cold air.” Her laugh warmed his soul.
“You’re a regular riot, Alice.” He dropped into the seat with a squishy slosh . “Where’s a hero’s welcome when he deserves one?”
“You’re right. Thank you. Very much. The stallion of Rosebud to my rescue.” She shoved the heat slider to high and eased the Bug
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